tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66236108569128158322024-03-13T23:47:35.934-04:00Solitary WanderingsNot all who wander are lost. J R R TolkienCarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-83552601152199852462016-01-25T20:30:00.000-05:002016-01-25T20:30:07.821-05:00Somewhere, right now...Somewhere, right now,<br />A little boy watches a pilot stride through the terminal<br />And dreams of flying when he’s big.<br /><br />Somewhere, right now,<br />A pilot catches a little boy's admiring glance,<br />Sees himself and how far he’s come,<br />Stops chafing under the weather delay<br />Even though it will mean burnt roast for supper,<br />And recaptures his love affair with the magic of flight.<br /><br />Somewhere, right now,<br />A nondescript piece of luggage<br />In a dark, cold baggage hold,<br />After standing on edge for three and a half hours<br />Slowly,<br />Slowly,<br />Topples<br />Over<br />And thinks to itself:<br />That was so much fun<br />I wish I could do it again.<br /><br />Somewhere, right now,<br />A first officer guides his craft to landing,<br />Greasing it,<br />Garnering the compliments of the captain,<br />And, on disembarking, the commendation of the cabin crew,<br />And glows, even though the passengers were completely unaware.<br /><br />Somewhere, right now,<br />A passenger on a night flight<br />Curls up in her seat, glances out the window,<br />And is awestruck by the northern lights - filling the sky and<br />Dancing in the reflection on the wing.<br /><br />Somewhere, right now,<br />A captain prays<br />That this turbulent, low visibility approach<br />Will end<br />Before the low fuel warning signal sounds.<br /><br />Somewhere, right now,<br />A flight attendant serves a hot breakfast sandwich<br />To a harried, hungry passenger,<br />Receives a radiant smile of gratitude<br />And realizes once again why she loves her job.<br /><br />Somewhere, right now,<br />A baggage handler at a small tropical airfield<br />Wishes he could leave the heat <div>
For some place cooler -<br />But is interrupted by a sneaking suspicion<br />That he dropped his car keys in the baggage hold<br />Of a small aircraft that has long since departed.<div>
<br />Somewhere, right now,<br />An air traffic controller focuses,<br />Takes one last swig of coffee<br />As rush hour begins,<br />And the enormous, invigorating juggling act<br />Begins.<br /><br />Somewhere, right now,<br />A writer imagines he hears the music<br />Of an aircraft overhead,<br />Thinks of all the fun things happening to make it happen,<br />And wishes he could fly.</div>
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Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-29478151194446402802015-12-05T11:56:00.000-05:002015-12-05T11:56:38.602-05:00Joanne and Mr. Joanne<div style="text-align: justify;">
This old story should have been shared long ago. Before we get to it, allow me to introduce you to plane spotting.</div>
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Plane spotting is an obscure name for a popular hobby: watching planes land and take off. Sound simple? It is, initially. Its complexity rapidly increases, turning into a game. Variety and size is the ultimate goal; new or international airlines, new or special liveries, new, unusual, or large aircraft; the more variety, the better.</div>
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All sorts of things conspire against spotters. Tight security makes life safe for travelers but difficult for aviation geeks. Wind direction dictates your spotting location, for better or for worse. Winds aloft wreak havoc to arrival times. Weather can make all the difference. Warm and sunny is pleasant, windy and gusty is fascinating, cold and wet is miserable.</div>
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As I live less than two hours away from Canada’s busiest airport, I have been treated to some fantastic spotting. Provided the winds are right, the prime location is a Wendy’s restaurant situated near the threshold of Runway 23. A few highlights include catching Emirate’s Airbus A380, various airlines’ Boeing 787 Dreamliners, other “heavies” from across the Pond or the Pacific, and a Cathay Pacific Boeing 777 go-around on a short final approach. </div>
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Few things match the exhilaration of a massive jet roaring seventy metres overhead, the resulting rush of wind a few seconds later, and the smell of jet fuel and burnt rubber. Few things match the stimulating relaxation of chatting and waiting for the next plane to pass overhead.</div>
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Consider yourself introduced. Back to the story.</div>
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After spotting arrivals all afternoon, my friend and I moved to a runway-side location from where we could catch departures. Standing by the chain link fence, we watched aircraft whine by at full throttle, rotate, and thunder off into the darkening sky. Shortly we were joined by two others, a middle-aged man and lady, afterwards named Mr. Joanne and Joanne, respectively.</div>
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The lady commented on and questioned the purpose of the fence.</div>
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“Perhaps it’s electrified,” I suggested.</div>
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“Ooooh. What’s that?” she questioned.</div>
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The man explained, finishing with “…Joanne, Joanne, then anyone climbing over would get zapped. Shish kabob à la human body parts.”</div>
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“Ooooh.”</div>
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Mr. Joanne had a difficult relationship with his sweat pants. Gravity pulled and his girth pushed. Every few minutes, Mr. Joanne would hook his thumbs under the stretched elastic waistband and hitch his pants up around his belly button.</div>
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An aircraft lined up for take-off, and I strained my eyes to identify it. “Here comes a Lufthansa ay three forty. A three hundred,” I told my friend.</div>
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“Ooooh. What… h-how’s that?”</div>
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“Uh…” I said. How do you answer a question like that? “Lufthansa. Um. From Germany,” I finished lamely.</div>
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“Joanne, Joanne, that plane is flying to Germany.” Hitch, hitch.</div>
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“Ooooh.” Simple answer for a complicated question.</div>
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As the A340 lifted off, my friend commented on its early rotation.</div>
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“Ooooh. H-how’s that?”</div>
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“Well, it must have been light,” he replied. “Maybe it wasn’t full of people or bags. And when the aircraft is light, it uses less runway.”</div>
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“Yah, Joanne, Joanne.” Hitch, hitch. “They put all the bags at the back of the plane and then it takes off sooner.”</div>
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“Ooooh.”</div>
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In few minutes another plane accelerated down the runway, the logo light illuminating the stylized star on the tail. “Air Transat ay three ten,” </div>
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“Ooooh. H-how’s that?”</div>
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This time I was more prepared. “Ah, Air Transat. It’s probably flying to Europe.”</div>
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“Ooooh.” </div>
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But not overly prepared. I still felt relieved that my explanation satisfied the question.</div>
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A Boeing 737 roared past. “Joanne, Joanne, that’s the kind of plane we’re flying on to Punta Cana.”</div>
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“Ooooh. That’s a big plane.”</div>
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Hitch, hitch. “No, Joanne, that’s just a small plane. Really little. A big plane is the A380.” Turning to us he asked, “Did you know the A380 flies in here?”</div>
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“Yes,” I replied. “We watched it land this afternoon.”</div>
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“Oh wow,” he said. “That plane can hold 873 people! Joanne, Joanne, that’s a big plane. It has two floors. I get all my information from the internet,” he told us confidentially. “Joanne, Joanne, they have ten bathrooms on that plane.”</div>
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“Ooooh. Wooow, ten bathrooms!”</div>
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“Yes, and 873 people! And Joanne, Joanne, the bathrooms are on different floors. And the 873 people can’t go between floors.” Hitch, hitch.</div>
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“Ooooh. They must have to wait a long time.”</div>
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“There goes another 737,” my friend said.</div>
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“Joanne, Joanne, when we go to Punta Cana, we’re going on that kind of plane.”</div>
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“Ooooh. That’s a small plane, right?</div>
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“No, Joanne, Joanne, that’s a big plane. It carries 189 people!”</div>
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“Ooooh. And how many bathrooms?”</div>
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Hitch, hitch. “It only has one bathroom. Or two bathrooms. No, I think three bathrooms. But they’re all on the same floor and everyone can use them. And that plane holds 189 people. That’s huge.” Hitch, hitch. “Joanne, Joanne, that’s as many people as work at Wal-Mart!”</div>
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“Ooooh. As many people as work at Wal-Mart!”</div>
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“Joanne, Joanne…” Hitch, hitch.</div>
Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-2613395222351704902015-11-20T17:30:00.000-05:002015-12-27T21:18:26.335-05:00Death of a DreamA pinnacle, this dream to taste the globe;<br />
To savour, laugh and mingle, kiss and bow.<br />
Unreachable, immortal it became,<br />
A priceless hope beyond my grasp. But now –<br />
<br />
A lesser peak I’ve scaled. I’ve found in touring,<br />
Exotic flavours tend to common grey;<br />
The globe to shrink. The revered dream is maimed.<br />
Cathay and Rome are but a flight away.Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-41223550097988612722015-11-10T22:56:00.000-05:002015-11-10T22:56:31.161-05:00Hollow<br />Echoes of a keening loon<br />Reverberate through emptiness.<br />Lost.<br /><br />Tiny tendrils yanked and tangled.<br />Years of clinging, growing ivy<br />Dead.<br /><br />Abysmal freefall, where certainty once<br />Stood solid and secure.<br />Hollow. Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-57618485728173951242015-01-22T22:19:00.000-05:002015-11-22T16:54:58.321-05:00Treasure Hunt<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Poetry is both a telescope and a treasure map. Gaze through either end of the poetry
telescope; you will see things in ways you could never have dreamed. Follow
closely, decipher the directions, and the treasure map of poetry will lead you through
valuable experiences to treasure chest of thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-18245889535825710672014-07-07T19:15:00.000-04:002014-07-07T19:15:55.893-04:00You think I sing for joy<div class="MsoNormal">
You think I sing for joy<o:p></o:p></div>
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When in reality, this song is my lifeline of hope;<o:p></o:p></div>
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Faith’s final stand against the onslaught of despair.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My lips keep moving long since my heart has stopped,<o:p></o:p></div>
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For only in silence will doubt become defeat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You think I sing for joy<o:p></o:p></div>
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When in reality, this music is my marching song<o:p></o:p></div>
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For trudging on and on through dreary days.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thirsting for the more abundant life:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Resigned to the rain, yet longing for the sun.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You think I sing for joy<o:p></o:p></div>
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For despite the gloom, guiding stars gleam.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Storms do not last with their overcast,<o:p></o:p></div>
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But as day follows night and season follows season<o:p></o:p></div>
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So comes the calm.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You think I sing for joy<o:p></o:p></div>
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For the depth of the Father’s forgiveness<o:p></o:p></div>
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Is matched only by the width of His love.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And in my weakness,<o:p></o:p></div>
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He is Strong.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You think I sing for joy<o:p></o:p></div>
I do.Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-71059916479253315662014-06-04T19:16:00.000-04:002015-12-27T21:17:25.243-05:00Looking down into the sky...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Looking down
into the sky,<o:p></o:p></div>
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What is
there to see?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Whisp'ring waves reflecting on<o:p></o:p></div>
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The sunset's reverie. <o:p></o:p></div>
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An amber
line of languid clouds<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wrapped in dressing
gown;<o:p></o:p></div>
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A flitting
flock of feathered friends<o:p></o:p></div>
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Flying –
upside down.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Looking down
into the sky<o:p></o:p></div>
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What is
there to see?<br />
Two startled eyes, some flailing limbs,</div>
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And a
bobbing Tiffany.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-24820687773381798922014-05-28T18:21:00.000-04:002014-05-28T18:21:19.190-04:00Journey Through the Cosmos<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A reply to <a href="http://solitarywanderings.blogspot.ca/2011/06/journey-through-heavens.html">Journey Through the Heavens</a>. </div>
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Night
enfolds a drowsy world<o:p></o:p></div>
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In softest
solitude,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Darkness
opens on itself,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Infinite
heavens revealed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A thousand
silent, twinkling lights<o:p></o:p></div>
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Beckoning
through space,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Reach –
stretch – grasp a hold<o:p></o:p></div>
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And swing
into their midst.<o:p></o:p></div>
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From
constellations, loner stars,<o:p></o:p></div>
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To far-flung
galaxies,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wander
through the cosmic realm<o:p></o:p></div>
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Adrift yet
never lost.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Here a
different language speaks:<o:p></o:p></div>
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A language
of the soul.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ancient
wisdom reverberates<o:p></o:p></div>
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The music of
the spheres.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Entertained
by jolly jokes,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Amusing,
witty tales,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Revel in the
centuries<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of
camaraderie.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Catch a
comet back to Earth<o:p></o:p></div>
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Whispering, “Adieu.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Brush the
silvery star dust<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">That
lingers in the mind.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i>written 25 September 2012</i> </span>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-80014784806641784152013-09-17T08:42:00.000-04:002013-09-19T12:05:22.791-04:00Right BrainLoosed from
my left brain<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Floating in
right train<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of pensive, roving
thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Enter the
innerworld<o:p></o:p></div>
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Prism-ed and
beauty swirled,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Invited yet
unsought.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Living in
poetry<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Immortal
harmony<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Unspoke,
unheard, unsung,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Never
recorded be<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lingering infinitely,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ne’er
ending, ne’er begun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Climb into
someone’s mind<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Explore
their eyes, unwind<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The weaving
of their world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
See life
just as they see;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Feelings
unknown to me,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Unfettered
and unfurled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Pour out a
swig of sleep<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So drowsy
eyes will keep<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Locked in
freedom’s cage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Unharried,
drift about,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Never lost,
wandering out<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Of painting,
picture, page.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Don’t try to
capture it,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Left brain
will mangle it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
With intense
perfection.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Kiss it, let
freely roam,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Nevermore to
drag it home,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In
traitorous defection.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Embrace the
present tense,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Immersed in
every sense<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mingle, ebb,
and swell<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Deeper than
thought can go<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Impressions
speak and flow</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Sages’ secrets
tell.<o:p></o:p></div>
Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-57007639149349419072013-06-01T23:12:00.000-04:002013-08-25T07:14:12.890-04:00Moonnight<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dearest Wanderers, thank you for wandering far and wide - far enough and wide enough to wander back.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have caught a poetry bug - or it has captured me. This one is from a couple moons ago.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*****</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Moonnight<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The moon is
drifting, drifting,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
O’er the
world below,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The mist is
lifting, lifting,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Born of
glittering snow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The dancing
sprites of Northern Lights<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Are bending,
bowing low,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
While mist
is lifting, the moon is drifting<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
‘Cross the
glittering snow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The moon is
drifting, drifting,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Through the
ocean sky.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The stars
are sifting, sifting,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Pearls
floating by.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The hoary
trees, my whispering skis<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Like silver
echoes fly,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
While stars
are sifting, the moon is drifting<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Midst the pearly
sky.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The moon is
drifting, drifting,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Free from
ancient care<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The clouds
are shifting, shifting,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Shadows in
the air.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Elusive hue
of midnight blue,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Enchanting
unaware,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
While clouds
are shifting, the moon is drifting<o:p></o:p></div>
Through the shadowy air.Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-45340370826749276952012-12-31T11:22:00.000-05:002013-01-02T18:21:16.386-05:00Fool's GoldFears fill<br />
Empty thrill<br />
Ruptured by a broken will<br />
Tears trill<br />
Moving still<br />
Hovering o'er my window sill.<br />
<br />
Living die<br />
Firefly<br />
Haunted by its joyful cry<br />
Breathless sigh<br />
Truthful lie<br />
Underneath where stars are nigh.<br />
<br />
Small the vast<br />
Undercast<br />
Disillusioned by contrast.<br />
Future's past<br />
Drifting fast<br />
Interchanging first for last.<br />
<br />
Upward fall<br />
Solemn ball<br />
Choreographed with cheetah's crawl<br />
Dingy hall<br />
Lonely brawl<br />
Savouring the sweetest gall.<br />
<br />
Right or wrong<br />
Run along<br />
Perfect judgement from the throng<br />
Grinding gong<br />
Distance strong<br />
Dragging out the sorrowing song.<br />
<br />
Float aground<br />
Air bedrowned<br />
Tide is out - inbound<br />
Lost unfound<br />
Upside-downed<br />
Echoing the silent sound.<br />
<br />
Forceful slight<br />
Darkening light<br />
Guided by a tailless kite<br />
Temper might<br />
Lessen height<br />
Too polite for fight or flight.<br />
<br />
Fire's cold<br />
Spring's old<br />
Timid faces bluffing bold<br />
Tales untold<br />
Blind behold<br />
Memories of Fool's Gold.Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-91163501994167759832012-12-19T22:00:00.001-05:002012-12-19T22:00:27.540-05:00A Different Christmas Story<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have a Christmas story to share: my Christmas story. Or rather, God's Christmas story in me. This story didn't start this way. Only afterwards did I realize its meaning, deep, deep down.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Growing up in a Mennonite Christian home, God was a household name. He was everywhere: at school, at church, at home, and at my friends’ homes.
However, at thirteen years old, I didn’t understand Him or His call to become a
Christian. In fact, I refused His call because I didn’t recognize it. But
something quite indescribable nagged and festered in the back of my brain. I
could almost imagine it away. Almost. Except when I couldn’t.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Sunday sermons and kindly parents mentioned the call of God. He calls for entrance to your heart. He calls
everyone. It isn’t an audible call, but a call of the soul. In a sense, it’s a
terrible call because it is far from peaceful. Why, that’s exactly the way I
felt. But surely not. I
had heard how to accept the call many times. Pray to God. Tell Him
you’re sorry for your sins. Ask Him to forgive you. Ah, but that didn’t really
make sense. I didn’t think about my sins much. I wasn't that bad. Besides, who said God was calling me?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Something was wrong. I was unhappy and didn't know why. Falling asleep betimes was more of a nightmare
than sleep itself. I was depressed and horribly hollow. So I gave in. I couldn't rid my soul of its turmoil, so I asked Mum to help me. With her, I prayed to God for mercy and
peace. It wasn’t a “correct” prayer. It was a crude and confused prayer.
Somehow, I accepted God's call.
Somehow, He entered my heart and soothed my soul.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
It was a miracle. Even retrospect can't figure it out. However, morning came, and with it, the real world. What sort of dream had I had?
What figment of my imagination had conjured peace? It must have been a farce. My heart seemed a fountain of confusion. Weren't my troubles supposed to melt like mist in the morning sun?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
What I thought was a once-and-for-all transformation turned out to be the first step of a life-long sanctification. Through His church and the Holy Spirit, God started teaching. He showed me salvation is simple: just believe. He
showed me His presence isn’t an emotional high but a sustaining strength suited for real, everyday life. He showed me that it isn't His plan for my troubles to disappear. Rather they remain so He can reveal the Solution. Most
importantly, He showed me what grace really is. He showed me the stark truth: I
am a sinner. He showed me that I deserve to be shot dead; only His grace has freely
given me life. He showed me and keeps showing me that it’s not about what I
have done, but what’s been done for me.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br />
And that is God's Christmas story in me.</div>
Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-87489241018783662852012-11-10T22:48:00.001-05:002012-12-20T14:32:23.017-05:00Bits of This and That<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have no grand/confusing ideas to discuss. I only have a couple of unconnected details about my current life.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been channeling my literary endeavours into my English course, which leaves few moments or meditations for my neglected blog. However, studying poetry has been highly enriching. In the process, I fell in love with E. Pauline Johnson's poems all over again. Forgive me for mentioning her once more, but she's a genius. Here's a link to my current favourite of hers, called "<a href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-trail-to-lillooet/" target="_blank">The Trail to Lillooet</a>." Does anyone else want to travel to Lillooet?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Of historical note, did you know that William Shakespeare wrote his plays around the time of Henry Hudson's expeditions and Samuel de Champlain's establishment of Quebec? Which is exactly why I love history; I love discovering fascinating connections. And yes, I am studying a play of Shakespeare's. <i>Hamlet</i> to be precise. Perhaps I am more accustomed to his writing style, but I can actually make heads or tails out of this play.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Besides normal life, I've lived a bit of abnormal life. I was treated to a fantastic vacation in Alberta involving my cousins' weddings (as in there were two weddings, both involving cousins of mine ;). I got to fly! On an aeroplane! Flying shrinks my age 'til I feel like a little kid, except it lacks some of the thrill it once held. However, observing and learning new details nearly makes up for it. By now I have enough nerve to speak with the pilots as we disembark. One copilot's dazed reaction to a question left me wondering whether the question was surprisingly intelligent or especially stupid. Or perhaps he was simply distracted by his girlfriend's messages, for he had been using his cell phone. One can never be completely sure...</div>
Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-72280911212080907312012-09-14T22:16:00.000-04:002015-11-22T16:26:14.724-05:00Of Age and Time<div style="text-align: justify;">
I thought I enjoyed aging. My impressions have told me that, for some people, aging is a fearful thing. I never really understood and felt slightly alienated by the difference. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For some people, childhood was a utopia; one long, carefree summer vacation. Life sprouted complexities during teenage years, but energy eloped with beauty, providing plenty of excitement. However, between young adulthood and seniorhood, something changes. Perhaps it's the mortgages and minivans. Whatever the case, old age appears as Hitler himself. Once again physical beauty has eloped. Even the eyes of the beholder struggle for a glimpse. Glasses are mistaken for protective, bullet-proof devices. Hair and hearing become endangered species, while original joints are altogether extinct. Teeth have attained the status of the stars: they come out at night. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't anticipate diapers and denture glue; I simply view aging differently. Age is beautiful, for age brings wisdom. While physical beauty declines with age, wisdom only grows stronger and more beautiful each day. Age provides wisdom to appreciate small things. Age provides wisdom to extract every ounce out of life. Age provides wisdom to live more fully.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Or so I thought. I'm not so certain now. You see, age also brings change. Sometimes change is fun; sometimes... it's not. Whether good or bad, life can never be the way it was.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I recently experienced a most curious encounter with time. I was wandering outside at night, under a beautifully clear sky. I raised my hand to obscure the rising moon, when I heard it: a steady tick... tick... tick. Irony of ironies, I thought. Lost in the unchanging timelessness of the heavens, I listened to single seconds silently slipping away - never to return.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"What day is it?" asked Pooh.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"It's Today," squeaked Piglet.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"My favourite day," said Pooh.</div>
Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-44802153984732320912012-08-09T23:26:00.000-04:002012-08-09T23:29:14.144-04:00Destination: Nostalgia<div style="text-align: justify;">
Beware of the rampage. Consider yourself warned.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I recently visited the drainage ditch behind our place, officially called The Creek. I was awed by the incredible biodiversity. All types of plants, bushes, flowers, rushes, and grasses grow in or along The Creek. Plus, there are singing insects and their less musical relations; the frogs and their slimy, bubbly noises; and all sorts of watery creatures that I didn't see, but knew were there anyway.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The orderly randomness of nature fascinates me - but it's exceedingly difficult to describe. Essentially, whatever grows best, lives. How can beauty arise from mere competition? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Parts of The Creek were completely overgrown with flowering bushes. Hidden were the steep banks, hidden were the flowing contours, hidden was the very water. Partially hidden were some sort of red berries that I would have <i>killed</i> for as a kid. And so the journey to nostalgia begins.<br />
<br />
Large bushes are a monument to passing time. They never had a chance to grow while certain young boys were on the move. Mighty waterworks we built: large-scale dams, locks, reservoirs, islands, and dredging projects. These grand constructions, however, were products of cognitive maturity. The history of The Creek began years before our brains bloated. The history of The Creek began with a curiously endless succession of muddy pants.<br />
<br />
The Creek's entertainment started with its wildlife: both human friends and animals. We were captivated by trying to capturing everything we could: frogs, tadpoles, minnows, crayfish, and even a snake or two. On bold and blood-thirsty days, we armed ourselves with sling-shots and obscure plant bulbs (don't ask me to explain) and set out frog hunting. Luckily for the frogs, our aim was atrocious.<br />
<br />
Depending on who you ask, age brought compassion. In this case, it meant tormenting frogs instead of attempting to murder them. We were geeks from the get-go. Cutting-edge technology in the form of odd bits of PVC pipe revolutionized our fun. Bopping frogs on the head grew boring swiftly. A new method involved carefully sucking the pipe full of water and blasting a frog with a tremendous water canon salute. Another favourite was placing the end of the pipe directly beneath a frog and levitating it by blowing bubbles like mad. Fortunately for us, the frogs were too stupid to find a new location along The Creek.<br />
<br />
Although summer brought the highlights, winter could be great fun. Well, except for a singular sledding incident. My older siblings constructed a great snow jump on the steep bank - and were too chicken to try it themselves. So yours truly was stuffed squalling into a small sled and shoved heartily down the slope. <i>They</i> thought it was fantastic. My tongue, on the other hand, suffered from a close encounter with my teeth. As you can see, the term "compassion" is rather ambiguous.<br />
<br />
The past wasn't without terror - maybe the rustling in the grass was something <i>more</i> than a muskrat! But as I wandered and remembered and relived, I smiled. The memories I have forgotten remain forgotten, for I can't remember that I have forgotten them. My journey ended as I considered nostalgia of itself.<br />
<br />
As we know, events happen before nostalgia happens. What would happen if we would switch the two around; have nostalgia before the event happened? What are those feelings of "having been here before" or "having experienced this previously," even though you can't remember when or how?<br />
<br />
I have heard the thought that heaven is like earth, only far more real. (And perfect, obviously.) How can something be more real than the reality we live in? But maybe it's this way: maybe the reality we live in now is just the nostalgia. Maybe the love, joy, and peace we experience here feels faded by time in comparison to heaven's reality. Maybe the real event is yet to come.<br />
<br />
Am I crazy? Quite likely. But whatever you do, don't hold me responsible for ideas encountered through nostalgia.</div>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-88261153817406430022012-07-24T23:11:00.001-04:002012-07-24T23:29:34.856-04:00Genius<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I recently read a compilation of articles by Albert Einstein, titled <i>The World As I See It</i>. Remarkably, this book excludes all mathematical and scientific writings, simply because we're too dumb to catch on. In fact, most people are too ignorant to realize they're too ignorant to understand his theory. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Years of study are required to understand all the technical terms, much less the concepts they represent. Comprehension of his theory of general relativity won't fully reveal his genius. Only after one digs through science history to discover what knowledge he had to begin his journey; only after one walks in his mental footsteps; only after one comprehends the "before" and "after" pictures; only after one views and understands the progress his theory made - only then can one more fully grasp his intelligence.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However, this book reveals a more personal side. His sense of responsibility towards his fellow humans amazes me. In his perspective, all that he had - including knowledge and relative ease of lifestyle - was a gift from previous generations. Therefore his responsibility with these gifts was to improve them for the proceeding generations. He writes, "The life of the individual has meaning only in so far as it aids in making the life of every living thing nobler and more beautiful." His foremost desire was to make the world a better place.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At least, that's what I understood from the book. I haven't encountered so many new, big words since Wordly Wise in my school days. (Doesn't that make me sound old?) Never underestimate the effect a single word has on a paragraph. Apparently "anthropomorphic" - er - didn't mean quite what I thought it did.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
No need to idolize the man, but the mysteriousness of his theory only increases my awe. However, I must admit I admire genius. I see its streaks in the people I encounter every day. And I marvel at it, wondering if they know it too. For I think when God creates people, he only makes geniuses.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I guess I'm pretty stupid - not in a derogatory way, but simply facing the facts. I think it's okay to be stupid, for God doesn't mind so much. Rather, I think He prefers me - us - that way. Cause when we lose our knowledge, then He becomes Wisdom. </div>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-89492472140535180302012-07-16T22:40:00.000-04:002012-07-16T23:22:30.612-04:00Swiss Cheese<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
...vowing that this one would be different. This blog wouldn't fizzle out like so many others. I would stick to it and continue posting. Only I didn't, as you can see. Hark! The sound of crunching as I eat my hollow words.<br />
<br />
It hasn't been from lack on ideas. No, they have perpetually bubbled from the great artesian aquifer of Thought. Perhaps the abundance of ideas has churned into a marsh I dare not trust. Other things fill my days. Books to read, routes to ride, obligations to fill, and, of course, work. What would we do without work?<br />
<br />
Not work, perhaps?<br />
<br />
Ho, ho, so silly. Thank you, smarty pants.<br />
<br />
Please excuse us for a moment.<br />
<br />
Wouldn't it be wonderful to write full time? Devote every day to the craft, instead of only the spare moments. Forget about work. Hide away from annoying interruptions. Find a houseboat home. Enjoy writer's high - and writer's perspective - every day.<br />
<br />
Writing is shockingly similar to painting. I prefer realism when it comes to painting, although I admire all styles (excepting cubism, of course). My limited experience has taught me that everything is never as it seems. Let's pretend we are painting a picture that contains a door. Everyone knows that doors have square corners. Okay, so let's ensure the door we are painting has square corners.<br />
<br />
Except not so fast. Depending on the perspective, the door we are painting might have very un-square corners. Therefore, to create a realistic reproduction, we must paint exactly what we see - not what we think we see.<br />
<br />
In writing, the picture becomes an idea and the paints become the words. The difficulty lies in "painting" the idea how it actually is, not how one thinks it is. The difficulty lies in choosing concise words that portray no more, no less, than the original. How often do figurative doors contain square corners, simply because I have<br />
mis-chosen words.<br />
<br />
Differences of perceptions always form; misperceptions always form. This is simply a product of perspective. Ironically - there is <i>always</i> a flip side - these differences and errors produce refreshing individual style, both in painting and writing. The artist's signature appears through the very inconsistencies of which they are unconscious. Yet the term "inconsistencies" is purely subjective. Who can rightly judge one perception as more nearly correct than another? However, when striving for excellence and all realism flees, humour covers a multitude of sins.<br />
<br />
Back to the writing dream, I'm afraid it is an illusion. After all, a dream is purely a vacation from reality. To spend time in recluse is to cut oneself off from reality. And how could one portray - and discover - reality when they are isolated in an artificial world?<br />
<br />
Dreams are fantastic, but I'm afraid this one is Swiss cheese - full of holes. Yet very well aged.</div>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-25018132161815129182012-04-28T23:31:00.000-04:002012-04-28T23:45:29.160-04:00Introvert's Hour<div style="text-align: justify;">
There should be a law! A law against driving fast during introvert's hour. Punishable with death. Well, maybe not that last part.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some people refer to it simply as evening. Others call it twilight, or dusk, or even "the dim." One song I know calls it sunset hour. But I've named it Introvert's Hour.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some days, quite a few actually, just whistle past. A flash, a gust of wind, and then bye bye. And I get tired of trying to keep up. (No I'm not a senior - yet ;) I wish people and things and places would slow down to a half reasonable pace for once. But other people thrive on seemingly break-necked-ness, so I suspect I'm out of luck. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the midst of this hypersonic hubble double bubble appears introvert's hour. The rushing and jostling slows. The pounding and screeching softens. The spinning stops. My highlight is the day's lowlight.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Each one is a masterpiece. Each one is original. Miss one and you've missed it forever. Colourful is an understatement. Bold streaks; tiny blushes; intricate details. No harsh, glaring colours of midday, but soft colours, pastel colours, and <i>married </i>colours. They dance on the clouds, float through the very air you breath, rest in the shadows, and radiate out, out, out - 'til they die the east. Mind you, this is only the backdrop.<br />
<br />
Enter the sanctuary of splendor. Silent, except for the earth's ethereal lullaby. Still, except for a slow slide to the east. Here you are free. Free from the interruptions of companions. Free to be alone. To be s l o w . To be quiet. To ponder deeply. To recount sadness. To clutch goodness for fear it won't return. To revel in cool winds and warm clothes. To listen to the beating of your heart. To weave dreams into reality. To whisper with Him who loves you. To marvel at mercy. To drowse. To savour the extravagance of life. To delight in small pleasures. To do things, just for old times sake. To cackle over particularly corny jokes. To do sweet nothing - simply because you can. And, of course to drive slowly.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then it's gone. A vehicle whizzes by, far too rapidly. Natural light fades. Fake light flares. The world throttles up.<br />
<br />
Introvert's Hour - cause it's typical introversion; typical introverted recharging. For the through-and-through's, for the half-and-half's, for the mostly-extroverted-with-a-wee-corner-of-introversion. Give it your own name. Call it what you will. But if it happens while I'm driving, just smile as I putter past.</div>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-12116805306426741612012-04-12T16:11:00.001-04:002012-04-12T16:11:09.018-04:00Good Day - Bad Day<div style="text-align: justify;">
Have you ever wished someone a bad week? No, I don’t mean to one of those people who make life difficult. I mean to a good friend. I haven’t
either. But sometime, I just might.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Recently, one of my friends wished me a good week. I feel
special that they cared enough to tell me. But it set my mind to turning.
Suppose, just for once, we’d have a perfect week. Everything would run
smoothly. We wouldn’t feel overwhelmed or overstressed. We’d get along with
everyone perfectly. What a smashing week! Let’s have another one! And so we would. And another and another and
another. Some people might love it, some people might become bored, I’d say,
“Where’s God?”<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Cause I’m not perfect and I doubt you are (yet), so perfect
weeks are beyond our realm. We may as well accept it: we’re going to face days
that don’t run smoothly. We’re going to feel overwhelmed <i>and</i> overstressed. We won’t get along with everyone perfectly. What
a smashing week – not in a good way.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So where is God in our lives? When tempers flare and words
burn; when stress towers above us; when time denies us a slightly sane pace;
when we jerk at the end of our rope. Is He standing off on the sidelines? Or is
He in the thick of things, helping us, holding us? It’s our choice. Jesus says
“My grace is sufficient for you: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”
(2 Corinthians 12:9) <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Perhaps those dreadful days have a purpose. Perhaps stress
is an invitation directly from Christ. Instead of trying to plow through on our
own limited strength, God wants us to tap into His unlimited, unfathomable
power. That is not to say the bad day will magically disappear. That is not to
say the bad day will become a walk in the park. That is to say we will endure, for God will never stop
helping and holding us. To the Almighty One, more stress for us means more
strength from Him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So do I dare? Yes! I think I do. I won’t go so far as to
wish you a bad week. Instead, I hope you have a good week with a one or two bad days – so God
can reveal Himself and His power to you and those around you.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-57915381026238658972012-04-06T09:17:00.000-04:002012-04-12T16:35:16.814-04:00How Long?<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">I was wandering through the moonlight a couple nights ago. You know those power poles with the cross bar on top? It's shadow stretched across my path and caught my eye. There, in the silvery light, I saw a cross as I'd never seen one before. I wish you could have seen it too. It was ugly. It was menacing. Yet beautiful, all at the same time. Sometimes I wonder if I even begin grasp the slightest idea of the greatness of God's love.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">I keep coming back to this poem ever year. :') It's so </span><span style="text-align: justify;">poignant</span><span style="text-align: justify;">.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
“How long must I put up with you?” </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jesus’ actions answered his own question . . . </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Until the rooster sings </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and the sweat stings </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and the mallet rings </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And a hillside of demons smirk at a dying God. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How long? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Long enough for every sin </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to soak my sinless soul </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That heaven will turn in horror </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Until my swollen lips pronounce the final transaction: </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“It is finished.” </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How long? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Until it kills me. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Max Lucado</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
from <i>A Love Worth Giving</i></div>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-83661259976080738562012-03-07T21:55:00.000-05:002013-06-04T08:55:53.079-04:00Deep Riches<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was shutting down for the night, resting with my Bible in my hand, when a thought struck me: there's nothing like the Bible to put me to sleep. I reflected on this statement; comforted. Then the irony washed over me. As if! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As if the Bible was light, superficial reading. As if the words of the Majestic One could bore my little mind. As if God's Book is the type that drones on and on until I drift into la la land. As if the Maker of the unimaginable could fail to tickle my finite imagination. As if! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I consider God's glory and unlimited power, I wonder how His Word could fail to inspire. Then I look at my weakness, and, well, you know how it goes. For if you are like me, not every verse is a rocket-ride revelation. If you are like me, the Bible lies within reach - and too often, stays there. Exciting things fill my mind. My computer keyboard becomes shiny and polished from use, while my Bible remains shiny and polished from lack of use. Maybe, maybe it is time for a new perspective of God's Word. Perhaps I could fill my mind with a different, singular Exciting Thing. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have a quick exercise for you. It will take but a second. Find your Bible and pick it up. Hold it for a moment. Just cradle it in your hands. Please be careful, for you are holding part of God. That binding, those thin pages, most importantly, the words - contain part of God! And since your Bible is in your hands anyway, I'll let you find the origin of this thought: the very first verse of John. Isn't it a miracle that God would trust us with something so precious? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, what about those times when God's Word seems rather, I don't know, stale? What do you do when God's love letter stops communicating His love? I'm afraid I haven't found a definite answer either. However, there seems to be a certain mystery about the Bible. After all, aren't God's ways higher than our ways; His thoughts higher than our thoughts? Yet "thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones." (Isaiah 57:15) For "an highway shall be there... for wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein." (Isaiah 35:8) </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
God's Word doesn't have to be complicated. He made it for people like you and me. Read God's Word, because I think He wants and waits to talk to you. In fact, I think that He wants to talk to you so much, He can hardly wait for you to give Him some time. I also believe that in waiting - quietly - for Him, He will speak. Perhaps just a little is enough. For I've begun to view God's Word as the Israelite's manna in the desert: enough sustenance for one day. After that, we get to - <i>get</i> to - have some more. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jesus encourages us: "Ask and it shall be given you, seek and ye shall find. Knock and it shall be opened unto you." (Matthew 7:7) Read your Bible. Just start wherever. On second thought, I wouldn't recommend the lists of names in 1 & 2 Chronicles. Then again, knowing God and His surprises... So go, search out His ways. Hang on tightly! It's quite a ride as He reveals "the depth of the riches both of the knowledge and wisdom of God! [for] unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!” (Romans 11:30) </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Irony of ironies, as God’s presence fills you, His Word just might lull you to sleep. Whether faith or doubt fill your mind, God's power does not change. Whether a storm is beating against your house or your heart, God’s promises remain the same. Rest in His loving words: “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.” (Isaiah 41:10)</div>
Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-73743509758203619202012-02-11T15:19:00.000-05:002015-11-22T16:30:07.085-05:00Camaraderie of Literature<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have a delightful, insightful passage to share with you. It comes from the book titled <i>The Master's Violin</i> by Myrtle Reed. An excellent read if there ever was one.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm fascinated by the physical book itself. Copyright in 1904, it is over one hundred years old! My mind wanders through the history of this span of time. The paper and binding that I hold in my hand has survived the mistaken glory of World War I. It escaped the perilous, penny-pinching poverty of the Great Depression. Then it soldiered on through the next global conflict: World War II. In fact, it was forty years old by the time the atom publicly unleashed its astronomical power. Danger wasn't past. Its next foe was subtle: consumerism. The post-war economic success ruled: if it's old, junk it and buy a new one. And still it lived on. Today it combats the digital revolution. Liquid crystal is the new paper and binding. And just this morning, it was bombed by cinnamon roll icing. A certain careful reader wasn't quite careful enough.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I love to wonder where this book has been. Whose bookshelf has it sat in? Whose hands have held it? Whose mind delighted in its semi-philosophical lapses? Perhaps someone... No, to begin would only lead further from the paragraphs I am unsuccessfully trying to share.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So here you are:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Of the things that make for happiness, the love of books comes first. No matter how the world may have used us, sure solace lies there. The weary, toilsome day drags to its disheartening close, and both love and friendship have proved powerless to appreciate or understand, but in the quiet corner consolation can always be found. A single shelf, perhaps, suffices for one's few treasures, but who shall say it is not enough?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"A book, unlike any other friend, will wait, not only upon the hour, but upon the mood. It asks nothing and gives much, when one comes in the right way. The volumes stand in serried ranks at attention, listening eagerly, one may fancy, for the command.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Is your world a small one, made unendurable by a thousand petty cares? Are the heart and soul of you cast down by bitter disappointment? Would you leave it all, if only for an hour, and come back with a new point of view? Then open the covers of a book.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"With this gentle comrade, you may journey to the very end of the world and even to the beginning of civilization. There is no land which you may not visit, from Arctic snows to the loftiest peaks of southern mountains. Gallant gentlemen [and ladies, of course ;] will go with you and tell you how to appreciate what you see. Further still, there are excursions into the boundless regions of imagination, where the light of dreams has laid its surpassing beauty over all.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Would you wander in company with soldiers of Fortune, and share their wonderful adventures? Would you live in the time of the Crusades and undertake a pilgrimage in the name of the Cross? Would you smell the smoke of battle, hear the ring of steel, the rattle of musketry, and see the colours break into deathly beauty well in advance of the charge? Would you have for your friends a great company of noble men and women who have wrought and suffered and triumphed in the end? Would you find new courage, stronger faith, and serene hope? Then open the covers of a book, and presto - change!"</div>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sounds a bit like God's Book, doesn't it?</div>
Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-19356950127932661192012-01-12T09:37:00.000-05:002012-01-12T09:37:38.543-05:00Sky Scrawl<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am sorry that they missed it so completely.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They were inside where the biggest star was the one who could say the funniest things. I happened to be outside where the biggest star was the One who "tells the number of the stars, and calls them all by their names." (Psalm 147:4)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Don't take me wrong. I think relationships are one of the most important, lasting, fulfilling things in life. But like all introverts, I sometimes tire of an incessant cacophony of jokes. Okay, okay, I admit I was slightly miffed. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It had been overcast all night. I knew what was up there if only the clouds would roll away. I knew it was new moon. I knew the world's greatest light show was happening - only the curtain was still concealing it. So I waited patiently. Well, I thought I knew what was happening. I returned outside. The curtain of cloud had rolled away. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Awe.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The sky was on its nightly rotation. Millions upon millions of stars. Jupiter, Pleiades, Orion, Sirius, and Cassiopeia arrayed as only they can be. Their friendships seemed deep and ancient, reaching back to "when the morning stars sang together." (Job 38:7)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The ageless beauty always surprises me, but something else was waiting. It was a message. The size of the letters weren't measured by pixels, but by light years. The power of the message wasn't measured by decibels, but amplified by silence. What I saw was a signature - God's signature. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The magnificent creation was honouring the Creator. The heavens shouted with joy, "Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable!" (Psalm 145:3) "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing." (Revelation 5:12)<br />
<br />
The glimmering stars scrawled God's everlasting promises across the darkness. God can't help but remind us of His love, "for God is love." (1 John 4:8) Through the silence of His signature, His Word thundered: "I have loved thee with an everlasting love." (Jeremiah 31:3) "Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands." (Isaiah 49:15,16) "But now thus saith the LORD that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine." (Isaiah 43:1)</div>
</div>
<div>
<div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Truly "the heavens declare the glory of God." (Psalm 19:1)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I recently received a book called <i>Indescribable</i>. Its title, ah... describes it rather well. It is packed full of amazing, colourful images of God's universe. If you think science-fiction is crazy, then take a look at reality. This book delves deeply into fascinating details - but not so deeply as to lose you in the vastness of outer-space. Coincidentally, one of the authors related an experience similar to mine, which always intrigues me greatly.<br />
<br />
And now I will share two excerpts that impressed me especially.<br />
<br />
It would take a jet plane flying from the Sun's surface at 800 km/h well over a month... to reach this star's centre. - Thomas Dubay<br />
<br />
Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one would sleep that night, of course... We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God. Instead, the stars come out every night and we watch television. - Paul Hawken</div>
</div>
</div>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-91134072953573735052011-12-17T20:54:00.001-05:002011-12-17T23:02:13.330-05:00Emmanuel's Coming - The Other Perspective<div style="text-align: justify;">
We know the story of Jesus' birth by memory. The stable, the angels, the shepherds, and the wisemen. I have grown up assuming that Jesus was born on a beautiful night. It was wonderfully clear, so you could see the stars. The wind was calm and the air was comfortably cool. The stable, warm and cozy, was a rather neat place for a baby to be born. The animals all around were lowing, or cooing, or making some sort of soothing sound. Baby Jesus slept peacefully in a manger filled with soft, sweet-smelling hay. Plus, he was wrapped securely in swaddling clothes. And we mustn't forget the shepherds. They were nice people - another part of the story.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
How deeply have you searched the scriptures for details? The King James Version Bible doesn't give many details - at least not as many as I wrote above. So what would happen if we would peel away the gloss? What would the night of Emmanuel's coming be like when viewed through the opposite perspective?</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Neither Matthew nor Luke mention the weather in their descriptions of Nativity. Hardly surprising, since they weren't there. Perhaps it wasn't a beautifully clear night. Perhaps it was a very black, stormy night with a howling wind. Maybe it was cold - abnormally cold - and pelting rain. The shepherds might have at first mistaken the angels' song for the wind shrieking through the trees. No wonder they were terrified.<br />
<br />
If Bethlehem was bustling with travelers, what about the stable? No room in the inn likely meant little room in the stable. So the barn wouldn't only have been jam-packed with animals, but, to put it plainly, it would have stunk like crap. How many barns have you been in that don't reek of manure? Then add more animals than there should be...<br />
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The ferocious wind would have found every hole in the place, sending chilling drafts everywhere. The wild weather certainly wouldn't have calmed the animals. Instead of standing quietly, they would have been stomping and snorting and uttering all types of unearthly sounds. And the hay. You might like the smell of hay, but since when is it soft? It isn't. It is prickly and pokey, and that's from my perspective, not from the perspective a newborn with tender skin. The manger wouldn't have been sanded smooth and coated with child-safe paint. It made a lousy crib with the possibility of slivers, as well as gaps where a baby could fall through.<br />
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Enter the shepherds. Not just shepherds, but <i>shepherds.</i> They cared for sheep, but they weren't refined. They worked hard. They were rough and tough and stank of BO. Socially, they were about as far removed from royalty as could be imagined.<br />
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Into this setting, the Majestic One was born.<br />
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Perhaps it wasn't pretty. Perhaps to humans, it was degrading. Perhaps it was uncomfortable. Who said Jesus was any more comfortable when He came into this world than when He left it? Perhaps the first noise Jesus made was a cry from the cold, or damp, or noise, or pokey hay, or all of them combined. But He did it anyway. He has been there, done that. The Most Holy became the Most Lowly so He could redeem us from sin. And that shows how much God loves us. Only it is just the beginning; just the tip of the iceberg.<br />
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While writing, I have found an interesting correlation with the shepherds. People often wonder why God chose them. Perhaps the key was their humble, unpretentious hearts. Perhaps God used them to showcase His boundless love for everyone, especially those that humans judge as inferior. Whatever the reason, this is what I have found: The first people to hear about the Good Shepherd's birth were... shepherds. </div>
</div>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6623610856912815832.post-23446801821498097282011-12-05T20:12:00.001-05:002011-12-06T15:17:39.870-05:00Scramble! - Flight of Fantasy<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was lost in thought, scrawling a letter to home. The other guys were lazing around, some playing cards, some following suit and communicating. Abruptly, the PA crackles through my thoughts, "Scramble!" Adrenaline surges over my distaste for interruption. Go! The room erupts into organized chaos. Rush! Clamber into my flight suit. Hurry! Gather my gear. Listen to the rest of the announcement. Luftwaffe bomber squadron. Heading towards London. Poor weather. Hurry! No time for nervousness!</div>
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A foe to face; a threat to thwart. Find them before they find us. Keep moving!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> Feet pounding, we rush outside</span>. Poor weather indeed! Downright crazy. Doesn't say much for enemy intelligence. Run! It's black. Gusts of wind whip the chilling drizzle into my face. Shiver. My heart is chanting, Hur-ry, hur-ry, hur-ry! Jump a puddle. Watch a fellow pilot slip-splosh through the next. Keep running! Panting, I reach my trusty Hurricane. The ground crew is working like clockwork. Going double time. Don't slip on the ladder! Keep moving! Before sliding my canopy shut, the eerie wail of the air raid sirens begins. It duets with the singing wind. No time to waste! My aircraft's engine drowns the symphony while I methodically plough through my checklist. Hurry! Not too fast! Focus! Ignore the clammy cold. Dry the splattered goggles.</div>
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Through the gloom, we taxi to the runway. Go! Find the enemy! And I'm off. No! Stay on the runway! I fight the invisible, gusting wind. Away! My aeroplane dips and slips through the tumbling air. Spinning, rushing rain disorientates me. Fly blind! Maintain airspeed! A drop, a twist, and I break through the low clouds, trading my sightless world for something other-worldly. The moon glares on the twisting, angry carpet of clouds. I bounce as it glints off the dark enemy formations. To work! The scramble is over - successful. Less urgency, but I remain, as ever, intensely alert. </div>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i>"</i></span><i style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Bomben weg! Dies ist nicht das, was man dachte, es sei!"</i><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> My head jerks; so fast my neck pops. The blast of guttural radio communication dies away. Scrape my frenzied heart off the canopy and stuff it back where it belongs. Sometimes the radio frequencies do that. </span></div>
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Perhaps I shall get down in one piece. Or even two pieces. Then the adrenaline will be past. Then I can escape from this eerily insane game of chess. And I can finish my interrupted letter.</div>
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A flight of fantasy. Start with a stormy evening. Drive places in a hurry. Throw in some World War II "memories." An over-active, inquisitive imagination weaves all manner of exciting worlds.</div>Carsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12080011288759034754noreply@blogger.com1