'I Don't Know What That Is'

I have a friend who I have had the privilege of getting to know really well, as I've being working with him for the last 10 months.  

He's very laid back, and he rarely ever gets uptight about anything.  It's a quality that I find fascinating.  But the biggest thing that he's taught me (without him knowing I was learning) is the funny little phrase "I don't know what that is."

The way it is with most of us (if you don't feel comfortable with pointing fingers, I can just point at myself) is that when we (or rather I)  don't know something,  the last thing we want to do is admit it.   Like seriously, I absolutely hate it when someone else knows more about computers than I do.   Not because it's wrong for them to be better at it,  but because I hate having to admit that I don't know it as well.   We don't want to look stupid. So usually,  I'll nod in understanding and do my utmost to prove that I know everything about it through my posturing. Even when I don't have a clue what you're saying.

But my friend when he is talking to friends will freely admit that he has no clue what they are talking about.  And he will say so.  I know for me, it totally took me back.  But he wasn't ashamed that he didn't know it,  rather he just recognized it.  Making no apologies.  

Why do we (or I, if you're still uncomfortable)  always have to pretend that we (I) know everything?  Or if not everything, than most of everything?  Why do we pretend that if there was some knowledge we are missing, it's  just a bit,  and even at that, not very relevant?

I think we all need to learn to say "I don't know what that is."  Because that's way more mature.  We need to realize that knowledge isn't what makes us who we are.

A Very Merry Christmas (Part 1)

In the past,  I've always loved Christmas with the tree,  the presents, the warmth, the presents, the joy, and uh . . . the presents.  Needless (I hope) to say,  the joys that come with Christmas have changed as I've matured. (Don't laugh)  Instead of presents,  it's the friends that give me joy.  Instead of wishing eagerly for breakfast to hurry up and be made,  I now wish it would take longer so I can stay in bed.  One of the things that has dissipated over time as well,  is that intense anticipation.  For that,  I am most thankful. . . I couldn't stand it as a kid.

But even more so than before,  this Christmas is different.  More important.  It hasn't been the best organized Christmas I've ever had, ( I finished buying gifts yesterday. I think.)  In fact, we didn't even set up the tree till about two weeks ago.

It's not the presents, (at least the presents under the tree, mind you)  'cause I know that I'm getting less wrapped packages then ever before.  And that one of them is a book.

Maybe part of  it is my expectations.  This year I find that I'm thankful with the thought that I don't have to work tomorrow, at home or otherwise.  I find that people could give me socks, and I would still be (moderately) happy, as I won't have to buy any for myself for at least another month.  And sleeping-in sounds like music to my soul. . .

I think the truth of it is this.  I'm happy and completely satisfied with everything.  This last month has been a month of miracles.  It's almost like I've opened all my presents early.  And I am simply delighted with what I've received.  And when I stop to consider all that I even had before that . . . why would I want more?

Let's see,  I've got (starts ticking fingers):
-Family.  A family who values me even when I am playing caveman in my room.
-Friends.  The best friends that anyone could possibly even hope for.
-Music
-A Drivers Licence
-I'm able to write.
-A car (Even if it doesn't run, it's still mine.)
-A God who loves me.

What else do I need?

The Art of Friendship

Right now I'm reading a fascinating little book called "The Art of Friendship : 70 simple rules for making meaningful connections." It's been quite interesting actually, and I would recommend it as a decent read. A fair amount of it I think we all know, at least unconsciously. But this little book (It's really short.) manages to express the techniques that we generally follow without knowing in a way that is quite applicable in your life. There are a couple points I might disagree on, but mostly just out of personal preference. Due to the copyright, I'm not really allowed to share any of it online, other than perhaps one of the qoutes.

    "Do not save your loving speeches

    For your friends till they are dead;
    Do not write them on their tombstones,
    Speak them rather now instead."


I thought that was interesting, especially after some of my more recent conversations. . .
Anyway,  I hope you guys are ready to be my test subjects. = P

Oh! And on a side note,  I've also been greatly enjoying another recent literary excursion:  "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies"  Very creative, since it keeps most of Jane Austen's manuscript.  And it's definitely a lot more interesting.

Heart

This is some music that really speaks to my heart.


New Again



A Million Stars

The Continuing Tale of Layne B. Huber (esq.)

It hath been a great length of time since I have halted to pen down any of that which I have been living through recently.  Methinks this would perhaps be less because nothing is happening to myself, rather than it would perhaps not interest others greatly.  One comes to the conclusion however, that after all this blog is in fact, mine, and therefore here to mainly serve the purposes of Yours Truly.   In addition the openness of this forum perhaps discourages discourse.  Mayhaps I should re-examine my unrestricted readers policy.  .  .

Perhaps the greatest excitement to me has been mine recent purchase of mine new digital computing device (computer).   It has highly emphasized mine feeling of the grand emotions of Christmas, with having to wait for mine package of long expectation to arrive.   Now, for those of ye who are perhaps less knowledge able about computer systems,  I will keep this description simple, with a more complex explanation thereafter.   

For thou who most likely would not understand the complexities of the specifications (just cause of thy lack of study) :   It has cost myself roughly $850.00  in currency.  It is squarish, made by HP,  and it allows me the use of two monitors at once.  

I find that myself is frightfully tired as of a sudden,  and therefore that the more detailed description shall have to wait upon my whims.  

Indeed,  it would seem somewhat insane to speak of such things at such an hour.  I question my sanity, as I have often.   But time is a sparse commodity,  as one and all knows,  so mayhaps that giveth excuse enough?   

But let me point out how this purchase of mine is fantastic, besides the obvious excitement of buying something new.  See. . .  the soonest Yours Truly had figured that he would be able to purchase a new system was sometime near the end of the Year of our Lord 2010,  and for at least double the cost.   So it's is a huge blessing from the afore-mentioned to have the opportunity to get it now for so much less and to be able to get it now. 

And that is but the merest of blurbs in this serial. 

   

 

Snow

My car wouldn't start the other day,  due to some battery issues. So I hooked up my dad's charger, and took my Mom's car to work.  And then when I came home,  everything was covered in snow!  The drifts were even higher on Saturday, but the wind took some of it away. . .

I dug it out today,  but it took close to an hour.  I think my Dad's charger is toast though. . .

Star Lit

Cough.  So this is my attempt at something similar to poetry.  It actually turned out surprisingly long.  It's sort of like a cross between haiku and half a dozen other ways to say things.  But I think I'll call it "fool poetry."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Stars sparkle gently in the cold dark winter of space, their gentle forms sometimes faint to the point of non-existence, sometimes bright as a shout of laughter.

Darkness spans the void between celestial points. Incalculable and cold, with promise strangely written upon its form. Beauty through darkness. And beyond, more small sharp points of blazing fire. Heaven from a distance, hell from up close.

Here we stand, upon our own point of incandescent light. A point that is faint as the faintest star, floating through darkness like a dignified sailing vessel of archaic design. Neither rope, nor sail, nor rudder in its form. A ship that wanders contentedly upon the eddies and swells of space, time, and gravity.

Here we are, standing upon a globe spinning faster than it has any right to be. A ship whose inner sanctions remain darkened, full of mystery, full of beauty, full of fear. That which is lighted seems as though perhaps too luxurious in scope for such a wanderer. And yet all that we poor sailors see is the need to complain.

Here we are, singular, solitary beings. Sailors upon a ship without rudder, and without sails. Less sailors, and more corked bottles, wandering upon the eddies and swells of space, time, and gravity. But not contentedly. Inside each bottle, kept dry from the ravages of time, sits a paper. Old, brown, and marked with black and gold ink.

Each bottle whispers silently in the darkened hull of the sinking ship, as the water gurgles softly around them. Corks yearning to be pulled, papers begging to be opened. To be read. For what is writing, if not read? Or a plea for help without a rescuer? Some bottles whisper silently louder than others, but their papers are eaten away by water. A message lost, ink seeping into nothingness.

Here are our souls. A little scrap of paper. For to be known is to be loved, and to be loved is to be known, and to be read is to live, and to live is to be read. But some corks are too tight, and will not be removed by this poor sailor, and some corks have been too weak, and let the water in. But here is a dry parchment. The text is tired and worn, but in a flourish that astonishes it flows across the paper, round and round, and up and down. Some is black ink, some is gold.

Darkness and light flow and surround, and no matter how fast you read, more text forms upon the bottom, ceaseless. A message whose inner sanctions remain darkened, full of mystery, full of beauty, full of fear. Fascination either overwhelms, or puts one farther away. But ever the paper calls in deep silence. Ever a plea, read me, know me, be me, love me. Some hands crumple paper, and drop them into the waters to shred, stories lost. Some hands cherish. Keep the papers and hold them. Read them, know them, be them, love them.

For I can think of no better way to be than that of a reading sailor upon a ship that wanders in darkness and light and joy and death.

Stars sparkle gently in the cold dark winter of space, their gentle forms sometimes faint to the point of non-existence, sometimes bright as a shout of laughter, flowing round the ghost outline of a ship.

/

A Cruce Salus

"From the cross comes salvation"

This is the best rendering of anything I've been able to do so far.  I'm very happy how it worked out when it was finished!  I drew it first on paper, so was very pleased that I was able to transfer everything over properly.   Anyway,  originally I was planning to use this as a T-Shirt design.  Quite possibly still will, but I might need to convert it to less colors. 

Anyway, just thought I'd show it off. . . 

A Question

Today while I was thinking quietly,  I thought of a question that seemed remarkably simple,  yet quite tough to answer.  I did finally answer it somewhat, but not to my complete satisfaction.  But it's one of those things which I doubt I would be able to get completely satisfactory.  And if I did, I would have probably put far more time into it than it was worth.

Here's the question:   If you had to pick five items to represent who you believe you are, or who you try to be,  what would those five things be?

Some defining rules are necessary :  One,  that all five of the items have to be items that you could find if you were shopping or at home.  Essentially,  be realistic.  Two,  this is about your personality,  both good and bad elements, but at the same time, it's also about who you really truly try to be. Which really is part of you're personality as well!

My Answer:
- A small, rectangular Mirror
- A set of eyes from Mr. Potato-Head
- A Shark tooth.
- A Ring.
- An old style Pen


  
So, what's your answer?  What five things would you pick?

My First Attempt at Humour

Someone once told me that I should write something with a happy ending.   I hope you enjoy this little tale as much as I did coming up with it!  This is actually what my Dad's humor is like, for real.  Especially when he's tired. So it's directly hereditary.  And though I'm giving him absolutely no credit in the authorship of this story, he did *ahem* help me figure out at least one part of the plot.

And it's only about 2000 words long, so fairly short. (Just click on the picture.)

The wordage treatment might be a bit odd in some places, but most of it is on purpose!

An Article Worth Reading

I would advocate reading this article:

http://craigfunston.blogspot.com/2009/11/pandemic-of-fear.html

Journal Excerpt

No, this not an excerpt from my own journal at all.

Rather, it's an excerpt from the book 'Dracula'.  One of my absolute fav books,  which has had it's reputation absolutely destroyed by popular interpretations.  Seriously,  don't judge the book by all the myths that surround it.

Personally,  I love what Bram Stoker did with this one part.  It's the journal of a Russian Captain.
If you've got time, read it through.

Start at : "THE LOG OF THE "DEMETER"

 http://www.enotes.com/dracula-text/chapter-vii?start=3

Photopaint

To all the Extraordinary Gentlemen.

There's a lot more that deserve to be in there, but I couldn't fit everyone in.

Extraordinary because of who they are.

Extraordinary because of what they've done for others.

(Edit : Originally, I was just making this for fun, but then I realized that it's really quite true about these guys. The more you get to know them, the more you realize how extraordinary they are. So, while I'm in there, I'm referring to the others. Jesse, you'd be in there too, but I couldn't find a picture of you with the right posture.)

Breeze + Epiphany = Trust + Hope = Love?

I am saddened deeply inside as I become a bystander in a war still raging.  Just as the veterans,  I see.
Hell fights heaven with all of it's malice.  Suddenly, I have become a pawn within a game without knowing the rules.  It scares me, but I know that I must follow the directions that are on the tag.

Everything has a purpose it would seem.  Venom is no exception.  Hell used against itself.
And yet that flickering flame of hope seems to ever fade, lower and lower.  Become a breeze, and blow ever so softly, and gently.

For if that candle should go out . . . .

An Epiphany.  Leaves speechless,  yet burning with surprise that swells like the sea.  Perhaps, there has been a point?  Plans within plans.  A path that seems like a scramble, till upon looking back,  is deliberate to the nth degree.

Drawings of blackness from which trust springs unbidden.  I shudder to think . . . what if those drawings had not been there?

Perhaps a game piece all along then, just haven't had a chance to see the board till now.

All on a day of Mourning and Remembrance. . .  

Just when I thought Life couldn't get more weird . . .

Let's see if I can relate this in the way it happened to me. . .

About a week ago, (Last Wednesday to be exact) I was getting my hair cut. Everything was going great when I got a call on my cell phone.  I was all strapped in and everything, so I didn't per se feel like answering it.  So I didn't.  Besides,  if they really needed me, they could just call again.  Sure enough, about a minute later, my cell phone rang again.  This time, with a great deal of hassle,  I answered it.

"Hey, is this Thunderbolt Design?"

I replied in the affirmative, after all, that is indeed my company name.

"I got a package here for you, from Denmark."

???

Denmark?  Why would I be getting anything from Denmark?  I knew for a fact I hadn't ordered anything from Denmark.  And sure hoped I wouldn't have to pay for customs.

"I'm at the apartment listed,  but nobody's there,  and there's nothing about Thunderbolt Design."

Apartment??

I asked him what the address was.  It was totally different from ours.  So I gave him mine instead.
I figured that would be that, but I still had no idea what the package would be.  I figured I would have to wait and see.  Then, about five minutes later, he called again.  Apparently, he couldn't find my address on the map.
After a little bit of conversing, we figured out that he was in fact, in BC, and that I was in fact, in AB.

I then carefully and expressively explained that it wasn't my package, as far as I knew, and that it was someone else's.

"Oh."  Was his response. "Thanks."

Click.

Ahha.  I had figured it out.

Now,  a week later.
I'm working at my computer, when my Mom comes down and hands me a little package.  It's about three inches wide,  two inches thick,  by ten inches long.  

Upon the label it has the name of the sender, one Damgaard Jensen,  hailing from (wait for it)  Brendstrupgaardsvej Arhus N,  Mette, Denmark.

Looking over the package, one can see that it's been places.  From what the stickers say, and from what the package deliverer said,  it apparently first went to British Columbia,  from which it was then shipped to Washington DC.  Upon reaching Washington, it was shipped to Baltimore, and from there to Calgary, Alberta, Canada.

This package has traveled farther than I ever have!   And thankfully, everything was paid for by the sender too.

What could possibly be in a package this small, from Denmark of all places? Something strange and exotic? Perhaps, jewelry? Or an ancient artifact?  Surely something worth shipping overseas!  I carefully cut the tape, and curl open the cardboard.

I don't recognize the shape at all.  But there is a little piece of paper with the word IMPORTANT! in big red letters.  I draw out the paper, which says, and I quote directly :

"US plug for power suply to seasonal Holiday window Christmas tree"

Life is so weird.

More Muzik

I just rediscovered an old favorite of mine.  I used to listen to these on tape back in the day.
Kind of old style, but good messages definitely.

Two Answers

Simple Song

Enjoy!

Muzik

Just some music . . .

Hope Runs Deep
Just before the dusk turns to pitch black,  there's always a key change.


All I Need
As Stephen posted on his blog a while ago,  we keep forgetting where all our blessings come from.
I hope that I can come to the point where I can say that all I need is God.



Slow Down Time

A moment on the glowing earth,
when stars and trees collide.
Where life is rushed, and life is stalled,
and time is held at bay.



Enterprising Young Men
The future is, after all,  filled with hope and joy.
"All I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by."

Imagination

(An Excerpt from White on Black : Part 2 )


A nightingale called softly from the oaks that lined the fairway, their bows swaying in a gentle breeze.  King stood examining the situation carefully, his brow creased with concentration. Then his jaw rippled with determination and he turned back to the caddy.
“Hand me the woods, Mark.”
The bag clattered as the boy selected one of the clubs and passed it to King.  King flicked stray, light brown hair back under his cap with one hand, grasping the club with the other.

It was a tricky shot.  The fairway drifting around to the left, lazily placing the oaks between King and his objective.  But with any luck, King would make this next shot, and then only a simple putt would be in the way of his success.  A spare for sure.

He  gripped the club carefully, feeling for a stable hold, then went taut with concentration once more.  The woods teased the white ball twice, then caught it slightly to the side, sending the innocent sphere hurtling up into the air. King scowled as a “thunk” of wooden impact and the startled cry of the Nightingale echoed back from the oaks. He was in the rough.

King blew out is breath.  So much for a spare. He sighed reflectively and turned back to the golf cart and caddy.

Except they weren't there.  In an instant, they had disappeared.  Instead, the long cavernous library of the VMI Academy in Richmond, Virginia, stretched out before him.  Golden rays of sun causing the drifting dust to dance lazily among the book-laden shelves.
          King looked back in bewilderment. Gone was the green grass, the offending oaks, and bright blue mid-day sky.  In their place were books.  Classics of literature as far as he could see.  Homer, Dickens, H.G. Wells, and Verne peeked out from the groaning shelves.
“Ah, Cameron.”
King whirled towards the reedy voice, golf club raised in defense.  A tall, thin man stood quietly behind him, in a gap between shelves, an open copy of Plato's republic in hand.  Small bright eyes peeped through horn-rimmed glasses that perched on the man's beak-like nose.  His sparse, pale blond hair was combed from ear-to-ear, covering his bald pate.
“You won't need that anymore.”  He said, closing the book with a flick of his bony wrist. The wooden thump echoed through the sleepy room and in King's hand the heavy club flashed, disappearing into thin air.  King gaped at his empty hand, then let it drop to his side, eyes narrowed.
“Where am I?”
A small smile quirked the corners of the man's mouth.
“Surely you recognize it?”
“Yes, it's just. . . “ King's brow creased in confusion, and he passed his hand across his brow.
“Ach.” The man raised his hand, forestalling speech, then waved towards a table  that stood underneath a golden sunroof pouring down light like liquid honey.
“This all easier to take . . .” The energetic thin man hauled out a chair from the table. “sitting down.”
King sat slowly, not altogether trustful of a chair that, just moments before, had been a patch of manicured grass. It held his weight however.  He stared at the other man unsure how to react to what was happening. Military protocol was helpful in the field, but  the field kept changing.

The thin man perched upon the edge of his seat, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. Then folded his thin hands and peered over the top of his glasses at King, his face the picture of serious contemplation.  King almost laughed at the incongruity.  Here he was in   Oz and the tin man was going to lecture him.   If the man had had feathers, he would have ruffled them.  He pushed his thick glasses impatiently.
“Wait a minute. . . I know you!” King leaned forward incredulously. “You're Professor Limbeck! You taught social theory and personality complex.  I could recognize that look anywhere! “ King laughed merrily, Limbeck looking on nonplussed.
“  Well,  I'm glad you remember me after all these years. Do you remember anything I taught you?”  Obviously Limbek was trying to be positive.
“Not a word!” King was still laughing. Limbek's face fell. Then King stopped laughing abruptly and leaned across the table, troubled.  “But. . . you were killed in an accident! I remember.  Pushed off the road and into a light pole or something. ”  He paused in bewilderment. “You're dead.”
          “Of course I am, you Dolt!” Limbek bristled.  “ And you're really not in a library right now.  That should be obvious to someone who's supposed to be as bright as you are.”  King frowned in anger.
“Now just hold on a minute. . . “
“And I had such high hopes for you too.” Limbek shook his head sadly.
“Really?”  King was rather astonished, his anger forgotten.
“No.”
King stared at the man across the table.  This wasn't making any sense.
“Wait a second,  are you trying to tell me I'm having a dream?  That is so cliché!”
“Well I'm sorry for insulting your sensitive nature.  Normally, you would be right.  However, at this point you're in a state of shock caused by loss of blood and a strange toxin that is slowly leaking through your veins. Shock mixed with venom can do interesting things to people.”  Limbek sneered.
“Are you always this obnoxious?”
“Only when I have to interact with idiots.”

King rubbed his chin thoughtfully, putting his feet up on the round table and looking around but not really seeing his surroundings.  This was all sort of confusing.
“So,  why did I bother coming up with you? I mean, it's my dream right?”
He looked back at Limbek, but instead there was an older, rounder man without glasses, and a huge gold watch stuck into a waistcoat pocket.  A waistcoat that was a glaring purple. The man spoke loftily.
“Who can guess da reasoning of za mind?  Perhaps your qvuite mad and sufferink from delusions of exquisite paranoia and stupidity.  Perhaps your subconscious mind has somethink it vishes to communicate.”  He continued under his breath. “Alzoh, I find zat extremely unlikely.  I'd suspect zat it's being avoidink contact for years.”
“Thanks for your help.” King could always appreciate irony, but this wasn't the time. “I'm dreaming that I can't hear you. Go away.”
The fat man laughed deeply, his heavy girth rolling from his chortling.
“I'm afraid it doesn't qvuite work that way, Mr. King.” He snapped his chubby fingers, and before them a plate of sugary twinkies popped into existence.  The man daintily plucked one off of the platter and stuffed into into his mouth.
“Mmmph, scuse me.”  He licked his finger like a bird preening feathers before letting his hands settle back to the top of his bulk.
“You see mine dear boy, somethink has been bothering you.  Ever since you vere in zat horrible place vere zat captain died so terribly.”  He let his fingers drift over the platter before they seized their prey.  “I can only assume zet zat is de reason for this here. . .” He stuffed the second morsel into his mouth. “ dream.”

King watched in silence as the twinkies disappeared one by one.  When the platter was empty, the fatty disappeared with it.   Again the skinny Limbek was seated across the table.
“So you see, even though you're hating this dream, it is for your benefit.”
King leaned across the table.
“This is all out of my mind right?  Where the heck did the fat guy come from?”
“Trust me. You really don't want to know.”
“And you're . . . what?  Part of my memories? A figment of my imagination that represents the irritating side of myself?”
“Please don't remind me.”  The skinny said in a dry voice. “But all this is really not the point.  We have to figure out what's bothering you before either of us get to rest.”  He stood up and wiped some twinkie crumbs of the table. He straightened.  “So let's begin, shall we?”

King stood up. He looked around him again; nothing changed.
“So what do I have to do? Click my heels together?”
Limbek was completely dead pan as he snapped his fingers.  
  
“Take a few seconds for your eyes adjust.”
It was very dark, and King couldn't see a thing. Beneath his hands was the tabletop, but without the books and papers that had rested upon it earlier.  Instead, he could feel scour marks in the metal beneath his palms. After a few seconds the darkness faded as his pupils widened.
“Oh, I forgot, never mind about the adjusting part.”  Limbek sounded slightly bemused as he snapped his fingers again.  The room flooded with light searing King's eyeballs. “I always forget about the lights. It's not as easy as you might think, trying to lead you around in your memories.  You're kind of like an old dos interface, you can type things in, but it doesn't actually mean that anything useful will come out.”
“Cute.”  King snarled as he rubbed his smarting eyeballs, then looked around himself.
“It's the bridge of the Valkyrie.” King spoke aloud with the recognition.  The broken windows were as he and Sadout had left it,  a pile of broken furniture in the corner, and the splintered wood and glass scattered upon the floor.  The desecrated corpse still lay buried in the furniture, it's eye sockets staring morosely out at him.

The corpse looked slightly fuzzy, and as he stepped forward, it got fuzzier.
“The memory isn't very strong, so don't look too closely. You only saw it for a split second.”  King nodded and stepped back to the middle of the room.  He looked up at the ceiling.  No grays. Only plain white metal.
“Similar to the fuzzy stuff.” Limbek came over and peered upwards as well as he explained. “You didn't actually see the ceiling, I just find it disconcerting if there isn't one.” He looked back at King. “Well? Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I didn't even know that I was being bothered by anything. What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“I haven't the foggiest.”
“Thanks for the help.”
Limbek merely shrugged as King wandered around the room.
“Actually, the thought has just occurred to me that we might try running through the memory.”
“How's that?”
“Well, right know we are in a still that I have extracted directly from your memory. I was thinking that we should run through it, and see if anything new shows up.”
King crossed the room in quick strides.
“Let's do it. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“I'll need you to lie down right here.  This is where you fell after turning on your headlamp.”  He pointed to a spot on the floor. King lay down, trying to avoid some imaginary glass. “Lights on or off?”
“On.”

With a sudden burst of movement that sent King's heart into his mouth, hundreds of greys flashed into existence and began circling above him. The room was filled with their clamor, and King had to yell with all his might to get Limbek's attention. The grotesque creatures froze in blurred movement. King got up slowly, trying not to brush against them.
“There's something. . .”  His mind remembered a feeling and he searched for it  
  {the Master?   (So hungry. . .  A green monarch. . .  Around him bits of grays ripped by IRP fire were frozen in delicate patterns of gore frozen in motion.  He slowly knelt, his eyes closed, his mind fully absorbed in memory.  A green monarch that rose eerily from the depths of remembered minds.  Before, King had almost lost himself in myriad minds that surrounded him.  But memory held no sway over him, leaving him to explore.

Around him the grays sparkled into nothingness.  Limbek walked carefully to his side where King stared down into a hole in the deck, dark rippling water reflecting back up at him.  King realized distantly that generally the bridge lacked holes in the floor. Especially when they led to water.  He spoke slowly, like a man returning from the void.
“What's down there?”
Limbek leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“The answer.”

Ronadmn

There is something that appeals to me about randomness. I'm not entirely sure what really, perhaps just the fact that it's not planned, but still feels right. . .

Anyway, I thought I would share some of the random stuff that has lightened up my day here at work.

The mechanic and I decided that the next Lamborghini should be called the Lamborghini Gesundheit,
with this nifty little motto being used to advertise :  "0 - 60 faster than you can sneeze."

Sometimes you run across a tire extremely stubborn due to the fact that the last idiot who had worked on it had tighten the lug nuts far too much.   In this case, an impacter wrench won't be able to budge it.  What you do then is get a big socket wrench thing, (professionally called a "breaker bar") and manually loosen the nut.
In this case,  it was super overtightened.  The only way I could loosen them was by standing on top of the wrench, and jumping on it.  My boss and the mechanic watched with some amusement.  My boss then gave me a hand with finishing up.  I then explained that, compared to the two of them, I was quite handicapped.   After all,  I weigh in at a measly 150 pounds.  This then caused my boss to buy us all donuts.  I gotta say that this could be a card in my deck that I haven't ever considered playing.  I'll have to see if I can get us Pizza sometime. . .         

I kept singing this song to myself while I was doing tires,  it was really kind of calming actually:


I hope that this post may lighten up your day a bit too.

I Stand

No guilt in life, no fear in death - 
This is the power of Christ in me;
From life's first cry to final death,
Jesus commands my destiny.

No power of Hell, no scheme of man, 
can ever pluck me from his hand;
Till he returns or calls me home -
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand

I Can See Things

And another short story, just recently finished. This one was interesting, as I wrote the entire thing on my iPod touch in under 4 hours. That's got to be some kind of record!

I was reading an in-depth definition of a short story, and this one part really stuck out to me. It's totally what I try to achieve when I write something, and it can be soo powerful.

"Its plot is not very complex (in contrast to the novel), but it creates a unified impression and leaves us with a vivid sensation rather than a number of remembered facts."

The Case of Julius Conrad

I actually wrote this short story last year,  but today I re-edited it, and created a cover for it.  It is also slightly different from the original. So there should be NO errors, grammer or spelling. *cue applause

And I do believe that quite a few people enjoyed reading it. That being said, I leave it up to you if you are going to read it or not. . .

I actually really, really like this cover. It's minimalistic, but has great pose. . .

An Interesting Way to Hurt Yourself

Step 1 )  Do not eat a single thing till four in the afternoon.

Step 2 )  Just before heading out the door to go to the bank, realize that you are actually quite hungry.

Step 3 )  Quickly browse fridge for anything protein that would not take too long to consume.

Step 4 ) Decide that milk is probably the fastest with the most protein.

Step 5 ) Fill a glass with the white substance.

Step 6 ) Chug the glass of milk like it's only seconds till the world expires.

Step 7 )  Double over in acute pain.  It should remind you somewhat of the feeling of being kicked in the gut.

Wait for the pain to pass.  It will probably take close to a minute.

So there you have it.  Another obscure way to abuse your system.

Thanks Giving

Things I'm thankful for . . .

~ My Car. My old, ugly, beat-up, Chevy Beretta. I swear it's the funnest car I've ever driven. I love my car.

~ My Mind. The way it's wired, the way it fights with itself, the way it connects the dots into interesting new patterns that shock and surprise me. That no matter how hard I try, I'm only scratching the surface when I try to understand myself. Sure, it scares me, that part of me is darkness, and that part of me is light. But such is life, surely. Sanity is overrated anyway.

~ My writing. I think that one of the worse curses I can think of would be to lose that. To lose that window into my soul. To have to hide everything.

~ Music. It's crazy how much music effects my life, and how much joy it gives me. I couldn't stop grinning yesterday during choir, the bass line was so awesome. And to be able to belt such a beautiful piece such as "All I Ask" with a talented singer was so awesome. If perhaps having the potential for being awkward. But I could have cared less. Thanks David.

~ My life. Every single crazy spinning moment of it. Unpredictable being it's main definition. Doubt I'd have it any other way though. Not sure. Not really the point I guess, point is I'm thankful that I actually have a life.

~ My Computer. My third arm.

~ My friends. I can not describe how thankful I am for you. Whether it be listening to two guys ripping out Phantom of the Opera, risking your life in my beat up car, or  helping me when I'm down and out.  I know I'd be somewhere else if you weren't all,  every single one, there.

~ Joy.  The realization that although it feels like I'm still falling after I've jumped off a cliff,  that God' already caught me.  I just have to see it.

~ That I'm not twenty yet.  There's time enough for that later.  = P

~ My Cousin, Lowell.  I haven't seen the guy for ages, but he's the most awesome older cousin I could've ever asked for.  Ever since we were babies, we've been buddies.  I kid you not.  I could show you pictures.

~ Books.   Don't know where I'd be without books as well.  Only half as smart (maybe knowledgeable would be a better word)  probably, and I definitely wouldn't know how to write.  And my imagination wouldn't be half as developed.

~ Keep coming up with things.  I guess that's a good thing, yes?

~ Don't know why I didn't think of this before, but my family is something I'm hugely grateful for.  They've been very supportive during these last few months, and I probably would've lost what mental strength I have left without them.

Border Removal

Ok,  so here is just a quick tutorial on how to remove that annoying border around your picture that never really fits. This is not a permanent change, so if you want the border back later, that's totally up to you.  All you are going to do is change one of the variables in the code.

So the first thing you have to do is go to the layout tab, as if you were going to edit the colors.  Within Layout, click on the link, edit HTML.

Now you need to find this piece of code :

/* Header

-----------------------------------------------

*/

#header-wrapper {

  width: 660px;

  margin:0 auto 10px;

  border:1px solid $bordercolor;

  }

Probably the easiest way to find it is to press  Ctrl-f, this brings up a little search bar in the browser.  It will search the page for a given word.  Type in Header and it should take you straight to this section of code.  It should be about 1/3 of the way down the page.

Anyway, the only change that you are making to the code is changing the border: 1px  to border: 0px.

Then save the template, and reload your blog, and that border should be gone.

If you need anything else code wise, just let me know and if I don't know, I'll find out.

Joke's on you

A couple nights ago I was involved in a conversation about the whole creation scenario.

We talked about how God made everything in six days, and how God made man.  Then we got to the part where He made woman.

At this point,  one of my friends, who I will not name, piped up with.

'God took a break, and when He came back :

"Hey!!  Who touched my computer?"

Joy revisited

Have you ever felt that thrill, as you listen to music, where you feel your whole soul flow with the music and ride with the words?  Its tones lifting you higher into pure delight that makes your hair stand on end as the hidden nobility flows through you?

Have you ever seen the stars,  crystal in the pitch black firmament that we call space?  Small glowing spikes of light that brighten the sky with indescribable clarity?  Ever stopped to think how the nearest galaxy to ours is 25,000,000 light years away?  Despite being right there, and just a little bit to the left?

The tinkling trickle of water as it winds its way down the slopes of a mountain, gurgling softly as it caresses the rocks.   The blast of wind that takes your breath away, and causes pins and needles to flow over your skin.

One could live for those things.  For Joy is a balance of worlds, a combination of love, beauty, and peace. Rarely do men find it , and then, they don't know why.  


But in the end my master is not the stars, the running brook, and the nobility of creation.  Rather,  My Master is the God who placed me here. Who told me without a doubt that my place was to be with friends. To watch them and to help them the very best I can.

For the Joy that people search for, is more than just the stars,  it's more than just music, more than the wind.   Rather the simple and truthful words:

"I am, and always shall be, your friend."


But above all else,  it's the simple truth that we keep reminding ourselves of.  That He loved us so much, that He died for us.   "For no greater love has a man than this, that he would die for his friends."

Disappointment = (

Looks like I won't be able to get this Saturday off after all. . . .

Which is really disappointing. Of all the Weekend in the Words that I've been a part of, I believe I would have found this one the most beneficial.  Plus I was looking forward to the drive down with a couple of guys I haven't seen in a while.

I missed the first choir practice as well; case of the stupid flu.

Bummer.    

Smart

(Edit added to end.)

Has it always been like this? For some reason, I can't seem to remember. I'm told that I'm special, or was special at the very least. A talented young man or something, with lots of talents. I had to ask . . . what was her name again? Never mind, it really doesn't matter I suppose. But what was it . . . Talents, talents. Apparently, I had talents. But then . . .something happened. And now I don't have them. It's all really quite confusing, and I'm not sure I understand it. I shall have to ask . . . but now I can't seem to remember her name. Not that her name mattered.

I lift my hand to wipe my brow distractedly, and I watch it, full of curiosity. It clasps itself into a fist that shakes visibly. How odd. She says I wasn't like that before. Now people are coming into my room. Lots of people. I don't think I know them, but yet, some of the faces seem familiar . . . Why does my head keep jerking so? It makes it hard to make them out. It angers me that I can't focus on them. Now one of them is speaking. Franklin? That's not his name I know, but I think it should be. He says that I might get better after the treatment. He says that I might be smart again.

Smart. I used to be that. Now I'm not though. I'm not smart. My arms shake. Now another man is talking, but I don't hear what he says cause his nose looks funny. But when I try to tell him so, I can only make a retching groan come from my mouth. Maybe it's cause I'm not smart. One of the other people comes forward to my bed, and for the first time I'm actually able to focus. It's a woman. She's pretty. I don't know why. But suddenly it hurts that I'm stuck on this bed. I want to be smart. Oh how I want to be smart. But she doesn't know that. Instead she kisses my forehead. It tickles, and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with the concept. But she is pretty. And I don't know why.

They bring a chair that has wheels on it. Maybe for me? I don't know, cause I'm not smart. I need to ask her. But I can't talk at the moment. I want to name the woman Franklin as well, but that's stupid. So I name her Fran instead.

Now I'm crying, because I want to walk. I want to talk. My heart yearns within me. I open my mouth in a groan, trying to tell them . . . I want to walk. Now I'm wailing, I want to be smart! Please let me be smart! Please let me be who I used to be! Tears roll down my cheeks in a flood of coolness.

Why can't I?

Why can't I?

WHY CAN'T I, PLEASE!!?

They watch as the wheelchair is wheeled out of the room. The woman turns to the doctor.

“Is there any chance that treatment will be successful?”

The doctor looks in her eyes, his own clouded with doubt. And it's all the woman needs.

*Edit added afterward.   Ok, as Robert has pointed out to me in person. It may seem slightly surprising that I'm writing about having a mental illness.  (Ok, ok, not so surprising.)  So here's a little background, and the purpose of this post.  I have spent some time thinking about what it's like to be afflicted by something like that,  and I was curious if I would be able to convey that.  But ultimately, what I wanted to convey the most to you, is that feeling of helplessness.  And I have no idea who the woman is, either.  So you get decide who she is.  

So, I suppose the question is,  was I able to convey that to you effectively?*

More Plain Words

"If one does not attach himself to people and desires, never shall his heart be broken. But does he ever truly live?"

Not a bad quote for a Martial Arts movie, eh?

Plain words.

The only way a pearl can form, is if an irritant is introduced to the environment.

Not saying that I'm becoming pearl like in my qualities, or anything. Or that I'm the irritant that helps produce quality in other people. Or that you are all irritants in my environment, or that . . .

Never mind.

Glad you're my friends. Cause everything else seems to have a habit of fluctuating.

A Vote

So. . .

Today I was considering the option of allowing the development of a soulpatch. (for definition, see soulpatch) It actually would be quite easy to achieve, and would, I feel, have the possible effect of adding to the "either stinking rich, or stinking poor artist" look. Obviously, a look that would benefit my company greatly.

But then I felt it would be much more enjoyable if I opened things up . . . to a vote.

Which I may or may not ignore.

So, I ask you, which way do you think it should be?

Stupidity

The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced.

You shouldn't have a driver's licence if you don't know how to put an automatic vehicle into gear.

It's that simple.

Gethsemane

Have a heart. Comment.

Wisdom Via Italian Imports

Just had an interesting conversation with Luigi. He's this older Italian who drops by once a night, usually to talk to Charlie, but who talks to me as well.

"How's your girlfriend?"

"I actually don't have one."

Probably my least favorite question in the world. People always assume things that I'd rather not have them assume. Luigi thought that I was wise, however, so the issue was avoided.

He nodded sagely.

"They always asking for money, buy me this buy me that. Christmas. And I say don't give me that (unprintable.) Get a job and buy your own stuff. And then groceries!!"

He shook his head in exasperation.

"Or when they get bossy. I hate it when they're bossy. I say, don't boss me around baby, or I'll slap you."

This seemed a little harsh in my mind, but I could understand where he was coming from.

"But a girl with a good heart? I would do anything for her."

Again, I agreed with the little round Italian.

He left then, leaving me with a little pearl of wisdom that had been carefully packaged with light profanities.

Friendship

Aussie Stories : Sally Ann

One of my co-workers is an eighty year old Aussie, who I've come to respect greatly for his thoughts and experiences. There was one in particular that I wanted to share. This is my effort to recreate it.

---

Charles was looking out the window in a contemplative mood. There wasn't much for me to do at that point. Nobody was paying for fuel, the phone wasn't ringing at all, and I could use a drink. So I got up, grabbed a water from the fridge, and went to stand by the little bald man's chair.

“What are you thinking Charlie?”

He looked up at me through his glasses, his eyes glittering with the sadness of nearly a century of life, and a small smile caught at the corner of his mouth beneath his grey little moustache.

“Let me tell you a story, son.”

I nodded in acquiescence and tried to make myself as comfortable as I could against the counter.

“When I was a young man, just married, I was poor. Real poor. We lived in Sydney at the time. (I believe it was around 1940.) It was a tough life, with not much work to go round.”
“One night, it was particularly cold. In those days, about the only place you could go to stay warm was to the train station, for the station was a simply huge building, with lots of room for whoever wanted to be there. However, I had no way to get my family there. So I flagged down a cab, and begged him to take us to the station. He was a kind hearted fellow, his name was Avery, and I've never forgotten his name in all my years. He kindly agreed to take me and my family to the station.”
“After a few minutes, he looked at me and asked me why I'd want to go to the station in this weather. I explained that it was for the warmth. He was silent for a moment. Then he turned to me, and said he had a quick errand to run before he would be able to drop us off.”
“I was fine with that, after all, he was being kind enough to take us to the station for free. So the cab pulled up in front of one of the most beautiful hotels in Sydney. The driver got out of the cab, explained that he would be back in a minute, and left.”
“It was a few minutes more before he returned with a middle aged lady. He opened the door of the cab, and pulled me out of the car, then got out my family, and directed us all inside.”

At this point the old man got slightly teary.

“He had gone and talked to the Salvation Army people, and together they had gone and rented a room at the hotel. So it ended up that me and my family slept in a bed that night.”

Charlie looked up at me.

“And ever since then, son, whenever I see a Sally Ann collecting donations, I always give whatever I've got. Cause they did for me what no one else ever did, they showed us kindness.”

And he turned to look back out the window.

Cards and quotes

"You gotta play with the cards Life deals you. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. But at least you're in the game."

-Vic Fontaine

"Welcome to the human race. Nobody controls his own life, Ender. The best you can do is choose to be controlled by good people, by people who love you."

-Valentine

"Only one rabbi dared to expect of us such a perfect balance that we could preserve the law and still forgive the deviation. So, of course, we killed him."

-Andrew Wiggin

"The wise are not wise because they make no mistakes. They are wise because they correct their mistakes as soon as they recognize them"

-Andrew Wiggin

"Logic is the art of going wrong with confidence."

-Some random guy

"Jesus is the CSS of the soul."

-Another random guy

Week of . . .

If you've ever watched Star Trek Voyager, you may recall a particularly gripping two episode story called "Year of Hell" where everything that could, (and couldn't) go wrong, did. It was depressing.

Therefore you could understand how I might make the connection between that pair of episodes and how my work week is starting to shape up. My manager is away, along with all the other uhaul people, which leaves me in the Captain's chair. A seat whose comfort fades quickly before a onslought of a mixture of angry, non-thinking, swearing people that happen to be the majority of my customers. Probably half of the contracts I've run through have run into problems. . .

Trailers which end up being broken, wasting precious time. Too many trucks and not enough places to put them. People who forget their driver's licenses at home, have to disconnect their trailers and reconnect again later. People who have reserved a truck with a credit card, but then don't bother to bring it for the contract. People who don't realize we'll need the signiture of the card owner. (I don't get that one. Like seriously, duh.) They then discover that that person went away to Hawaii, and won't be available for a week of Sunday. But they still want their truck.

And in addition, I'm working alone now. My co-worker had to go home with heart palpatations. And since he's an older man, there is no way I'm going to make him work.

*sigh*

And the rosy prospect of a whole week of this rises before my imagination.

And yet, it's really quite amazing to know that I've got something deeper to hold on to. It's fascinating how much peace prayer can give you. And I know that either way this week goes, that He's got a plan, and that I needn't worry. I still somewhat do, of course, but I'm getting better at it all the time.

A hike

Today, Jesse, Stephen, and myself had a blast. Early this morning, at about 6:00, we drove to Kananaskis for a hike. I admit that it didn't seem like pleasant circumstances to hike in as once we got about an hour out of Calgary it was simply pouring. But once we arrived at our destination, a hiking trail called 'powderface', it seemed to clear up a lot. We didn't really want to risk going on a long hike and then having the clouds just pour on us, so we first decided to visit Elbow falls.

It was really beautiful. Early in the morning, gray weather, nobody around. It was awesome. We ended up wandering around for close to an hour, having a blast. Despite a certain tendancy a certain member of our party could not seem to avoid. Trees can hold massive amounts of water on their leaves.

Then we went on the trail, and made about a third of the way before we turned around. Finally, we took a look at some of the pictures that Jesse took, and low and behold, Jesse had actually taken some portraits that both Stephen and I liked! (Not saying he's bad at portraits. It's just that both Stephen and myself consider ourselves as un-photogenic.)

My Weekend post.

Put simply, this weekend was awesome. It was definitely where I was supposed to be (rather than at work.) To write a full description that covers everything would be like using a canoe in the ocean. So instead, I'll just hit my personal highlights. A motorboat on the ocean, go fast enough and you skip crest to crest.

~ First one has to be my Baptism. Going in, I had no idea what my feelings were on the matter, other than I knew it was time to do it. Coming out, I still had no idea what my feelings were I only knew they were there. Correct feelings. Before hand, I wrote out my entire testimony, probably being about 300 words long. But then when I walked up to the front of the circle, and started talking, I realized it wasn't the right thing to say, as well
as being to long for me to go through without totally choking up even more. And if there was one thing in the world that I wanted at that point, it was to finish my spiel without crying. Which totally proves that I've no control over anything.

It was really profound. The whole thing. But I'm only just beginning to comprehend what it really means in my life. But hey, Rome wasn't built in a day.

~ Watching the stars till 5:00 in the morning. Cozy warm in a sleeping bag, lying on the perfect slope to encourage restfulness, talking about random things that were the most important topics in the world, even if they weren't.

~ Making some of the people I love laugh, and laugh, and laugh. All because it was starting to get light.

~ Looking at beautiful sleeping faces.

~ The look on Rachel's face when I planted the idea of tipping Merissa into the water.

~ The look on Merissa's face, just before we tipped her.

~ The look on Merissa's face, when she realized it was my idea.

~ Throwing rocks at Robert as he climbed down a cliff. Sorry, dirt. Not rocks.

~ Climbing down the same said cliff barefoot. Because Robert made it down with only water shoes, and I totally had to top him. Then having Rachel do it as well, and then racing back up hill. Everyone barefoot.

~ Having an engineer tell other people that I'm smart. And knowing that he means it with all his heart, even if I don't believe it totally myself.

~ Having a deep conversation with Chris Dirk. We're both making a lot of progress.

~ Talking with Dalton. You're so my bro Dalt, and you'll always be that way.

~ Exchanging looks with Dain.

~ Going on a hike early Sunday morning and actually having people follow my lead. I don't get it. People tell me why, and I still don't get it.

~ Singing off key on a hill top in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of other people singing off key. Then singing something on key, and noticing the difference.

~ Chris praying with me before the baptism.

~ And last (for now) and definitely not least, is hugs.

Laser Master

So, here I am sitting at work, listening to some Frank Sinatra which David brought. And I'm bored. Real bored. There's absolutely nothing happening. Even the gas is slow. Now, I would bet that you are thinking something like: there is always something to do. But I kid you not.

Anyhow, I felt like just doing a post that says a lot without saying anything important or even pretending to. If stuff like that is boring to you, then you can't blame me, cause I warned you.

So, now that I'm writing to myself, I should decide what I'm actually going to write about. Hrmm.

Last night, Robert, Rett and I went and played two games of laser tag. Kind of a split second thing, but still lots of fun. It ended up that the three of us got the 6000 foot arena entirely to ourselves. What followed was fifteen minutes of bloody ruthless massacre as I scored more kills than both of them put together. Me, the shrimp of the three.

Somewhat disgruntled by the rough treatment they had received, Rett and Robert then decided that they would team up. Their stated goals : to make the upstart outlaw, known as Layne, pay for his insolence. What followed was another fifteen minutes of brutal warfare as both Rett and Robert tried to annihilate me from the score. And it was to their great embarrassment that I walked out of the arena with a score 1 and 1/2 times bigger than their individual scores put together.

They later informed me that even though I had beaten both of them together, it did not entitle me to a victory breakdance in the parking lot.

I, however, disagree.

Who I Want be When I Grow Up

I'll give you one hint. The answer isn't "astronaut"

The first time I heard this song, I didn't get past the first minute.
I thought the music was a little lame. And it is, at least to begin with.
But later, it becomes so powerful that sometimes it brings tears to my eyes.
Uhh. . . to get the same effect, you have to listen to it a bit louder than I usually would.

Good luck figuring that out.

Today work went really well, as well as really tiring . I got soaked to the bone twice in as many hours, and was thoroughly miserable. But in the end, I kept everything together and my manager told me that I'm doing excellent work and have become a very valuable part of their team.

Guess that means training is over.

Music and Emotion

It is so interesting to run into a track from a soundtrack or other music that so connects with how you're feeling.

Notes from TR

So yesterday was my first TR meeting. The first ones all always the most interesting aren't they? What I especially enjoyed, was Nathan and Jesse's topic and the way they led it. It was for the most part concise and very interesting. However, I'm afraid I'm someone who always learns more from the rabbit trails rather than the main thrust of any given message. Trails that call and beckon me. They know my name and ask me to follow. It is in this way that I have learned at least half of every meaningful theological truth that I know.

Anyhow, I felt that it would be beneficial for me to outline some of the things I learned. Most of the following trails were brought to the table by Nathan.

The Solidity of God's love

Probably the most important thing I learned was that nothing can seperate me from Jesus' love. In the past year it has seemed like God's love has grown, then faded. It seemed to ebe and flow depending on my life. It was so easy to fall into the trap of thinking that Jesus loved me less cause of my actions. And it was so discouraging.

But in reality, it is far different. It's not God's love who changes, it's my perception of God's love that changes. By believing that God's love changes depending on me ultimately blinds me to the same. It then takes a massive amount of love to open my eyes again. It's so sad.

As I put it to my good friend Timmy, it's sort of like the story of Paul. We see God's love so blindingly that we go blind to some of the other things He's doing in our lives. It takes another loving touch for the scales to fall off our eyes.

How Sin is never absent

This point I found particularly helpful. The knowledge that even our righteous acts are tainted by sin is somewhat freeing. I have struggled so much within the last couple years with how twisted everything is. I'm always examining my motives for any act of charity I want to perform, and it's always been very disturbing to find that there always is a sinful motive lurking somewhere along the line. But to know that everyone has to struggle with that and that it's natural is so relieving.

The Glorious Ministry

I ran across these verses. Jesse stopped the verse before, but I kept going. I'll let them speak for themselves.

2 Corinthians 3:7-9
"But if the ministry of death, written and engraved on stones, was glorious, so that the children of Israel could not look steadily at the face of Moses because of the glory of his countenance, which glory was passing away.
How will the ministry of the Spirit not be more glorious?
For if the ministry of condemnation had glory, the ministry of righteousness exceeds much more in glory."

Thinking of last saturday night, I know I saw many countenances bright with that glory.

Tenacity

Another finished project! This one was a lot of fun to make.
Hope you enjoy!

I don't know if you've ever heard James Horner,
but he writes some of the most beautiful soundtracks ever.

Oddity

Check out this picture. It's really weird. If you look at it with your eyes slightly unfocused, you begin to see shapes or pictures that sometimes even seem to rotate.

Odds and Ends (Flotsam and Jetsam)

This song just correlates so well with what I've experienced this last week and a half. Unfortunately Blogger lacks the ability to post a music file outright, which is faintly annoying, therefore forcing me to do one of two things. Either create a WMV or link to it. I have decided to do the former, as it also allows for more pictures than I would ever really use on the post itself.



Found some really cool Latin this morning : caligo (1) -inis f. [fog , mist, darkness]. Transf., [mental darkness, dullness; calamity, affliction, gloom]
That just makes my brain whirl!!

Listening to the Prestige right now. It's an amazingly crazy book.

The end nears. . . tomorrow's my last day in Bandon.

Photo Collage

Thus far, my blog posts about vacation have been text only. I now have had the opportunity to download some pictures (at night there's a lot less stuff to do) from the camera, and have spent the last hour or so editing some of them. I know they say that a picture is worth a thousand words, and while I would not dispute the fact to be incorrect, I would still state that words are worth just as much as a picture. No idea why I put that in right now. At any rate, try to figure out which photos were touched and which weren't. . . .

Joy

To someone in particular, but to everyone in general.

Have you ever heard a fog horn? It's wonderful deep tones booming forth, guiding ships home through the darkness? Every half minute it rolls forth in mellow declaration of safety, the tones vibrating softly in the air. Nearby, the waves roll steadily inland their thunder of movement filling the ear with a comfortable backdrop to the lilting music of the birds. Where the water comes in contact with stolid rock, it roars upwards with boom and a flash of white that surprises the senses. The silence brought by the concussion of tide is filled with the hiss of water returning to it's course.



It's honest, the sea. It makes you face things honestly. . . It speaks to you of things that you wish could be, and it speaks of who you are, pointing out your flaws, but through all things is fair. Not letting us stumble under the weight of it's words. One can ignore it's words as merely the natural sounds of a vigorous habitat, but one always hears whether one wishes it or not. Those of deep inclinations become enthralled by it, becoming devoted to it. They love it as few masters are loved, and they fear it's power. For she is a cruel mistress. (I thought of adding something witty here about the wedding, but I held my tongue.)

But what is the sound of a calling gull? And what is the roll of the wave? Beauty is as beauty does, they say. For what are these without someone to share them with? For beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and solitude is poor company. A mind without friendship is crippled, a house with foundation removed.

Joy is a balance of worlds, a combination of love, beauty, and peace. Rarely do men find it , and then, they don't know why. So in the end my master is not waves, salt, and sea. My Master is instead the God who placed me here. Who told me without a doubt that my place was to be with friends. To watch them and to help them the very best I can.

For the Joy that people search for, is more than just the land. But rather the words:

"I am, and always shall be, your friend."