spurts like this.

It usually goes like this - in spurts like this. I write like a crazy person for a little bit, and then the bit subsides. I wrote a song this week...just like that; no big deal. It's a pretty sweet song, I think. But, then...I wrote it, so I would think that.

I read like this, too. In spurts, that is. In high school, sometimes Katelyn would make fun of me cause I'd be walking through the halls with my head down, furiously reading the pages of some book. That's all I'd do for about a week. Read.

I've also been watching Joan of Arcadia as if the tv is going to explode soon; my roommate has the two seasons on DVD. It's wonderful. It's been a coping/healing mechanism for me, actually.

Einstein quote of the day: "It is my view that the vegetarian manner of living by its purely physical effect on the human temperament, would most beneficially influence the lot of mankind."

Ever notice how you do something at night, but during the day (not at day)? That would be really confusing to someone learning English.

partly

partly,
I'm all alone here.
People all around me,
but none are mine.
Half mine, but time steals.
Half mine, but time steals away the other half, as always.
A beautiful man here,
a beautiful girl there - all half mine, but not for long.

Is the memory worth it?
I can't know this.
I try to solve this puzzle.
Is the memory worth the pain?

Kairos to kairos I move.
Recall only those lasting things.
Forget all the rest,
though others remember and wonder where my head is.

It's in the clouds.
It's in the kairos.
It's with You,
with each person for a moment;
it's with You - far away with You.

You know all these people,
here and there,
break off a piece of kairos,
stick it in my head.
Heads up! Where did time go?
They're all gone.
Tasted things are gone - forever eaten.
All but You: You never go.
You never do.

Here I Am Again

here I am again,
standing, kneeling. fighting, appealing.
here I am again,
waiting for the time to come; it's so slow.
waiting for the occasion when the day will go.

here I am again,
waiting for life to be innocent again.
here I am again,
waiting for the hunger to subside -
to get tired of being hungry for ugly.

here I am again
pouring over fascinating things
piquing interest into deeper somethings.
testing on this memorization,
waiting for the tallied marks, the imitation
of character, efficiency, work ethic,
but actually inductive reasoning, always inductive.
the small's a window with dark glass.

and here I am again.
seeing those things others say aren't real.
knowing them. believing them.
waiting for them to be revealed.

here I am again.
through these halls again
at this table again.
pondering life and time again.
this blank sheet always offering relief here.
this pen and that pen always offering release here.

here I am again,
casting an angry eye toward the glass, resenting it.
but no matter; its time will come
when the day will go.

here I am again.
seeing through this glass.
here I'll be again.
there I'll go again,
where dark glass cannot live
and the time comes for day to go now.

The Sands of Time Are Sinking: Anne Cousin

The sands of time are sinking, The dawn of Heaven breaks,
The summer morn I've sighed for, The fair sweet morn awakes:
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, But dayspring is at hand,
And glory—glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land.

Oh! well it is for ever, Oh! well for evermore,
My nest hung in no forest Of all this death-doom'd shore
Yea, let the vain world vanish, As from the ship the strand,
While glory—glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land.

There the Red Rose of Sharon Unfolds its heartsome bloom,
And fills the air of Heaven With ravishing perfume:—
Oh! to behold it blossom, While by its fragrance fann'd,
Where glory—glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land.

The King there in His beauty, Without a veil, is seen:
It were a well-spent journey, Though seven deaths lay between.
The Lamb, with His fair army, Doth on Mount Zion stand,
And glory—glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land.

Oh! Christ He is the Fountain, The deep sweet well of love!
The streams on earth I've tasted, More deep I'll drink above:
There, to an ocean fulness, His mercy doth expand,
And glory—glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land.

E'en Anwoth was not heaven— E'en preaching was not Christ
And in my sea-beat prison My Lord and I held tryst:
And aye my murkiest storm-cloud Was by a rainbow spann'd,
Caught from the glory dwelling In Immanuel's land.

But that He built a heaven Of His surpassing love,
A little New Jerusalem, Like to the one above,—
"Lord, take me o'er the water," Had been my loud demand,
"Take me to love's own country, Unto Immanuel's land."

But flowers need night's cool darkness, The moonlight and the dew;
So Christ, from one who loved it, His shining oft withdrew;
And then for cause of absence, My troubled soul I scann'd—
But glory, shadeless, shineth In Immanuel's land.

The little birds of Anwoth I used to count them blest,—
Now, beside happier altars I go to build my nest:
O'er these there broods no silence, No graves around them stand,
For glory, deathless, dwelleth In Immanuel's land.

Fair Anwoth by the Solway, To me thou still art dear!
E'en from the verge of Heaven I drop for thee a tear.
Oh! if one soul from Anwoth Meet me at God's right hand,
My Heaven will be two Heavens, In Immanuel's land.

I have wrestled on towards Heaven, 'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide:—
Now, like a weary traveller, That leaneth on his guide,
Amid the shades of evening, While sinks life's ling'ring sand,
I hail the glory dawning From Immanuel's land.

Deep waters cross'd life's pathway, The hedge of thorns was sharp
Now these lie all behind me— Oh! for a well-tuned harp!
Oh! to join Halleluiah With yon triumphant band,
Who sing, where glory dwelleth, In Immanuel's land.

With mercy and with judgment My web of time He wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow Were lustred with His love.
I'll bless the hand that guided, I'll bless the heart that plann'd,
When throned where glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land.

Soon shall the cup of glory Wash down earth's bitterest woes,
Soon shall the desert-briar Break into Eden's rose:
The curse shall change to blessing— The name on earth that's bann'd,
Be graven on the white stone In Immanuel's land.

Oh! I am my Beloved’s, And my Beloved is mine!
He brings a poor vile sinner Into His "House of wine."
I stand upon His merit, I know no other stand,
Not e'en where glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land.

I shall sleep sound in Jesus, Fill'd with His likeness rise,
To live and to adore Him, To see Him with these eyes.
'Tween me and resurrection But Paradise doth stand;
Then—then for glory dwelling In Immanuel's land!

The Bride eyes not her garment, But her dear Bridegroom's face
I will not gaze at glory, But on my King of Grace—
Not at the crown He gifteth, But on His piercèd hand:—
The Lamb is all the glory Of Immanuel's land.

I have borne scorn and hatred, I have borne wrong and shame,
Earth's proud ones have reproach'd me, For Christ's thrice blessed name:—
Where God His seal set fairest They've stamp'd their foulest brand;
But judgment shines like noonday In Immanuel's land.

They've summoned me before them, But there I may not come,—
My Lord says, "Come up hither," My Lord says, "Welcome Home!"
My kingly King, at His white throne, My presence doth command,
Where glory—glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land.

• Anne Cousin wrote this based on the letters of Samuel Rutherford. Each stanza relates to a specific letter, and the numbers of the letters can be found here: http://www.igracemusic.com/hymnbook/hymns/t05.html
• His letters can be found here: http://www.portagepub.com/products/caa/sr-letters.html

A Fish Knows

A powerful man stands in his office, looking through the glass that makes up his wall, down onto all of his factory. The workers scuttle around packaging this, examining that, putting price labels on all of his ware. Of course, all of this is only his in the sense that he owns all of it. He didn't actually make any of it with his own hands. But at the end of the day, he gets the money for it, no matter whose hands toiled over it. He gets the money. He's the big dawg.

His eyes shift to a worker who skins the back of his hand on a conveyor belt. He cusses. He steps away from the belt. His mouth is moving; he's saying something. Or is he yelling it? He makes hand movements with motions stiff and jerky. His face is turning another color. He points up to the powerful man's office which, in the way of two-way glass, blankly reflects a crude, warped version of the factory around him. He yells something toward it which the powerful man barely hears, but to which he does not respond. The irate worker can't see anyone, but he knows who's supposed to be up there. He knows his position, that is, if he's ever even up there. A few workers turn their heads, but mostly, they just keep working.

The powerful man keeps watching. A counselor comes soon and gently sweeps the man away. He'll come back to work soon. It's all just a part of the business, taking care of his workers so they can keep making him money. If the measures he's set up for such outbursts don't work, he'll end up firing the irate worker. He doesn't want to do that. He'll have to find someone else to take the worker's place to do his work. But, no matter, he'll still get the money at the end of the day, because he's the powerful man. The powerful man uses his power to get himself money. He's good at it.

* * *

His Sovereignty is easy lately. It makes sense. My whole God-view has been redone, it seems, but it's been over a long period of time, hair by hair. He gets the glory no matter what. He is omniscient. He upholds the truth, so the truth is upheld without question. And the truth is that He is the big dawg, that He is the only big dawg. So the only possible outcome is that His name will receive all the glory. There is no alternative. In the New English Translation, my favorite version lately, God says, "I am God, and I have no peer."

It doesn't have anything to do with us, really. We see our world differently from how it is. In our world, we are the center. We see everything from one perspective, our own eyes. Some part of our anatomy frames every view - an outline of our own eye orbitals, a nose down there somewhere. We're the origin. And we see how the world around us is affected by our behaviors. We see how others' behaviors influence the world we live in. This is all that we know. John Piper said: "A fish cannot know that he is wet. All a fish knows is wet." Just so, we are really not the center. God is the center; He is the origin. God will get all of the glory, whether we are cooperating with Him or not.

I think that's what the writers were talking about when they said, "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." Your view is faulty unless you know who the big dawg is, unless you know that you're really not the center. There's a reason, though, that he says it's the beginning of wisdom. I'm convinced that it's because of love. Fear is the only response when we really get that God is supreme. But we know that perfect love casts out fear. And here is the bridge to this gap between two truths: His name, the one that gets all of the glory, is love. God is love.

Love gets the glory no matter what. Love is omniscient. Love upholds the truth, so the truth is upheld without question. And the truth is that Love is the big dawg, that Love is the only big dawg. So the only possible outcome is that Love will receive all the glory. And that is where we rest, where we dwell: in the paradox between trembling fear and sure love, all for the supreme benefit of His name. There is no alternative.

Kairos

I was watching this movie where these two guys were shooting free-throws. "1," the coach was shouting, "2, 3, 4, 10, 11, 12, 17, 18, 19, 27, 28, 29, 30."

That's not counting! That's not how it works. The movie writers were cheating. They were skipping through time, but do you ever envy them?

The movies can just screw up time whenever they want. They can pretend, for a moment, that time doesn't exist, that it's not holding us all back and ticking as we decay. They can pretend that it flies by when it should and holds still when it should, that moment after moment occur instead of minute after minute. They can run through time as if it's kairological. There's a pretty good link in the title about that.

My roommate bought the tv series "Joan of Arcardia". I've been watching it a lot lately. God says something about humans inventing time in the show. I've been thinking about that.

I read somewhere that Einstein said, "When forced to summarize the general theory of relativity in one sentence: Time and space and gravitation have no separate existence from matter."

Do you know what that means? That means that if there exists a place where matter doesn't matter, neither does time or space or gravitation. That means that I can fly.