Personal opinion...

Oddly, it just struck me that all people function from the paradigm of rightness. All people (and to be safe I will re-phrase with most people) believe, consciously or unconsciously, that they are right: opinions, beliefs, and assertions-all are right. I grasp the naturalness of this basic understanding, but its realness just surfaced in my mind. Perhaps most people operate upon this understanding knowingly, but I still find it amazing, but utterly normal. As people grow, mature, they form opinions and beliefs. In some sense, these formations are closely identified with individuals and their personal identity. Thus, it is very difficult for a person to admit wrongness on a point which they themselves have formed and uphold, because their admission can, in some sense, affect their psyche and crumble their identity. The belief or opinion can be so closely linked with the actual person, that to separate the two would be lethal. Hence, the reason for vigilantly and adamantly clinging to ones paradigm of opinion and belief would be to place oneself upon the alter wholly. Opinions do not make the person. Beliefs to not make the person. These things do shape and mold individuals; however, without them people are independent and perfectly able to stand in the knowledge that they are upheld by something far greater than measly opinions...in that everyone is right.

Life again

I have gained new insight. Life is not about us-that is where the perspective has become skewed and off. If I live my life with the mentality that all I do-being born, going to school, getting married and then dying-is all there is, then yes life will be depressing. But, all such perspectives result from self-centered living. My life is not my own and thus cannot be about me. I have been born, etc. for a greater purpose beyond myself and my own ends. This is my hope. I live for someone else and for things beyond me. Thank God. I was beginning to get depressed about life...

What is life...?

What is this thing that we call life? Of what does it consist? Where does the meaning lie? Is it simply being born, growing, functioning as one should in "life" i.e. school, marriage, children, death-is that all it is? I know within the depths of my soul this cannot be and it is not truth, but my unfortunate perspective of daily life instills this as the cycle and pattern that must ensue-but whether it contains meaning is another matter. Cycles and patterns can be completely empty, mundane and meaningless, unless proactively altered and changed. I think somewhere in my head I have conceived this notion that this "life" will be bearable if only somewhere else and consisting of something else, but truly that is a pervasive discontent that will never be satisfied. Life is life no matter where it occurs-it is what one does in that life that holds lasting importance or meaning. This horrible view of life perhaps seems inconsistent with a Christian paradigm, and it may be, but nevertheless, it plagues me at present. I know there is meaning deeper than the mundane, daily life-which is why, I know my soul, is forever discontent. We are not meant for this world-it is only a shadow, a foreground to the real world which awaits us. However, that does not mean we are meant to loath wholly our existence-no! There is deeper meaning to this thing called "life" and I choose that hope over these pessimistic tendencies regarding my existence...

Boxes

Stereotypes, preconceived notions, closed-mindedness-why? God created diversity, creativity, difference and yet we, as humans, attempt to force every person, group, or creed into neat little boxes-when we are anything but neat or box-like. Why do we succumb to our own short comings? We must not be content to place or be placed in boxes-it limits His vastness and our own abilities and God-given diversities. He is not limited in how He chooses to reveal Himself or in whom He chooses to gift and use for His purposes-why then do we, as ignorant humans, assume to understand or comprehend the ways of God? We have placed God in a box-He will not remain there, and perhaps we should not either...

Simplicity

Things in abundance-unnecessary. Stuff screaming and yelling-it overwhelms and consumes. I look about me at materialism galore and I wonder-why? I do not need it. Take it away-better off will I be. I am not defined by what surrounds me, but rather by he who is within me. Hate hate hate loath it all....but then I don't fully or it would be gone-dilemma...

The pain

My hearts feels to be ripping and tearing, yearning for the shores of that place of green pasture, sweeping Mournes, swelling tide, receding bay, cups of tea, friends and times together. The magic has been broken and my heart knows the reality-it cannot be repeated. The chapter has closed, never again to be reopened. Oh the pain I feel in my soul at the thought! How I wish I could return and repeat the memories, but I know it would be a sin to wish it. I must set my eyes towards now and rather than then, but how truly difficult it remains to tear my heart and thoughts from the place which afforded me with such precious memories, deep friendships, lasting lessons and a life long love of that place…I will never again be the same. My heart will forever be emblazoned with the mark of this time...

Sunset Chapter...

Softly pink and mingled be
The emotions of my sky.
Setting is this chapter
Upon the horizon of my life.
I gaze and seek for the past,
But the sun has descended
Upon this my memory.
Not again will that same sun
Rise unto this life,
For changed it will be
From the seasons of my past.
Wet are these clouds beneath my pen,
Drawn from memories sweet and savory.
Return I cannot, but set my eyes I can
upon a new sunrise.
Thus my eyes I turn,
but my heart and mind remain...

Michael Longley

The renowned Irish poet, Michael Longley, came for a visit this morning. He entered with a tweed coat upon his back and a scarf about his neck. His hair was bushy and white, reminiscent of Father Christmas. His belly spoke of life well enjoyed. He sat in our circle with half-rimmed spectacles perched upon his nose. His ordinary, conversational speech overflowed with profundity and poetic genius. I marveled at his wisdom and candid honesty. His spirit self-professedly lacks eternal security, however, never a more compassionate or sensitive man have I ever met. His poems speak of life-its beauties and horrors. He spoke of inspiration as "excitement and electricity" things needed for good poetry. I reveled in his experiences and advice. He said at one point: "poetry is my religion." This struck honestly within my heart, but saddened me simultaneously. He is a brilliant craftsmen-for that is what a poet is-a craftsmen, a priest, a maker. He beautifully said, "art (poetry in his case) makes up for only having one life." Living vicariously through ones art-pure brilliance. He talked about experiences being incomplete until written down and the need to allow those experiences first to settle and take root before recording them in words. "Old fashioned inspiration." Thus stands my muse...