Life is so unyielding she sighs mournfully. I wish I had a response to that or that anything I said or did could give her comfort in this moment when she feels so sad. Yet there is nothing of substance I can offer so I give her all I have. I gently rub her shoulders and stay silent. The chirping of the birds off the path sounds louder in the absence of any spoken word and I am grateful for that. Slowly as the tears roll down her face and our breaths sync, my hands come to a rest and in silent communion we watch and wait. The clouds above us hold in silent witness and even the birdsong seems to sound in harmony with the sniffling that she makes. Sometimes there are no words sufficient to answer the pain within. At long last there is motion and the clouds move on, seeming to indicate that their watch is done. The evening sun glimmers over the tree line and I put my hand to my eyes to shield the light and I am for some reason surprised to find out that I too have the remnants of tears on my face. I feel under my hands the tension is gone. Something has broken, something that needed to break. I walk around the bench and sit beside her, wondering what comes now. As she leans her head upon my shoulder and lets loose a sigh that contains a thousand lines, I somehow feel better now. Nothing has changed but our posture. We must soon get up and walk down the path and face another day. My arm tightens around her as I feel her shiver in the evening’s cold. And she whispers in the twilight I am glad to be with you in this place.
Author: James Hogan
Beyond the Point
At times it is tempting to slip into the same habits that you fit into so well yesterday and exclaim as you look in the mirror – it’s a new me! When it is of course true that in fact you are wearing something that is quite well used and perhaps even adorned with a new stain or two. Such it is when we get a bit too comfortable with patterns in our life that are not quite advantageous for the life that we so eagerly proclaim we wish for. But this is normal. Most of us have our blind spots and most of us have those hidden reefs that cause peril when we are not carefully navigating by those precious charts we should be more closely paying attention to. Is that not why we ought live with others who can see us as we are and point out those moments when we slip and stumble and laughing through our tears exclaim that we’re all right and say no perhaps not. Perhaps you’re not alright. And that’s alright. Or it’s not, but yet it is, for we walk not alone. Instead we walk through these valleys together looking to the west towards setting sun and though eagerly we look for the next way stop, we still sigh a bit knowing it’s not home.
And so if you have muddled through these mixed metaphors and deciphered anything of use therein, then I am grateful. But really I just want to speak plainly now and state how good it is that we need not live this life in solitary fashion. Of course it’s fashionable to proclaim oneself as self sufficient and capable and independent in all things. But alone we tend to wither and finally crack under the pressure of the burdens of this life. We need each other for we were not designed to live a life in which there was no communion with any other soul. We need a helper or a friend. We need someone with whom we can steadily share eye contact and it not be weird. We need someone to lift us up from life’s muddles when we veer a bit off track. And yet.
This need for a person beyond our own self existence points to a deeper truth that within us speaks to a void that cries out to be filled. What can fill this seemingly infinite hollow that nothing on this earth can fill? There goes that classic question which of course you know the answer to. If nothing on this earth can satisfy that longing in our soul it must mean we need look elsewhere beyond the setting sun. Even your closest companion or partner is not sufficient to satisfy that existential longing, is that not true? Eternity beckons. My heart aches with the knowledge that I was made for more than this finite life. All the history and poetry and philosophy I read testify in a thousand voices that in myself I’m missing something and there is nothing in the created order that can make me whole. Yet there is a voice calling, calling me to come. I know that voice. Do you hear it too?
Seven
There are mornings that my very soul could sing for delight. This is one such. I am oh so grateful for small pleasures that my God has granted me. This morning, a leisurely lie-in and I didn’t have to leave my bed until after the sun peeked over the horizon and through our window shades. Oh bliss! Following that, a nice hot shower while the water boils in preparation for one of the most important ingredients for a good morning. Coffee. Of course it’s coffee. I was then able to meditatively take part in one of my favourite little rituals and make my aeropress coffee. As I waited for the coffee, a few minutes on the phone with Dad and then I prepared for the remainder of my morning before church time. TV on! But not for what you think – no TV programming or shows. Merely…switch on the youtube and find a suitable musical accompaniment for the day. Hilary Hahn playing Tchaikovsky? Yes please. Let me turn the lamp on next to my armchair and settle in with my Bible and books at hand. A while later, much had been read and much music enjoyed and the strong hot coffee enlivened my body while the readings that I had been walking through did their part in enlivening my soul. Surely I rejoice in the ministries of the Spirit this day. Perhaps I have talked too much of vain things at times. Even now, I name all these little pleasures and routines that are mine with perhaps too much joy. But are these simple things not still beautiful? I say so. And now it is time to go and worship with the people of the Lord. My brother and my sister, come with me. It is good for us to be here and rejoice in the lovingkindess of our Lord.
Veil
Someday I would love to walk the path through the ancient forest and stop when I feel the shimmering of the air around me as the sunlight breaks through the canopy. Then I’d stop and hold my breath and wait with my head tilted upwards and eyes closed for that goosebump moment when the birds would begin to sing. And then I’d exhale and start to hum the song that I had always known, even from the first time my fingers traced the music in the chord book on the piano back in the spare room that time when I was young. I had of course tried my hand at playing the notes as I thought they fell but I was too inexperienced then to understand the weighty dance that was required to truly play the music as it was meant to sound. So I put away the book and backed away from the piano and though I thought of it now and again, it was as if it was a dream that was not for me. Yet I am haunted still and wonder when we shall meet again, that song and I. I know soon my time shall come and I shall walk past the curtain and into the forest solemn walk. And then in that forest vale I’ll walk but not alone. And I shall hear that music, that I know, but I’ll hear more than that – I’ll hear a voice. I wonder what it will be like, that day when I know as I am known. My heart breaks now for the vision that has been wrought by more than my imagination could dare to dream. When comes the summons? I sit up on my bed and look and see the branches waving past the window. The wind picks up and I see the branches tapping in friendly fashion. Come out and play.
Timidity
Hello friends! A bit tired tonight and thinking that perhaps my energy and mood are more suited for reading than writing. Alas as I was hoping tonight would be a night I could really open up a bit and just be random in my creativity (or lack thereof). As it turns out, do I really want to write? Not sure that I do. Or perhaps my energy is a bit sapped and I just need recharging. No walk today, as I have a pot of bolognese simmering and while future me (about 24 hours from now) will be very happy to be eating a lovely dinner of bolognese over pasta, current me is a bit sad that the aforesaid pot simmering situation has kept me in the apartment all afternoon and now evening and so no walk at all. Le sad. I think that when I walk and am surrounded by the glory of the day and various people going about their day, I feel that energy and beauty and it puts me in such a good place for writing. Does this mean that I can’t summon up internal energy and the muse if I do not have something from the external? Apparently this is a thing.
And really, what am I writing now? A lot of nothing. It happens to the best of us I suppose, so I shall not let it dim my mood too much. After all, I have a book I can sink back into, the apartment is lit charmingly with the lamp at the end of the couch, and I have a beautiful classical playlist on the TV just now. This is a night in which I can rest and so can I truly complain? I think not. And who knows? Maybe in a few minutes I’ll pull this laptop back out and finger the keys and see where my thoughts take me. The night is young after all.
Peace and love, my friends. Peace and love.
Pumpkin Time
Hello friends! Thought I’d write a quick few words this Friday evening. How wonderful it is to get a little bit to rest, I do say! I am also eager at the moment to test out this new laptop which I’m writing on. It’s been eleven years that my previous one lasted and while it is still limping along, I felt it was time to transition to the next generation. It is kind of nice to have a laptop that boots up in mere seconds instead of a minute or two! And the keyboard is glorious. Is it weird that I particularly picked out a laptop that would have a decent keyboard? And didn’t at all consider gaming capabilities? Ah well, I guess I have aged a few years since my last laptop purchase and thus it makes a bit of sense that my priorities would have changed. Now I’m more concerned about how it will feel to type long passages of text than on how capable my graphics card is. Things change. Of course, that change comes with the hopes that I shall at some point type long passages of text that actually have a slight bit of depth or beauty. Praying for such.
And now for what do I hope? I hope for a quiet night in which I am able to truly rest. Grateful for the few minutes I’ve had now reading a lovely and inspiring book – “The Imitation of Christ” and looking forward to a yummy dinner of burritos and avocado/tomato salad. Shall I write a few words now to christen this new laptop keyboard? I’m not sure my mind is settled enough to compose anything suitable. Perhaps I shall attempt nonetheless.
she turns back from the ledge
and smiles at me
reaching out her hand that I might
join her
and then I step forward and take her hand
our eyes meet
in solemn concord
and together we bow our heads and pray
under the sun that blesses
let’s walk forward as pilgrims
bear our crosses as our joy
for nothing else
will satisfy
Christ crucified is our cry
better than life as kings and queens
why do we wail for the want of jeweled crown
when we have one that went before
from whose crown-pierced brow that blood fell
mingled with those tears for us
Edoras
A few little book thoughts this lovely Wednesday evening.
65. Scott Pilgrim vs the Universe by Bryan Lee O’Malley. Another rousing Pilgrim adventure! This one got a little sad and depressing (bit of melancholy always helps with flavouring the whole) but probably necessary to set up the finale. I loved all the Ramona and Kim interactions and also seeing Scott continue to grow. I realised while reading this that one of the things I love the most about the author’s storytelling is his willingness to be random and cut from moment to moment without feeling obligated to explain in detail the narrative. So many little moments that just set the scene so well and then…cut! Next scene and we’re off. So many little slices of life as Scott continues to figure out what’s going on with Ramona. I love it. Also appreciated all the background Scott vs robot combat while the more important conversations happen in the foreground. O’Malley is a superb storyteller.
66. The Story of Christianity – Volume II: The Reformation to the Present Day by Justo L. Gonzalez. For the most part, I enjoyed reading this one and thought it was a decent high level overview of church history from the Reformation to the present day. Still though, even with the high page count, it felt like we were flying through events with barely a space to breathe and attempt to understand the years we were wading through. I’m aware this is really meant to be an introductory work to church history, but I still felt the method seemed a bit scattershot at times. For the first volume which of historical necessity covers a smaller population and land area, the high-level approach worked for the most part. Here, it feels that with such a large amount of history to get through, the choice of the author on which bits to focus on looms large over one’s comprehension of the whole. And sometimes I felt like the author spent time on political or historical events which really were not necessary to the story of Christianity and perhaps the words could have been spent better on other topics. I guess I’m just trying to say that the author has to focus on certain topics and personages to keep the page count manageable, but the selective nature of such feels that there is much that is brushed by. Some prominent theologians are of course mentioned and focused on, others ignored entirely. The author’s perspective of course necessitates such. The first half of this book was fairly good and even-handed, but the last quarter or so (mainly 19th/20th century) was a bit weaker. I would even argue the author’s focus on the liberation and ecumenical movements of the 20th century detract from other theological movements which are ignored almost in total. Still though, this book is still worthwhile in giving a fairly high-level overview of the institutional church. At times I feel a bit annoyed the author doesn’t seem to write from a Christian perspective (i.e., acknowledging work of the Holy Spirit or show passion for the gospel) but I freely admit that’s my own issue – obviously this writer is writing a scholarly look without the apparent bias of personal faith. I understand that! Still though, there’s a reason I love reading Iain Murray’s biographies and histories! Anyways, I’m grateful I read this, just would caution that there is much that is left out of this work and certainly a bit of a bias towards certain perspectives.
67. Anne of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery. A lovely book. I confess once I picked this one up, I groaned a bit inside. My memory informed me that this book and the following one were my two least favourite books of the Anne series. And so it may yet prove to be upon re-read. Yet still. I found myself enjoying this one more than expected, perhaps because of low expectations! Yes, this is a different kind of Anne book. Anne is a wife and mother of a large family and honestly she is not at all the main character in this one. And…well, she seems a bit off and different at times! But is that not fair enough? She after all cannot still be the young lady studying at Patty’s Place with her college chums. Yes, this book mainly focuses on Anne’s children and moves in very episodic fashion. Yes, it relies at times overmuch on random dialogues and conversations that really are a bit much – oh the quilting chapter!! – but still? I found myself reading the last page with a smile and almost a tear. Perhaps helped by the bit that the last few chapters are some of the best of the book and really made me realize anew how much I love Montgomery’s work. Perhaps my perspective is also shaped a tad by the fact that I am now married (which I wasn’t the last time I read this!). I wonder how I’ll react to this one five (or ten!) years from now. Because yes, I will certainly read this again.
Parking Lot
I sat with my hands folded in my lap
Waiting for you to make a move
But you didn’t
Because you couldn’t
Even though you wanted to
Perhaps your doubts or your
Self loathing
Or perhaps uncertainty that all our checks
And superficial chemistry amounted
To much
I don’t know
I don’t care
I wish my eyes showed the pain I felt
All I wanted is for our hands
To touch
Unseen
It was a grey day. Grey seas sang under grey skies as grey birds soared and swooped low over the quayside. The quayside and its surroundings were also rather grey, nary a pop of colour to be found in the piles of gear and containers that lay here and there. Even the people that scurried about in the casual confidence that comes with being where they belonged could be said to wear faces set in shades of grey. Now to describe a face as grey seems to call for a bit of radical interpretation, but I believe you know what I mean. We have all seen those faces set in the default mode whereupon we decide we won’t smile and ask how’s their day. So yes. To sum up, an air of general grey-ness seemed to dominate the landscape at the shore and it would not be a stretch to say that this grey-ness seemed to stretch further than the eye could see. Ever a soul has strayed near an area where in the process of quick transit through it is felt that the colour is being leached from it. Now one may quibble with such and feel that we are getting dangerously close to invalid metaphysical applications. I will not argue and simply move on and resume my narrative and let the words stated previously sink into your soul and perhaps when you are a little older you will understand.
So to resume? It was a grey day. And so as John approached the dock and lifted his eyes to the heavens, the sigh that issued forth was an echo of the sadness within as he sought in vain for a glimmer of hope. The grey-ness of the day did not entirely escape him but it also did not startle him, for he was similar enough in mood at the moment to feel as if it was only fitting for the day to shroud itself in mourning in sympathetic communion with his yearning soul. John did not entirely abandon hope. Rather, he abandoned the idea that the hope would be consummated at any near point. It was promised and he believed the promise. But how long until hope’s longing would be fulfilled? He put his hand in his jacket pocket and felt again the letter that contained the words he had already memorized. The weight of the paper in his hand felt good, a reminder that his sanity had not entirely fled. But had it begun to fray? He thought not, but sometimes he wondered. And the doubt gnawed at him. John’s eyes narrowed. Begone, ye foul thoughts. I believe.
And so John’s firm steps took him up to the longest and greatest dock, the one at which the great ships moored. He walked up the steps and then begun the long trek down. At the end of the dock he expected to find the answer. Or if not the answer, at least a reminder of that for which his life was pointed towards. The chill wind picked up as he stepped further away from shore and his mind wandered towards the events of earlier that morning. He would not think further of what had happened to Alex. He would not. Her tears tore at him.
Without realizing, John had navigated down the length of the great dock and was even now nearing the end. He went past the inspection offices and broke again into the open air. The wind plucked at his jacket and he pulled his collar closer. His eyes were wet for more than the shrieking of the wind. The gulls hovered close by, wondering if he had a snack for them. Alas, not today my friends. I have in my pocket crumbs of something more valuable than bread. And then John’s eyes picked out the bench at the end of the dock. Upon it was a girl in a scarf of red. She was there.
The Lighthouse at the Point
A lovely little Sunday afternoon here. Dani and I will shortly be venturing forth and enjoying(?) the unseasonable warmth of this mid-October day. But let me not complain too much about the weather! We still much enjoy getting out and about and walking the trails and seeing all the others that had the same idea as us. I don’t know what it is, but I really am so fascinated by all the little stories I see as I people-watch. So many others having their own little moments in the grand epochs that are their lives. And now I’m just getting ridiculous so let me cease.
I haven’t written a proper journal post in ever so long – not promising one now either, don’t get your hopes up – but in the midst of doing some journal maintenance, was reading a bunch of my posts from back in 2007. Fascinating and wonderful both to read back into the mind of 19/20 year-old James and even reconnect with the emotions from those days as those memories flowed back into my mind. One must be careful to not dwell overmuch on the past, but is it still not a good thing to think back now and again and reflect back on what has been and who one was and consider the many wonders that has led one to the present? I say so. Of course, I am notorious for backwards looking so please keep me honest and gently remind me now and again to face forward and press on to what lies ahead.
And see, I’ve turned from talking about my life into getting a bit ridiculously meta and examining what it is to read one’s past writings. Joy! I can’t wait for the moment eighteen years from now when I come back and re-read this entry! That will be…something.
Forward! I now sit on the couch and enjoy the rest that is only proper on a Sunday, but I think it is soon time to enjoy some of my other favourite Sunday activities, namely…cooking, walking and reading/writing. Hopefully in that order. Burrito prep is needed if Dani and I will have a satisfactory dinner so I suppose I’ll get started that on that shortly. And then of course walk time. Maybe not a long one, but even a 2 mile (our standard of late) will feel glorious even in this dense humidity. And following? There will be some reading, the writing I’m not sure of. I do feel a bit of sadness that I’ve not written lately, but that is my own fault.
My heart does burn within me and soon soon I must write. I’m currently pondering where I want to focus my writing energies. While I do so love writing my little poems and stories and dialogues and metaphysical musings, where am I going with all this? I write what I hope to be beautiful, but is it perhaps possible for me to focus my fire a bit more than it has been of late? We shall see. I’m not certain I’m cut out for long-form fiction, but perhaps I will give it a go. These are my thoughts now, all prayers appreciated.
Now that I’ve written far too much about far too many diverse topics, I shall sign off. If anyone reads this, I hope it doesn’t put them off reading me entirely. I wish I could say I’m usually less scattered than this but well…you know. Peace and love, my friends. Peace and love.
Something Weird 