It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

...but in battalions

My daughter is being tested for cancer. This is the daughter with the twins, and the miscarriage. The problem is one of a feminine nature, and may very possibly result in a hysterectomy. She's only 24.

Farewell, Cuddles

Our sweet wuddley-bug is leaving us tomorrow. She is seventeen years old, and the last survivor of the menagerie of cats, dogs, rabbits, birds, and assorted rodents and reptiles we had when I was still married and the children were small.

Cuddles went crazy when she was young, and has spent her entire life suffering from what I can only describe as feline agoraphobia and paranoia. She had a litter of kittens, and we gave them away, as one does. But Cuddles somehow took it to heart like no other kitty mother I've ever known, and her poor little mind snapped. It's indescribable how bad I've felt about it for all these years. She's lived in my daughter's room, hiding under the bed all day, every day, except for when someone she trusts is in there with her with the door closed, at which point she'll cautiously come out, eat, use her box, and get some affection. But she is now deteriorating fast, mentally and physically, and my daughter has decided that it will be kindest to let her go peacefully rather than try to eke out a few last weeks or months living in torment and pain.

Back during the time I've described to you before, when I hit bottom and God softened my heart, it was Cuddles who was the catalyst that night. I was keeping her while my daughter was living in the dorm, and I'd go in there once a day or so and just sit on the floor so she wouldn't be alone for a while. One night, as I was holding her, it struck me how much like her I'd become, and I broke down and wept for the first time in decades.

So, Goodbye, sweet kitty. I will miss you so, but I hope to see you in a happier place one day, reunited with your babies and your mind.

Truly my Utmost

"Belief is not an intellectual act; belief is a moral act whereby I deliberately commit myself. Will I dump myself down absolutely on God and transact on what He says? If I will, I shall find I am based on Reality that is as sure as God’s throne.
In preaching the gospel, always push an issue of will. Belief must be the will to believe. There must be a surrender of the will, not a surrender to persuasive power; a deliberate launching forth on God and on what He says until I am no longer confident in what I have done, I am confident only in God. The hindrance is that I will not trust God, but only my mental understanding. As far as feelings go, I must stake all blindly: I must will to believe, and this can never be done without a violent effort on my part to disassociate myself from my old ways of looking at things, and by putting myself right over on to Him.

Every man is made to reach out beyond his grasp. It is God who draws me, and my relationship to Him in the first place is a personal one, not an intellectual one. I am introduced into the relationship by the miracle of God and my own will to believe, then I begin to get an intelligent appreciation and understanding of the wonder of the transaction."

-- Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him" -- Job 13:15

St. Claude de la Colombiere on God's Mercy

"I glorify You in making known how good you are towards sinners, and that your mercy prevails over all malice, that nothing can destroy it, that no matter how many times or how shamefully we fall, or how criminally, a sinner need not be driven to despair of Your pardon...It is in vain that your enemy and mine sets new traps for me every day. He will make me lose everything else before the hope that I have in your mercy." -- St. Claude de la Colombière

Little Women

I'm reading Little Women now. I did Wuthering Heights in the meantime, between this and Jane Eyre, but wasn't impressed enough to write about it. I mean, it was moderately interesting, but I wasn't very moved. Had a hard time caring about any of the characters: they're all pretty horrible people.

I had to struggle through the first couple chapters of Little Women, and I didn't have much hope for it. It just felt overly prim and affected. But now I've just finished reading the part where the neighbor gives Beth the piano, and I lost it. I mean, totally lost it: drool dripping on the ground.

I'd give anything short of my soul to live in a world like that: a world where a man can show love and kindness and receive, in return, gratitude and trust. In the world in which we live, if the old neighbor gentleman gave a young girl living alone with her mother and three sisters a gift like that, he'd be rewarded by gossip and suspicion that he was some kind of creepy pervert, and his life and reputation would be destroyed. And if he tried to apologize and explain to them that he'd meant no harm, he'd be given a restraining order.

Believing the Impossible

Have you ever seen a miracle? Or had a prayer or wish answered after long years of hoping and struggling, wanting to believe that it's going to happen but not really daring to get your hopes up?

There's this weird thing that happens: this thing has been looming over your consciousness for so long, or this assumption has been firmly in place all your life. And then, suddenly, there's the thing, right there, and it's actual reality. And it's sort of anti-climatic. You're like, "Huh. Well, okay then."

My daughter was just talking to me about this with having lost weight. She's been chubby since she was a child, and now she's finally passed that point where she looks completely normal in clothes. It happened to me when I'd been fighting the government for my disability for something like five years, and praying fervently and desperately the whole time. And also, when I saw actual miracles and answered prayers--ones that couldn't be explained away rationally. And spiritual beings. Yeah, literally saw them with my waking eyes. You accept the reality with which you are presented.

So it seems like, once you've experienced this once, or twice, or several times, you'd be always ready to believe for the next one. But for some reason, no. Apparently it's human nature. Look at the Israelites. They saw waters turn to blood, frogs raining from the sky, all the firstborn in the land except their own die in one night, the sea parted, the pillars of cloud and flame moving with them, the rock split and water pouring forth. But still, every time it got a little difficult, they doubted and grumbled and whined.

And I am just as guilty. I've seen all kinds of things in my life: been told by God to pray for things, then watched them happen. Been miraculously healed. Had prayers answered which seemed impossible, after long times of waiting and struggle. Seen God Himself. But still here I am, bitching and moaning, terrified and full of unbelief because the thing which he told me is his will, and is going to happen, seems impossible by human standards. Well, okay. It's impossible. But that doesn't mean God can't do it. He even told me ahead of time that this time was coming, in which I would lose all my hope and everything I was relying upon. But even though I knew that, it still doesn't stop me from falling to hopelessness and despair.

So this is me, professing my faith and trust in God, in spite of the fact that I know it can't happen. But I believe in spite of my unbelief.

This is the point in the story when Sam has to pick up Frodo and carry him, because Frodo has lost all hope and strength, and the will to go on, but knows he has to go on anyway.

"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." -- Jesus

Back to War

Just got off the phone with my son, and his orders are confirmed: he's definitely going back to war. This is the son with the baby who was premature a few months ago. It's a good career opportunity: he's going to be deploying with the Special Forces. But it's in a seriously hot zone, and he's got a new family, so it kinda sucks too. He hasn't got travel orders yet, so doesn't know whether he's leaving before Christmas.

I wish I could go instead of him. We were just talking about how there should be a volunteer corps of worthless old men with no point to their lives, whom nobody loves. We could do high-risk missions--get killed, nobody cares, and it'd be doing us a favor.

Fiona Apple - Every Single Night

Tiny Addison opened her eyes today, and her mother got to hold her for the first time. Thank you for your prayers. And thanks to the Lord, for answering.

The Tree of Life - the Way of Nature and the Way of Grace

"It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him."

-- J.R.R. Tolkien

"As far as I am concerned, the greatest suffering is to feel alone, unwanted, unloved."

-- Mother Theresa

Mother Theresa on Love

"Love, to be real, must hurt."

"Jesus, in order to give us the proof of His love, died on the cross.
  A mother, in order to give birth to her baby, has to suffer.
  If you really love one another, you will not be able to avoid making sacrifices."

-- Mother Theresa

The Feast of St. Nicholas

Today is St. Nicholas Day. And, incidentally, the anniversary of my birth, making him one of my patrons. (The other being St. Michael. Obviously.)

I feel a close affinity to the good bishop, beyond just having been born on his feast day. He was a defender of women: when a poor father near his home was considering selling his three virgin daughters into prostitution, Nicholas provided dowries for each of them so they could marry honorably. Also, a fierce defender of the truth: at the council of Nicea, he punched Arius, author of the Arian heresy which split the church for centuries, in the head.

St. Nicholas clocking Arius the heretic. Yeah!

When he wasn't beating heretics, he was known as a very kind, devout, humble, and generous man, who always remembered the poor and those in need. I like to think of him as a reminder that one can be a Christian and still be a man.

Another Sick Baby

This is Addison. Will you pray for her?

She is my granddaughters' father's sister's daughter. :P  So, my daughter's niece, I guess. She is 8 weeks premature, and it's been touch and go, but she is not doing well today. Also, her mother is suffering complications from a botched delivery.

Mystery Sonata No. 1 - Biber

<sigh>

Another visit with the Lord

I had another visitation. This time, it was when I was asleep--not like the other time when it was...I don't know what to call it: a vision? theophany? epiphany? Anyway, this time I guess it would technically be classified as a dream. But it was still him. "The Lord appeared to him in a dream" is found throughout the Bible. Christ appeared to me in bodily form, very much as we expect him to look: white robe and all that. He put his arms around me, hugged me, and said, "With repentance, even your wrong answers become right." By which, I think he meant something along the lines of, "all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose," but specific to me. I've been worrying a lot about what I've written here: did I say too much, or not say enough, or say the wrong thing, or say it at the wrong time?

This is the second time in my life he's appeared to me like that. A long time ago, during a very difficult time in my life, he appeared to me and we walked for some time  through the streets of a beautiful city made of white stone. We talked, but I was not permitted to remember what we talked about when I woke. I think he was putting things into my spirit to help me get through the times ahead, but that my mind wasn't prepared to understand.

Chesterton and Handel

Here's an experiment in finding the Presence of God that you should try: Read G.K. Chesterton's The Everlasting Man. Then, while the images of cruel pagan civilizations and demon-gods, and the general darkness of the world before Christ are still fresh in your mind, sit down and listen to the complete Messiah. Do nothing else: just close your eyes and listen, and meditate on what you're hearing and what you've been reading.

A Glimpse of Aslan's Country

Further up and further in....

Bach: Violin Concerto No.2 in E Adagio - Anne-Sophie Mutter

Another of my favorite pieces, performed by my second-favorite violinist. The weather today made me think of it.

Giovanni Paolo Cima: Sonata for Violin and Cello

I found it! Here's the version I was talking about--see what you think of the difference. Maybe it's just that it's in a lower key, or the quality of the recording production.

*****

I heard a beautiful recording of this by Apollo's Fire on my pandora this morning, but couldn't find that one to share with you. This is pretty darn good, although there was something I liked better in the violin in the Apollo's Fire version. I don't know if it would be accurate to say it was "more baroque", but it was more--I don't have a word for the quality I'm looking for. Wrenching? Visceral?

My least favorite thing in the world is kissing fat baby cheeks on the warm side after they wake up from a nap. Blech.

They've got lambies on their jammies.

More from the Mountain

I'm happiest when I'm outside; just wish I could take my library with me. I suppose I'm going to have to resign myself to getting a kindle and learning to read books that way.

Tried to get a shot of what looks like caves, but you can't see them that well. I didn't take the time to explore them. Maybe another time.

I never noticed before, you can see in these pictures where my nose was broken. Maybe it's visible now because of the weight loss.

Guess where I am

Schubert - Piano Sonata No. 20 in A Major, D959: IV. Rondo: Allegretto

So here's a hell of a thing: I saw God.

It was only a brief moment. I don't know, as Paul says, whether I was in the body or out of the body. But I saw a huge ball of blue-white light--living light, for lack of a better word. The light was in motion within itself--sort of like pearlescing, but that's inadequate. And I felt Holy Fear. It was overwhelming, but it was a good fear, if that makes any sense: a consciousness of his power, majesty, glory, and holiness. And that was it. Just a glimpse.

But I feel different. I don't mean feel differently, as in about "things". I mean I feel different, in myself. Like I am different.

Final thoughts on Jane Eyre

"It is a dream; such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped her once more to my heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus--and felt that she loved me, and trusted that she would not leave me . . . But I always woke and found it an empty mockery; and I was desolate and abandoned--my life dark, lonely, hopeless--my soul athirst and forbidden to drink--my heart famished and never to be fed. Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you will fly, too, as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me before you go--embrace me."

Yes. Exactly.

Here's another of my favorite passages:

"My spirits were excited, and with pleasure and ease I talked to him during supper, and for a long time after. There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. Delightful consciousness! It brought to life and light my whole nature: in his presence I thoroughly lived; and he lived in mine."

I'm pleased that it ended exactly as I wanted. Funny, that the book should close with the same passage of scripture I've got on my profile line. (The Greek text to the right there》》)

"There was a young lady, a governess at the Hall, that Mr. Rochester . . . that Mr. Edward fell in love with. The servants say they never saw anybody so much in love as he was: he was after her continually. They used to watch him--servants will, you know, ma'am--and he set store on her past everything: for all, nobody but him thought her so very handsome. She was a little small thing, almost like a child. . . Mr. Rochester was about forty, and this governess not twenty; and you see, when gentlemen of his age fall in love with girls, they are often like as if they were bewitched."

"The governess had run away two months before; and for all Mr. Rochester sought her as if she had been the most precious thing he had in the world, he never could hear a word of her; and he grew savage--quite savage on his disappointment: he never was a wild man, but he got dangerous after he lost her. He would be alone, too. . . He broke off acquaintance with all the gentry, and shut himself up like a hermit in the Hall."

 -- Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

There, you see, I am not all so odd after all. Just born out of my time.

Perhaps it is that men don't really know how to love properly until they're full-grown, around forty or so. I'll tell you one thing I've often thought: I believe that one of the reasons is that a younger man would not have the ability to appreciate a truly beautiful woman as fully, as she deserves. One with beauty and charm so complex; so rich and multi-layered, that it would be wasted on a boy. Like giving a child a cabernet to drink: he prefers kool-aid.

More about Jane

I'm at the part where St. John has proposed marriage to Jane, and I am utterly appalled. I thought Mr. Brocklehurst was the perfect example of the worst kind of false Christian, but he is just stupid and bad in a low sort of way. St. John is diabolical: a Pharisee of the highest order. Externally, a religiously and ethically perfect man, but completely devoid of the Love of Christ (or any other kind of love, for that matter), and guilty of an astounding degree of the absolute worst sin there is: spiritual pride. Of course, Jane is too much of a real Christian to see it: she judges him mercifully, with the charity and humility which marks her as the true saint. Probably the best use of the "unreliable narrator" literary device I've ever seen: better even than Huckleberry Finn's struggle between the false morality which has been implanted in him by bad religion and the true morality which God has placed in his heart.

I shudder at the way he invokes "the will of God" to try and force her into acquiescence: equating his own will to God's, in effect. The sheer arrogance is unbelievable. It would be one thing to say to her, "I believe that I have discerned that this is God's will for us: will you consider and pray about it?" But it is something else entirely, what he does. Worse than Rochester's selfish deception. Worse than Farmer Boldwood's use of guilt. The little smug, self-righteous comments and notes: "I shall expect your clear decision when I return this day fortnight. Meantime, watch and pray that you enter not into temptation: the spirit, I trust, is willing, but the flesh, I see, is weak." If I were standing near him in real life, I would step back to avoid the lighting bolt.

I thought at one point, when Jane was accusing herself of idolatry regarding Rochester, that the story was going to take a turn to that very heartless Calvinism which St. John represents: that Jane was going to decide that all passion was evil, and marry him, "recognizing" that "real Christian love" was that detached, rational, cold benevolence which denies all human feeling, all enjoyment of anything in this world, including affection and attachment, as things "of this world" and therefore to be shunned. But her answer to his hideous proposal and his monstrous manipulation is even better, in my mind, than her choice to flee from Rochester.

Bronte has, so far, the best grasp of what it means to truly be a Christian that I have seen in an author since Victor Hugo. I especially love how God is an active, though mysterious, presence in her life: the dreams, the lightning bolt hitting the tree, the voice of Rochester calling out to her in her moment of weakness. She's off to look for him right now, and I'm hoping that she's going to find him and, through her obedience and act of sacrifice in giving him up, that God is going to somehow have worked things out so that they now can be together: that Rochester will have found both freedom and true repentance, so that the union which would once have been sinful will now be blessed. Don't tell me whether I'm right.

"For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it." -- Matt 16:25

“If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.”
-- Unknown

Dating Theory

Yes, yes, yes! From the movie Old Fashioned. I have serious reservations about watching "Christian" movies--they're so often cheesy, heavy-handed, preachy, and just badly made. But this one was sweet and beautiful.

Another story about a guy with a past, trying to be a better man. I like how (very realistically), everyone else makes fun of him and treats him like he's some kind of freak because he's determined to live his life treating women with the respect they deserve--even when they themselves don't know they deserve it.

Here's a trailer, in case you're interested.

On Jane Eyre

I'm finally reading Jane Eyre, as you may have guessed. I've avoided these Victorian ladies' novels all my life: I found them tedious. But now I'm quite enjoying them--first Pride and Prejudice and now this. I guess I need to tackle Little Women next. It's amazing what love will do to a man.

One of the things I've always wondered at in Victorian novels, as well as in other, even older, literature such as Shakespeare, is the speed with which the characters fall in love. The expressions are always beautiful and the passion moving, but I've always read it with a modicum of skepticism, allowing that it's just fiction but thinking that, in reality, their love was lacking a very important element, in that they really barely knew each other. Take Pride and Prejudice for instance: how much time do they really spend together? A few minutes at a ball, several brief encounters subsequently. Or Romeo and Juliet: even less time. One dance, and they're in love so deep they'll both die for it. I don't doubt the depth of feeling, having experienced it myself; I fell for Amanda that quickly. It's just that I know, and knew at the time with her, that it really was just feeling--there was no real future there. But as I said, one allows for the conventions of fiction and of the culture and period in which it is written.

Jane Eyre, however, does not suffer from this weakness. In fact, I find chapter 23, the one where Jane and Mr. Rochester finally openly declare their love for each other, to be the most romantic scene I've ever read in any story. Because it's based, not on superficial charm or attraction, but on a true knowledge of each other formed over a long period of close contact. Love born of knowledge is true love that can last a lifetime. Not that that knowledge has to be perfect or complete before love can be considered genuine; but there has to be a substantial degree of it before a love can really be taken seriously. One of the best evidences of it is when, as in Jane's case, one comes to find another attractive, even irresistible, where no attraction initially existed, based on a knowledge of the inner person.

My favorite lines from this scene:

(Jane speaking) "Do you think I can stay and become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton?--a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!--I have as much soul as you,--and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;--it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal,--as we are!"

This is why I had to leave. To "stay and become nothing to you"...it was unbearable. Not that where I am now is much better. But it is, a very little bit. I at least don't feel like my chest is being physically turned inside out two or three times every week.

(Rochester speaking, a bit later) "'My bride is here,' he said, again drawing me to him, 'because my equal is here, and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?'"

This is exactly it: "My equal and my likeness." How often does one actually find his equal and his likeness in this life?

Of course, as you probably know (spoiler alert if you haven't read it), their love is tragically doomed by Rochester's secret. You might, knowing my life, expect me to sympathize with him. And I do sympathize--with his pain and his feelings. But I approve entirely of Jane's course of action, based on her perception of her situation, and the fact that, at that place and time, there is no way for him to be free to marry her honorably. She acts rightly, and most courageously, and her speech to him about standing on her principles even though every sense and feeling within her is fighting against her, is no less than inspiring. She is right: it's what she has to do. We may think, perhaps even rightly, that the Church of England is overly harsh in its absolute prohibition of divorce, especially in such a case as Rochester's. Attempted murder, for instance, is probably reasonable grounds, and Jesus himself said that adultery is. But none of that is within Jane's control: she believes that to be with him is sin, therefore to her it is sin (Rom 14:23), and she must flee, no matter how hard or how painful. Of course, if I were in Rochester's place, her strength of will and stainless character would make me love her all the more, and thus suffer all the more. But on the other hand, if I were in Rochester's place, I would not have attempted to deceive her.

I do find a lot of myself in Rochester though: the tragic mistake early in life, the dissipation which follows from the despair attendant to that mistake, the hardness of character which results from it. But especially that longing to be a better man, to rise above his circumstances and find his way back to the light. And when he thinks he's found, in Jane, the angel to lead him back to that light, I think, "even so".

But I also see something of myself in Jane, early on in the story. The childhood is quite similar. And that scene where she more or less snaps, and stands up to her aunt...I had a scene very much like that with my stepmother. And then it led to the same sort of willfulness as I grew up: a determination never to let myself be bullied and trampled on again. Or to stand by and watch anyone else be treated so.

And then Jane, alone on the moor, cast off from all she knows and loves, is the best metaphorical picture I have ever encountered of where I have been, emotionally, since...well, you know. Exactly it. Especially because it is, for her, just the latest in a series of hard knocks that always seem to end with her alone, destitute, and friendless. But most especially this part:

(Jane has been worrying, despite her own pain, of her beloved's sufferings, and what they might drive him to) "Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agonised as in that hour left my lips; for never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love."

I have. I have felt what she then felt; and feel it still. I've said those prayers and shed those tears. "The instrument of evil to what you wholly love." The only other author I've come across who touched on this was Richard Llewellyn, who said, "A horrible feeling, it is, to know you are a burden in body and spirit to somebody dear to you." There is no pain like the pain of knowing, or fearing, that you've hurt someone you love.

"Hopeless of the future, I wished but this--that my Maker had that night thought good to require my soul of me while I slept; and that this weary frame, absolved by death from further conflict with fate, had now but to decay quietly, and mingle in peace with the soil of this wilderness." -- Charlotte Bronte, ibid

"Love me, then, or hate me, as you will...you have my full and free forgiveness: ask now for God's, and be at peace."

-- Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

Pachelbel Done Right

It's almost Christmas again. <groan>. And I used to love Christmas so.

This piece has been over-done and over-played to the point of losing its considerable charm. Especially because of that God-awful, horribly over-sentimental, bastardized version by the trans-Siberian whatever, which is, IMAO, the worst thing to happen to classical music since Hooked on Classics.

Here's what it should sound like. Enjoy before you get sick of it again.

Normally I would criticize this performance as being technically very good but lacking in feeling. But in the case of this usually overwrought piece, I find it rather refreshing.

Stardust - Nat King Cole

Beauty and Honesty

I was talking the other night with a woman friend about the difficulty of communication between the sexes. I sometimes forget how hard it is from the other side--how women don't know who they can trust. Or, as she put it, "But women have to be so effing vigilant because dudes try to manipulate you like it's their full time job." And I know it's true, but I seem to always unconsciously have this expectation that they should just know that I'm not like that--like they should just look at me and say, "Finally! An honest man." Yeah, I know it doesn't make any sense; I said "unconsciously" didn't I?

It's strange, really, how ideas appear to you in clusters. The same night I had that conversation just happened to be a night when I was in a hotel, which is pretty much the only time I ever watch TV. And I spent most of it thinking about how much I hate the way women are displayed and their beauty exploited. My intentional segregation from popular culture means that I'm not constantly bombarded with such images, and so when I do see them, it's almost as if from the perspective of an outsider. The idea that kept going through my mind as I sat through the soul-destroying banality, was that I never thought I'd hear myself say this, feeling as I do about feminism, but that this objectification of women was sickening. And what's even more sickening is their own self-objectification. Every second ad is about "beauty"--but no one seems to know what beauty is. The kind of "beauty" being sold by these pimps of self-esteem is to real beauty what twinkies and doritos are to real food.

Beauty is not just a woman's physical appearance. It is something she is and something she does. A woman makes the whole world around her more beautiful.

This is beauty.

I started to put a "this is not" image here, but I don't even want that ugliness on my blog. You know what it looks like: you see it every day.

So we live in a world where men don't know what honesty is, and women don't know what beauty is. Is there a correspondence? The ancients used to speak, before feminism, of corresponding male and female virtues. I think it was Spencer, for instance, who said that the chief masculine virtue was courage and the chief feminine one chastity. And I know it was Shakespeare who said "Can beauty have better commerce than with honesty?" Could it be that when men fail in one of their virtues, that women will fail in the one which corresponds to it? Courage and chastity, honesty and beauty, chivalry and modesty, protection and nurture. I wonder if there's a list by some ancient philosopher.

None of this is to say, of course that any of these virtues is exclusive--that men should not practice chastity, or that women cannot have courage. Just that those aren't their defining qualities.

Making Rachmaninoff Look Easy

My word...I don't think I closed my mouth through this entire performance.

Rachmaninoff can often sound choppy and unlovely, presumably because it's so difficult to play. But this girl is astounding. Preternatural.

By the way, if you keep hearing something you can't quite place during the second movement, it's "All by Myself". The guy who wrote it ended up having to pay the Rachmaninoff estate part of his royalties.

Waterhouse, Keats, and Couperin

WOMAN! when I behold thee flippant, vain,
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies;
Without that modest softening that enhances
The downcast eye, repentant of the pain
That its mild light creates to heal again:	5
E’en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances,
E’en then my soul with exultation dances
For that to love, so long, I’ve dormant lain:
But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender,
Heavens! how desperately do I adore	10
Thy winning graces;—to be thy defender
I hotly burn—to be a Calidore—
A very Red Cross Knight—a stout Leander—
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore.
Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair;	15
Soft dimpled hands, white neck, and creamy breast,
Are things on which the dazzled senses rest
Till the fond, fixed eyes, forget they stare.
From such fine pictures, heavens! I cannot dare
To turn my admiration, though unpossess’d	20
They be of what is worthy,—though not drest
In lovely modesty, and virtues rare.
Yet these I leave as thoughtless as a lark;
These lures I straight forget—e’en ere I dine,
Or thrice my palate moisten: but when I mark	25
Such charms with mild intelligences shine,
My ear is open like a greedy shark,
To catch the tunings of a voice divine.
Ah! who can e’er forget so fair a being?
Who can forget her half retiring sweets?	30
God! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats
For man’s protection. Surely the All-seeing,
Who joys to see us with his gifts agreeing,
Will never give him pinions, who intreats
Such innocence to ruin,—who vilely cheats	35
A dove-like bosom. In truth there is no freeing
One’s thoughts from such a beauty; when I hear
A lay that once I saw her hand awake,
Her form seems floating palpable, and near;
Had I e’er seen her from an arbour take	40
A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear,
And o’er my eyes the trembling moisture shake.

Writing about feminine barriers and reticence the other day has had me thinking of this piece of music, and so I thought I'd add some art and poetry to complete the image of the thing that's in my heart. No agenda: just in praise of feminine virtue. Nothing is more beautiful.

"Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised." -- Prov 31:29-30.

Monster and Bunny

Kitty

Indian Spirituality

I've spent a good part of the last week with a lady misionary from India. They take their spirituality seriously over there, and she's been encouraging me to do a complete fast--no water, nothing. I said it sounded medically dangerous, and she countered that that's kind of the point: seeking God and him only, and depending TOTALLY on him. And if you die, then you die--even that's up to him.

That last part has kind of sold me on the idea, and I'm thinking more and more that I might try it.

Ye shall henceforth be known as...

Punkin.

The Rain Song

This is not only one of my favorite songs, it's probably my favorite one to play on the guitar. It's in a special tuning only used for this song--DGCGCD, which gives the song its uniquely beautiful and haunting sound. I especially love playing the little walk-up and then the series of arpeggios at the end, and it closes with that last ringing chord that just lingers in the air.

"Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." -- Phil 4:8

Fatherhood

Strange, how I was just writing here a day or two ago about my regrets as a father. And then, this morning, I get a message from my son that says "I need you to teach me how to be as good a dad as you were, because I feel like I suck at it." Which gives me the opportunity both to try and apologize for my failings, and to help him avoid making the same ones.

I won't relate the whole conversation, but here's the thing I told him which has really been on my heart for a while now: "If I could change one thing, I would have been kinder. To you in particular. You were such a great kid, but you reminded me so much of myself that I had a hard time expressing my love, because I hated myself."

Of course, the fact that he cares so much that he's plagued with guilt over not being a good enough father just proves that he actually is a good one. So I guess, in spite of my mistakes, I managed to raise a good man: not only strong and courageous on the battlefield, but tender and loving to his family. That makes me happy, and a little bit proud.

Justin Vernon - A Song For a Lover Of Long Ago

The Wanderer - Johnny Cash & U2

Speaking of movie scenes that break me up...

Sometimes I forget what a great movie this is, until I watch it again.

Installing Samantha

If this was really available, I would totally buy it right now.

Peace

"And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." -- Phil 4:7

We moderns tend to think of peace in a sort of new-agey, pseudo-Buddhist way; as an inner state of calm that is unaffected by external circumstances. And it can have something similar to that application in scripture, taken in the context of trust in God amidst trying circumstances. But it means much more than that. In Hebrew, it is often used as an active verb; for instance, when Jesus pronounces peace upon his disciples or upon the storm. (It is written in Greek, but he would have been speaking either Hebrew or Aramaic, which is closely related to Hebrew). When it is used this way, it doesn't mean, "I wish you peace," but "Be at peace!" It is a command.

In other words, peace is something one has to work at. We're not commanded to have peace, but to do peace, if I may be permitted the expression. And this includes our relationships. Just sitting around trying to feel peaceful and harmonious with others isn't what we're called to do--we're called to go and make peace with them. "Blessed are the peacewishers" is not a beatitude.

Of course, one cannot force another to be at peace with him. But one can do one's own part to the utmost of his ability to achieve that peace. "If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men." -- Rom 12:18. Not just in an abstract, "Well, I wish him the best" sense, but in real, concrete terms. Christianity is not an ethereal, spiritual religion, but one of material, concrete realities. We could even think of peace between us as a sacrament; and that, I think, is what is meant by "the peace that passeth all understanding"-- not that purely mystical detachment, but the ability to truly forgive and live in love with each other. It's easy to wish someone peace and blessing in the abstract, while still harboring a secret grudge and cool aloofness. This is the sort of "peace" that is achieved by sweeping issues under the carpet rather than dealing with them. But it's hard to truly lay down our grievances, humble ourselves, and genuinely be reconciled. We're not really offered an alternative, though: "So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses." -- Matt 18:35

***edit*** It occurs to me after the fact that this could be taken as a "dig". It's not. When I write things like this, I'm mostly talking to myself. You know; thinking out loud, so to speak.

"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."

-- Matt 5:4

It just dawned on me what the spiritual law is which I sensed was in there somewhere in my struggle against hard-heartedness. It's this. ^^

In the kingdom of God, everything works backwards from the way we think it does in the flesh. If you cling to your money and things and try to become rich, then you forfeit the blessing of God's abundance. But if you pay your tithes, give to the poor and are generous with your family and friends, then God will bless you in ways you can't imagine. If you harbor hatred and resentment, and try to wreak revenge on your enemy, then you fill your own life with bitterness. But if you forgive and love when you're not loved, then God will repay.

And so it is with this: if you are grieved, then you should mourn. Because if you shut up your heart selfishly to try and protect yourself, then you're stepping out of the kingdom of God into the way things work in the world, But if you leave yourself open to pain, and offer it up to God, then He is the one who will comfort you. He promised.

"I wait for the LORD, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope." -- Psalm 130:5

Oh, the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus

You may ask what I've learned, or what I've gained, through all the prayer, agonizing, seeking, fasting, studying, and all that I've done over the last few years, since I've been writing here about my life. The answer is, This:

(Lovely performance; too bad the recording quality isn't better. They could have used a skilled sound editor.)

I will praise thee with my whole heart: before the gods will I sing praise unto thee.
I will worship toward thy holy temple, and praise thy name for thy lovingkindness and for thy truth: for thou hast magnified thy word above all thy name.
In the day when I cried thou answeredst me, and strengthenedst me with strength in my soul.
All the kings of the earth shall praise thee, O LORD, when they hear the words of thy mouth.
Yea, they shall sing in the ways of the LORD: for great is the glory of the LORD.
Though the LORD be high, yet hath he respect unto the lowly: but the proud he knoweth afar off.
Though I walk in the midst of trouble, thou wilt revive me: thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies, and thy right hand shall save me.
The LORD will perfect that which concerneth me: thy mercy, O LORD, endureth for ever: forsake not the works of thine own hands.

-- Psalm 138

1
Ah, Lord God, thou holy lover of my soul, when thou comest into my heart, all that is within me shall rejoice.
Thou art my glory and the exultation of my heart: thou art my hope and refuge in the day of my trouble.
2
But because I am as yet weak in love, and imperfect in virtue, I have need to be strengthened and comforted by thee; visit me therefore often, and instruct me with all holy discipline.
Set me free from evil passions, and heal my heart of all inordinate affections; that being inwardly cured and thoroughly cleansed, I may be made fit to love, courageous to suffer, steady to persevere.
3
Love is a great thing, yea, a great and thorough good; by itself it makes every thing that is heavy, light; and it bears evenly all that is uneven.
For it carries a burden which is no burden, and makes every thing that is bitter, sweet and tasteful.
The noble love of Jesus impels one to do great things, and stirs one up to be always longing for what is more perfect.
Love desires to be aloft, and will not be kept back by any thing low and mean.
Love desires to be free, and estranged from all worldly affections, that so its inward sight may not be hindered; that it may not be entangled by any temporal prosperity, or by any adversity subdued.
Nothing is sweeter than love, nothing more courageous, nothing higher, nothing wider, nothing more pleasant, nothing fuller nor better in heaven and earth; because love is born of God, and cannot rest but in God, above all created things.
4
He that loveth, flyeth, runneth, and rejoiceth; he is free, and cannot be held in.
He giveth all for all, and hath all in all; because he resteth in One highest above all things, from whom all that is good flows and proceeds.
He respecteth not the gifts, but turneth himself above all goods unto the Giver.
Love often times knoweth no measure, but is fervent beyond all measure.
Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what is above its strength, pleads no excuse of impossibility; for it thinks all things lawful for itself and all things possible.
It is therefore able to undertake all things, and it completes many things, and warrants them to take effect, where he who does not love, would faint and lie down.
5
Love is watchful, and sleeping slumbereth not.
Though weary, it is not tired; though pressed, it is not straitened; though alarmed, it is not confounded; but as a lively flame and burning torch, it forces its way upwards, and securely passes through all.
If any one love, he knoweth what is the cry of this voice. For it is a loud cry in the ears of God, the mere ardent affection of the soul, when it saith, “My God, my love, thou art all mine, and I am all thine.”
6
Enlarge thou me in love, that with the inward palate of my heart I may taste how sweet it is to love, and to be dissolved, and as it were to bathe myself in thy love.
Let me be possessed by love, mounting above myself, through excessive fervor and admiration.
Let me sing the song of love, let me follow thee, my Beloved, on high; let my soul spend itself in thy praise, rejoicing through love.
Let me love thee more than myself, nor love myself but for thee: and in thee all that truly love thee, as the law of love commandeth, shining out from thyself.
7
Love is active, sincere, affectionate, pleasant and amiable; courageous, patient, faithful, prudent, longsuffering, resolute, and never seeking itself.
For in whatever instance one seeketh oneself, there he falleth from love.
Love is circumspect, humble, and upright: not yielding to softness, or to levity, nor attending to vain things; it is sober, chaste, steady, quiet, and guarded in all the senses.
Love is subject, and obedient to its superiors, to itself mean and despised, unto God devout and thankful, trusting and hoping always in Him, even then when God imparteth no relish of sweetness unto it: for without sorrow, none liveth in love.
8
He that is not prepared to suffer all things, and to stand to the will of his Beloved, is not worthy to be called a lover of God.
A lover ought to embrace willingly all that is hard and distasteful, for the sake of his Beloved; and not to turn away from him for any contrary accidents.

-- Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ

It sounds strange, but I've never before been really, totally convinced that Jesus loved me. Intellectually, of course, if you'd asked me if he did I'd have said I know he does. The Bible tells me so. But I was never convinced in my heart that he actually did. I thought he just sort of tolerated me. You know, how you have some family members that you genuinely don't like, but you "love" them because you have to? I've always felt deep down that that's how God felt about me. After all, he knows everything about me. Yikes. And, looking at my life and how miserable I always was, I took that as evidence.

I had moments, where I felt differently. But then I'd always slide back into feeling like God's unwanted step-child. And I experienced divine love, of course. But I always redirected it to other people, because I didn't think I deserved it. What I'm trying to say is that I've been able to give love quite easily, especially over the last few years. But I've never been able to receive it.

But now, I am truly, genuinely, thoroughly convinced of his love. I live in it. It washes over me, like the song says. Astounding. 43 years a Christian, and I'm just now really getting hold of that most basic of truths. Why? Trust, I guess. He had to convince me that he loved me. Worse, he had to convince me to let him convince me that he loved me. Crazy. But his patience is as overwhelming as his love. Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free.

Dvorak and MacDonald

"But her chief pleasure was in her instrument. Her very fingers loved it and would wander about its keys like feeding sheep. She was not unhappy. She knew nothing of the world except the tomb in which she dwelt, and had some pleasure in everything she did. But she desired, nevertheless, something more or different. She did not know what it was, and the nearest she could come to expressing it to herself was -- that she wanted more room."

-- George MacDonald, The Day Boy and the Night Girl



I read this passage from MacDonald last thing last night before I went to sleep, and it was still with me when I woke up this morning. Then I heard the Dvorak romance just now, and they seem somehow to go together perfectly. I can see Nycteris the Night Girl practicing her virtuosity in her lonely cave, the only means of expression she has for the passions and longings buried deep inside of her. Not knowing what it is she's missing; not knowing what it is she's longing for; not knowing that sunlight, and freedom, and Photogen the Day Boy are waiting for her out there. And it sounds exactly like this.

Tchaikovsky and MacDonald

I love Sarah Chang's title for this album: "Sweet Sorrow".



“As in all sweetest music, a tinge of sadness was in every note. Nor do we know how much of the pleasures even of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths, although deepest truth must be deepest joy.” -- George MacDonald


There is no joy without sorrow--if you shut yourself off to one, the other goes as well. I know this well enough, but I have to continually be reminded. It's better to feel pain than to feel nothing at all.

Vaughn Monroe - I Wish I Didn't Love You So - 1947

Miserere mei, Deus

Johnny Cash - The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

Be Thou My Vision

I've been hearing this everywhere I go for the past year or so. I don't know where I first heard it, but it's got some profound association down deep in my soul, and it stirs me every time I hear it. Mysterious.

Bonhoeffer on Faith and Risk

“The new situation must be created, in which it is possible to believe on Jesus as God incarnate; that is the impossible situation in which everything is staked solely on the word of Jesus. Peter had to leave the ship and risk his life on the sea, in order to learn both his own weakness and the almighty power of his Lord. If Peter had not taken the risk, he would never have learnt the meaning of faith. Before he can believe, the utterly impossible and ethically irresponsible situation on the waves of the sea must be displayed. The road to faith passes through obedience to the call of Jesus. Unless a definite step is demanded, the call vanishes into thin air, and if men imagine that they can follow Jesus without taking this step, they are deluding themselves like fanatics.” -- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship

Just because "Look how beautiful my daughter is"

Army Veteran shot five times as he charged at Oregon college shooter

Forget Oregon’s Gunman. Remember the Hero Who Charged Straight at Him.

'He wasn't going to stand and watch something horrific happen'

Where do you find real men these days? Try the Army.

I'm not much for news, but happened across this, and this is my kind of guy. Hoo-ah. Way to go, brother.

New favorite movie line ever:

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just having a bad life. It'll be over eventually."

from People, Places, Things

Roy Orbison - In Dreams

U2 - Song For Someone

This is for Raymond. Most people have no idea how hard it is, buddy, but I've got your back.

For the rest of you...Ray is my friend from when I was working in the State Prison. I was teaching Adult Ed., and he was an inmate, and one of my teaching assistants. Staff and inmates are not supposed to be friends, but since when have I ever cared about rules? And he was a better guy than most of the people I worked with.

You hear all the time people passing judgement on these guys, writing them all off as just criminals. And how none of them ever really change--jailhouse conversions and all that. But Ray did change. Really changed. Got saved. Earned a high school diploma and an associate's degree. And finally, got out, went to work, got married, had a kid. But it hasn't been easy, and he's going through hard times again now. We talked about him staying up here with me for a while, but it's not in the cards. I'll be praying for you, though, and hoping that things are going to get better for you someday. You've been through enough, man. You guys think I've had a hard life...I'm not going to tell you about Ray's, but...Geez.

Yeah, they're criminals. Some of them are genuinely horrible people. Most of them deserve to be there. But remember, Jesus said, "Judge not, lest ye be judged with the same measure." And "I was sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not." I guarantee you this: some of these guys will be in heaven, and some of the people sitting in church pews will not.

I got the oddest collection of songs when I opened youtube this morning (it's one of the tabs that opens automatically--I like to listen to music while I'm working or whatever). But it was kinda great, so I made a playlist and thought I'd share it with you.

Would be nice if youtube suggestions could be taken as a reliable predictor of one's future. A new form of divination? Tubeomancy--show me your videos and I'll tell you your destiny.

Contemporary Composers

Posting about Arvo Part got me thinking about modern composers, and how I mostly dislike them. Every once in a while you hear something good, like Spiegel im Spiegel. But mostly I feel about modern "classical" music the same way I feel about modern "art": it's crap. There are exceptions, I know. And there's probably some good stuff going on of which I am as yet unaware. But mostly it's just ugly, stupid crap.

In both art and music, as in life, moderns have lost the ability to recognize and value Beauty. Along with goodness, virtue, truth, and pretty much everything else that really matters.

I actually think most of the good composing these days is being done for movies. John Williams, in fact, is responsible for my love of classical music. I remember the exact moment when I fell in love with the violin: I was nine, and I had borrowed a copy of the brand-new Star Wars soundtrack from my neighbor, after having seen the movie at the theater. I was listening to it on my little red-and-white checked record player by my bed, lying in bed with my eyes closed and imagining. And when it came to Leia's Theme, I was entranced: scenes of beauty, heroism, and love filled my imagination--and when those last, lonely violin notes played, they broke my heart.

Arvo Pärt - Spiegel Im Spiegel

I was watching a movie last night which had a little bit of this clip in it, and it reminded me of this, which I love and have watched over and over again. A perfect pairing of music and image: I look at all these people and think about how this was just an ordinary day of their lives, and how different yet the same the world was then. And how every single person in this video is now dead. It's kind of the same feeling as when I opened the refrigerator two days after my father died, and found his half-eaten Chinese takeout dinner, or my daughter who was telling me the other day how she keeps forgetting she's not pregnant. Life is here, and then it's gone.

What were their worries? What urgent business were they out on? Is the man rushing across the street trying to get to the bank to pay his mortgage on time? Is the woman strolling down the sidewalk in love? It all seemed so important to them, and now none of it matters...except maybe it does. Maybe the man paid his mortgage and was able to pass his farm to his son, who passed it to his, who built it into a successful family business that still runs today and provides for dozens or hundreds or thousands of people. Maybe the woman in love married the man who loved her, and their seventy-two great-great grandchildren are alive now. Maybe someone caught on film that day was the ancestor of someone who's going to cure cancer, or write a book that will change the world. Maybe one of them is my ancestor, or yours.

The Mysterious Distance

It's so hard to know what the right thing to say is. You see or hear things that make your heart leap for joy, fill you with love and hope. You think you know what they mean...but then you're afraid to be sure. What if you're wrong? What if you're reading things into it that aren't there? You fear to say too much, because you don't want to alarm or drive people away. And because you don't want to be an idiot and a fool. And you fear to say too little, because you don't want to hurt them or make them think you don't value them or what they've said. And because you don't want to miss an opportunity. And no matter what you do, it never seems to be exactly right, and you end up with distance and regret.

At least, that's my experience. It doesn't seem like other people have this much trouble with it--do they? Am I the only one who can just never get it right, no matter how hard I try, or how good my intentions?

You know what my idea of heaven is? Being able to love others and be loved without all this fear. I just want to love. That's really all I want out of life.

“Her heart - like every heart, if only its fallen sides were cleared away - was an inexhaustible fountain of love: she loved everything she saw.”

-- George MacDonald, The Day Boy and the Night Girl

Eternal Light Shine upon Baby Jackson

I received word this morning that my grandson, Jackson, has departed this life to be with the Lord, and with his cousin, Leslie, who preceded him a few years ago. His mother says she wants his very short life to have had some meaning, and not that it be as if he never were, so I am doing my little part to honor that.

She was knitting him a little blue blanket, to wrap him in when he was born, which now will forever be unfinished. And she says she keeps seeing him in her mind's eye as a dirty little boy with blonde hair and skinned knees. So that's how I will remember him too. And in my mind, he's a bit mischievous and hard-headed, and reminds me quite a lot of my son, Toby, when he was small.

I love you, sweet boy, and I can't wait to meet you one day.

Today is Bilbo and Frodo's Birthday!

Happy birthday, Messrs. Baggins.

I hate to associate my favorite book with those ugh--movies, being an unmitigated and unapologetic book snob and purist. But the music was good. The only consistently good thing in them.

This is a bit crude, but amusing.

I'm kinda liking this new art of manliness/backwoodsman/pipe-smoking fad. Seems I'm finally cool. Well, the fact is I've always been awesome--just the rest of the world is finally catching up to me.

Author, Author

Today I walked into Barnes & Noble and bought a book by one of my best friends.

Then I sat down and read it in one sitting, in the courtyard outside Panera--and was touched, impressed, and so proud. Yay, Maggie!

"I am weak and foolish, and don't know what, and I can't fend off my miserable grief! . . . I had some faint belief in the mercy of God till I lost that woman. Yes, he prepared a gourd to shade me, and like the prophet I thanked Him and was glad. But the next day he prepared a worm to smite the gourd and wither it; and I feel it is better to die than to live!"

-- Thomas Hardy, Far from the Maddening Crowd

It's Fall!

Opened the door to my back deck this morning, and was greeted by Autumn. What a lovely day. I wish I was going to church this morning.

Am I the only one who feels really bad for Martha in The Notebook? You know, the war widow he finds companionship with while he's going insane over Allie? Poor girl. That's why I'm so hesitant about dating--that's exactly how it would be. I've already done that to at least one girl in my life, and although she's brave and strong like Martha, and we're still friends, I know I've hurt her. I don't want to do it again.

Sure would be nice to have someone to keep me company, though. God, I'm tired of being alone.

Fiona Apple - I Know

Schwarzenegger on Strength

Lars and the Real Girl: Teddy Bear Resuscitation

I'm taking my own advice, and re-watching Lars and the Real Girl followed by Her. I just love this scene: one of my all-time favorites.

“Love loves unto purity. Love has ever in view the absolute loveliness of that which it beholds. Therefore all that is not beautiful in the beloved, all that comes between and is not of love's kind, must be destroyed. And our God is a consuming fire.” -- George MacDonald

Why Falling in Love is so Hard

From the move Hitch. 

I've got an old friend who's currently going through a breakup after being treated poorly by yet another man. And she's wondering why, as she puts it, "Women always fall in love with douchebags." And I sympathize, I really do. And I hate douchebags, along with pigs, cheaters, abusers, and generally all men who treat women badly.

But I, also, along with every other "nice guy" in the world, wonder the same thing she does: Why do you fall for these guys? Or, more to the point, WHY WON'T WOMEN GIVE GOOD MEN A FRIGGIN' CHANCE? It's as if the experience of falling in love, or the method with which the man goes about winning her heart, is more important than the substance of his character and the potential for the relationship. The book I'm reading, Far from the Maddening Crowd, is a perfect example. Of the three men who are in love with Bathsheba, Troy is far and away the absolute worst for her. Yet, predictably, that's who she marries.

It seems sometimes like, as Hitch puts it in this scene, the only way for good men to have a chance is to "trick women into getting out of their own way". In case you don't know the movie, Will Smith's character, Hitch, is a dating coach for men--kind of like those guys who supposedly teach "pick-up artistry", but he only teaches decent guys who want to win the love of one woman but who don't stand a chance without his help.

So here's my answer to my friend's question: it's because you're listening to the wrong voice inside you. Listen to your heart, and marry Gabriel Oak, the guy who makes you feel safe, and valued, and comfortable--the guy you keep saying you "only like as a friend". Or at least listen to your head, and marry Farmer Boldwood, who adores you and will provide for you, cherish you, and take care of you--the guy who you think you "could learn to love". But for God's sake, and your own, STOP listening to that voice that says "I'm waiting to by swept off my feet by Prince Charming". Because I guarantee you this: the only way a man gets to be that charming is by practice. And the only kind of man who gets that much practice is the kind of man who is never, ever going to be satisfied with one woman, or be any good at all in a real relationship. Stop focusing on the courtship, and start focusing on the marriage.

End of rant. Remember, in addition to being a man in love, I'm also the father of two grown daughters.

Genuinely Random Ramblings

The more I think about this idea of travelling the more I like it. I'm thinking now that I'll compromise: keep my pact with God about going back to school if my house sells, but maybe take six months or a year to do the rambling first. It would actually work out, as I really can't start now until next fall anyway. Since I'm studying languages, it would be hard to start in the spring semester when they're offering all the second-level language courses. I could see quite a lot in that time.

I've actually made some substantial progress on my writing: finally finished the complete plot outline for the story I've been stuck on for years. Also, I woke up in the middle of the night with "that voice" in my heart about a new non-fiction book. It's an examination of the Bible from the perspective that it's one big love story, with God as the pursuing lover and us as the resistant beloved. The idea is to take all the passages (of which there are very many) which depict God's relationship with us this way and tie them together with the kind of commentary and analysis I sometimes do here, and then bring in some things from the medieval erotic mystics and the metaphysical poets. I felt, that night, like He was saying to me, "Tell my people how much I love them." Which is a lot. It wasn't too long ago that I came to the staggering realization while praying that God loves me (and all of you) more than I love you-know-who. I knew that, intellectually, of course. But I never really realized it, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, if the house doesn't sell, plan B in my prayers is to really get serious and GET SOMETHING PUBLISHED. Enough fooling around, already. Geez. Even if I do go back to school, I'm going to keep trying to do that.

Also, if I stay here, I'm going to get back into theatre. Did I tell you I auditioned for a play a couple of months ago? They didn't cast me, but they took the time to write me a long note saying that they were very impressed with my talent, and wanted me to come and audition for them again. I agree with their decision not to cast me for that particular show: it was a very lighthearted piece, and I was Not At All in a lighthearted place when I auditioned. Macbeth would have been about right. Also, I still need to learn to sight read music. They were blown away when I sang, but I was no good when it came to group auditions and just picking up the sheet music and joining in. Could use a little dance training, too.

Today is day 15 of my 21-day fast. Sometimes it's easy and sometimes it's very not. I'm not really hungry, actually; I just want to eat. It gets tough, just hanging around the house and not eating, so sometimes I go out and get coffee and hang around downtown or something. But then I see all the restaurants and smell the food, and that doesn't really help either. I bought some peanuts today to feed to the squirrels, and came pretty close to falling into a binge-eating session that would still be going on right now. But I gave them to a homeless guy instead. He didn't realize that he was actually doing me the bigger favor.

I always lose muscle when I fast, and to be honest I kind of like it better. People stare at me when I'm really pumped up, and treat me with--I don't know, like respect or deference. It kinda makes me uncomfortable. That's actually a bit sad, isn't it?--maybe I won't look under that rock just now. Today some girl drew me while I was sitting and smoking my pipe on the mall. I've had people ask a couple of times if they can take my picture when I'm down there. I guess maybe I look like a character or something, lol.