Thursday, March 22, 2012

Lent

"Is this Lenten reading nothing more than a memorial?" I gaze at a title and can't find the will to read ahead. Something is amiss.

"You can't get to God by works righteousness" a girl says with a fire in her eye. I agree in a sense and disagree in a sense. My tongue cannot find the double-sided nature of the topic; it is not refined enough.


Other communities. They pick up on Lent recently. Time for memorial of Christ's time in wilderness, time for prayer so God might hear, time to invent new fasts. The fasting of foods comes as a mimicry. There is no understanding of the importance of physicality. "Desires of flesh" and physical matter are made conceptually synonymous.

I cannot find the will to read more. Yet it is late and I am up, why not read?

The others' images and prayers are fosaken unless fueled by empty stomachs. There is some talk about trust and giving up food in reference to prayer as a justification. There is some more talk about God honoring trials and total reliance on God. I listen to the end. Something is lacking. The words are new, but I am picking up some meaning. It seems pointless though.

I spend Lent on the pew asking forgiveness and regretting not having something in place. I wish I had taken to something with friends. My own will has become my enemy.

Dualism. Mimic Christ with a clean "this is spiritual and that is flesh" division. A mimic who praises Christ's crucifixion but hates the flesh, who praises creation but denounces the physical world, who loves people but hates bodies.

I am reading Watchmen to Megan. Dr. Manhattan is giving his long narrative refutation of the cosmological and teleological arguments; both strangely graphed together. His time and space concept imply all time is one, all things occur, there is no changing them. "What am I Jon, a puppet?" I discover a logical gap.

I'm in a pew panicking. My lack of planning ails me. Why did I not plan in advance? Now the thoughts trying themselves on become rushed, insincere, vapid. What can I do for Lent? What must one do to prepare for the crucifixion?

The Word became flesh so we can all float up high to heaven. Docetism returns. I hear the man justifying the practices, I hear the words coming back to my ear from kids at work. "All that matters is you love Jesus," but then I hear condemnation of that which Jesus loved.

I close a laptop and lay down a controller. I pick up my phone and begin looking through the directory. Who can I call? Who is my friend? I have agreed to lay down self-entertaining things to pursue friendship.

A man is sailing to the coast of California. It is the 19th c. and he is trading fur hides. He has undergone a two year period of training and can stand his own among the salt dogs, having earned his sea legs. He has seen Cape Horn and lived to tell the tale. There is a rowboat of sailors fighting the waves to get back to the main ship. One man rows while two men hold lightweight but rigid animal hides high above their heads. The sky and waters are clear, but the rocks and waves are choppy.

What does it mean to have a relationship with Christ? I hear a man tell me he once saw someone put a chair across from them and talk at it like it was Christ. I recall what I have heard, Christ talking through mental images and strong emotive feelings brought on by the right chords. The Body is the people of the Church. To have a relationship with Christ, is to have a relationship with the Body. To have a relationship with the Body - well.

The one crying "no works righteousness" is often the one most practicing it. A memorial has no empowerment, no redemption, no glory. But the orthodox Lent supposes Christ's embodiment, his indwelling in the flesh, empowers us first. Thus, our fasts are not "works righteousness," it is the memorial services which are. The eucharist also comes to mind.

I am cooking eggs and talking. Dr. Manhattan conceives of all time at once. This unity of time makes for no causality, for causality implies changes in space and time. But he narrates causal changes but concludes as if there were none. Unity of time means no infinite regress follows from denying the cosmological argument's premise that not all things are contingent as well as a denial that some watchmaker can be inferred from a watch. Causality in essence, is an illusion for Dr. Manhattan. But then the author presumes knowledge is causative. I know one day I will die. My knowing this, even if I were present in the moment now, would not deny causality, it would only give me an interesting perception of causality. My ability to say "I am dying now and not now" if I could be present to be at 25 and me at death uses the term now "relative" to two different moments in time, not to moments in my perception of time.

Perhaps the readings have awoken something after all. Reflection. Contemplation. Next Lent should be more interesting still. It will build upon this one. Perhaps some day I'll come to understand it better.

The man became a lawyer and promoted religious and moral instruction for sailors. He also fought for sailors' rights. His two years before the mast seem to have been more of a relationship with Christ then standing quietly in a room day in and day out conjuring up mental images and asking God to do things just to see how 'cool' God is. Tempting God comes in many flavors, namely one is to ask for something to be done, or ignore the physical world, instead - "waiting on God." Have you not been baptized? Were you not given a community? Can you not see your brethren are the Body of Christ, the character of your soul - the effects of the gifts of the Spirit? You wait for magic, not God. But now I am harsh, for I too am learning this. There is an earnest desire to see from God, but the hatred of the intellect makes it hard for anyone to seek God other than by tempting you Lord to do ridiculous things, to ask for movement but be blind to your actions.

Memory played the flute but you did not dance for her. I was told only loving Christ mattered, it's about a relationship, to pray often, that my behavior matters, yet...well. Spirit and Flesh, Mind and Matter, Black and White Yin & Yang. "Spiritual things matter, not the body. By the way we frown on certain bodily actions and require other bodily actions." Interesting example on how faith without intellect, faith alone, contradicts the gospel, contradicts the scriptures, unaware of its dualistic, docetic assumptions. And then they affirm the assumption using that lens to read Scripture, and trust nothing but Scripture and experience. But their experience is also seen through the same lens. We sometimes only affirm what we already believe, and cease to be challenged in any direction other than "deeper into what I already know." Heh, by know the meaning is usually 'feel, experience, read," all which collapse into the assumptions.
And so many other absurdities pile up.

I am at a pool with two friends. We are playing a video game together. We are pushing bread together to make sandwiches. There is exchange of future, doubt, and reflection on where we are. I am experiencing a relationship with Christ. The rest was 'baptized magic.' But it does not really matter here. I can nod at the 'magic' comments and love my people, for collectively, they are the Body. And there is no division between body and spirit.

So have the three years been.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Shadow of the Deep

[incomplete 12/7/10]

I love those
//
tentacles chase mineshaft cart
//
wheel puddles ooze
glimmer
//
puddles ooze by the floor,
covering the tracks leading off
into the dark shaft of time
somewhere beyond the rim of darkness,
I can hear the ocean tides pushing, writhing
gasping to be relieved,
the ever tiring work of the tides
if this cart will make it through the tracks
if the water isn't too deep
if the wheels won't warp
if the light is just right
if the leviathan doesn't catch me

now the dark blue envelops my hands
like the ether I push through it
bubbled cities lie below
on mountains and valleys
their metals shimmer and rainbow prisms form on outer shells
of these oceanic gems
vastness of their size, majesty,
only rivaled by the infinite distances of the sea,
though I see their luster,
my strokes bring me none the closer
though sea monsters cruise by
dark and swift silhouettes
the power of their every stroke,
brings unspeakable terror to my heart
if they should turn against me[...]
hundreds of feet long, only shadow
swimming the distance of that near city in but a moment,
when I cannot seem to approach it any faster

vain are the ways of man
But not all die this way.
Some never see the beast,
nor the slowing of the clock,
tick tock tick tock tick--
there is time yet,
to fulfill those primary goals
tick--
"Alas, poor Yorick" he smiles
No deserving, no earning,
no undo's, redo's, or no can do's
no preparation for death
for he will "kindly stop for me"
and take me to the city
or escort me to the creatures' mouths
gnashing teeth met with sick cries of "not yet!"
how fearful it makes us to see one leave,
not ready, still crying,
"more time! not yet!"
when by day their vanity was matched only by--
their feats, possessions, honors
still fearing the unknown
still fearing death
and their fear is gut wrenching to us
if this person who is mightier than I is so afraid
what fear will I have when the time comes?
and if I have not fear,
yet they have so much the more in all ways
what foolishness do I live by?

Our ways are hollow
made full only words and gestures
but they are exposed when the beasts lurk
the shadows approach
and Death whispers, "Tick"
then seals his lips.
All our time a petty waste
Stripped of artificial light
when the darkness envelopes
and our being is laid to waste
by the mouth of the beast
swallowed up

And who is there to hold to?
Some sail only for what they wish to see:
This man explores the lands to the east
finds interesting peoples, cultures, governments
Another man discovers the lands to the south
finds interesting perceptions, observations, derivations
A woman leaves port for the west
finds herself, new choices, adventure
Another woman sets sail for the north
finds particulars, networks, and warm hearts
But these are all for nought.

There is one who sails according to charts,
to find what is both wise and true and one.
But the current position means,
tempests, arctic flurries, ravenous creatures,
hardship and tribulation, all be necessary
to make it to the destination.
But things will soften,
for it is only the current position,
that makes a future of rough seas.
But what lies in wait,
on the other side of dark shores and darker days
be worth the troubles.
The best waters, the best fruits,
ease of sailing, for some time.
And though tempests may come,
there is always the better side of the world
with fairer ways and lazy days
[though it still be the same waters as before]

Neon Grotto

[Incomplete 12/11/11]

Life inside a neon grotto,
glowing cipher scribes the walls.
Start in and call me exegete.
Ziggurat found underground,
water on the walls.
Wipe it down from top to bottom,
call it high and dry.
Set the clock to time desire.
Trace memory's figure fast,
spray paint the west façade,
call it the spitting image.
Backward step to set it up,
and view it like a movie scene.
Make a matching piece,
call it a double feature.

Stop clock calls it quits,
wind it up again,
goin' into time after time.
Now time got a little bite--
set your teeth on edge,
call it the curbstomp.
--------------------------------------------------------

[missing connecting verses]
all bark and no bite.

[indiscernible notes]
tie - tying the knot - - wife
double entendre




Feverish Mind

[This is an old draft, November or December 2011. Not sure. I believe I meant to write short clips, perhaps a short story but only managed a bit while sick.]

I am ill. Cold, three days. Brain spill, then write something.

A bucket, a bucket, a noir bucket.
All solemn and shadow in the corner.
There, filled with bits of paper and twine
sheets yellow with legality rise into the air
a charred piece rising into a vortex of wind
swirling higher while the air feeds the fire
a virtual pillar of flame

On the third day Pete laid down in a meadow and took to rest, for his eyelids grew heavy and his vision dimmed. And when he at least dreamed it was all scratches and thumping. The headaches came on stronger when he awoke.

Jameson bottle floating in the water with a wine cork in it. Dipping and bobbing with twice the wave frequency, just trying to keep up with the sea. Dip Bob, Dip Bob, Dip. And then the cork slides out, and there is a faint gurgling noise like a drowning animal trying to gasp for breath. And then the bottle swims its way to the bottom in a crescent motion, like the rocking of a cradle.

The bikes are always too much this time of the year, with all the reds and yellows and blues and vintage this, retro that, and all at once I want to collect them all and grind them right up. A mighty fine can of beans the lot would make.

A badger dog walking on the wasteland, sniffing.
Trotting like it's another morning.
Hunting for creatures, vermin,
and what other things may come.
A man whistles at the badger dog.
He's some twenty yards off now, in a sort of walking jog,
hustling over to the creature with a .32 partially under his right arm,
barrel facing the ground.
"What we got hear boy?"
"Looks like you found us a couple of rodents."
It wasn't much, but it'd feed 'em both that afternoon, enough to keep going that is.
A sound. Car.
"Shh," the man motioned to the badger dog, "shh, car."
There was a faint trail of dust rising up on the asphalt horizon.
Seconds after the dusty tail could be seen,
so could the vehicle.
A ripe nasty thing it was,
bulbous on all sides, four extra large rubber tires,
jetting out the sides like an overgrown go-cart.
There was hoopin' and a hollerin' as it approached.
They was likely to be trouble.
So I moseyed off real nice like 'round the next hill.
And that badger dog and rifle came and laid down next to me.
And we scoped out the land,
watchin' them wheels turning closer and closer.
This boy's got a nasty bite.
And then there's a quick, stifled thud
and the taste of blood in somebody's mouth.

Cat Scratch Fever!
Got my mind in a jumbled briar bush.
Feel the fever pushing up on me.