The First Epistle of John

Topics of Discussion

A. Disposition of Character (1 John 3)
B. True Believers/Christians
C. Laws
D. Testing of Spirits (1 John 4)
E. Agapao

A. Disposition of Character
In 1 John 3, John is giving a warning to those who see men do wicked deeds but claim righteousness. This is a reoccurring theme during the early stages of the church, many pagan rituals were trying to be carried over, especially sexual immorality. I believe this is most notable in the case of the girls of Corinth who were sleeping with others at the temple because of men's old beliefs that such acts brought you closer to God.

The matter I'm particularly interested in though is how John tells us to be aware.

1 John 3:5-9

⁵And ye know that he was manifested to take away our sins; and in him is no sin. ⁶Whosoever abideth in him sinneth not: whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him. ⁷Little children, let no man deceive you: he that doeth righteousness is righteous, even as he is righteous. ⁸He that committeth sin is of the devil; for the devil sinneth from the beginning. For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil. ⁹Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin; for his seed remaineth in him: and he cannot sin, because he is born of God.

Now let's look at what we can take from this with some simple logic. I'm going to use the present active tense for "sin" because the verb in Greek is hamartano which is present active. Now I'm not sure if it's simple, sin, or continuous, sinning. I'll use sinning for kicks but remember it could be the simple present active.

1. If you abide in [Christ], then you are not sinning.
2. If you are sinning, then you do not abide in Christ. (contrapositive)
3. You are sinning.
4. Thus, you do not abide in Christ [modus pollens]

1. If you are sinning, then you have not seen nor know Christ.
2. You are sinning.
3. You neither know nor see Christ. [modus pollens]

By conjoining these I can say
1. If you are sinning, then you are not abiding in Christ, do not know him, and have not seen him.

Now, if we take the street corner fire 'n brimstone minister interpretation, we end up with the idea that Christians do not sin. If you are sinning, then you never knew Christ, regardless of prayer, baptism, spiritual experiences, etc. But let's skip ahead to the end of the Epistle to look for another clue:

1 John 5:17-20

¹⁶If any man see his brother sin a sin which is not unto death, we shall ask, and he shall give him life for them that sin not unto death. There is a sin unto death: I do not say that he shall pray for it. ¹⁷All unrighteousness is sin: and there is a sin not unto death. ¹⁸We know that whosoever is born of God sinneth not; but he that is begotten of God keepeth himself, and that wicked one toucheth him not. ¹⁹And we know that we are of God, and the whole word lieth in wickedness. ²⁰And we know that the Son of God is come, and hath given us an understanding, that we may know him that is true, and we are in him that is true, even in his Son Jesus Christ. This is the true God, and eternal life.

Some like to read passages as if it is always written to them. I do not doubt that Scripture is written for all Christians. But there are different ways to inspire or make people think about their faith. E.G. If I read Ephesus or Corinthians and it said "you," it would be unfounded for me to think it meant Blake Tipton. He is writing to the leaders of the church at those places. And while we can be inspired, the things he claims with certainty about his brothers and sisters there is from a relationship he had with those people, which is not the case between us and say Paul. However, John makes no personal references here, but in order to be consistent we must say that whoever the listener is to which he says "we are in God" must also be one who is not sinning. So when James says we're in God, can hear God, and so forth, this is on the presumption that we are already righteous. Surely James was, but the question here is, our we?

And to answer this, how can we know? For in the end James comments that we can know we have eternal life and to build up our confidence in faith. I do not take this to be literally, I simply think James is trying to give us confidence in faith, and faith always rests upon a certain amount of uncertainty. And in Revelation it is said that we are judged by our deeds, and there is but one judge, so we would have to be God to know in a literal sense where our fates lie. However, I do think he means to say that in abiding in Christ, through deeds of righteousness and following the commands without them being grievous (1 John 5:3), that we can have a good idea. That's perhaps left for another conversation though.

In 1 John 5:2-3 we find that to love others we must love God and follow his commands and that it is not grievous to us. Anyone can follow a command, but to not be grievous requires a desire to follow it. Now I might say that I follow commands everyday because I have an intellectual desire to do God's will, but it still burdens me in doing somethings like...being nice. There is some desire some lacking, for grief is an emotion, and it is the emotional desire that I lack. In fact I would say sometimes it is grievous for me to follow God's command. Insofar as this is the case I am closer to God than say the man that has committed the sin that leads to death, but I am not among the ranks of John and the like. For here a man has aligned all his parts in such a way that his being as one cries out in concordance to be with God.

WARNING: TANGENT AHEAD

*BoNuS 1: One of the many reasons I am not a Baptist is because Baptists believe that all sin is equivalent. Clearly we have a delineation between sin leading to death and sin not leading to death. Now categorically I could say something like, "Of course all sin is the same, it's a will turned against God." But this is not what Baptist doctrine states, nor what Baptists who do their homework believe. Baptists traditionally say all sin is the same in the sense that God views judgment of it equally, that is to say rape and murder and drunkenness and licentiousness are equivalent.

*BoNuS 2: Now I could be wrong about Bonus#1 because I said doctrine. Baptists don't actually have doctrine because there is no history, there is no unity. There are optional conventions in which people still split on beliefs and there is no unison amongst peoples claiming to be the same thing - "Baptist." This is why there are still Free Will Baptists and Determinist Baptists. And insofar as there is no unison amongst churches in the Baptist Denomination, and not amongst congregations either, "doctrine" would not be a choice word.

*BoNuS 3: All in all it reminds me of this one time where the churches were all in disarray and no one agreed on anything and everyone had questions and lots of nonsense was going on. How could we be brothers and sisters if we couldn't even agree on what His commands were? So what happened? Oh yeah, the Apostles organized the churches geographically, led them all, and took to writing letters to them so that doctrine was established to end all the chaos. And what happened to those letters? They went on to become Scripture. But you know what, that is all bologna. We should be individualistic about our beliefs and congregations should build the church because Scripture probably doesn't know what it's talking about anyway... God save the U.S.

OK, TANGENT IS GONE. WE'RE GOOD.

And in looking at the word for sin "hamartia" or the verb "hamarton," we see it means to miss the mark as in archery. Sometimes we're closer or further from the bullseye. It is this reason why I say that faith is a process, and not black and white. If I am sinning, then certainly I am not with God, for my shot has gone further away from the target. And The Law was a mentor which sinners cannot follow and which the righteous have no need for, for they are lovers of the Good. So what we are forced to conclude is that there is this state between the sinner and the righteous which The Law was made for. And from Scripture and experience we see that sometimes we do good and sometimes we do evil, but we are generally moving towards one or the other. So even within these three states, I do not believe it's a jump from A to B to C. But that each is a spectrum in and of itself which we can grow more in or away from.

So what are we to say about sinning leading to not knowing, seeing, nor abiding in Christ? Surely, at that moment you are not, for what is in God, can do no evil. And the thoughts and desires leading to that moment were devoid of God. And we cannot say that we are being, for God alone is Being, and what we call the Nought, the Void, Chaos, is not a thing, just a word to denote lack of being. Our lives are in a state of becoming, and as such whatever we are as a whole is a result of many actions, founded upon thoughts and desires, resulting in some disposition of character. If we are righteous than our state is that seeking virtue, and if we are wicked, then we seek to go against God.

Looking at James and Romans we can build a delightful concept of faith and works which so intermingled that to separate one from the other is death to ourselves for works mix with faith and faith is made perfect. And while each has its merits it is the perfection of the two that we seek. James shows us signs of what this Sanctification is like, that we should love others, work virtue in them, love them, pray for them, and love God and his commands, taking His will for our own because we love it, not because we feel forced to.

BoNuS 4: Man I'm ragging on the Baptists today. I suppose these discussions just remind me when I was first discovering I wasn't a Baptist. I'd feel bad but what can you do with group of people so fundamentally convinced that they don't need any leaders for The Church then read The Book which shows the opposite? Anyway, another reason is the widespread idea of justification alone as well as the concept of being "saved" as if it's all done and over with, lest we forget to work out our faith with fear and trembling and mix it with works. Did not even the Apostles shame themselves in their times of faithlessness, or when Peter denied Christ thrice? There are times when we do evil, but our overall actions, our state of character can be cultivated to virtue in such a way that we can remain in Christ and be forgiven. It isn't a matter of being "saved" but of a good conscience towards God coupled with an active life of piety through our own lives and our works in others.

Going back to the beginning. If it be sin, then I would say it speaks to the moment of the sin that we are devoid of God. If it be sinning, then I say it speaks toward a particular state of character that is developed through this active way of life in which sin is the primary character of a person. The key was not in disproving anything or trying to be brutal, but in merely asking, "What exactly is sin and what does it mean to be sinning?" Good questions lead to good answers. God prevails.



B. True Believers/Christians

This isn't something that I've derived from John's First Epistle, but rather from conversations with my brothers and sisters about belief. Often times passages that are interpreted as black or white when it comes to belief result in these ridiculous dichotomies such as "True Christian" or "Christian." I say ridiculous not to create an argument by ridicule, so allow me to explain how absurd it really is.

If we say "True Christian" to delineate ourselves from "Christian," then the word "True" is the differentia by which we are trying to separate ourselves from others. Now, if we as the "True Christians" have Truth and the "Christians" do not, and things are either True or False and there is no middle between the two, then we are implicitly calling them "False Christians." But how can a thing be false to itself?

When I say X, it is derived that when I point at the thing it is True that it is X. It is superfluous to add "True" onto a thing. Assuming it was not, we would say something like this, "Well it was false that X is X until I added true to it." But with such implied statements, what we are saying is that X is not X until we add truth to it. Unfortunately man has no such power, and for a thing to not be itself is simply to to exist.

In 1 John 5:20 it says "true God." Didn't you say we shouldn't add on "true" to things?
In every day talk, we are apt to say "The One True God." And in this matter we are making a judgment by holding up other gods to ours. What it is we are saying isn't so much superfluous as it is to judge these other gods, insofar as they exist as ideas, to say ours is true. The meaning behind such words is implicitly talking about existence of being as an idea, in reality, both, or neither. Surely other gods exist, otherwise God would not have commanded us not to worship them. But this not go to say they exist in reality, in fact we say they exist merely as ideas. Others might be called the null set when fully played out, for while we say the Roman and Greek gods are ideas, when someone is apt to say all are perfect, and perfection has no hatred towards itself, those gods fought one another. The important thing about saying true in this sense is that it is a matter of the type of existence as being true or false coupled with an intellectual judgment. Truth when ascribed to believers is often a moral judgment and is done to separate ourselves from our brothers. But John speaks much about those who claim to love God but not their brothers as being liars. So there is a difference in the usage, one being wicked and one being righteous.

Now in a loose sense I understand what it is people are wishing to do, delineate those who claim to be Christians and those who live it out. We must be careful with such claims, for surely we know some to be true by their deeds, but even then we must not compare, but rebuke a brother gently, for there is but one law and one lawgiver, and He alone is to judge. We are commanded to love, so let us keep such things in mind when we wish to discuss such matters. Let us look at our brother and sisters actions, and help them to stop if it be sinful before it becomes a state of character. For once this is done, what fellowship does righteousness have with the unrighteousness^{(2 Cor 6:14)}? And though righteous men are cautious with friendship, the wicked lead them astray^{(Proverbs 12:26)}.



C. Laws
When we say The Law it refers to the Pentateuch, or the first five books of Scripture: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. Specifically we often mean The Ten Commandments and/or the 613(?) Levitical laws. Through Christ we were lifted from The Obligation of The Law, no longer having needed the mentor. And now we say The Law was never made for the righteous, nor the sinner, but for those who see God and want him, but lack the willpower, intellect, and right heart to pursue such noble things.

What I want to talk about is this nonsense I keep hearing amongst Baptists and Methodists that we don't need laws or rules anymore because we love God and we can be forgiven.

In John's First Epistle he says that in order to love one of the requirements is to keep God's commands. Do we not see in the Gospels that Christ says if you love me, then you shall keep my commands?

Yes, The Law is gone. But are all laws gone? No. Christ gave us two commands which summed up The Law in a way that it is both "new" and "old" if we use these terms loosely. It is no longer a command to avoid doing a thing, but to do a thing and do so through love.

During one of my trips to Savannah I got to listen to a man stand-in for the pastor talk about how he couldn't keep up with a few laws and somehow concluded that its impractical that he should be commanded to keep up with many, ultimately concluding that we don't need laws because of The Christ. False.

1. Commands are laws. [e.g. Decalogue]
2. Christ gave us commands.
3. Therefore, Christ have us laws.

That argument not good enough? Let's go again.

1. He that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not him. (1 John 2:4)
2. Commands are laws.
3. He that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his laws, is a liar, and the truth is not in him. (substitution)

And one more for fun:

1. By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God, and keep his commandments.
2. For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments: and his commandments are not grievous.
3. Commandments are laws [oh snap!]

Let's reformulate:

1. If you love God and keep his commandments, then you love the children of God.
2. Love of God is to keep his commandments and doing so is not grievous.
3. Commandments are laws [simple baby]
4. If you keep his commandments and not do so grievously, then you love the children of God. [substitution 1,2]
5. If you keep his laws and not do so grievously, then you love the children of God.

Whooo, what a workout. That's good stuff. In conclusion, commandments are laws so let's not confuse "laws" with "The Law" when given commandments.



D. Testing of Spirits

1 John 4:1-3

¹Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirit whether they are of God:because many false prophets are gone out into the world. ²Hereby know ye the Spirit of God: Every spirit that confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is of God: ³And every spirit that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is not of God: and this is that spirit of antichrist, whereof ye have heard that it should come; and even now already is it in the world.

It's hard to tell if someone is telling the truth. What's worse is when they claim spiritual words for you. "I had a word for you from God" is the sort of situation I mean. How do we discern such things? The short answer is faith and testing and waiting to prove all things. Hold a hypothesis, it either comes true or it doesn't. We can over time discern what a person's spiritual gift is based on such things.

But what about speaking truth all the time? As Christians do we not say that the Apostles were righteous men? Those who sought out the Lord, loved their neighbors, and find the end of sanctification? The Spirit was always with them so they always spoke truth.
This is quite the exception though. As earlier stated, we are on a spectrum, and I see the Apostles as on the end, and most of us somewhere down the line from there.
If someone tells me, "Jesus Christ came in the flesh and is the Lord." Then I must conclude by this passage that it is the spirit of God which speaks in them. Does this mean that everything that follows from their mouth after must be true? God Forbid. I would wish to be in such a world but alas, it is not. We can see this with our brothers and sisters who have arguments over points of doctrine. Since they take logically opposite sides, they both cannot both be write though they both claim Christ is King.


All I can say is, at that moment of that utterance, given it was a belief in God and not a factual belief, the person had the spirit of God within them. Anything else we are left up to decide through good conversation with men and women seeking piety. We must reason through love and seek consistency with the Scriptures and tradition, for novelty does not equate to Truth and change as an unqualified thing is the enemy of God.

BoNuS: This is why I hate the word "progressive," people always bring along baggage that is not contained within the concept itself, such as better, good, etc. This is also why I have strong moral problems with President Obama's election tactics, it preyed upon such wrongful and weak thinking. A brother in Christ ought not do such things. Ambiguity puts hope for those in despair to fill in the blank: change for ______ which is another horrible thing to do. The only time change unqualified ought to be considered is when things can be no worse. But this is never the case on earth, for I can always imagine something worse. And I might go as far to say that such circumstances are impossible.

On a second note, when worshipping we find people often caught up in the goosebumps and the guitar chord so much that they attribute it to God. And in that moment that say "Yes Christ, yes you are real and you love me" or some such thing. Though they use the word Christ, I would say sometimes they put the name Christ on the feeling, and are not actually speaking of Christ. In such cases I am fine to say, "Though you claim to speak of Christ, I do not think you are doing so."


Any sort of spiritual experience we have, whether communal or individual ought always to have careful deliberation and thought. For any experience we have, there is always an interpretation, John knows this and is telling us to "be sure the spirits are of God." This takes thought process and not a feeling, for to be sure it is of God, if we are to be consistent with the rest of this Epistle, we are making a knowledge claim about God. And to know God it is said we must love him and our brothers, and follow his commands. If we never think of any of these things while experiencing something we think is spiritual, then we have no justification for thinking what we are experiencing is Christ, having not taken our commands and advice from our Christian brother and Scripture seriously.


Now conjoin these two ideas and what you have is that you can test a spirit, figure out it is God, but whatever follows after that isn't necessarily also of God. We can sing songs, have images, and so forth, but we cannot be certain for we must always be testing such things. We do however have probable reason that whatever experience follows is also from God. But even then if there is some message, prophecy, or whatnot, we must hold it and test it. Prove all things, test all spirits, but always be open to spiritual experience, and know faith is always with uncertainty. As John says, we can know Christ, abide in him, see him, but this says nothing about other knowledge claims. So I'm just trying to formulate a reasonable way to deal with such experiences from common sense. We must have faith that if we keep His commands and love him and our neighbors, that good things will follow through diligence and love of what is Good.

E. Agapao

I was going to do a section on the love of God, brothers, and its relationship with commandments but I ended up having to talk about it other sections. Agape is the noun for selfless God-like love, agapao is the verb form. Huzzah hurrah!




I've been doing this since I got up at 8 for breakfast. It's now 1. I'd say it's time to end my prayers and get back out to my people. For just as Christ prayed in the morning to his Father, he also lived with his brothers and sisters by day.
Kyrie Eleison,
blake

Meek Confessions, Late Night Expressions

I love bodies of water. I love sleeping outside in the woods. I'm always afraid of what's in them though.

After twilight begins to fade into the night one can only see the outline of the treetops. The night sky is a navy blue at this point, but the trees are a giant black-blotted mess, allowing one to still be able to distinguish the darkness of the sky from the trees. It's at this time, when I was a child, that I thought they might be giants standing shoulder to shoulder. Sometimes when the wind would blow I thought that was them pushing and grinding up against one another trying to find a comfortable position.

I hate that I can only identify the dippers and Orion's Belt in the night sky. I've had an astronomy book since I was in the 4th grade with a wheel which can spin according to the month and hour that you're in, revealing the constellations that can be seen in the Northern Hemisphere. Every few years I pull it out and try to figure it out but get aggravated and put it away. It's a kid's book. This makes me feel like an idiot.

The last few inches of a cigar become increasingly hot and nasty in taste. I keep smoking to the end though because at the end the cigar produces more smoke, which I like to play around with when exhaling. By the time I finish it my mouth tastes so nasty I go brush my teeth until I can only taste my toothpaste.

When I am having a sense of love coming upon me, whether this be of friendship, romantically, or family, but cannot act upon it I can't enjoy movies, games, or other forms of entertainment. The only thing I can think of to do is to go out into wild, exercise, or sit by myself at night. Right now I haven't been getting in shape for the right reasons; it's more of an escape from my mind.

When I try to remember being younger I can't remember the state of my mind. It's just pictures and images, but I always attribute my present beliefs, justifications, etc. to the memory, as if I've never changed.

I have a specific laugh I do amongst friends when I think what they're saying or doing is wicked but I don't know how to tell them.

Waiting and uncertainty in combination will drive me mad. Even when I know in some situations the two are necessary I can't get my mind to drive the two away. The longer I have the two, the more each tends to amplify the other.

I probably have less than 10 real friends. And after rereading my Aristotle, I'm more inclined to think this. I've gone through my life being friends with people because of utility or pleasure but rarely have I found someone which I have goodwill, a since of similarity, and an acknowledgment of some virtue in them coupled with the desire for it to grow. I can identify them when I miss them or when I will go through pains for them, or most notably...both.

I enjoy music better late at night when it is faint and sounds raspy like an old 1950's radio.

My familial experience is messing up my concept of storge. However, the more I fight with my immediate family the more I reach out to my extended family. I suppose I somehow know a need for it and am instinctively trying to hold some sort of family together in my head. My philosophizing has found me God, and has nearly run me off from my nuclear family. I don't know what to do about it.

A girl once let me borrow an orange plastic ring when I was about four or five. I had a moral battle about whether or not to return it. In the end I decided to keep it. My mother found it and had me return it shortly before we moved away. I never stopped feeling the guilt from that decision.

I once got in an argument with a kid because he took a ball I had called dibs on sometime earlier. When we got in an altercation over it I went ahead and popped him on the nose. My substitute teacher for the day turned out to be his mother. She took me inside to give me a talk which turned into her slapping me across the face. I remember having blurred vision and a strong sense of embarrassment. By the time my parents found out it was the end of the day and there was no physical proof of the slap. She was put elsewhere and I remained embarrassed for not being able to do something about it.

Somewhere between three and six I went through our mail and found a pornographic magazine. It's the earliest I remember lusting. I didn't understand what I was looking at. My mother found me standing in the living room trying to figure it out. She told me it was a mistake and wasn't supposed to be in our mailbox. I've never mentioned it to her again. I don't know if she was telling the truth or not.

My best friend and I got into a fight in first grade. I hit him three times in the face then pulled his hair till he hit the ground. He cried till his parents picked him up thirty minutes later. I felt bad for knowing that our argument was no reason to fight.

I got into trouble at five for throwing a giant moth over the fence. I was trying to save him but my teacher insisted I was being malicious. She told me I could have broken his back. She was my math and science teacher who taught me about bugs. I told her bugs didn't have spines to break. She got angry and made me sit on the wall for the rest of recess. I felt betrayed since I thought we were good friends.

I remember being three or four and walking around the corner to see my father laying hands around my mother's throat. I never told them I remember it.

I recall guilt tripping my father for having a photograph of another boy on his dresser. I told my parents I was going to run away. I asked if he had another son and he told me no. At twelve I found out it was my older brother Adam. If I was the father I probably would have done the same.

The day my brother Dallas was born I was three. I still remember sitting with my mother and watching Jaws with my father at the side of the bed. I had to leave until after the birth. When they told me I could come in I bolted down the hallway and tripped short of the door, getting a nasty rugburn on my nose in the process. Years later I found a photograph of Dallas' birth, my nose burnt with excitement.

In fourth grade I had a friend named Dan. Dan had troubles running and a speech impediment. A friend and I took him under our wing and taught him how to overcome his awkward legs so that he could run and play soccer with us. It was customary to trip people during our games. The first time Dan did it two boys jumped him knowing he was too weak to defend himself. When I saw it I ran over and beat both of them. That was the first time I used my fists for a Just cause.

In second grade I was put through anger management without my parents consent by the school. They didn't find out till I told them years later. I didn't know that's what it was till years later.

I've been in love 13 times in my life, the earliest was 3rd grade. Most of these never played out due to my shy nature. The times they did they were always based on utility or pleasure. Maybe 13 will be my good luck charm.

My favorite number is 13. I was born on a Friday 13 and my mother was, my brother was supposed to but he decided to go all he-man and ninja-kick his way out sooner. Ever since I was young I always thought 13 meant that other peoples times of poor luck were the times I would find good luck.

I remember bragging to my brother that I could "turn anything evil" with words. I guess I never overcame that corrupting ability till college.

My father wrote a poem for my assignment in the 4th or 5th grade. My mother for me in the 7th grade. I was lauded for my creative writing at these ages but I couldn't write poetry. Interestingly enough I picked it up in my undergrad days.

If I'm 28 and not married I'm going to be one unhappy camper.

I say I have all these theological issues with not being Roman Catholic but the truth is I decided to go Anglican instead of RC because I wanted to marry and be a holy man. I do have issues now, but they weren't deciding factors then. I was undecided on papal authority and still am.

My will is incredibly weak. I have to internally yell at myself to avoid evil and do good. When I'm having trouble I say to myself "militant will" continuously to remind me of the strength and distinction the will has from desires.

I hate it when people tell me they were uncomfortable attempting to talk to me because I seemed too intellectual or intimidating. I hate it more when I tell them I see myself as neither and they only see that as pride.

I have an obsession with love dialogues. Chalk it up to my Platonic education. My experience has shown me I am unsatisfied unless I have all four types: agape, eros, philia, and storge. I used to worry that such talk seemed unmanly, now I think it's something I need to know in order to be a man. Every man needs God, a woman, a family, and friends if he is to be virtuous/pious and happy.

I regret the way I treated my brother when growing up: the times I left him at the house, the times I called him stupid, the times I made him feel helpless. I've apologized many times but he never believes I mean it.

I wish I had wanted to learn more from my father when he offered to teach me things.

I hope my mother finds something more in life. Growing up it seemed that nine times out of ten she looked unhappy. I wonder sometimes if I was the only one in the family that noticed.

I wish my family knew more about forgiveness. It appears that every side of my family tree is wrought with rifts, feuds, and bad history.

I hope someday in the future that when I say "what ought to be" isn't confused with "what I want."

I almost quit my campus ministry job several times during the first semester.

I never felt like I really fit in with people my age. The things I want to talk about it, the ways I enjoy hanging out, the things that I see guiding my decisions, what I'm looking for. Maybe it has something to do with my lack of true friends. I always did what others my age did because if I didn't then I would have had no one.

The only things that get me truly excited, that sense of exhilaration that comes from the excessive feeling of greatness or mystery, is fear and eros. In Costa Rica I enjoyed what I did, and saw it was good, and this had its own appropriate emotion, but the only time I was excited was when our team decided to trek out into the jungle, into the unknown. And now when my mind is not kept busy my heart races to uncontrollable levels and it feels as if it's carving a pit into my chest. And all I can do is run out my door and down the street and back until I'm out of breath and my body has nothing left to do but collapse. And even all my philosophizing and reading is but a momentary escape, for it does nothing but remind me.

Dream Remix

September 9th, 2007. I had a horrible dream that day. The kind so wonderful that when you awake you want nothing more than to destroy your life in hopes that you'd inhabit the one in your mind. How silly. Especially for one so devoid of details, of plot, character development. It wasn't really even a great story now that I think about it. But I was so attached to it that my whole day was ruined by it. And the next several days.

Today, April 29, 2010. The same thing has occurred. Although it was a nap dream that did me in. Now my mind fears dreams, and my emotions cannot wait. I do not like my mind playing such tricks on me. It is not impure, unjust, nor evil in anyway, merely unlikely. And as such the hope that remains in me is backhanded by the cruel awareness of reality.

Cruel Tales
September 9th, 2007

I wait for it readily
My dreams in guise
Why won't they come to me
Pour the sand into my eyes
Watch carefully
Both minds fighting for its love
Promises never kept
Surreptitiously
Tricking me while I slept
With the things never to be
Both hurt and soothe
Why not hand me both? How I need them both -
On those cold shores I lie
Unable to move or cry out loud
Descending silently
A dark angel in shroud
And kisses me softly
What am I to do?
Before the embrace can come
Awake to heart anew
Breaks without those cold, dark shores

Restlessly gliding through life
Dreams consume me
Grant wishes, nightmarish wife
If only a way I plea
For these cruel tales
Without any end in sight
Could be wrought with details
Manifest tonight
Come down to be my seer
If our worlds can collide
Then don't leave me alone to drown here
On those cold shores I lie
Unable to move or cry out loud
Descending silently
A dark angel in shroud
And kisses me softly
What am I to do?
Before the embrace can come
Awake to heart anew
Breaks without those cold, dark shores
And here I stand amongst
The terror rips my minds' seams
Choosing eternity of angst
Over the dream
The winged one I love
Who's touch breathes life into me
And the hand I'd rather shove
Then feel the desire by the sea
Why won't it leave me alone
If reality would only die
I could live this lie

I am not on a beach this time, nor is it the same person. But the relations of things and persons are all the same, both in and out of the dream. I wish it would go away. I hope it will not return. I'd rather be numb then feel such things.


Tomorrow is my last day at Wesley. Soon I will leave for Durham. I like to pretend it's another fresh start, but experientially speaking that won't change much. Another place, more of the same people. It won't make a difference. People are the same everywhere, and my ways regarding the cause of this dream have not changed. The patient may play amidst dreams, but the doctor will keep him sedated during the day, lest his sorrowful sickness rub off on everything else inside me.

I've grown so tired of people asking me to will an emotion, or show more emotion, and tell them what I'm feeling. Truth is, my emotions have never given me anything of worth. They are rotten and destructive, self-pitying, nihilistic, pathetic, weak.

I am not excited.
I am not encouraged.
I am not hyped.
And I don't give a rat's ass about it.

I have peace and joy.
And these things are not emotional, but spiritual.
There are no goosebumps or hairs being raised,
no 'oooh' and 'ahhh.'
Peace, be still.
And stillness I have.
I am calm, I am collected.
My emotions are of desire.
I desire to know.
And that is sufficient for now.

And since the patient will not listen to reason, one must beat him with his own devices. Be brutal to him in word so that he will shut up long enough to go back to sleep.

I'm just babbling furiously at this point, which only shows me again how fruitful my emotions can be. Rotten.

Cleaning Time

Mind release. Not a reader. Just me practicing memory recall for fun and to clear out the 'ole noggin' so I can pass out.

8:20. Crap.
Poptarts. Again? Oh snap, strawberry.
Ramen. Seriously? Yyyup.
More talks? [forced blackout]
[aware again] No idea what those words mean.
I don't speak that lingo.
Ok I understand these words.
What a funny couple.
These are good talks.
I hate forced dance parties.
I love dancing on my own accord though.
I like these people's talks.
Why am I such a sucker?
Wish I could control my emotions.
I could use prayer from all four of these people,
even if one is fond of fallacies.
Ok two is good enough.
I got a negative c-c-combo in decent human being points yesterday.
I need to write that down.
Meetings: the only time you can say you're working when you're not and get away with it.
No amount of decorations will change someone's mind.
I really hope I don't have to stand here and wait.
I hate inefficiency and waiting when I'm involved in an activity.
Why am I going to be here 45 minutes early for something that will take 5 minutes?
It is gorgeous outside today.
Music time.
No parking? Jump the curb. Urban mudding!
Ramen, bleh.
Ramen, mmm.
Ping-pong net got four feet higher.
This was fun for about two minutes.
I'm texting and winning. Stupid variation.
Why am I on game three?
I need an oil change and a tire rotation.
When should I leave?
I have the prayer room to myself. Wow.
I can use my prayer beads and not worry about people asking questions.
I kind of want to be at Emmanuel for Easter.
Your face wants to be at Emmanuel.
Owned.
Wish I was better at communicating like a normal person.
I might know what to say if I could.
Man it's hot out here.
Hotter than a--wait, can't say that anymore.
This time last year I had a nasty mouth.
That's the first time I've had to actively control it in a while.
Great, no nap time in between work and event. Coffee.
This place is full of pornographic movies and magazines.
What kind of gas station have I walked into?
These guys' pants are hanging off their asses.
They're standing like upside down V's just so they don't hit their ankles.
I don't care about clothes or fashion until it becomes uncomfortable. Dumb.
And my gas overflows out of the tank again.
What if it ignited and blew this place up?
What? I need to be there an hour early now? Dumb.
Left my lugnuts at the shop. Looks like I'm gonna be there 45 early after all.
I put a bag of lettuce and tomatoes into a pan and loaded up coke, cups, and plates.
Done in 5 minutes.
We're setting on the couches.
Why was I here 45 minutes early?
Could be napping.
This is going to be awkward.
Why is a 70 year old man sucking up to me?
This pizza isn't too bad.
Wait, this is the third day I've eaten pizza. Enough already.
Man, I don't know how to preface this.
So, this is a gorefest. Enjoy.
Oh and I think I'm supposed to guilt trip you into believing. Enjoy.
I would have popped a gasket if someone tried this on me four years ago.
The Muslim is going to think this is shameful; I hope I can help him.
And action.
I hope they can keep up with the captions.
Well this is sad.
Ugh, what'd you guys think.
Why is this guy taking over what I'm in charge of?
Why is he rambling about non-sense?
Ooook, any questions or comments? What'd you guys think about the movie.
Annnd now he's saying the same exact thing all over again.
Yeah they're not going to understand your idiomatic expressions.
They're international.
I wish you would stop.
This is a nightmare.
Stab me someone.
Alright time to go. Who wants leftover pizza?
Why are there twelve people around one sink?
Time to rip a joke.
Ah, the real you shows.
Decorations equals more work.
Pretty? Yes. Helpful? No.
I'm not cut out for this.
I don't speak this way.
Sometimes I don't agree with these tactics,
in a moral or practical sense.
I did the same thing yesterday.
I've got to stop doing things with which I disagree.
Hanging out seems like fun.
I've been irritated with this whole event.
Could use some friend time.
I love these people.
I'm exhausted.
Third night the moon has been so huge.
It's been getting more orange every night, and it's waning now.
I should stare out at it and do some writing like I used to.
No wait, I'm exhausted.
I can't sleep.
I should write my thoughts just to clear them out.
8:20. Crap.

Tale of the Cooper's Daughters

"Erastus," the man called. "Erastus," he said a second time notably louder. "What are you doing?"
"Why I'm creating of course."
"Out of what exactly?"
"Well, they keep giving me newspapers, and leaving about read books. We mustn't let the illustrations go to waste."

Erastus had taken to making collages out of paper. Paper from books, magazines, newspapers, shaping them into something reminiscent of old cosmological and astrological maps. Strange creatures littered a Frankenstein night sky pieced together haphazardly.

"Why do you order them like that?"
"It comes to me."

The man stood over Erastus, breathing deeply, as if he might inhale whatever it was that had been "coming to Erastus" so he might better understand. Erastus sat in the center of a pile of cut out papers lying around him like an oriental fan. The man stood over his shoulder watching with a mix of contemplation and interest.

"And what exactly is going on in this picture?"
"Well I don't very well know, it's not done yet."
"Yes but you have an idea of where you're going."
"I most certainly do not. I said it comes to me, not that it has come to me."
"True," the man thought. "Well then do you think you see the whole picture yet?" he asked.
"How can I see it if it's not done yet?"
The man sighed out of irritation.
"Erastus are you ready to have our daily talk?"
"If we must, I would hope to continue my work while we do it though."
"That's fine. How are you doing today?"
"I'm doing it well."
"Doing what?"
"Art."
"How are you feeling I mean?"
"Creative."
The man sighed yet again.

The floor is rolling in newspapers, cut out figures, small excerpts, colored paper, and peoples' pictures. It's as if Erastus had searched through every man and woman's room and brought back all their tokens of memory. He had taken to cutting out pictures from advertisements, letters, and pasting them around a giant canvas he had made from other papers. Sometimes he would paste over the paper, other times he used what was already there as a base and used it in the work. Several sections had grown to five layers, with bits cut out here and there to make some overarching image using the different levels, others remained untouched. It appeared chaotic, but had an underlining structure, though the man was unsure if Erastus was consciously aware of it.

"Why do you do this Erastus?"
"It pleases me."
"How does it do that?"
"I suppose I think I've already seen everything the world has to offer. Art seems the only way to see something new or exciting."
"So you do it to feel excited."
"No, I said it makes me excited."
"Then why do you do it?"
"Because it pleases me. Are we going to talk like this all day?"
"I apologize, I'm just trying to talk to you in a way we can understand one another."
"Fine," he mumbled, while snapping off a lion. He placed them next to an ox and an eagle.
"Can we start over?" the man asked, the pen's tip pointed at Erastus as if asking too.
"Fine," he said while cutting out a man.
"Ok then. How are you?"
"I want to tell you a story."
"Very well then, begin when you are ready."

here once lived a cooper in a small German town. He worked from sun up to sun down making fine barrels for ales and drinks from all the sturdiest woods in the land. He raised three beautiful daughters who each were exceptional at one craft.

heir house had a small kitchen, only large enough for a four person table, lined with handmade wooden chairs. There was a cabinet on one end of the kitchen, and a long, thin table on the other that had supported seven corked jars since before the girls were born. Within each jar there were seven fireflies. Each jar contained a different subspecies known only to the cooper, distinguished according to the color they glowed. And "My! How lustrous they glow!" he would say to the girls every night before bed.

The beauty of the girls was renown for many villages, and when they came of age many suitors came seeking out their beauty. To protect them the cooper took to playing a game with the suitors. He told them that if any man could tell him which jar of his contained the green glowing fireflies without putting them in the dark, that he would give that man any of his daughters' hands in marriage. But if the suitor guessed wrong, then he was charged to fill as many barrels with the finest ale that the cooper could make in one night.

Now a visitor came one day to court one of the girls. He was a tall, lean man, with upright stature and the air of fair raising about him. He had heard the townsfolk speak of the girls' beauty, and had ventured to see it for himself. When he arrived the cooper requested the girls make him dinner. After the meal they sat conversing until the cooper at last broached the subject, offering the man his consent to marry any of his daughters, if the man could tell the cooper which of his jars contained the fireflies which glowed green like emeralds. The man asked to observe the fireflies for himself, to which the cooper motioned towards the jars with a smile. Some time had passed and the girls were beginning to yawn with the night. The man noted the impatience in the cooper so he quickly chose one jar which had the healthiest looking fireflies and pointed proudly, "Here. This one. Surely it contains those which glow green, for they must be the pride of your collection. And these here are the largest of the bunch."

"No," said the cooper smiling. So the man humbly accepted his loss and agreed to fill as many barrels as the cooper could make in one night. The man was given lodging for the night. In the morning he arose to see the cooper still up, putting the finishing touch on his third barrel.
"You are a fine father, and an even better cooper. I'll see my end of the bargain and have these filled to your specifications."
"You do me much honor, and I respect a man who is his word. Anytime you wish to try your luck again at one of my daughters' hands in marriage you are welcome to."
"Thank you for your kindness and hospitality; I shan't forget it."

So many suitors tried their hand, and none ever guessed right. This one guessed on the speed of their flying, that one on the hue of their shell, another on their behavior, and many based on the placement of the jar. Until one dusk the first suitor returned with the same upright stature and determination in his walk. The cooper greeted him with kind familiarity and led him back into the home. The three daughters stood on alternating stairs, each watching from the corner shadow as the two men spoke. The young man ate with the family that night, had a wonderful time with them all, and left without guessing which jar had the green light fireflies, nor mentioning it.

And this went on for months. He came from a day's travel just to sit with them for one night. Till at last he had built lasting relationships with all three of the elegant ladies. The youngest loved him so that she offered to tell him the father's trick if he gave his word that he would choose her. The oldest loved him so but she respected her father's wishes, so that she said she would wait for as long as it took for him to guess the right jar. The middle daughter loved him so that she enjoyed his company and conversing and laughing with him that she never mentioned the father's game. So the man fell in love with the middle and they were wed, and lived happily ever after.

"Snip" went Erastus' scissors. He stared at the newspapers around him for a moment before picking up a picture of earth and setting it upon some animal shoulders.

The man wrote down some comments on his paper before looking back down at Erastus.
"Why didn't the man have to guess the right jar?"
"Why should he have had to?"
"Because the father made it clear he would give his assent to those who guessed it."
"Yes."
"Well don't you see the disconnect in the story?"
"No."

Scribbling and snipping was all that was heard for some time. Sunbeams shot past bars onto Erastus' work. The paper seemed to be the only living thing in the room, the only thing with intent and color and work and joy.

Erastus suddenly cut the silence, "The metaphor is dead."
"What metaphor?" the man's eyebrow lifted inquisitively.
"All of them."
"What makes you say that?"
"Stories too."
"And why do you think this Erastus?"
"Dead," Erastus murmured with a large slice on the belly side of a whale.
"Erastus, what do you think about your story?"
"It's fine."
"Why doesn't the suitor need to guess the jar?"
"Because the cooper never said it was the only way he'd give assent."
"And what does that mean for you?"
"It means my path might just be fine."
"What path is that?"
"Here."
"Do you enjoy being in this room all day?" the man confronted Erastus.
"Do you enjoy trying to make me pick a jar?" Erastus fired back.
"So I am the cooper then? And who are you? The suitor? What of the daughters - who are they?" the man questioned with a hint of anger.
"I don't know. It comes to me, I didn't say it had come."
"What are you really doing with this paper collage Erastus?"
Erastus sat quietly. A smile cracked his lips, slow to open, but quick to finish once it had begun.
"Fine. It's time for your shot anyways, then it's back to sleep with you."
"That's fine. The metaphor lives in my dreams anyway."
"You won't be allowed to leave until you get better Erastus. You know that don't you?"
"Doc, you have to talk to me, you don't have a choice. Even if I'm asleep my project is still here, and my story lives on in you."

A nurse entered the room flicking a needle. The man motioned for her to give the shot. Erastus sat staring at the man as his arm was pumped full of some sedative.

"Goodbye Erastus," the man said sorrowfully. Regret could be heard in his tone, regret to help or understand.
"I'll see you later Doc. Same time? Same place?" Erastus chuckled softly and fell to sleep.

Tale of the Tristitia Lunaflorum

A metal door opens.
"Ahem," echoes off white walls.
"Speak first, introductions later," came response.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Someone who wishes to speak to me."
"Do you know why?"
"If I knew we'd have already had this conversation."
"This one is going to be a handful," the entering man grumbles.
Once seated, he opens his briefcase with a waving motion from each of his fingers, pulling out a handful of papers. Eyes focused on writing, the two sit in silence for a moment.
"Name?" the guest asks.
"Does it matter?" comes the reply.
"Only if you want to talk to me," the guest calmly retorts, eyes ever steady on his paper.
"Erastus," if you insist.
"Good. Now you may tell me whatever story you have for me. I'm all ears."

"My story begins with a large illuminated letter, so as you will know it is the light of the world, and a literary classic."
"Surely."

nce upon a time, the moon hung high. He was guardian of the night, watcher of the earth, and he loved to sprinkle light and dew upon all of earth while the sun slept.

ne particular season he took special interest in a flower. It bloomed by night with many shining silver petals, each laden with beads of water provided by its delicate stem. The Latin name for it was tristitia lunaflorum and it was the most lovely thing that the moon had ever shone upon.

He enjoyed lathering the flower in moonlight, watching it blossom when his eye turned upon it. And as the nights progressed, so did his love for the flower, so much that every night he turned more and more of himself towards it, so that at last he might be fully turned, and give the flower all the light he had to offer. This phase lasted many days, the moon growing fuller, the flower growing more beauteous. The two would sing songs to one another and found company with one another.

This lasts until the day of the eclipse. The moon disappears when it moves in the wrong direction and so shadow consumes it. The flower bows down, unable to open by night, thus it begins to wilt, resting solemnly in its own petals. The stem still tries to feed the flower water, but it only succeeds in dripping out of the closed petals. So the flower sat weeping, unable to open, and the moon could not escape from shadow."

"And what of the moon and the flower and the sun? The eclipse, the water? What are these to you?"
"Is it customary where you come from to interrupt a man mid-story?"
"Well, the reason I ask is because I am here to-"
"I very well know what you think you are here to do. If you would let me finish then you might be able to do it."
"Very well then. I apologize."
"Ahem."

So went darkness for sometime. Until at last a traveling merchant came along the flower's path, having guided his ox and cart towards a stream for water, he took to rest.
"Please sir, have mercy on me," wept the flower.
The man having never seen such a thing bowed down to listen more closely to the flower.
"What manner of thing is this? That a flower should talk?" he said.
"I am but a poor flower that needs moonlight to blossom. If you should be so kind as to bring the moon back, I might once again open. If you would do this for me, that I might see the moon once again I will reward you greatly."
"And how is this?" replied the peasant.
"I am a tristitia lunaflorum," said the flower, "in all the land in all the kingdoms you will not find another of my kind. Whatever woman you should give me to, they will be taken aback by my glory, and will take your hand in marriage for such an offering as I."
"So it shall be done," said the peasant, and went his way.

The peasant is gone for many a day, and the flower grew bold and took to trying to blossom by day. She took to opening at dawn, where light is low and the mist of the wood is still heavy. The sun rising every morning cast its rays around tree and shrub, and the two would converse until, from fear of heat, the flower would close again.

After many a day the flower had become accustomed to the light, and adapted to blossoming in full at noon. However, she ventured to open for too long and was burned. Determined to try again she closed and waited for the next day.

She enjoyed the sun's company by this time and had forgotten completely about the moon and the peasant she had sent to do her bidding. On one particularly bright day when she had just taken to opening and going through her ritual greeting to the sun, the peasant returned with his same ox with cart in tow.
"Grace be unto you little flower, and peace," the peasant greeted her.
"What word do you bring of the moon?" she cried.
"He has found his way out of shadow, and shall return tonight."
So the flower waited till night.

That night she rose from slumber and dew glistened on every leaf, waiting intently, watching the moon as she rose. The moon shone full but the flower had forgotten how to bloom by moonlight. She stood only half full and she sorrowed that she could not open fully.
"It is ok little flower. You can learn to open again in time," whispered the moon.
"And if I do not wish to learn?" snapped the flower.
"I do not understand, for are you not moonflower by nature?"
But she said naught, so the two sat quietly until dawn.

At last sun peeled back the gown of night to reveal his shining form, and the flower rose again. The moon still sat out, awaiting his daily slumber, when the flower looked back at him,
"I do not wish to blossom by night anymore. From henceforth I shall be a sunflower."
"So be it," whispered the moon, and receded into the hidden night.

The flower was burned by the sun that day, and wilted away several petals. She closed for fear of death, and waited for night. When the moon rose she cried out for his light, but the moon had turned away from the flower. Closed to the light that the moon once had shone upon the hill, the flower looked up to but the dark side of the moon.

But when the night comes, and the moon sits idle, back turned to that side of the world, the moon softly whispers to the clouds, blackened and hidden by the sheets of night, to rain on the flower by day, so that it might find restoration--so that it might become whatever kind of flower it wishes to be.

"Fairytalesque," said the guest.
"Were there any fairies?" asked Erastus.
"Certainly not, but what I mea-"
"Was there a tale?"
"You know what I meant,"
"I most certainly do not."
"Must we play these games?"
"You can't do your job if you look at it like that."
"It's not just a job, I take sincere interest in the people I work with."
"Why is that? Because you want to fix us? With what? What makes you think you're so enlightened that you're going to get rid of this illness?"
"I do not look at you that way. Now seriously, calm down. I just want to ask you about your story. It's quite beautiful. And to be honest I rather enjoyed it."
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"Fine."

A guard opens the white steel door, looks first to Erastus, then speaks to the man, telling him he has thirty minutes remaining today. The man nods in ascension and awaits for the door to close behind him before continuing.

"Ok then. Let me ask you something, where did you hear this story?"
"I hear it every night, when I look out of the window, when I dream, when I write, when I think, when I pray, when I eat my lunch for fuck's sake--it's everywhere."
"Alright. Umm, how does this story appeal to you? What emotions occur when you tell it? How does it make you feel?"
"How does it make me feel?
"My my Doc, aren't we a little bit slower than the rest?"
"Please answer the question."
"Why? So you can get to the root of the feeling? So you can point out the obvious and make me think we're going somewhere other than circles? The story makes me feel something and whatever that something is you'll trace back to the story. You don't get it Doc."
"And what is it that I don't get?"
"Feelin' ain't the problem, it's just an effect. All that training and you haven't figured that one out yet?"
"So then why don't you tell me what the problem is? Perhaps I missed the true meaning of your story. What is it that I was supposed to have learned? What did you learn from it?"
"Do your job much?"
"What do you mean?"
"Isn't it you who's supposed to be analyzing me?"
"I'm just having a conversation with you. Whatever you want to talk about is why I'm here."
"Oh good, 'cause for a second there I thought it was about you asking me questions rather than me talking about what I wanted to talk about."
"No need to be hostile. We'll talk about whatever you want."
"Fine. What did you think about my story Doc?"
"I thought it was lovely, reminded me of my childhood."
"Which part?"
"All of it. I told you it was like a fairytale. Reminds me of those my mother used to read me before bed."
"Ah, now why do you suppose that is?"
"Fairytales appeal to the child's imagination. When we are young we are fascinated by possibility, but when we are older we are only concerned with what is real."
"Says the man whose job it is to deal with my imagination."
"It's my job to help you see through it."
"And how are you going to do that until you see it?"
"I asked you the meaning of it."
"And I told you I'm not doing your job for you."
"You're not trying to talk to me."
"And neither are you to me."
"Our time together is running out Erastus. I can see you're far too upset today to talk. We'll have to finish this tomorrow."

So the man folded up his papers and centered them in his briefcase, both thumbs outstretched, clasping the thing shut.
"Tomorrow" Erastus echoed.
Getting up from the chair, the guard opened the door, and the man went to leave. With one foot through the door, he turned back to Erastus,
"How does the story end?"
"I told you the ending."
"No you didn't. The conflict wasn't with the moon nor the sun but with the flower."
"Some say the peasant picks the flower but the princess he presents the flower to is disgusted by it and throws it down in the mud. The man tries to pick it up but a carriage pulled by horses stomps it into the ground."
"And others?"
"That the rain brings life, and when the flower is plucked the peasant becomes king of a mighty kingdom. His queen sets the flower in a crystal vase outside her balcony, where every night she blooms until the moon slowly waxes back to full."
"And which do you believe?"
"I don't know Doc, it's just a story."
"Till tomorrow then."
"So be it."

Erastus could hear the thick plopping of the man's shoes as they touched tile floor. So he turned his back to the door and the whole conversation that had just taken place. Looking through the window, outside sat a small hill, with a meek flower, directly under the moon. He hoped night would soon fall. Perhaps then, with the nightly crying and shrieking of his neighbors, he might be able to ignore the story until morning.

How to Pack a Bag Properly

One can pack a bag in any way they so wish. They can pack it into something else or something into it, whatever they might understand to pack a bag to mean. I use it to be the latter, but even then one can pack it anyway they so choose. They can stuff it with tangerines and sheet music for all I care. But there is a way to properly pack it based on intent.

I dared to begin packing the night before. How punctual of me. To pack the night before you began to pack you must first set about analyzing your intentions and the ends of what it is you wish to pack. Once one does this it becomes quite easy to "pack the night before." Now, the average man packs all out of nonsense, just look here:

I intend on working. I should pack shorts and shirts and shoes and so on. Work requires protection of the body in case of accident. I want to avoid the possibility of getting hurt while working, so I take something that will lower the probability of it (e.g. close-toed shoes, a hard hat, long pants, etcetera).

The accident is an accidental quality. He begins saying his intent is work, but ends with intent to prevent accidents. Then he says he wishes to avoid the possibility of being hurt but ends by acting to reduce probability. No, no, no, this just won't do at all. We must say what we mean or shut up. Nothing can be done for such a man, for he speaks in jibberish, nothing more than a series of unconnected assertions. Now! --if he had said:

I intend on working. I should pack forearms and fists and tools and laborers and &c. in this bag. There is a possibility of getting hurt but one cannot avoid possibility, unless of course I bring some tool to make the possible impossible. If I cannot find my tool for this (it has been missing for some time) then I should put a damper on probability's relationship with possibility. Those two are inseparable (and have been for some time), but at least one might prevent probability from taking possibility out for a stroll in the park (at least for some time).

If a man had told me this I would much better understand him, applaud him for such excellent and consistent packing, compliment him on his ability to express his intent, and be slightly amused. Of course I can only know this is what "he" was trying to say because I am the man, and I know my intent. For others I'm stuck at the jibberish stage and can do nothing more for them but to look curious and smile from time to time as they talk.

Unpacking is an entirely different issue. But if one wishes to unpack like Mary Poppins, one would need only to cultivate probability and possibility's relationship, rather than wreck it.

This ends How to Pack a Bag Properly