I just went to a little presentation on T. S. Eliot’s East Coker, and then went to a poetry reading…can one O.D. on poetry? Well, too much of anything is poison, right?

In the deep dark woods the sun pierces the trees and shines down on me. The scent of dirt makes me float on the lump that is in my throat. The leaves are green and the trunks are grey the mosquitoes are biting and all's well today. This day here, this very one, is the beginning of a new day, a better, longer one. How beautiful the deep dark woods can be! How wonderful it is to see, or need not to see! That is it, I need see naught, for in the sight corruption is brought, and in the contentment of blindness comes the blissful existence of ignorance.

Give me this night, give me this hour, give me this minute, this second, this moment, this present, this eternity to worship You, this constant and relentless view of Your face is overwhelming me so much that I cannot see anything else, not even my self. This is bliss. Thou art Love. I want and need someone to love, someone to feel, someone to see, someone to share You with me. I know that You will supply all that I need to live and die. I know that I will be content even if You never present her to me or even if You never let me see…I love You and I want to love not alone, but with someone. Will You help me? Will You give me, so undeserving so self-serving, will You allow me to not be alone for eternity? I know You won’t and I pray You don’t. You are my rest and my sight. You are the my love, my love...

Well, I am back from CA, and spring break is over. I had a wonderful time. It makes me want to blow off school and go on a mega road trip… Oh well… some day…

Uncut and unedited for your viewing pleasure

Mr. Hugger has been posting some of his old writings, and it got me to thinking about some stream of consciousness sort of stuff I wrote about a month and a half ago. They were always written late at night and with as little thought as possible. Here are two choice ones with the same theme….or at least I think so…


The warmth presses through my palms and into my veins; your life is living in me. I feel the power of your pain as you try to help me. The warmth is as a light that needs no source it is concentrated, yet cannot be tested. I love the way you blush at me shyly. I love the way your eyes speak of sorrow and joy combined. I love your quiet strength and your humble wit. But most of all I love the smile most apparent in your eyes, when you see me coming to you.
You are my true love and in you I may find true solace. It matters not that that solace is in a time ahead, for this love transcends the depths of time. It flies at rest to every corner of my soul at all times every day. You, my true love, are my true solace. May we be together forever? Yes. And for that I rejoice.


This night this music the way she looks at me when I stare a little too long. It all falls away and burns in the fire that lights her face. What a mortal sin it would be to think something else to be more beautiful than the object of this love I am so unworthy to posses! How can I go on in a life so meaningless without my lover! Woe is me to think I should deny it. Woe is me to play the role of defiant. Woe is me for I know not what I do...
The smell of the crackling firewood and the heat on her face conceals her blush and makes me crazy with devotion to the passion of servitude. The fire in her eyes makes her look the most wicked she ever has, yet more innocent than any I will ever behold. The strings of hair gliding down her forehead, evidence that we have been in the mountains for nine days with no shower, yet she is more beautiful than any woman that ever graced the dirt of this land, yet she never ceases to smell of flowers and smiles and sparkles in her eyes… Forget this not: if ever you find a girl that can smile with her eyes, chase her to the moon.

Some pretty weird stuff, huh?

Institutionalized Emotions or Emotionally Institutionalized?

It is so terribly nice out today that I am almost giddy. It made me wonder about the extent that the external influences my emotions. I have always put so much stake by my emotions (whether I wanted to or not) that I began to worry about there value, if they were just the results of things like weather. I worried for about it for ten seconds, or so, (probably because it was so nice out that I couldn’t worry about anything….not even that Greek test tomorrow) and I realized that it doesn’t matter if my emotions are influenced by or even the effects of my surroundings and my experiences….if they weren’t I would probably be institutionalized.

What A Day

How many people blueprint their own DNA, clean twenty toilets in less than ten minutes, and take a test on ancient Greek grammar in one lifetime, let alone in one day? I did, and I can't decide if it is really cool, really weird, or just lame...

Sunshine

I was just going quickly type out what was new with me, but I couldn’t. After a minute or two this came out:

Whirlwind of thoughts, and dream of a dream
As cold and clear as water in stream.
The sun arose in early morning,
Lighting the night without a warning.
The warmth rushed through as gentle kiss,
Reminding me of all that I miss.
Swiftly darkness swirled around me…
Naught is left but windy dreams for me.

I didn’t mean to burden you with more of my poetry, but I couldn’t explain it any other way. That’s it. Perhaps I just write poetry to hide my emotions. It seems just the opposite though. It seems as if I communicate better that way. Yes, I know, if my awful poetry is my best medium then you’d hate to see my other stuff. Well…never mind…the sun is shining.

Changing

After going home this weekend, I have become aware of how much I have changed. I am not surprised, and I don’t understand why anyone should be. Exactly what is it that keeps us the same? I think my dad would say that it is our beliefs. Well then, what keeps our beliefs the same?

How could I stay the same if I live in a different place with different people discussing different things? I can’t even go to the same church anymore, for crying out loud. I’m not saying that if I moved to India, I would inevitably become a Hindu. But if I moved to India and lived among Hindus, I would think that my Christianity would definitely change, not die, but change. I would see things in ways that I had never seen them before, I would think about things in ways that I had never thought about them before.

Is this inevitable change good? Is it desirable? I don’t know. I think it must be because ignorance is the only alternative to it. But is ignorance that bad? There is something desirable about living in the same place your entire life, that is the only way that you can really be the least ignorant of that one place, that one community, that one life. Maybe if we don’t live in one community our entire lives we can never really know any community completely, to our utmost ability. Maybe the ignorance of much is the only way to really know one thing.

Afraid

She is afraid that I am changing,
Afraid that I am becoming someone new,
Afraid that she shouldn't love me anymore,
Afraid that she will love me anyway,
She is afraid of me.
I don't want it to be this way.
Should I wait or should I stay?

And then there is my poetry. I know it is bad, but I don’t care. (see first post for apology)

Anymore

In the nighttime
When I cannot fall asleep
I wander in the darkness,
Wondering
If this is beauty,
And then I realize
That it doesn't matter
Anymore.

A Personalized Blog?

In English class today, while we were discussing Wordsworth and Coleridge, I realized that my meditations are always very personalized. For example, I enjoyed that movie last night so much because it did not concentrate on the question: "Who was right?" Instead it concentrated on the individuals involved, either by their will or not. In history class today, I realized that I don't really care about "Who was right." Instead I care about who. When I meet someone, I don’t try to find out what they believe, or who they voted for, or what they think about such and such an issue, instead I try to find out who they are. Sorry I can’t explain it any better right now.

And now I am wondering how I am supposed to be expressing myself, revealing myself, or explaining myself, on this blog. How am I supposed to be conversing if I have no one to converse with?

Sure a blog can have a personality, a distinctive look or feel that reflects the author, but what if I am chopping down a tree in cyberspace and no one is there to hear it fall, or no one is listening, did I really chop it down?

I have written regularly in journals for years, but I was always writing to someone in them, whether it was my imagined grandson half a century later or God, I always wrote to someone. Maybe the problem is that the only time I converse only to myself I am not speaking in a language that I can express in words, so when I speak or write, I can't direct it to myself, because my self can't comprehend it.

Anyway, I’ll try to get a comments section working, and then I will find out if anyone is listening.

Gods and Generals

I just saw a four hour movie on a whim. Gods and Generals, the prequel to Gettysburg, chronicles the events from secession to Stonewall Jackson’s death. If you have any interest in the Civil War, Christianity, tradition, honor, or duty at all, I suggest that you see this movie. I will allow you to wait until the DVD comes out, though, because on the DVD the battle of Antietum isn’t cut out, making the special edition a wonderful six and one half hours long. Awesome! The most prominent character is Stonewall Jackson. He is wonderfully portrayed as the strict yet loving, emotional stonewall, Christian that he was. One great scene contains a most moving prayer Jackson has with his cook. And the portrayal of his devotion and duty to his God, family, and country is completly overpowering. So, again, I highly recommend seeing Gods and Generals. Watch it for the facial hair at least.

I just walked outside and was instantly greeted by a student passing by. She was clearly absorbing the sun's radiance as it reflected off of the snow. When she asked me how I was, I mumbled, “tired”. When she asked how I could even think about being tired on such a beautiful day, I said “The sun makes my eyes hurt....”
And then it struck me. How pessimistic I am! …I was always one of the first to delight in the beauty of nature. I was always the optimist. What was going on?
Well, after giving it some thought, I think the problem is in my sincerity. Whether I was insincere in my earlier optimism or in my present pessimism, I do not know. I am beginning to realize a lack of sincerity and a lack of conviction in most of myself….and that can't be a good thing. ...Well, maybe this blog will help me to know myself better…

I have been a little on the depressed side lately. After reading Coleridge's Dejection: An Ode, I tried to relieve some of the pressure on my soul by refusing to think about the instances that made me so mad at myself for letting everyone down, for adding to or becoming the thing that I really hate. This helped for about fifteen seconds, and my heart would somehow make its way back to my stomach where the gastric juices began to digest it again. I tried to think of different instances, memories, ones that made me happy, but instantly I was struck by the memories I delighted in, they were so selfish, and every one of them resulted in my praise and personal glory. This, of course, was another wave of depression that swallowed me up and threatened to drown me. Well, somehow, as I always seem to, I came up for air, the waters receeded and I was suddenly sitting on the beach sipping lemonade, just like old times.

Well...I have wanted to start one of these things for a few months now. I finally have enough homework piled up that I need to do something to make me feel better, so I figured that now was as good a time as any. This blog will probably contain circular rants, stupid observations, and terribly horrible poetry (sorry).
I decided to name it Stepping Stones because I am hoping that it will record my discoveries, trials, failures, and triumphs in my spiritual walk…and stuff like that. Oh, you might be wondering about the URL, chungtard is a word that my brothers, the neighbor boys, and I made up and used frequently. It developed from an ellipsis of Connie Chung and retard. Also chung was used as an expletive i.e. “What the chung?” or “That’s all chunged up.”