the rock purging

after having hiked a considerable distance on a plain i came to the foothills of a furious mountain range. due to my suspicion over the heaviness of my backpack and uncertainty of the road ahead, i laid my pack down to catch my breath, wipe my brow and investigate my luggage. i chose a stump of an ageless cedar to rest on, laying my pack beside it. i was driven to fits for some rest and relaxation and couldn't immediately have them.

shortly after, i rose and began to unload the burdensome pack, i noticed all the items were stones that resembled scars. i noticed that these rocks were no gems, just knarly, ashen, corroded: neither stones nor pebbles in smoothness.

turning back to the stump which i had initially rested on before shuffling through my pack, i quickly witnessed that the stump had either turned into a well while i was up or had always been one. i don't right remember. even so i chose this well of indeterminate depth as the recipient of my asinine rocks.

when i had been distributing the rocks into the well for a while, it occured to me that my own faculties weren't supported by any particular power of my own. this purging wasn't due as much to my effort but my willingness. the rocks were tossed by the strength of forgiveness, and they sank by the weight of forgetfulness.

lightning on the border

after completing my second class in lifeguard training, i stopped in at Starbucks to recharge and use a coupon for any drink (the carmel mochiatto was excellent!). bumping into a friend named, Yo Han, from my University days, i sat down to talk with him, and he really opened up about what God had been teaching him; one of those unpredictably salubrious experiences. as i walked out the door, my friend informed me that there had been a Tornado Watch advisory on the news for Columbia, so that i should drive with caution. and as i drove i witnessed how the lightning seemed to mark out the fringes of the storm, and nearly said, "dare not to leave the realm unless you have the courage to approach me." as the bolts crawled from the heavens, i longed to take them by the base and buckle one to the other, reigning the terribly fuliginous storm. then i might vanish like a thief in the night. soon after, i noticed that these weather pinions didn't create a barrier but a passage, as if Moses were lowering neon, serpentine staffs through the floor to America parting wide the clamorous sky. unfortunately i left my cat-like reflexes in my Curious George suitcase and my automobile couldn't manage reach the border before the entire tempest disappeared.

Dear Nearly: Part 13 "Ennuillia"

ennui. Webster says that it is listlessness and dissatisfaction resulting from lack of interest; boredom or tedium often wrought from surfeit. i'm thinking of a million-pounded American. not anyone in particular just a general figment of my imagination, really, but overweight nonetheless. this person, Nearly, lives in your realm, the realm i've been trying to avoid. that's why i can't visit your estate. your rhapsodic appearances have provided me with quite enough fellowship. not that i deride you, but you must understand, too much of your stunting activity is demoralizing. although it is true i would love to visit you if simply for the pure sensation of it all, but i must decline your request. Nearly's Palace. it resonates for sure. i've heard it's like an inconsequential paradise. but you should know rumor has it, your paradise is also a land of no return. it's also commonly refered to as "Ennuillia". i hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's the truth. your estate paradoxially creates a bored provision, a dreamily vapid joint, a tiresome amusement for your visitors. this is the diagnosis because you can't let any experience want, for then they might, Nearly, be unhappy. then you invert the whole situation by witholding true peace, for then they might, Nearly, be content. many have visited your estate and have never returned. remaining there is the million-pounded American-- consumptuously unsatisfied with satisfaction. take my criticism for what it's worth and change yourself to become a positively positive influence...

Vision of Christian Generational Interaction from the Trundle

Having forgotten my medication before going to bed, i eventually came to the bank of a lake where hundreds upon hundreds of shadowy skeptics walked on thin ice. though the scene was chilling, it wasn't cold nor was there any inkling of weather. as they made their way aimlessly, each one acquired a good sun burn from the legs up as one might that lies out all day seeking a tan, but awkwardly burns instead. as the omnibus multitude circulated with unruly gesters, no one dared to look the other in the face, for none wore lips. and everyone's appearance was ghastly. examining them for some time, it became evident that an uniterrupted gibberish was being exchanged from person to person or no one at all--a vernacular to which all consigned-- like a room full of auctioneers. fascinated, i deigned to join the company and would have if a mysterious person hadn't yanked me back from the enticing expanse. for as i extended my foot onto the lake, a man behind me grabbed a fist-full of my shirt and threw me a considerable distance backwards. when i came to and gazed torward the culprit, i initially expected to see a great gladiator, but instead i discovered a gray-haired bastard, who had nearly spent his last breath relocating me. he seemed a man who existed entirely for this though he panted with satisfaction along the embankment. suddenly the ice or film or disc or whatever it was, sizzled and snapped with a demanding sight and the infernal populace shrieked as they tumbled into anathema. the ice-walkers depict an eternally inarticulate congregation of Christianized youth, who refused to swallow the pill or organized religion but neverthelss experienced an intensely personal relationship with their respective messiah complex. the gray-haired bastard depicts the previous generation of enervated Christians, intent on continuing the faith despite having suffered injury from those who esteemed the elusive principle of progress.
written after reading in Relevant Magazine the following articles:
Underoath: Losing Their Religion by Ashley Bovensiep and Tyler Clark
Swords, Science, & Steps to Success by Jason Boyett
Derek Webb: The Heart, Mind and Politics of the New Church by Tyler Clark (contributing authors: Cara Davis and Cameron Strang)

Dear Nearly: Part 12 "Runaways"

well, it hasn't been too long, and maybe i was a tad harsh with my last letter, but we're not supposed to be corresponding as it is, so i have no obligation to tact or kindness for that matter. bumping into you today was like calculating probability of weighted dice. you think your clever don't you? Nearly, can i hear you snicker. i'd have to say bringing, Jackson, my parents dog, into our affairs is intolerable. by allowing the other camp dogs to bully him prompting me to urgently put the emugency break on Big Red and leap out in order to help defend my dog, is most uncouth. then as i attempted to scatter the malitious mutts, i noticed that i had also scattered Jackson, who took the opportunity to join the others in running away from me. as i laughingly called Jackson back to me, i thought that i could hear something large, heavy, and unmanned rolling behind me. yep, that's right, Big Red has a bad emurgency break and Nearly, decided to coast down the hill without a driver. i came very close to losing the camp truck, but i ran a ways and hoped in an began opperating the vehicle. but i knew that although i saved the truck from a disenfranchised complexion, you were trying to drive it there...

Dear Nearly: Part 11 "Pinballing"

your last letter was upsetting and i wish you future success. i'm sorry to hear about the breakup or should i say breakups. if you had listened to me from the start, you wouldn't have opened your heart to Sorry. she's very kind, to be sure, but always apologizing because she's so unsure of herself. and then to suffer the exposure of getting tied up in a rebound relationship with Availably. unfortunately for you, she seems to come and go whenever she pleases or when the possibility arises (i guess you could say fortunately for the other guy she is the way she is, but you just wait, he'll experience what you did). i don't even want to mention what you told me about Vaguely, because, i said what i said, and now maybe you can realize why i said that about her. anyways, i'm happy for you regarding Fondly. she sounds sweet and understanding. plus, i've heard good things about her from Proudly and Humbly. it is often said that those of opposing gender can often be beguiling, but your peevishness will only continue to grow unless you learn to adapt yourself as well. i've had my unfair share of heartache and disappointment myself. but let's be honest, Nearly every time you get close to someone you withdraw for whatever reason. you might want to address this foil soon, Nearly you might lose her and find yourself pinballing once again...

"Three Weddings"

i have seen brides shed tears on their wedding day, but it doesn't interest me as much as when i see the groom in tears. my friend, Jacob, asked me to be in his wedding at the Outer Banks of North Carolina about four years ago, and i did so gladly. being that i wasn't closer to him than some of the other groomsmen, i found myself the furthest from Jacob, yet surprisingly positioned so that i could clearly see his face. as his bride, Kelly, appeared in the threshold of the chapel, she gleamed with happiness, yet when i turned to survey Jabob's joy, i only saw his hands over his face; immediately revealing that he was weeping. i almost began weeping too, until i told myself, "Sraighten up cracker, you're not even getting married!" it wasn't until recently i remembered this occurance when i visited Augusta for the wedding ceremony of my friends Matt and Carly. for as soon as the bride stepped into the chapel and everyone turned in honor, all my concentration was geared on getting a glimpse of the groom's demeanor. i was seated pretty far in the back (such is the remnant for ushers), and though my perspective was poor, i'm pretty sure Matt had a reddening of the eyes. it's not like him to show his emotions when it's all on the line.

nevertheless, he wept. then i thought, "if marriage is really a metaphor, like food and fire and cheese that we humans wrestle with in reality, i wonder what my Savior might do from wedding ceremony to wedding ceremony (i use that language because there is, of course, no "during" in eternity). you may say, a fallen wretch cries out of unworthiness; that's why your friends cried. but what about unfettered, naked joy? will Christ cover his face because of His magnanimous radiance--wishing to protect our resurrected eyes, or will His hands hide tears at the sight of His long-awaited bride?... yet we read in Scripture that God the Father will wipe every tear away (Revelation 21:4a/4b--note the segmentattion in emphasis and development of idea between the first and second part of the verse, almost supposing after the consolation of the Father, there will be no etc, no etc, and no crying...), so the flippantly dogmatic, presumptiously doctrinal, and bromidically safe answer assumes that there will be no tears shed in heaven from the saints, especially none from God the Son (emphasis added)! well if that's the case, where do the tears originate, which God the Father will wipe away i wonder (emphasis added)? it may be unlikely, but i wouldn't put it beyond the God of inversion who constantly amazes and loves.

We hear the words within the tune
as double doors are swung;
her train is following;
her chiffon veil is hung;
her radiance--the moon:
a parable with wings,
and as the people's gaze conducted her
another thing would then occur
a man wept in his hands before the room
that's why i always face the groom.

Arising with the witnesses,
heads on a swivel turn:
her dress is burning white;
her heart has lost concern;
her eyes are where her treasure is:
an illustrated sight,
and though her beauty couldn’t be denied
I didn’t focus on the bride,
because a man was weeping in the room
that’s why I always face the groom.

He stands astonished and assured
as he has always done
her cautious gait concealed
her evident upon
her claim that she’s been pured:
a metaphor's revealed,
yet as she rambles to the royal throne
she fully knows she’s fully known
a Man starts weeping in the boundless room
again I’m forced to face the Groom.

by Wm. Rieppe Moore

"It Swells In Silence"

it swells in silence and arrays the host
while nearly terminating that by which we boast

sustains existence by reserved display
rejoices in its growing hope throughout the day

made merciful by unexpected chance
to others who await the winsome circumstance

leads men to heaven who lived amidst a hell
much like a grit of sand within an oyster shell

that bends though polishes and wounds the flesh
to teach the heartless brute of tragic tenderness

so seeming sentimental silence sends
effects for lovers by affections dividends

as mental wrinkles weigh the heart of trust
it beckons lovers stumble wherever they are thrust

contented by the company of one
although senescent wherewithal will come

unbreakable, unbroken, stretches still,
and seeks to win the bachelor though it can kill

and as it sleighs the lonely, ostracized
it raises him by that same hope which it relies.

by Wm. Rieppe Moore

"Huswifery"

(photo by: anonymous)
Make me, O Lord, thy Spinning Wheele compleat;
Thy Holy Worde my Distaff make for mee.
Make mine Affections thy Swift Flyers neate,
And make my Soule thy holy Spoole to bee.
My Conversation make to be thy Reele,
And reele the yarn thereon spun of thy Wheele.

Make me thy Loome then, knit therein this Twine:
And make thy Holy Spirit, Lord, winde quills:
Then weave the Web thyselfe. The yarn is fine.
Thine Ordinances make my Fulling Mills.
Then dy the same in Heavenly Colours Choice,
All pinkt with Varnish't Flowers of Paradise.

Then cloath therewith mine Understanding, Will,
Affections, Judgment, Conscience, Memory;
My Words and Actions, that their shine may fill
My wayes with glory and thee glorify.
Then mine apparell shall display before yee
That I am Cloathd in Holy robes for glory.

by Edward Taylor

Metaphysical Conceit: T. S. Eliot says of this:
"The elaboration of a figure of speech to the
farthest stage to which ingenuity can carry it.

about a burning fire

right now i'm listening to Blindside's "About a Burning Fire" and it is a moving song. at times the vocalist is screaming and at other times singing melodiously. you really hear the yearning for God's love and his fire as well.

i truly want to write a poem about how the Christian experiences God's love somewhat dispassionately due to the tribulations and tials experienced in a groaning, fallen world. i want to address the uses of fire in Scripture such as God revealed in the burning bush, the firey furnace of the Hebrew slaves, the flaming tounges on the Apostles, the fire from heaven for Elijah's saturated altar, the fire in Jeremiah's bones, the Exodus fire by day the the cloud by night, the Transfiguration, etc...even to depicting the fire of Ridley and Lattimer, the picture of Christ feeding the maligned flame in Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, the subtle fire of the modern Sons of Thunder, and my own disquiet flame--subdued yet at times ambivalent, and yearning for greater intimacy.

nevertheless, i appreciate the image of fire in Scripture and in the history of the Church through the ages. i seek to properly administer a cohesive, yet seemingly assiduous representation of the work of fire. this is a quote by Elizabeth Barret Browning which is an excerpt from Your God is Too Safe by Mark Buchanan. just for the record when an author quotes E.B. Browning, they score major brownie points with me. (photo by: annonymous).

Earth is crammed with heaven
and every common bush afire with God;
but only he who sees takes off his shoes.
The rest sit around and
pluck blackberries.