shoulders slumped she stands at the edge of the dock
at the opposite shore her eyes gaze and she prays
that soon the morning mist will clear
for now she wipes her eyes and cries
and asks oh god how did it come to this
not expecting an answer
so it surprises her when one comes a sudden
as she feels the vibration of her phone
in slow motion she pulls it out even as
her eyes stay locked on the choppy waves
she stands tall and answers
hello?
Author: James Hogan
Autumn Thoughts
’tis a delight to sit and dwell and wonder on all the wondrous things that have gone before. Sometimes it is easy to fill one’s time with little errands here and there and hither and yon. Yet sometimes I find it better to take a breath and breathe in deep and dwell on what lies before me before it’s of sudden gone. I talk in rhyme when I cannot bear to give into mundanity and let all my thoughts run in prose. Yet can there not be beauty in plain speaking and in a turn of phrase that may not have a counterpoint but simply shyly stands alone? I think so. But sometimes I’m afraid of plain speaking or perhaps it’s just that I’m worried that my thoughts are vapid and reflecting on my lack of inner fire. I know it’s not true yet still my dreams groan. Perhaps I feel if one peels back the layers of my metaphors and the billowing tulle of all my words they’ll find a shocking lack of insight and that I just prattle on and on to fake my worth. Maybe it’s silly that even now I can be so self-protective and even paranoid in my lines. Or maybe not? Maybe I just fear that one will look down their nose at me and sneer and say look at this pretense and pomposity – it’s nothing more than wind and lies. Yet still I write and yet still my thoughts tumble over themselves like so many eager puppies at the county fair. Perhaps out of my desire to create nothing great will ever emerge. That would be tragic, one would think. Yet maybe not. For in this desire I have to create beauty in an ordered chaos of rhythm and word, does that not point to something greater than my heart can truly comprehend? I hope that still with my feeble offerings I may kneel and serve. I wonder. Is it silly that I’ve written so long now without actually saying much of note? I will allow it, this once. Just ignore all the times I’ve done it before. I feel that if I’m harsh and overly critical enough of myself, you all will have sympathy on me and with a hand on my shoulder say there, there. He’s been hard enough on himself, poor fellow, and he sees that he has naught of worth. No need to pile on. He is only a brute consciousness after all.
But a glimmer in my eye testifies otherwise. I lay planks of rotted wood across the stream aplenty, I know. Might I lay one or two noble branches, artless in their dress. Maybe an indrawn breath will testify I’ve succeeded. For me, fool that I am, I’m impressed. The fire burns within, low and true. I walk across this brook and breathe deep of fall’s sweet melodies. See how the early evening light falls upon the path now. I forget all else but the strong sweet song that fills this meadow. And I press on to that which lies before.
Mineshaft
I wanted to dance down to the seashore and look at the moon lit path across the waves. Yet the sky was stormy and thus the moon was hid and so why bother I told myself. But sometimes it’s lovely to walk down the beach in the pouring rain. The tears from heaven testify to a greater love than one has ever known and if I cry no one needs to know. For truly in a day and age such as this sorrow seems to be written on every face and I cannot wait at a bus stop without hearing some sad tale. Is the testimony of the current moment different from all those moments that came before I wonder. Or is it just a fact that all the moments from the past have been piled up in just so a fashion and in a moment when a match has been lit and dropped the bonfire pours smoke towards heaven in living analogue for the ephemeral nature of our collective memory? I think this is close to the truth. And thus I read and write and spend far too much metaphorical ink attempting to memorialize the thoughts and dreams of a single specimen of individuality. For reading links me to the past and present cries of man in ways that pluck the heart strings of my soul and reminds me that my thoughts are not so solitary as I sometimes think. Yes I take pleasure at times in feeling unique in my mode of expressing how I feel. Reading the words of others shakes me up in a way that’s needed and show me that I am not that special after all. Well, I am special. But not at the expense of the beauty of my fellow brothers and sisters. Remember that, remember the sacred witness of my brother who walks past me on the sidewalk and that he too bears the imprint of the divine. Remember that, harken to the true nature of my sister who rings me up at the grocery store, that she too points up to heaven with the very fact of her existence on this plane. I write and I write and I write. Oh I can’t help but write as I feel I burn up when I am not and that these words that pour out of me may be silly posturing, mere leaves on the breeze, yet still they are mine and mine alone. Only one other holds my hand as I write, and his hand is a scarred one. The scars on his hand remind me of divine love. I tremble as I think that this reality we see now is only a shade of the true. Someday we will see in brighter colors and hear in more vivid tones. Someday we will sing in purer voices and as I think on this now I tremble imagining my someday home. I consider those who are my true family, not just those who bear the resemblance because we have a common creator, but those brothers and sisters true who confess the truth of life and death and our resurrected God and cling to that common hope that someday all shall be made new. Why do I sometimes break down in silent tears when I ponder what it is to cross the ford to the other side and read of those brothers and sisters who have done so before me crying in joy at what lies ahead. It is far better than anything here, as has been so often said. Not for the absence of the sorrow that is now ever present in this tainted world in which we live. That is a piece, but only a small one. Rather I look forward to a shared meal with the one who has never stopped holding my hand. One day some day soon I pray I will break bread and drink wine with the one who was broken and bled for the salvation of my soul. Imagine that! I will be with my Lord Jesus and he will hold me even as now he knows me and finally I can truly say I’m home. Some day. Until then, I’ll treasure these walks on the beach in the light of rising sun. When shall the day of consummation be? I do not know. Only one does. But for now I’ll write these words and seal them with a kiss. See how the clouds break. See how the gulls wheel across the sky.
Morning Jazz
I think I should post one more book review because well…why not right? And I shall finally be caught up! At least for the moment that is.
60. The Story of Christianity – Volume 1: The Early Church to the Dawn of the Reformation by Justo L. Gonzalez. Church history has been calling my name lately, especially with so much reading of various Christology works and pondering on the growth and development of Christian thought. I knew I would pull this from the shelf and I finally couldn’t resist. It’s been some time since I read this one – believe it was 2015 when I first read it. I appreciated it then, especially for the insight into church history and the many details that I had never heard of until I read this book. Rereading this one, I found myself a bit more aware and knowledgeable of the broad strokes, but still found myself both encouraged and fascinated as I read. Not at all a book that will bore you, I found this one a page turner and one that I eagerly sought to read whenever I had a moment! That may say more about me, who knows. Anyway! This book – while massive – still felt a tad underbaked at times. It’s really more of a survey, which I suppose makes sense. How else are you going to pack 1500 years of history into one volume? Still many chapters I wished for more details and more development and this really only piqued my interest to find more books on the various characters and chapters of history that you’ll find in this tome. But I suppose I shouldn’t quibble too much. I would call this a very suitable primer to Christian history and I’m very glad I read this. Already have volume 2 on my coffee table ready to begin!
Subway Dreams
Some book thoughts this Friday evening. Be well, my friends.
57. God The Son Incarnate by Stephen Wellum. A wonderful text on Christology, meaty enough for any theology nerd yet still quite readable for a layperson such as myself. This book took a while to get through, but it was never a chore or struggle. I much enjoyed this one and it was oh so good for my soul to reflect on the person of the Son and dwell on his beauties and glory. I appreciated the author starting this book with a survey of the history of Christology and analyzing the change of paradigms up to the present day and making it clear how our epistemology will affect how we understand the person of Christ. The author is very grounded in a biblical epistemology, which I’m sure will annoy the modern rationalists, yet I appreciate the author taking the time to delve into the importance of epistemology and then proceeding into the wonderful subject of the person of Christ, starting with the testimony of the Bible itself, then proceeding with the unfolding of our understanding of the the divine Word as we work through the church age (and the various Christological controversies that resulted in a more clear and vivid picture of Christ – his person and nature). I will most certainly not start discussing some of what I learned. Suffice it to say it was extremely interesting, enabled me to have a better understanding of the history of Christology, and aided me in better acquainting myself with the orthodox understanding of who Christ is. I did not find anything to disagree with, but I did at times face statements and perspectives that were difficult to comprehend. I would be lying if I said I perfectly understood this subject (as I think anyone would). I love this book because it aided in my daily devotion and meditation on Christ and pointed me further and deeper into my worship of the eternal Son. All praise be to God!! It also for certain helped me add more books to my reading list, though I was gratified to see one that I have recently read – Macleod’s “Person of Christ” quoted myriads of times. I do believe Macleod’s book is simply phenomenal and one I enjoyed more for the richness of its language, even if it isn’t quite as dense or detailed as this tome. Anyway, I stray. Just know that this book is worth the price of admission if you are at all interested in the orthodox understanding of who Christ is or simply seeking to read a book that will encourage your soul as you meditate on the glories of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. This is a beautiful book.
58. Scott Pilgrim’s Precious Little Life – Vol 1 by Bryan Lee O’Malley. Sometimes you just need a break from a dense and difficult work and so you turn to an easy and entertaining graphic novel. And Scott Pilgrim fits the bill. I enjoyed this re-read, as simple and silly as it is! Of course it helps having the movie in the back of my mind at all times, as I visualize that and hear the line readings in my head. This is nothing serious or insightful, just pure fun. And sometimes that’s ok.
59. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World – Vol 2 by Bryan Lee O’Malley. In the mood to continue my reacquaintance with Scott, I heartily enjoyed this read, especially because it delves into Scott’s past and gives a bit of his backstory (like his past with Kim!!). Also some great Knives bits and even a fun recipe and cooking interlude! I like this one. And question. Is it weird that I think Ramona is not the most interesting girl in this book? Or…even the second most interesting girl? For some reason, Kim and Knives were much more fascinating in this one. (and now I think ahead to Vol 3, where a certain Natalie V enters the scene). Anyway, this one was a fun quick read!
Endurance
how lovely it is to walk down this forest path
underneath the thick boughs of summer’s glory
still though with anticipation i wait for the turn
because these steps i take are not idle ones
but day by day bringing me closer
to that for which my heart longs
forever communion at heaven’s table
that moment when bread is broken and wine is poured
and we share a cup and drink redemption’s story
so as i wait for autumn’s leaves
and for the skies to fill with red and orange and yellow
i say to myself that though i know not what comes
i trust and in faith abide in the vine
oh what incomprehensible peace fills my soul
i cling to that word that so gently clings to me
Penelope For Your Thoughts
I wish I was better at describing the created world. I love to imagine such things as rushing streams and whispering forests and sunlight streaming through the leaves of early autumn. Yet when my pen is lifted and I tilt my head and think about the words to use to describe the blushing sensations that cause a stillness in the air as one walks through the forest, my mind blanks. What are trees? What are rivers? How does one describe light if one has no frame of mind in which darkness plays a part? Why is my vocabulary so bankrupt that I cannot paint a picture with my words? This drives one to reading. I am stubborn, it becomes apparent. If my mind is not furnished with the proper words to pour out my thoughts, then I simply must fill it. Yet I’m afeared that my acquisition process is a bit akin to wandering through a Goodwill at times. Or maybe a comfy used bookshop is a better metaphor. I wander past many friendly paperbacks and fascinating tomes that I let my hand linger on. Yet how many of these do I pick up and take to the counter? Well, far too many, as it turns out. Yet still, I miss the bulk of what is on offer and seem to only enjoy the bookstore in the moment for the moment as my soul quiets in appreciation for the bountiful treasures all around. This metaphor has run to ground. But I think – or hope rather – you get the point that even as I attempt to feed my mind a proper diet that will enable it to pour forth streams of love-wrought beauty, it seems I am instead allowing myself to linger in the beauty of the moment as I dwell on the written word. I am not properly chewing and digesting – no, I am swallowing whole the sublime that I let my gaze gallop across. To continue with the crude, I am simply eating too fast. Of course my mind does not have the time and leisure to wander through the parlor and shake hands with the fascinating words one sees. Instead it’s a mad dash to the buffet table and a piling of the plate with all the goodies that one has learned to crave. Reading is a pleasure yes. But can it also be a discipline? This is what I seek to learn, even as I distinguish between reading that is merely entertainment and reading that is meditative and pointing ones to higher truths and sweeter climes. As I distinguish such, I do seek to alter the ratio of my consumption so that I do not consume such as would upset my stomach and cause me to get used to fouler fare. Instead, ought I not train myself to enjoy and relish the food that is grown by eternal light? I think so. I must be more deliberate about my reading, I do think. Thank you for letting me wander through my thoughts on this in this stream of consciousness pondering. It has been good to share such. Perhaps now as I shut this laptop and allow myself to pick up my book, I will slow down just a little. Perhaps I can allow myself to pick my way through the meadow appreciating the feel of the grass under my bare feet as I notice the wildflowers in my path and the butterflies fluttering past my face. Perhaps I will tilt my head appreciatively as I smell the scent of jasmine and note the changing light as the sun crosses beyond the tree line and heralds dusk to come. Perhaps I will allow my thoughts to think of heaven and of the eternal one. Perhaps I will allow myself to breathe deep and close my eyes as I stand under the darkening sky and muse on the city that rises in my dreams.
Party
She sits cross-legged on the carpet
apart from the others as she doodles
on her post it notes
She pastes one here, one there, and
another on the coffee table
and then waits for us all to gather round
for the show and tell
We told her it wasn’t that kind of party
that we just wanted to eat and drink
and flirt and talk
yet she held her ground and kept scribbling
and said don’t you all want
to see my art?
Well this is awkward a few of us thought
signifying such with eyebrows raised
yet perhaps pity calls for us to scoot over
and let her explain her masterpiece
and so in condescension we drift her way
and as her eyes brighten and she whispers
the story she has devised
we all find ourselves hushing
because we find ourselves wanting
to know how the story ends
and guess what?
It turns out it was that kind of party
for the sharing of art
and bearing of souls
it turns out that sometimes
the two can be one and the same
what do you know?
And so now I find myself scribbling poetry
and seeking to find a friendly soul to read
who will do me the honor?
Bedrock
Devotion to truth and beauty is admirable. But there is a potential for this devotion to sour as one notes a misperception that leads to a devotion improperly placed. In other words, something is called true that is not true. Or something is called beautiful that is not beautiful? Nonsense you may cry. Who are you to define truth or beauty? These are nebulous concepts that cannot truly be nailed down. I agree that I am not infallible and it is very possible – even probable – that my comments stand on sand at times. Yet I am not putting myself forward as the arbiter of beauty or my own poetry held high as the level of truth. No, all I am stating is the statement that there is a standard of truth and beauty and so perhaps this does point to one who may judge such. Is this too far? We may quibble on interpretations and paradigms of course. But is it wrong to posit that there may just possibly be realities that are solid in and of themselves and are far beyond our ability to alter? This is all I say, at this time. Later on, perhaps over a coffee or something more bitterly delicious, I will discuss with you my thoughts on the realities that to me are more truly beautiful than any others I can dare to imagine. And yes of course, these realities are based in the God whom I call my own, the one who is more beautifully true than my mind can truly grasp. It is difficult for the finite to grasp the eternal, yet I try. And so in what I call feeble faithfulness upheld by the infinite united to my soul I lay my head down in sweet peace that I am known by the one of whom nothing greater can be known to be.
Grasping
Look my friend see the lighthouse standing friendly on that distant shore
these seas are choppy the wind is perilous the dark approaches
yet somehow I can’t feel anxious anymore
let me put my arm around you and hold you close to me
and perhaps as we draw near to the jetty you’ll understand
just what it is that resonates within my soul
as i consider the beauty of this grey sky over this grey sea
but maybe you won’t and that’s ok
for it took me a while to fully grasp the complex interplay
between the immanent and the real
yet now perhaps I can describe it if you’ll lend me an hour or two
or perhaps not for these concrete words that pour from this mouth
cannot do justice to the ineffable of the divine
yet for some reason I can’t help it
with all my eloquence or lack thereof i’ll try
come with me my friend let’s disembark and feel the dry land once again
and come to this table and on topics of philosophy and metaphysics
and on good red meat and potatoes roasted let us sit and dine
does that sound alright?
take off that rain-sodden sweatshirt and take this towel and dry your hair
and follow me and come inside
Something Weird 