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| january 2008 |
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| Coincidence | 4:47am tuesday, 29th january |
Incredible coincidences make you wonder. There was once when I was in a Korean Catholic church in Seoul, the one I attended pretty much every Sunday. It was one of those moments in the service when we were standing, my aunt and I, the aunt at whose house I had been living in. I looked down, and saw some coherent scratchings in the wood: we were inscribed there, written there in Korean, on top of the pews, drawn in unmistakeable letters: my name, and my aunt’s, exactly in the right position as to set these places for the both of us. Weird, wasn’t it? I didn’t think much about it at the time, and then I wondered something, what that meant; it was almost as if God was telling us, we were written in the Book of Life, that these names in the wood marked our places in Heaven. As I have written before, seeing as how these kind of things happen: it would be irrational of me not to believe. Science can lead to the miraculous.
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| Wanders | 7:10pm friday, 25th january |
It is in being alone where the mind wanders, island to island of thought. The fear still presents itself at times, that I am damned, that I am lost, that I have turned myself into the Antichrist through my weakness, that the world is crueler than I had ever imagined. Perhaps that last one is true, and items in the news bear me out on it, but then I think of one Philip K. Dick. I am so like him, and he once thought himself shut off from the promised salvation. But I know that he was a true prophet of the modern age, and like the thief beside the crucified Christ, one who is so definitely in Paradise. And then I am calmed, for I trust in the mercy of God. Not that He would spare me from my own cross, but to he who perseveres to the end, the eternal life of the saints. However lowly I am in the ranks of the saved. Hallelujah.
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| Machine Love | 12:23am monday, 21st january |
I thought of how a machine might love. Like a flurry of processes all relating to one subject, which they all flutter around, and are about, and which the concentration of its processing power cannot seem to have enough of this subject, that which courses through its mechanical synapses. And I wonder if that feeling of love that we have — if the machine did not feel it like we do, couldn’t it still be love? For is it not really that the feeling of love is the least of it, in these final analyses? For I cannot imagine that all that love is is a feeling that one is in love — like I imagine that it is as an incandescent light, which gives off light and warmth, and the light is the point, and if one felt not the warmth of it, the point would still be there. And I imagine that the machine who could love, that he might feel something completely different, completely alien to what we do. Yet in my believing, love is love, and love would still be love, even among such aliens: that a heart can come in any shape.
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| well | 12:57am thursday, 17th january |
where i wander, the moon dips down below the waterline
fire has danced between my fingertips, i have imagined magic
dreaming has knocked upon my door — blessed be, fascination
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| More Art Appreciation | 1:43am sunday, 13th january |
“Jerusalem”, by Anselm Kiefer. 
Click on this to get a larger version. To go with that “decay” theme.
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| whisper | 8:22am wednesday, 9th january |
the hint of her coming is as the moment fills with magic
the curve of her cheek a line between the real and dreaming
she is what a flower imagines itself to be in its fantasy
she lifts me with her eyes until i am drifting with the moon
her kiss is where time stops, eternity wrapped in her lips
her eyes are where the rose of fate blooms before me
where am i? so lost in that whisper that it is everywhere
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| Treasure | 1:38am saturday, 5th january |
I have glimpsed it at times, the treasure of great price, the treasure that better men than I have died for, the treasure of all ages, and ages to come. It is enlightenment itself, though no abstract zen wind, something that glows with such light that other awakenings are merest breaths that subside as the dawn passes. I have not seen the end of it, nor the beginning, but I know of where it comes and goes, and I believe. It is this I have fractionally seen, hints of its augury: in love, all things are one; and in love, all people are one. This was spoken of by the Savior that came and lifted from this realm: “love your enemy” is the poetry that my vision is the echo of. All people are one. And that where your treasure is, your heart is, also. All things are one. Yes, believe.
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| Happy New Year! | 3:01am tuesday, 1st january |
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine,
And we'll tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine,
But we've wander'd monie a weary fit,
Sin auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl'd in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.
And there's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o thine,
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne
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