Jumping the Brook

Repentance in progress

2011-04-13T08:40:00.001-04:00

A young man rises from his seat, a message on his lips.

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the bus’ he begins ‘I want to tell you about Jesus Christ’

Two boys in front of me snigger as he stands in the aisle.

I want to encourage him, to let him know I’m listening. I want to raise my hand and bless him. But I don’t. I sit still, appreciating his courage, listening to his message, welcoming his expression of faith.

He tells us of how he often used to go to nightclubs, to drink and sleep around, until he found Jesus. Then, he repented and changed his ways. ‘It’s easy,’ he says, ‘all you need to do is repent.’

At the next stop he gets of the bus and makes his way along the pavement. He is calm, ordinary looking and unruffled by his recent ministry.

I spend the rest of my journey thinking about repentance. Is it really that easy to repent? What does it even mean to repent? Is being sorry enough?

I am reminded of a habit my Dad has of detecting a superficial apology within me. I may have been mean to him, so I apologise. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, to which he replies ‘no you’re not.’ I always protest against his claim. But now I realise that my ways don’t change, my apology is not reflected in my actions, and when he tells me I am not in earnest he is merely pointing out this fact.

As a Quaker brought up in Britain Yearly Meeting, I am not clear what my understanding of sin is. I am realising, however, that often simply being sorry for the past is not enough, that show of humility must be reflected in the actions of the future. For the young preacher on the bus repentance may be easy, for me it is a work in progress.

City pressures

2011-02-13T08:49:00.000-05:00

Cities confuse me. When confronted with so many different ways of being, dressing, interacting and living, I begin to lose track of what sits comfortably with me. I find myself walking the streets wishing I had the confidence to wear that skirt or that colour, wishing I owned boots as smart as those, wishing…wishing…wishing I was something that I am not. I begin to feel lacklustre, plain and discontented. I begin to get my values in a twist. I find myself drawn out of myself, scattered and longing to be many different people.

As a Quaker I have a commitment to simplicity. I am constantly evaluating whether I truly need to buy this or own that. I am no saint, and I often decide I don’t need something, then find myself walking out the shop having caved under the weight of capitalist consumerism once more…

Britain Yearly Meeting’s faith and practice includes the following paragraph:

“The testimony of outward simplicity began as a protest against the extravagance and snobbery which marked English society in the 1600s. In whatever forms this protest is maintained today, it must still be seen as a testimony against involvement with things which tend to dilute our energies and scatter our thoughts, reducing us to lives of triviality and mediocrity”

Quaker faith and practice 20:27

So as I move around the city, listening to the expectations of this culture telling me how to dress, how to behave, how to live in a cosmopolitan environment, I am asked to re-evaluate how I protest against the “extravagance and snobbery” of modern consumer fashions. I am prompted to question how much my outward expression truly affects my sense of self, and wonder whether a disengagement from the surrounding culture might, in fact, enable me to engage with life, and with my faith, on a deeper, more fulfilling level.

the colouring of interpretation

2009-07-16T14:45:00.000-04:00

As I walked up the hill, back to the fields and the bare moors, scent of marzipan rising from the verge, tar bubbling in the slight sunshine, I realised that I have forgotten to be happy. I have spent the week feeling so detached and so numb that I have forgotten the sheer beauty of consciousness.

Going back to that moment of realisation, back to the moment when I recognised that the weight of melancholy that fills my lethargic and unmotivated self is mainly of my own construction, it occurrs to me that pehaps I didn't fully comprehend Nietzsche this past year. When he explains nihilism as the inevitable meaningless of our lives, my original reaction was amusement. I now question whether it was my preoccupation with study that allowed me to find hilarity in this otherwise bleak statement. Something in me that was focussed on my work would not allow me to know the pesimism of Nietzsche's statement but only the ways in which it may be empowering to the human race. These past few days with no pressures and no commitments, I have come to speculate on the darker and deeper levels of meaning implicit in that statement. As each day stretched before me asking to be filled and yet repelling any plan, I found myself sinking deeper into the numbing knowledge of the uselessness of life.

So I see that although the stoic philosophers aimed for complete rational control and containment of emotion, there is a deeper place from which emotions spring; a place that we have no control over and that colours our interpretation of concepts and theories.

renaming

2009-07-11T17:46:00.000-04:00

I thought about this blog a little today. I thought about how all I can write about are my own experiences, and I thought about what is current in my life. It came to me that in choosing my title, in beginning to write about the brooks I must jump I began a commentary on my life and the transitions that occupy it. So I'm making a change, my new subheading will be "a commentary on transition".

the ultimate brook

2009-04-29T14:40:00.000-04:00

For the last month I have been jumping the brooks of everyday life, completing the deadlines and 'to do' lists that seem to make up my existence. However, for every small step my eyes have been drifting to the distance, to rest on a river whose far banks are unknown to me. There will come a time soon when I will jump that brook. I will jump not knowing entirely what lies on the far side. I only hope that I am prepared for that unknown. I only hope that I land on my feet.

tensions

2009-03-25T18:34:00.001-04:00

It has been a long time since I posted anything, and I think to myself 'so much for once a week!'

At present I am experiencing the world dropping away from beneath my feet. All the excitement cultivated and indulged only weeks ago is spent. All is undermined as I shed my future plans, as I shake off their motivations and scrutinise the new. I changed my mind and now I'm no longer sure of the ground I'm standing on. I'm all at sea with the waves of atheism, existentialism, nihilism washing over the bows. I have a longing to be grounded again, rooted in the soil and the wet english weather, in the speed of dance, the moving of muscles and the rasp of breath. Yet, I have a longing to take theses theories, these intellectual abstractions and forge the illusion of transcendence. To fly with them to such heights, to push the mind to such limits, that I may taste knowledge.

Is there anyway to encorporate these two into the same life?

thought

2009-02-24T16:22:00.000-05:00

What thoughts swim

through the minds unconscious

then surfacing spit

bubbles from the lip

as metaphors and lies spill into the darkness?

returning

2009-02-23T18:02:00.000-05:00

After a week of light headed airy open days of illness and a thorough break from the blog project I am finding the threads of life slow to grasp once more. I am going to try and post on here weekly from now on while I struggle to catch up with all the things that have slipped through my fingers in the last week. I haven't been floored by a virus in a long time; it took me by surprise.

experience III

2009-02-15T05:24:00.000-05:00

An experience of the self?

365-09 #46

experience II

2009-02-14T05:22:00.000-05:00

An experience of the world?

Distorted by the self.

365-09 #45

experience

2009-02-13T05:02:00.000-05:00

At present, I'm struggling to write an essay on the ways in which moral and religous ideals shape our experience of the self and our experience of the world. Things will be going smoothly, the thoughts will be flowing, there is clear progression from one premise to the next, then all of a sudden I will be thrown into complete confusion. The current concern that has arrested my progress is that I cannot define what an experience is. They are these things that we have constantly but are continually elusive. We can describe what they taught us or how they felt when they happened, we can reflect on their affect onus. But when it comes to knowing the thing in itself, they slip through our fingers.

The Oxford English Dictionary lists the following definition:

experience, n. actual observation of or practical acquaintance with facts or events; knowledge or skill resulting from this. a; event that affects one, fact or process of being so affected.

Experience of the self and of the world relates directly to what we know (or think we know) about these two things. Perhaps we define our experiences by the knowledge we gain from them. If that is the case are we really any closer to pinning down what an experience is?

365-09 #44

waves

2009-02-12T18:14:00.000-05:00

It's one of those weeks where everything builds up, seethes round, washes over, threatens to drown you. But somehow you know you'll find a rock to balance on...

365-09 #43

space

2009-02-11T17:39:00.000-05:00

Still. Quiet. A little absent humanity. And all that space...

365-09 #42

encouragement

2009-02-10T17:41:00.000-05:00

Today I received a pat on the back in letter form.

It was bemusing. And I wondered at the university employing a senior administrator to congratulate students on their improvement, mid-term. Chuffed and confused, I feel now the weight of expectation. My own more than that of the institution. Despite my belief that what matters is the process, I struggle to force my mark into insignificance. It's a tough task when all about you people are basing their quality on a grade. It's a tough task when at high school you were accustomed to consistently achieving top marks. To avoid disappointment reason insists upon the levelling of emotion in this case, however hard it may be.

365-09 41

2 metaphors

2009-02-09T17:48:00.000-05:00

Dinner time. The second time I have sat round the dining table with my housemates. The second time within 3 days. I get the feeling, as someone offers excitedly to cook for us all again in two nights time, that I have set something in motion. I comment on this. "I feel like I've pushed a boulder from the top of a hill" I say, and immediately regret it as 4 faces turn to me in puzzled amusement. The metaphor was completely lost on them.

2pm seminar. 8 people lounging at desks with books askew. The topic under scrutiny happens to be Nietzsche's attitude towards the origins of moral law. I offer an interpretation. "The moral law is made of years of habit and custom, like fossils" I impulsively add. There is a moment of silence as my peers attempt to make the connection. And then back up arrives from my tutor. Essentially the formation of laws is just like the formation of fossils. Customs are repeated year upon year; layers of silt build up. Eventually they become set in stone; petrified.

365-09 #40

timing.

2009-02-08T18:08:00.000-05:00

I really should blog in the day time. Now, I have too many thoughts to put in order and not enough energy. Perhaps after some sleep things will be slightly clearer....

365-09 #39

some more Nietzsche

2009-02-08T04:26:00.000-05:00

last night I was lying in bed feeling the weight of my body and a calmness that spread from the inside to the furthest limbs and I suddenly realised that I had forgotten to post on here. So I'm playing catch up for the first time.

I was feeling very claustrophobic about the city yesterday, craving countryside and open space like nothing else. It made me think of an aphorism I came across in Nietzsche recently:

"We like to be out in nature so much because it has no opinion about us." (508- Human, all too Human)

If you stand still and in silence you can imagine the land without yourself. It is as if you were never there, the sheep will graze as they would if you were absent, the wind still brushes through the grass, the birds maintain their flight. It is one of the most beautifully humbling moments.

365-09 #38

2009-02-06T19:27:00.000-05:00

365-09 #37

2009-02-05T17:13:00.001-05:00

www.wefeelfine.org

365-09 #36

means and ends

2009-02-04T17:39:00.000-05:00

should each moment be an end in itself?

can we live like this?

365-09 #?

back in the library

2009-02-03T16:52:00.000-05:00

...wandering through the stacks of books, shelf upon shelf, I am struck by the minds represented there. It seems to me to be one of the most hushed places. Pages soaking up whispers, oozing silence. And yet each book speaks in voices of confidence, singing concepts, ideas, theories, their words of conviction. One building contains all this movement and remains so still.

365-09 #34

A poem for Brigid

2009-02-02T14:59:00.000-05:00

Two Statements

1
I imagine that if I went to sea

I'd stare at pebbles on the beach :
Given boundless horizons free horizons we
Can concentrate on what's in reach.

2
When hope is like a poplar it doesn't matter
What use the poplar will be put to after.

It is all in the present and it rests on air
Come rest your eyes in it and take your comfort here.

John Riley

A poem for Brigid

2009-02-02T14:55:00.000-05:00

This was brought to my attention today and, being of poetic spirit I thought I would contribute.

Feel free to copy the following to your blog and spread the word. Let poetry bless the blogosphere once again!
WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading
WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2009
WHERE: Your blog
WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid, aka Groundhog Day
HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.
RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.Feel free to pass this invitation on to any and all bloggers.

365-09 #33

a year

2009-02-01T05:03:00.000-05:00

one year is simply a drop in the ocean of life. but who knows what will come of it.

it may be a year of evolution. every experience counts.

365-09 #32

mud

2009-01-31T21:01:00.000-05:00

this is what matters.

365-09 #31

365-09

2009-01-30T15:33:00.000-05:00

trojan horse free and back online. but with limited time.
still on with the 365-09 challenge though :)

365-09 #30

2009-01-29T14:06:00.000-05:00

my computer is infected. I should turn it off until I can get it seen to.
:(

365-09 #29

library

2009-01-27T16:47:00.000-05:00

Muted and absorbed in the internal workings of my brain I paused and looked up.

I can see you working, typing, reading, taking notes, but what's really going on in your head? Is there a backdrop similar to mine, a continual hum of things remembered, things to do, scraps of conversation, questions? Or is there pure focus, nothing appears before you but the work, you hear nothing but the words on the page? And as I'm having these thoughts you must be thinking too. And I wonder what. And I am fascinated by the fact that I can never know, that I can never step into your stream of consciousness. I can never tell where your mind is, where your thoughts are.

In the poem Two in the Campagna Browning explores this idea of the impossibility of knowing another's mind. I find scrawled in the margin of my lecture notes the question: Are we running at the same speed?

And I wonder whether I might be running to keep up with you, to catch up with you, or whether we are running together? And I realise that this is something I can never know.

365-09 #28

fiction

2009-01-27T16:27:00.000-05:00

It has been some time since I devoted a whole day to reading a novel. I found I had forgotten how it is to take a step out of reality. Fiction allows this. It permits me to bury my existence under the words, to swamp it with the lives of others, to remove my consciousness to another sphere where everything is given. My attention is directed, my emotions controlled. I am momentarily removed.

In the end I must come back.

While surfacing I pause to marvel at how internalised my experience of the day has been. My teeth feel loose and my voice having been redundant is now reluctant to make impressions on the air. I feel as if I am still one step removed from this reality, as if I cannot impact upon it, only observe. The moment I speak I will be returned completely but until then I may remain insulated and distant in the space between.

365-09 #27

future

2009-01-26T16:56:00.000-05:00

We can't know exactly where we are going. But it is wonderful to look ahead and find the dreams traced in mist becoming concrete.

I'm running down the beach, accelerating, sure to see land across the water.

Today I could step off the edge and I'm sure I'd fly...

365-09 #26

today

2009-01-25T18:30:00.000-05:00

Some days it's harder to write than others. I don't, after all want this to become a journal. It's for reflections and distortions, not facts.
So today goes like this:

enter the spirit of energy.
exit inspiration.

don't ask me why.

365-09 #25

time

2009-01-24T11:31:00.000-05:00

I need time.

365-09 #24

paper people

2009-01-23T19:09:00.000-05:00

fold the paper.
take the scissors and cut
chains of people
replica. repeat.
the same again and again and again and again...

It's interesting to be able to look back and, in a very self consciously analytical way examine the influences that I've encountered in the past. It's funny to look under my bed and find amongst the trainers and practical shoes a pair of high heels. It's nice to think of the experiences and experiments I've undergone, survived, come through, gained. It gives me strength to recognise from this that I was never blindly a paper replica at the end of a chain. I hope I never will be.

365-09 #23

a little Nietzsche...

2009-01-22T14:15:00.000-05:00

On a mountain side in June, I sat with the earth laid out before me. By my boot a flower blossoms in solitude. I am suspended between the urge to name it and the desire to know it. These two things may be commonly mistaken for being the same. I don't believe that they are. Knowing the flower involves acknowledgement of its existence on its own terms, of its place in the world, of its detail. Naming the flower does not allow me to know it in this way. If anything, naming places a barrier between me and the flower. I place a name on it; I know it in human terms. I gain nothing other than the sense of self-worth accompanying the projection of fabricated knowledge.

To end with some Nietzsche:

"It is this way with all of us concerning language: we believe we know something about things themselves when we speak of trees, colours, snow, and flowers; and yet we possess nothing but metaphors for things- metaphors which correspond in no way to the original entities."

("On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense (1873) The Nietzsche Reader, Blackwell Publishing, 2006)

365-09 #22

dancing

2009-01-21T18:29:00.000-05:00

Been to a ceilidh.
Over excited.
Energetic Polka.
Stepping and Hopping.
I love to Dance!

365-09 #21

paint

2009-01-20T18:08:00.000-05:00

365-09 #20

paint

2009-01-19T18:03:00.000-05:00

I bought acrylics and,
For all my skill the colours remained gaudy, not subtle.
For all my enthusiasm the figures remained lifeless.
For all my imagination the land lay 2d.

365-09 #19

a caution

2009-01-18T17:40:00.000-05:00

Frequently in conversation, a caution springs to mind:

"Be careful with your words, oh be careful!"

It comes from the sense I have of emotions being fed by expression. To some extent we convince ourselves of sustained opinions. I am thinking here of the attitudes to study I hear expressed on a daily basis at university. I have, over the last term, made a conscious effort not to use negative language in reference to my studies (mainly because I enjoy them and it would not be true to moan about them constantly.) It is difficult when the standard conversation with a relatively unknown fellow student revolves around complaints about the workload. However my success has resulted in a positive attitude thus demonstrating how we should be careful with our words and consider their consequences.

It concerns me that perhaps I am throwing these words away. I toss them into the void and wonder who might catch them. I hope they are honoured, not misused.

365-09 #18

footprints

2009-01-17T18:46:00.000-05:00

Thus we move on
leaving
traces on the land

365-09 #17

focus

2009-01-16T16:53:00.000-05:00

It's hard to focus when emotions break open the compartments of thought. When your mind is dragged through memories and the happiness melts into the sadness and emptiness. When concerns leak from the spaces they inhabit, polluting the others, invading and confusing the thoughts. It is hard to hold each feeling in acknowledgement. It is hard to put things back in the boxes they escaped from...

But it is not impossible.

365-09 #16

mortality

2009-01-15T05:11:00.000-05:00

Death crept up and pinched my arm and I remembered my forgotten mortality. I remembered how miraculous it is that I breathe, that my heart beats and all the mechanics of the body go on working. I remembered that whether for the good or the bad I am conscious and I should be grateful that I am able to recognise the fact. I remembered the significance of the senses; cold toes, smell of smoke, grey of the sky, birdsong, sweet biscuits... I remembered how these things may be gone at anytime, how I may be gone at anytime, how my fragility is shrouded and disregarded.

How ever hard I try to remember these things they slip away, only to be brought back with the strangest feeling- the pinch of death, tinged vacuous and numbing

365-09 #15

2009-01-14T16:32:00.000-05:00

365-09 #14

urban fox

2009-01-13T17:17:00.000-05:00

Looking out into the back yard this morning I was surprised to see a small fox balancing on the wall. Light brown in colour, alert and wary it jumped into next door's garden and headed for the fence. After a pause it disappeared through a hole that did not look large enough for it, and that was that.

365-09 #13

doubts

2009-01-12T16:15:00.000-05:00

How do you test your convictions?

If you felt called to do something but it involved a significant lifestyle change how would you be sure that that was the right path?

How can we ever know that we are acting on our truth and not just on the everyday trappings of emotional existence?

Where is the distinction between reality and imagination?

365-09 #12

letters in the sand

2009-01-11T15:48:00.000-05:00

365-09 #11

letters in the sand

2009-01-10T18:19:00.001-05:00

365-09 #10

letters in the sand

2009-01-09T08:27:00.001-05:00

My mind keeps drifting back to the summer, I suppose it was yesterday's post that has done it.

It was with glee that I left my grandparents early in the morning to take photos on the beach and in the woods. Being on the sand before anybody else I wrote things on the smooth, wave-washed surface. I enjoyed thinking of people arriving later in the morning and reading the questions I had written, before footprints obscured them and the inevitable tides rose to cover them.

See the sea.
Look for it
Listen for it
Then come and find me and tell me what you saw.

These lines were prompted by the thought that we never really see the sea, we see the light reflecting on the water, or we see the boats afloat, we see the possibility of a swim or a sandcastle. Do we ever stop and look and truly take in the immensity of it? Is it necessary to stop and take in the concept before we can claim to see?

Sometimes I wonder whether these questions really mean anything...

365-09 #9

the value of the moon

2009-01-08T16:54:00.000-05:00

This is the beautifully fuzzy, silent and comfortable, summer moon. In all seasons the moon fascinates me. It gives me a perspective, reminding me just how small earth is. It seems to open up my mind to the complexity of being and the co-existing simplicity too. And I always feel that I shouldn't take my eyes off it, that I should gaze on and on in case it's my last chance to do so...

365-09 #8

the beach

2009-01-07T16:05:00.000-05:00

We crunched along the shingle, feet slipping back slightly with every step. And the beach stretched out before us, seemingly endless.

365-09 #7

frost

2009-01-06T16:20:00.000-05:00

I'm having trouble focussing on anything other than the temperature of my toes- we Brits are not used to subzero cold snaps! Though it makes for clean walking boots because the mud is frozen. The house I have just re-entered after 3 weeks away is chilled right through which isn't particularly welcoming. I hope it is more appealing in the morning. I hope it has warmed up a little by then too!

365-09 #6

appreciation of space

2009-01-05T17:23:00.000-05:00

Walking today in a local forest I was continually struck by the way the trees alter the sunlight. They possess it, taking it in and colouring it with the deepest bronze and brown. They limit it, causing it to fall in distinct rays filled with silently drifting dust and spider's webs. The alteration holds a beautiful simplicity. In silence I appreciated the illuminated space.

365-09 #5

the materialism of words

2009-01-04T18:05:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I struggle to capture the feelings of a moment in words. I wonder whether doing so condemns them to an eternity of materialism, as the symbols that define consciousness itself.

365-09 #4

swans

2009-01-03T17:32:00.000-05:00

Following on from yesterday's post I'd like to the refer to the common example of the swans:

On the glass like lake they glide, serenely
Yet from below fish see webbed feet, paddling like fury.
From the outside the human looks complete, stable.
On the inside they may battle, emotions in turmoil.

Thus, no good may come from judging oneself in comparison to the seemingly level headed other; you can never know exactly what it's like on their inside.

This is a little like thought for the day really (except I post in the evening...)

365-09 #3

the human bundle.

2009-01-02T15:45:00.000-05:00

If you took me apart, set me in pieces, separated all the parts of me, it would soon become clear that I am a bundle of all elements. Here's the bit that loves academic work and here's the bit that finds it a chore. Here's the bit that loves fresh air and living landscapes and here's the bit that debases physical existence. The divisions go on and on...

Put it all together and you have a functioning human being.
Disassemble it once again and you have a collection of contradictions.

It's a marvel.

365-09 #2

365? we'll see...

2009-01-01T17:35:00.000-05:00

A friend of a friend has challenged herself to blog every day of the new year, so I thought I'd see how long I could manage it for. Posts may be a single word or something more substantial. I don't think I'll last long, but we'll have to wait and see...

The new year began for me with a hillside in darkness and frost on my eyelashes, frozen bog under my boots and rose tinted mist. I approach 2009 as I approach any new day, new week, new month. But the sense of unknowing is amplified and I find myself somewhat anxiously hurrying to discover the adventures of the future.

365-09 #1

on pain...

2008-12-13T16:05:00.000-05:00

I wish to comment briefly on how much it hurts to be human. This may seem like a particularly self-pitying wish, however the thought I would express may only be arrived at through personal experience thus is inevitably seen through the self.

In the summer a friend brought an essay by Ursula K. Le Guin to my attention which had a pretty deep impact upon some areas of my thinking. One sentence springs to mind now:

"People crave objectivity because to be subjective is to be embodied, to be a body, vulnerable, violable."

I crave objectivity, admittedly less than I used to but every now and again I experience emotion that I would rather escape. At one point in my life I began to idolise the concept that could cut emotion right out of the picture; to never have the risk of painful emotion would be ideal. I regarded objectivity as that concept- beautiful, unreachable. I soon realised however that if I were objective I would be unable to appreciate it; it is not possible for one emotion to exist without a contrast.

In happier times I re-evaluated my decision acknowledging the rich experience that being subjective, being a body, may offer. Someone once told me that joy may co-exist with any other emotion...

these are things we must remember.

When faced with the pain of rejection or of loneliness, we can still recognise the fact that we exist and that that alone is a wonderful thing. If we can just take a step back to remember the world that we are part of we may be able to place our pain in perspective. I don't believe that we are completely helpless.

To end with a rather cryptic metaphor I settled on in a moment of melancholy:

There is more to this life than myself. I must accept that I cannot carry, within my pockets, every pebble I spy on the path- some of them are special in the moment only and must be left behind...

the worm in the apple...

2008-11-17T13:54:00.000-05:00

This is a simplification of something that has probably been studied by sociologists, anthropologists and cultural philosophers. My contemplations may be amateur but I can't help but let them overflow onto the page, I remain convinced that there is some truth in what follows.

Yesterday I was explaining to a friend how throughout my life I have been looking for refuges from the problems caused by humanity's subjectivity. I have been looking for the crispest, sweetest apple. However, everything I have ever viewed as a refuge in one light has eventually been revealed to me in another as corrupt- a construct of society that has been misused and abused. Philosophy is one of these things. Finally, after 2 years of study I have decided to stop cultivating reverence for the 'greatest' philosophers, the big names.

Philosophy was once, for me, the beautiful objective, the logical, moral, rational answer to all the problems caused by the ego-centric, self-centred subjective. But of course I was deluding myself- philosophy has been abused as much as religion has, as much as tradition has, as much as art and literature and science .... there is no human construct morally pure or purely moral that lives and breathes. Even abstract theories can be misused in their utter dependence upon our fickle language. Even words laid out with the most honest of intentions will be manipulated by corruption eventually. On paper we create the ideal which crumbles when we try to grasp it.

It occurred to me then that the ideal is no more than a concept, and in raising it up and reaching out for it we are in danger of constant disillusionment and disappointment.

I wish so much that humanity was less flawed. That the ideal was attainable. That I could eat an apple without finding a worm in the core...

blogging...an alien form.

2008-11-08T06:31:00.000-05:00

I don't think I'm doing very well at this. I haven't settled in. Where I once had plenty of thoughts to share I now have none. It's as if the opportunity to vocalise has drained me.

Or perhaps I began in the wrong tone and that is stopping me from speaking. I have to make another jump. I have to break out of that which I began in. I have to begin again and make sure that this time I keep thinking, keep talking.

I was hoping that this would be a scrapbook. But there is a beauty in the physicality of sticking images to the page, of writing words, that I cannot find in the tapping of keys.

I shall persevere but you'll have to bear with me.

Perspectives

2008-10-27T14:46:00.000-04:00

I'm writing my diary, mentioning people. Those I know now but may not know in 10 years time, 2 years time. It fascinates me, pen in hand, remembering last week and the angst of a single day, a single time, just how small each moment is and just how each action, each thought or utterance may be hugely significant or may pass unnoticed. I am suddenly aware of a perspective.
The broadness of time.

In easy conversation, over tea, a friend observes how I, unconsciously, refer to Quakerism in my speech. My anecdotes, metaphors, comparisons are littered with religion, faith in practice. And with that SNAP! I'm out of myself and wondering what I look like, what I sound like, from your perspective. Amongst the rolling waves of worry, I realise.

We don't see what we become.

Beginning

2008-10-23T17:53:00.000-04:00

This is not the beginning. The idea of blogging has been growing in me for some time. So here I am finally. I jumped the first brook- I created the blog. Now I'm bounding over the second brook- I'm posting. Who knows how many streams I'll skip over, how many thoughts I'll catch in the air, how long this note will linger.

Let's wait and see...

Jumping the Brook

Repentance in progress

City pressures

the colouring of interpretation

renaming

the ultimate brook

tensions

More Questions

thought

returning

experience III

experience II

experience

waves

space

encouragement

2 metaphors

timing.

some more Nietzsche

means and ends

back in the library

A poem for Brigid

A poem for Brigid

a year

mud

365-09

library

fiction

future

today

time

paper people

a little Nietzsche...

dancing

paint

paint

a caution

footprints

focus

mortality

urban fox

doubts

letters in the sand

letters in the sand

letters in the sand

the value of the moon

the beach

frost

appreciation of space

the materialism of words

swans

the human bundle.

365? we'll see...

on pain...

the worm in the apple...

blogging...an alien form.

Perspectives

Beginning