all the western winds.

lately i’ve had one word constantly swimming through my thoughts: tension.

it seems to me that there is an inescapable dialectic in our existence. those two sides to every coin that make the truth seem perpetually elusive. a conversation that, in many cases, we continually have with ourselves concerning the nature of our existence, the nature of God, the universe, reality, etc. this dialogue is an invaluable aspect of our journey, usually serving as the reflection and re-evaluation of who we are, why we are here and how we’re going to live. always concerned with the next step. moving inches along on the path.

this critical conversation is one that many people choose to put off until they are back-against-the-wall and forced to face the issue at hand. it seems that, lately, my problem is that i am constantly engaging myself in this conversation and the resulting implications for lifestyle change are now long overdue. i cannot say with any extensive logic why i feel compelled to take certain actions other than my subjective interpretation and understanding of the truth found within the teachings of Jesus. for me they are undeniable. there are certain dogmas which we form concerning our style of interpretation when it comes to the Truth of God’s Word, as well as reality and the world around us. these dogmas, now illuminating the truth of karl barth’s choice of title for his work, kirche dogmatiks, are the individual pillars of faith that we build for ourselves. the catch is that we must constantly be in debate with ourselves as to whether these dogmas we erect mirror the teachings of Jesus. unfortunately, we busy ourselves with the figure of Jesus and tend to ignore His teachings.

for me, the truth of God’s character is His Love. and ultimately i think our conceptions of God are so small that they restrict life rather than allow and appreciate freedom. this is my main frustration with religion, the shrinking of God, the view of Him limited to the keyhole we fabricate in order to establish a system and an organisation for His worship. the truth is, I do not have the answer, I can only speak of the hope that lies within me, the hope that, in the end, it is God’s Love which triumphs over all else. over religion. over politics. over theology. over philosophy. over humanity and our silly lustful obsession with certainty.

wherever the winds blow, may God lead You in the direction He would have for you, rather than the direction You think you must head in.

the secret room under the stairs.

i’ve a quiet and hidden place of ideological residence where only my thoughts live, there in that secret room under the stairs. most often i lock myself away there. and for hours i sit and ponder, sometimes about great nothings and other times about those insignificant somethings, but most of the time i think about you. i try and fight cliche expressions concerning your nature. ridding my brain of such illusory claims taught by others. stripping away the worthless to find those truths of value. the ones that are simple, yet so endlessly complex and enigmatic in themselves. like love, hope, justice & peace. the sounds of constant thumping above as people travel up and down, up and down, up and down becomes rhythmic, uniform almost. they seem dull and lonely, without colour. but down here there is never a moment of mediocrity concerning you. each developing thought and dynamic perception are like new colours added to an evolving palette. in this secret room under the stairs i paint masterpieces of interpretation. upon the canvas of reality this subjective brush continually strokes to and fro with freedom. creating new works while retaining the memory and integrity of pieces from long ago. this is my studio and i am the artist. sometimes i frame pensive photographs or fashion sculptures of faith. here i can draw my doubts and colour them with curiousity. and as much as i create here, there is unceasing revision and editing to be done. for the canvas shifts without warning, the colours turn, and if one is not careful, the entire world passes in a blink. and yet, there is always time to pause amidst the tulmultous tide. when my thoughts set down their brushes and pencils and stare out across the horizon. even there, in that secret room under the stairs i watch the heavens with acute vision, dancing in time to that immortal & sacred rhythm. i think i’ll stay a while yet.

and the sun came out..

there will always be turmoil. a constant downpour of stress & situation. circumstances that seem impossible to escape. there will be worry and uncertainty. the splinter in the back of one’s own head, constantly trying to sort through the issue of survival. fear, of whatever it may be, shall always arise. and that feeling of complete inability within the overpowering world.

but all of this, the great and terrible sum of the equation of life, is temporary. not to speak of death, but of the periodic moments of sunlight on this cloudy planet. it is no analogy, but rather i should think it a proof that all things are quite similarly connected. the planet itself has gone through an individual evolution amidst the overwhelming cosmos. and perhaps i daresay that God himself has changed over the years and centuries. not a biological evolution nor a geological development, but rather an exponential increase in understanding love. the true sun whose light springs growth and life.

for it has been taught that God, who is Love incarnate, does not change. but this is nonsense when you consider the power He/Love has. for nothing, no person, who has experienced love was ever the same afterwards. that is to say that while God would have existed before humanity, He would certainly have undergone a great deal of evolution in His own understanding of Himself (Love) as a result of His interaction with humanity. and vice versa.

consider the ‘first’ humans living in paradise with Him. they, like the two year old who curiously touches the hot stove even after being told by their parent not to, disobeyed God and were immediately cast out of paradise. i suppose that if we follow the parallel of the two year old this would mean that upon touching the stove, the child was banished from the house for all time. now, legalities being what they are and morality being as it is, that is still quite a harsh punishment, wouldn’t you say?

so humanity lived on it’s own for a while. things got worse and worse. and eventually they were so bad that God had decided to destroy all humanity, except for one family and start over. quite honestly the largest theo-genecide (that is, genecide prompted by God) in history. but this time, something interesting occurs. and seeing the utter devestation of those He has destroyed, God makes a promise.

Genesis 8:21 ..and the LORD said to Himself, “I will never again curse the ground on account of man, for the intent of man’s heart is evil from his youth; and I will never again destroy every living thing, as I have done.”

so, even after all of that rain and destruction, that brutal vengence of a jealous God, the waters stopped pouring and the sun came out. now while one might argue that God continues to be a brutal and violent fellow, illogical and rash, i tend to think there are other arguments of greater quality which defeat them. we might say that a perfect God, who never changes or grows, might not really be the kind of loving God we’d previously imagined Him to be. but a God so deeply entrenched in His creation that it affects Him and might actually cause His understanding of Love/Himself to grow, i believe this to be the case.

the quiet.

i heard a man talking once about the feeling of jazz.
how the true rhythm hides in between the notes,
behind the sound.

how the beauty of bass & drums can be found
not in clockwork-like time, but rather in a sort
of abstract syncopation.

i’ve not since listened to a single beat of jazz
without remembering the man’s words.
i suppose it is due to the expectant allure.

waiting for the next note to be played,
not knowing what it may be,
simply allowing oneself to be carried with the tune.

not in nonchalance.
not as merely a spectator.
but actively listening.

and perhaps now i have even grown to take his words too far,
applying this interpretation of music to a further range of aspects in daily life.

for there is always an interactive balance between sound & silence.
both dependent upon each other for significance.
the deafening silences, the quiet whispers, the shrill scream,
the roar of laughter and the still pause. each of these play their part
in composing a symphony cuore e anima.

and when these organic and living symphonies begin to intermingle
with one another and contribute their own measures and notes,
an entirely new song is created.

a vibrant and robust orchestra,
dynamic and powerful.
and everywhere there arise individual phrases from within the vast ocean of sound.

some communicating the eternal,
others composing arias of love,
there are abrasive moments of anger,
brash measures of violence,
the staccato of children playing,
the durge of a funeral.
all of it, combined together.

and when you listen in between the notes,
behind the melody,
you might just hear those endless words.

words that have existed without time.
the eternal sentiments which are passed down through the ages.
continuing in immortality in the souls of men.

down deep within the quiet,
where love is softly whispered.

d. (the author & the queen)

there is, in fact, one particular person in this world who, while remaining nameless here, lives solely within the confines of my scatterbrained memories. there, she reigns. a queen of sorts. a ghost, someday she shall be, baking madelines each morning, rising with the sun. she is the subject of numerous attempts, and rather pathetic ones at that, of prose and simple poetry. she is my subject. and i am the author.

as i had found these previous mediums quite insufficient for describing this most beautiful of sovreigns, i resigned to merely write her temporary letters. those which last only the time in which they are written. being immediately consigned to the rubbish bin upon their completion. and i, the author and adoring ascetic, her most loving subject however distant or lowly, cannot find it within me to part with such obscure and abstract memories of that which i may have only imagined all the while. see, there are certain phrases and sayings which really should not be spoken of to queens. it breaks protocol, you see. not that i mind protocol, but rather that upon making certain sentiments known, one always runs the risk, as this humble author once did, of hearing them land deafly upon the ears of their object. because yes, even in foreign lands of memory and dreams, queens do not always requite certain ambitions and hopes. and when the lands of memory and dream are vacated, the world of reality in which we must all take part suffers greatly.

and so, this letter, one which i have decided not to delete upon completion, shall be the last. a quietly spoken sentiment, muttered even beneath the breath of this simple author, now drained of it’s silliness and grand illusion. a sole sentence that might serve as both period and ellipsis to a tale of quiet and overpowering adoration. come, be a ghost with me. and let the kingdoms of memory and dream find themselves wishing to mirror what might be here in reality, even in a world such as this.

and next to that small sentence, i should place a yellow flower unwithering for time eternal.

the sea-traveler.

i’ve no land; no house of my own. laying atop the quarter-deck.
kept awake by the mischevious constellations and their fated plans.
this moonlit insomnia is my refuge. cooled by the soft kiss of sea-water spray.
no course is set. the wheel left free. a ship at the mercy of wind & wave.

..come and float with me a while. at least until sunrise.

post-materialism on a thursday.

iron & wine is perfect for these overcast days when the sun itself has to fight through the clouds just to draw dull shadows behind trees and office buildings. i’ve set these computer speakers several feet from me in order to further the illusion of a single acoustic-guitar playing bearded folk singer sitting in the room with me. like an old friend, he continues playing on throughout the afternoon.

was sent a rather odd sort of link to-day to an excerpt from a rather silly sort of animated film. my great scheme to escape and remain quietly hidden always felt sort of doomed to failure. i suppose if it wasn’t for that silly sort of mis-spelling ‘ea’ i could give up a particular dream. however i think that is the simply the way it goes. it’s nice to see the carrot in front of one’s eyes, however distant it will always remain.

the spring months set such a lovely tone.
dreary grey skies and radiant colours like those in the oil-paintings.