My Musings

Halted beginnings

2012-01-21T21:21:00.001-08:00

It feels like one of those times that feels like the right time to say something, but nothing readily comes to mind to answer the question of what is to be said. A little pondering (which works best when the fingers are moving) is in order. Here it comes. The infinite void slowly becomes material, and I step from the shore into the shallow waters of purpose. Do my toes experience a biting cold, or does the vastness welcome an inquiry? It is pleasant, and the sun still tarries above a dusky grave, so then it is safe to roll up my pant legs and venture at least a little ways into the water.

False alarm... I've got nothing.

Cool Video About the Brain Hemispheres

2011-12-11T21:10:00.000-08:00

So what do you think?

The thought that came to mind is that maybe some schooling tends to suppress the right brain - the intuitive side. I'm studying engineering, and sometimes it becomes difficult to break free from the ultra-rational method of thought and come to an understanding of things in their relationship to one another. Perhaps the flaw with education is that it tries to institutionalize the learning of intuition. Isn't the only real way to understand the world to experience it? Doubtless, there is great value in learning the concrete and compartmentalizing information, but maybe we have tried to shift learning into a spot where it can do both but have only ended up teaching neither adequately.

Lately I've become aware of a decreased ability to understand concepts. It has gotten worse over the years of my schooling. Granted, there is the possibility that the material is simply harder to comprehend, but that doesn't explain the more general feeling of a cloud or veil that "shrouds" (for lack of a better word that isn't a Discovery Channel cliche) my ability to think clearly. Hopefully, my intuition has not be educated out of me.

Just a thought. Feel free to disagree. And as a disclaimer, this obviously does not apply to all education.

Book Review

2011-08-20T23:08:00.001-07:00

This is the latest of the books I've read. It was written in the 50's by Owen Barfield. Somewhere I read that he was a member of "The Inklings", a group of men that included the well-know philologist/author J.R.R. Tolkien. Barfield, like Tolkien to an extent, is a believer that knowledge of people of the past can be derived from their language. The book History in English Words opens to us a sense of the mind of ancient people and also shows the reader the influences of events on the language we speak today.

I have to admit, here at the outset, that it took me a great length of time to read this book. It is one of those books that I have to be in the mood to read. Specifically, I have to be in the wordy, etymology mood to really delve into this book. But once I was in, I was truly fascinated by what I read.

History in English Words is not simply a book filled with random facts about words that most people don't care about. The book ends up being about the history of the consciousness of man, how he has evolved from a superstitious and sort of mythical point of view in which his destiny is determined by the occurrences of the universe or the acts of the gods. What has gradually become of man is that he now views himself and his world more objectively. We commonly think of ourselves as being the authors of our own destinies, whereas the ancients believed that they were being acted upon by the universe. Barfield explains that we can hardly relate to some of the thinking that went on in the ancient days because we have such a different language now. He argues that language is used to form thoughts; since our language is so different from, say, 1,000 years ago, we can scarcely now build the same thought structures that existed then.

This all seems somewhat of a stretch, and the book needs to be read to get the full effect of what I'm trying to paraphrase here. It was an interesting read, and I was able to take a lot from it. The book provides the knowledge to look at the world differently. It has helped me to think about the words I use, and it has showed me the real meaning in much of the English language.

It is not a very long book - about an inch in thickness. It should really be standard reading in high school or colleges. It's that valuable.

Either the smoke is clearing, or this is the onset of premature grumpy old man syndrome.

2011-08-20T22:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes (or maybe not) when we look back on life there are the moments when we can see the smoke clearing from the battlefield, and everything that has occurred in this day of life is revealed in the light of the sun. Why do I say "battlefield"? I say it because that's what life is, isn't it? We are in a constant struggle to obtain some sort of purpose, some ideal end to this world of dust. We put all our efforts to tear down the things that are an evil to our purpose, but we forget sometimes that perfection cannot be created from this gritty material of mortal life. The science of alchemy proved to be hopeless to achieve it's ends, but somehow we think that we can change the stuff of which our world is made into something higher in nature. You can't make gold out of lead (well, not stable gold).

What do I see now that the smoke vanishes into the wind? I see desolation. I see the rotted fruits of times past, the empty gaze of the survivors who once held such brightness in their eager eyes. Nobody has anything to say because they're all thinking the same thing anyway. We did everything right. The enemy lay lifeless on the green field, and water trickles through the adjacent creek, though now a few of the dead release their own red life into this artery of the earth.

You become dizzy. The horizon tilts and you suddenly feel blades of grass on your face. The survivors are gone, and so are the dead. There was never anybody else in the fight, just you. The preceding strife and destruction only destroyed yourself.

I spent years in high school being only quasi-outgoing. Never did sports; never played in the band; never really did much. The three or so years preceding this previous year, I really tried to be outgoing. It worked. I made lots of friends. Most of them have moved on down the road of life. Some of them don't bother to say hello when they pass (perhaps I should say hello too, but they're the ones not making eye contact). Some there are that have always been friends, and they always will be to me. That part doesn't really change. Time apart doesn't change it, and station in life doesn't change it. When times of reuniting come, all is well.

This doesn't seem to be going into any specific direction, so I'll just say what I came to say. I think we burn ourselves out socially. We try so hard to become who we think will get us what we want in life. Sometimes, we feel like we have to destroy things that get in our way, but we ultimately find that we've only destroyed parts of ourselves. Evening hits, and we see the long shadows of our ambition lying on the ground, but we are alone to behold the scene. In the end alone. The same shallow people that you tried to impress fled when it was apparent that you could not sustain the effort. I see these kids get all excited and confident because they're doing what they think they're supposed to be doing. They have validation of their life. But that validation fades. That validation is mortal. That validation is meaningless.

The only validation we need comes from He who is better than the substance of this world. He is the Great Alchemist. He turns us into gold. The excitement of the world and the social scene will fade. Facebook statuses and "tweets" will be forgotten with time. Fads are forgotten before they are known. There are few things that are steady and certain, but those that can be so categorized are unequivocally so.

New site

2011-07-21T21:58:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it's due to the insatiable desire for the human spirit to attain perfection in its endeavors; perhaps it's the glow of Jupiter's red storm on the rings of Saturn; some say that it's because the changing poles of the earth increase the kinetic energy of nerve signals to the pituitary gland. At any rate, I've made a new website. It's different from this blog because it'll be focusing more on hobbies and technical things, but it seems to be a good outlet for those sort of things.

Initially, it was going to replace this site and maybe the others on blogger, but the creation process has left me still wanting to muse less publicly. I don't think there are many that read this blog, and I don't have a problem with that - in-fact, I think I'd prefer that. I think less readers makes me more open to explore abstract thoughts and feelings, whereas a knowledge of many readers of this blog would make me less open and personal. Personal may be a bad thing on a blog, but oh well.

Coming up, I'll be doing a little book review to change it up. That is, I'll do one if I can ever finish the book. Finals have gotten in the way a bit. The book is History in English Words, by Owen Barfield. It's probably the most fascinating book I've read in a long time. It's taken me a very long time to read, but that is mostly because you have to be in the right mindset to enjoy it and to be interested in it. And it's not just etymology; it touches on so much more than that alone. So be excited.

Blah blabbady blah

2011-04-06T14:08:00.000-07:00

Today, after a couple of hours working I found myself wont for things to do there. It would appear that most of the things I've been working on are ready for a final stage that I have no control over, so I left and called my boss after eating some lunch. He told me he'd get back to me when I explained that the only thing I have left to do is scuff up a front fender to ready it for painting. Tomorrow, as if to make up for a lazy Wednesday, there is probably a day's worth of work to be done on a Toyota Prius - the car for which I harbor the most hate of any car. So today I rest up for now and blog away.

Just in case it's not already obvious, I do collision repair. My boss is a religion teacher here at the school, but for 46 years he's been buying totaled cars, fixing them, then selling them. Somehow, I've acquired sufficient knowledge and skills to do this kind of work (or at least enough to convince someone that I can learn this kind of work). It's satisfying some of the time, but only when you finish a difficult project. Other times, the work can be a little tedious or just plain frustrating. Those characteristics are part of living though. Most of life is difficult to deal with, but there are moments that casually come along that make all the frustration worth dealing with. So life doesn't have to be a majority pleasant to be worth living, it just has to be worth it in the end - and you're definition of the end can make or break that argument. For me, the end is far beyond death, but that subject is for another time.

What I really wanted to discuss today is, more or less, art vs. science. The circumstance that gave birth to this competition of concept is the nature of my current job and most of the other jobs I've had. Currently, I fix cars. It's very direct and objective oriented work. There is latitude for creative thinking, and it extends only to how to go about fixing something and the shaping of metal parts back to their original condition. In the end, I find that the work is not entirely suited to my natural dispositions. I've always focused more on the creative and the abstract; collision repair is neither.

So there is this conflict. Will I die a "death of a salesman"? Will I seek to be good at something my whole life that is contrary to my nature and God-given talents? Hopefully not, but something very important - opposition - is created with the inclusion of both the art and science in one's life. They serve to oppose one another, and each bring the individual to want the other, whereas if there was only one, motivation to action in either of the two would be all but extant. Without the two, there is no opposition to serve the ambition of the individual, and with no ambition, there is no action. Without action, do we really exist?

Therefore, the argument is not really art vs. science; there is no argument. There is only art unto science or science unto art. The challenge is balance. One should motivate a person to the other.

You know you're scraping the bottom of the barrel when you start to blog about blogging.

2011-01-07T19:35:00.000-08:00

There are times that I look over this blog and wonder what the ultimate end of all this "musing" is. There must be some kind of purpose, after all. Were there the combination of no real purpose and me having no conscious knowledge of any purpose, there would then be no significance to thought or action of any kind, for if we are neither striving to obtain some goal in either state of mind, then we are not striving for anything. And if there is no striving, then why are we here? Since there is purpose to our existence, we can then conclude that there is a greater intelligence out there, or a God, because how can there be an intelligent purpose to all things if there is not one that can comprehend the sum of all purpose? And if there is a God, then he would care about the well-being of every creature, including us; were that not the case, He would not be God because all things would not obey him. Since He cares, he would make known our purpose, either explicitly or implicitly, to motivate us toward righteous action. As for these musings, there then must be a purpose known implicitly in my subconscious mind. So thus I write. For one with so little to say, I say much to very few people; hopefully those few benefit from the musings of one who writes for the simple reason that it feels like what should be done. Some part of me knows the thing for which I strive, and that's good enough for me.

The Miserables

2010-11-29T12:05:00.000-08:00

Occasionally - and only occasionally - a person that has become unaccustomed to reflection will take time to comment on the theater of life that continuously unfolds before him. If only it were a theater, and merely that; then maybe its poignancy might be removed. Perhaps the things that destroy us would only be the subject of laughter and entertainment. Such sentiments are forbidden to us, however; we are bound to a cruel - and sometimes felicitous - reality. It is a theater, but the stage is cruel; it is merciful; it is a place of both joy and despair.

Within the duration of the last few months, I have seen both sides of the coin, so to speak. The extreme case of the dual nature of reality is expressed well by Victor Hugo: "Love, at that height where it is absolute, is associated with an inexpressibly celestial blindness of modesty. But what risks you run, O noble souls! Often you give the heart, we take the body. Your heart remains to you, and you look at it in the darkness, and shudder. Love has no middle term; it either destroys, or it saves. All human destiny is this dilemma. This dilemma, destruction or salvation, no fate proposes more inexorably than love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; coffin, too. The same sentiment says yes and no in the human heart. Of all the things God has made, the human heart is the one that sheds most light, and, alas! most night."

If we are one of the blessed to be saved, then what joy we have... But what of the destroyed? What are they to do? Do they stamp out the noblest of things that ever did reside in their hearts? The idealistic notions that predominantly govern our emotions would respond with a shout of "No!". But what is ever the ideal? We suffer the greatest of pains in the course of life, and we seek to be justified, but no justification is necessary. Justice is that we rise from the ashes of our ruined selves and find the happiness that we were truly meant to have but could not formerly obtain. Somehow we need the pain, but we do not want it. And in the order of Love - that highest order - we inflict ourselves with loss. It is death. But we die so that we may live again with a more perfect love in our hearts. The answer then is a "yes", but a somber yes, the saddest "yes" ever uttered in the heart. Then, and only then, will the love that destroyed us become our savior.

Food for thought

2010-09-15T18:12:00.000-07:00

"Algebra applies to the clouds, the radiance of the star benefits the rose--no thinker would dare to say that the perfume of the hawthorn is useless to the constellations. Who could ever calculate the path of a molecule? How do we know that the creations of worlds are not determined by falling grains of sand? Who can understand the reciprocal ebb and flow of the infinitely great and the infinitely small, the echoing of causes in the abyss of being and the avalanches of creation? A mite has value; the small is great, the great is small. All is balanced in necessity; frightening vision for the mind. There are marvelous relations between beings and things, in this inexhaustible whole, from sun to grub, there is no scorn, each needs the other. Light does not carry terrestrial perfumes into the azure depths without knowing what it does with them; night distributes the stellar essence to the sleeping plants. Every bird that flies has the thread of the infinite in its claw. Germination includes the hatching of a meteor and the tap of a swallow's beak breaking the egg, and it guides the birth of the earthworm, and the advent of Socrates. Where the telescope ends, the microscope begins. Which of the two has a greater view? Choose. A bit of mold is a pleiad of flowers; a nebula is an anthill of stars. The same promiscuity, and still more wonderful, between the things of the intellect and material things. Elements and principles are mingled, combined, espoused, multiplied one by another, to the point that the material world, and the moral world are brought into the same light. Phenomena are perpetually folded back on themselves. In the vast cosmic changes, universal life comes and goes in unknown quantities, rolling everything up in the invisible mystery of the emanations, using everything, losing no dream from any single sleep, sowing a microscopic animal here, crumbling a star there, oscillating and gyrating, making a force of light, and an element of thought, disseminated and indivisible dissolving all, that geometric point, the self; reducing everything to the soul-atom; making everything blossom into God; entangling from the highest to the lowest, all activities in the obscurity of a dizzying mechanism, linking the flight of an insect to the movement of the earth, subordinating--who knows, if only by the identity of the law--the evolutions of the comet in the firmament to the circling of the protozoa in the drop of water. A machine made of mind. Enormous gearing, whose first motor is the gnat, and whose last is the zodiac."
— Victor Hugo (Les Misérables)

Just words

2010-06-29T19:34:00.000-07:00

There are times when I think I've come across some great truth, and in those times I normally write. Presently, however, I've only come across the feeling that there is some great truth to be stumbled upon, but I lack the depth of thought to comprehend it. Blind I wander through a foreign landscape and endeavor to give distinctness to an ethereal idea that may or may not exist. What is this great truth?

This feeling came during my differential equations class. I sat there in an ignorant stupor as the teacher scribbled symbols and numbers on the blackboard. There was a block in my mind, like a plane that can't rise above the clouds. I could sense that there was a greater understanding to be had, but I could not excite the faculties of my mind with my own strength.

During this time, I thought of the many connections and relationships that exist in the math world. It is like a brain, each neuron networked with every other. I would imagine that I would think it beautiful if I could only comprehend it all. Math is logic, and logic and order govern the universe. Everything can be reduced to a formula, but a formula is so limited. For example, we cannot see the force of gravity, but we can predict what it will do. Since our understanding is finite, it seems we must be content with a sort of temporal understanding of the more subtle characteristics of the natural world. The words on the page bring us to comprehend, but never to understand. True understanding would have to come from experience.

The other part of me says that there are no great mysteries in the world, only people who refuse to see, and look "past the mark".

Memorial Day Memory

2010-05-31T20:30:00.000-07:00

Memorial day in Idaho marks the opening of hunting and fishing season, and this year it also has marked my third experience fishing... and also my second experience not catching anything while fishing. While this all sounds very boring and uneventful, the day at the Snake River left me with a fair share of scrapes and bruises.

It was a scenic drive with my room-mate and his brother up to Ashton, on east of there a little further, and skyward into the mountains. I'd forgotten that Idaho had a tree'd side to her, and I was much pleased with the scenery. The stress of school became inversely proportional (a little engineering lingo) to the distance I was from Rexburg. All my cares melted away.

Once we arrived at our destination (some trail head), I quickly jogged to what appeared to be an old mine shaft in the side of the mountain. I had spotted it on the way up, and it seemed way more interesting than fish. It turned out to be a tunnel - not a mine shaft - and it was quite a bit bigger than I expected. It measured about twenty feet high all the way through. The other side emerged about a hundred yards (maybe) from the entrance. It was very cool though - especially because there were some collapsed beams and fallen debris. Right at the entrance, however, was a cage and a sign that said, "Road Closed". It was at that point that it made sense to me that they'd run a trail right to an old tunnel that looked rather dangerous from a distance. I only wish that I could have gone through.

I made my way back to the car, at which point I had a nice cramp in my side from the half Subway sandwich that I ate immediately prior to my little jog down the trail. We all made our way to the river, and when we got there, we realized that the immediate area of easy access offered no easy access to a good fishing spot. A little hike along the side of the very sloped shore brought us to some logs and rocks upon which we could plant ourselves for the afternoon.

I soon learned that the logs and rocks were infested with a decently sized population of large flying insects. They got in our hair, on our legs, and almost in my room-mate's food. But the real challenge proved to be unsnagging our hooks from rocks in the shallow water. My first cast caught me a rock, and so did many more of my casts after that. Jamison's brother also caught his hook on a rock. I found myself standing on the end of a log over the water, trying to help release his hook. I lost my footing in an attempt to gain better footing and fell backward into the river. It wasn't the warmest swim I've ever had...

After that, there was no reason for me not to wade out and unhook the line at the source. I laid my disassembled phone and wallet on a rock and proceeded to do just that. The rest of the trip was cold and fishless, but my fall made for a good laugh. We made our way to the car, cold and defeated, but happy, nonetheless. It was fun to get away from Rexburg for a day. And it was especially good to think about something other than Mechanical Engineering homework.

The unfortunate thing was that my phone stopped working for a bit. I let it dry without the battery, and placed it over a hot lamp for a while, just to make sure. After some time, I put it all together, but the SIM card wasn't being read, which usually means that all your pictures and phone numbers have been destroyed. But after much fiddling and taking apart things that shouldn't be disassembled, it suddenly worked again.

The lesson to this all is don't fall in a river with your cell phone in your pocket. Well, just don't fall into rivers unless you're looking to entertain your comrades. That was my Memorial Day. This probably wasn't a very entertaining read, but I don't have a problem posting this, anyway. And happy Memorial Day, especially to those who sacrifice so we can all have happy times here in America.

Post Tenebras Spero Lucem

2010-04-06T00:59:00.000-07:00

That's all...

Random thought

2010-02-10T15:10:00.000-08:00

Are words just an approximation of our thoughts? If so, then what is the integral? Where is the Calculus to exact the sum under the curve of consciousness? Can a man really find out man? Or is he left to only comprehend himself completely, while the thoughts of others exist as the solution to an equation, derived and never known as a present thing?

Perhaps the world of language is more exact than is supposed here. Perhaps words are only triggers to complex mental processes. After all, language is only the vibration of air particles, or the ink on a page; pixels on a screen as well. Each, in its microscopic state, is nothingness. But when viewed as a whole, it becomes a symphony that will guide the listener or the reader in his thoughts toward an ultimate conclusion.

Touched by a footnote

2010-02-03T16:09:00.000-08:00

"[Plymouth Rock] has become an object of veneration in the United States. I have seen bits of it carefully preserved in several towns in the Union. Does not this sufficiently show how all human power and greatness are entirely in the soul? Here is a stone which the feet of a few poor fugitives pressed for an instant, and this stone becomes famous; it is treasured by a great nation, a fragment is prized as a relic. But what has become of the doorsteps of a thousand palaces? Who troubles himself about them?" -Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America

I have recently started reading the book from which this quotation comes, and I am very impressed so far. Tocqueville's writing, even on the seemingly mundane subject of the geography of America, is full of metaphorical description that brings to life the inanimate and gives significance to a history long forgotten by this generation.

The quotation above was merely a footnote in the text, but its richness surpasses the best literary work of today. Tocqueville seems to have an insight that is long lost to modern writers, a talent for perceiving the truth rather than projecting a vision of reality through a filter of preconceived opinion. Though he may be accused of embellishment, his sincerity quickly dissolves away any such thought.

The sun has come out

2010-01-23T10:37:00.000-08:00

In the dark years of adolescence, sunshine was not necessarily a preferred form of weather for me. The clouds were much more suitable to my moods, and they made me feel calm. But as I grow older, maturity changes my outlook. Old age brings many mental changes, such as a sober mind not enjoyed in the years of youth, feelings more poignant than before, and a greater desire to obtain the things in life that last the longest. In my case, a change in my favorite weather is what my "old age" has brought me. Not that I don't still enjoy the occasional rainy day excuse to stay inside, but I now enjoy the sunshine. It makes me happy.

Instant Grati-failure

2010-01-21T13:41:00.000-08:00

I applied for a job today online. After the part of the application that asks for your personal information such as your address and work history, there came the part of the application that asks for your very personal information. I like to call it the psychological evaluation portion of the application process. This is the part where they give you a series of logic problems to make sure that you're not a dummy, and then the interrogation follows. "How do you feel about things you've done in the past?" "choose which word of the group best describes you." "Which statement best suits your personality?" That's the basic sense of what they ask, except it takes about 20 minutes to get through the whole thing.

In the end, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and cleared my sinuses. The little internet application therapy session had ended. It's completion heralded a plastic change in the physical makeup of my brain, a revolution within. The world seemed new, but at the same time sad. Well, maybe it was more of a feeling of melancholy, or a sober thoughtfulness. I had come to the point at which the "submit" button hovered there on the screen.

I clicked "submit" and a new screen immediately replaced the previous one. This new one said something to the effect of, "you don't meet the qualifications for this position." It had something to do with the answers I gave on the "psychological evaluation". I always try to be honest on those type of things, but sometimes I wonder if it might better to just lie about my underlying emotional issues. I should just tell them that I love impossible challenges, long hours at work, multitasking, flaky customers, crappy coworkers, listening to stupid ideas, and... sales.

Oh well. The only thing to do is to get over it. Though it is a little disheartening to be instantly rejected, it is somehow more humane than hanging the carrot of possibility in front of the rabbit only to chuck the carrot over the edge of a cliff. Just never show the rabbit a carrot; that way, the rabbit won't waste its time with a fruitless (or vegetable-less) chase.

Of little significance

2010-01-19T16:33:00.000-08:00

Whenever I read my old blog entries, they seem to be somewhat ridiculous to me. My tendency toward over-analysis becomes tedious and rarely makes perfect sense. But as I consider this little problem, I realize that the over-analysis in my blog is simply a manifestation of what occurs normally in my own mind.

I think most people can relate to what I am saying. At one point or another, we all think too much about something. We play a scenario over and over again in our thoughts. Whatever the issue is, it is never resolved, and somehow, we ourselves become the greatest enemy to progress and the resolution of the issue at hand. What is to be done?

Of late...

2009-04-25T22:08:00.000-07:00

Normally, any entry here would be analytical and thought-provoking (I hope), but I'm in too melancholy a mood for that sort of writing. The only thing that feels satisfying is to fill some sort of emptiness - the emptiness of this page - with meaning. To give intelligence to the void is creation, and creation gives worth to self.

But what to fill it with... what intelligence will be the substance? Should I detail all the thoughts and feelings of my heart, of late? Probably not; that would be inappropriate for this somewhat public place. Perhaps the happenings of my first week of school here at BYU Idaho... but I don't feel like writing of events; I never do. Events are cold. The workings of the heart are the true story of any event. I hardly have the skills to make events and the heart of one reality.

Then why am I writing? Maybe it's that void thing. Or maybe writing makes me feel like my life is significant. I think we all seek validation in some form from time to time. Perhaps the thought that someone will read my thoughts makes me feel like I exist a little more because caught the attention of the reader for a few moments.

That's an interesting thought. Does one exist if he is not comprehended? Or does it merely take comprehension of other things to exist. Perhaps for one's handiwork to be comprehended is sufficient for the classification of "extant". Whatever the case, everything that exists has some sort of effect on the universe, so it can be argued that having zero effect on the universe would only be possible if that thing did not exist. Do each of us, then, vary the extent of our existence by varying the amount of effect we have on the world we live in? I think so.

That means, the more I write, the more I exist. Right...

It's a funny world we live in. When things go really well, those things are taken. It's like God decides to remove the conditions that were had in order that we might move on to the next lesson. In all the happenings of my life I have eventually seen the purpose and good that has come of the horrible things. I have seen the tender mercies of God and I am thankful for them. Though now melancholy, in time joy will again have place at my table.

At this moment, also, my heart tells me to stop talking about myself. I'm nothing, after all. This week in chemistry we learned that atoms are about 99.999999...% nothing. Yes, emptiness. Then again, that emptiness has great influence. The volume of space that it occupies is determined by the force it exerts on surrounding atoms. Therefore, it's effect or influence defines its existence. It is mainly nothing materially but proves itself by its power.

That's all. Goodnight.

2009-02-19T17:07:00.000-08:00

accept restless pride
genly joining me
sense yields stubbornly
fleeting love beckon days away

The true reality of the existence of reflective bricks

2009-02-08T23:01:00.000-08:00

"It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors." Oscar Wilde said it. The art is nothing until it is translated into thought. The significance of the art has its roots in the spectator, and not in the surrounding world or in the art itself. We go through life with the supposition that reality is concrete, that it exists wholly independently as it's true self. The brick, the mortar, that makes up the wall of a home is simply a piece of fired clay stuck to other fired clay by some sand and cement. That is the impersonal reality of it. But is not reality - or what we know of it - just simply the general conclusions which we come to through observation? It is the spectator that gives identity or perspective to existence.

Some persons may see the mentioned brick in different ways. One man says it is a brick, nothing more; but another man, an architect perhaps, comprehends the vital purpose that the particular brick - and every other brick - fulfils in the structure of the wall and the entire building. A historian will see the brick as an index to the bricklaying tradition upon which civilizations have been built. Reality, therefore, is in the eye of the beholder. It can therefore be concluded that Reality mirrors the participant - or spectator - rather than Reality mirroring some sort of absolute truth in the minds of men.

The subject cannot escape further application. It is not a stretch of logic to call a person's life a work of art, since a life - like a piece of art - is a work of creation. We are each artists with our own canvass and our own brush. Each decision is a stroke of paint, a thought, a communicated inspiration. The observer of this painting sees what he may. The observer may judge, he may criticize, or he may praise each detail and the image as a whole. Whatever conclusion the observer may come to is directly spawned from his own consciousness, his own values, and his own prejudices. The worst fiends that have walked the earth have been hailed as heroes, geniuses, psychopaths, and monsters by different people with different perspectives, beliefs, etc. What does the life of the fiend mirror? Is the answer the set of circumstances in which the fiend lived? Is it the world around him? To observe the observations of the observer of such a person would be more revealing of the observer than anything or anyone else. The life itself mirrors the spectator of that life rather than general truth because, depending on the spectator, what constitutes "reality" can vary greatly.

One step further... As we go through life is it the circumstances in which we live that determine our reality, or do we take control and create our own reality? The circumstances in this case being likened to the art, we can say that whatever we decide to think of life is a revelation of ourselves. What we see is simply a child of our own perspective and attitude. What we see is never impartial truth. Truth, in the moment, is unchangeable. What we think of the truth, what we see in it, what we do about it, is what makes our reality. Reality is what we make it out to be. We see what we want to see. Hopefully, as spectators of the world we can see a good reflection on the canvass. As we move toward perfection, the art becomes more pleasing. The goal is to stare back benevolently at ourselves, no matter brushstrokes.

2009-02-05T21:27:00.000-08:00

You'll wait for nothing
time crossed the reward
end cloud and rain
longest drought done tonight

2009-02-02T08:54:00.000-08:00

Faintly scented breeze sways trees
entraptured eyes hidden below
shadowed forms pressed together
lovers bearing light within

2009-02-01T09:29:00.000-08:00

dark sadness ending
heavy current reminds
renew desire you opened
come visit friend Memories

2009-01-30T17:08:00.000-08:00

yellow morning inching slowly
biting cloudless tears
pledged desire ends all comfort
waiting wary days

2009-01-29T17:25:00.000-08:00

see where last you parted
offered strength by night
smile tomorrow
weep yesterday
you're slowly
I miss you quickly
end my tears with you

2009-01-29T12:35:00.000-08:00

common aching quickly yesterday's
lonely hands changed as found
you talked and night felt parted gone
daybreak filled of you

Magnetic Poem

2009-01-29T12:22:00.000-08:00

Still awake for nothing and anything.
Sight seems beyond touch of the moon.
Elsewhere stars break the clouds' strife.

The Vida is Too Corte

2009-01-15T22:57:00.000-08:00

Why is the life too short? Well, maybe it's not. Maybe the things in life are too long. The pain of holding grudges and rending friendships is too long. Lying to yourself and others takes too long to fix. Chasing your nightmare because it's "right" wastes way too much time. The inaction that fear produces takes too long to overcome. So life isn't too short; it's plenty long, but so are the stupid things we waste our time on.

Like an unfocused beam of light

2008-12-15T00:24:00.000-08:00

I just finished formatting my fourth blog, and I'm beginning to think there is something wrong with me. Can a person have too many blogs? We all know the saying, perhaps, that a "Jack of all trades is good at none." Well, I hope that doesn't apply to blogs. Could it be said that a "Jack of all blogs is good at none"? Have I created an intellectual prism, through which my mental powers are divided into the individual colors that make up the whole? Either the brilliance of the beam is dispersed through the prism, or the seperation of colors makes for a pleasant medley of distinct tastes that make up something greater and more delicious than could otherwise be achieved through only one blog.

Eye of Newt

2008-12-13T13:48:00.000-08:00

So last Saturday at dinner, I told a friend that "I never get sick; and I don't even need to knock on wood when I say that." Well, perhaps I should have done at least one knock - just to make sure. Yes, it's true: I'm sick. My eyes are on fire, my head going to burst, my joints ache a bit, and my skin feels considerably more sensitive than usual. It is in times like these that I question whether the superstitions of ages past - and even of the present - merit the skepticism that we give them.

So I'm sick. And I don't think that Airborne really works. I think it's all whooey, actually. I've drunk that stuff like six times since yesterday, and I still feel just as bad, if not worse, than I usually feel during a cold. I would bet that all the extra vitamins just pass straight through the body and are disposed of. Now, if Airborne does nothing, then is one superstitious if he takes it and swears to its efficacy? Are we still in the dark ages where witches brews could cure even the most obscure and deadly of ailments? I think so. I like to think it's all in the mind. The witch (or hag) has been replaced with a grade-school teacher, and the brew comes in a tablet. You don't have to hike to the deep, dark center of the enchanted woods to get it, but you have to tread the equally perilous grounds of Wal-Mart. Maybe I should go find some enchanted woods...

Oh For Blog's Sake

2008-11-06T21:33:00.000-08:00

I don't know if anyone else blogs just for the sake of blogging, but that is what I am doing right now. Most of the time, when I do this sort of thing - usually when I really want to write something...anything - those are the times when I have seemingly nothing to write about. That may generally explain Luminiferous Brilliance...

I've been reading. Pretty simple thing to say. But it's significant. What is reading? It's translation of words into thoughts. Words are a medium for the thoughts of one mind to be transferred to the mind of another - specifically, from the author to the reader. I don't think it is far-fetched to state that the written word is a way of directing the thoughts of another, but only to an extent. Books are really like a guided river-boat ride. All the most fascinating things are highlighted, but the individual on the ride is free to let his gaze wander and free to draw his own conclusions. Nevertheless, he is on the boat and still subject to the perspective bias of the guide himself. No matter how hard the individual tries to be independently observant, the guide will without question catch brief moments of his attention and direct it as he pleases.

In a book we may read with conscious objectivity, but that is no guarantee against external influence of our thoughts. Though we may passionately disagree with the author, he is still the guide. The words of books are his thoughts, and they enter into our minds as we read. They become part of the mind. And if they become part of the mind, then what is to hinder the flesh from following the example of our thoughts? We become what we think. We think what we read. We, therefore, become what we read.

It is little wonder then, that we are taught to read the scriptures. They are the thought and expression of Christ; by reading His words, His thoughts become ours. We then become more like Him. And if, as in the previous example, simply dragging written words through our minds changes our thoughts to some extent, then how much more will the scriptures change our thoughts if we will read with a willing mind, wanting to believe, and having faith in Christ?

It is faith and desire (or hope) that empowers us to go and do. The example of Christ shows us what to do. As we have confidence that our hope will be obtained, and as we fill our minds with a template of righteous options, then we will surely be as Christ. Our mind will be empowered by faith to make our physical reality even as the mind itself is.

So there. I have nothing to say. I just wanted to blog.

non sum qualis eram

2008-10-30T11:37:00.000-07:00

Only the very observant will notice that I changed the title of my blog. I did not do so lightly. I don't do anything lightly, I think. It was only a slight change, but it means a lot to me.

I've probably deleted several lines of text, and here I am back at the beginning. It is in these moments, when I feel but cannot articulate, that I have the most trouble.

I enjoy photography. But it is a mixed pleasure for me. I've made some excellent photos in the recent years, but I have difficulty enjoying them as much as the random observer might enjoy them. You would think that my mental attachments to the photos through the experience of their creation would render me more able to appreciate them and take pleasure in my accomplishment. But sometimes it is quite the opposite. When I look at a photo from a year ago, I remember who I was, and I'd rather be who I am now. It's like the past comes to haunt me through the photographic preservation of things as they used to be, and it makes me feel awful at times. On the other hand, though I prefer the present me very much over the past one, perhaps what causes me so much distress is my own recognition of my present flaws and sorrows in memories past. Maybe it's that I see too much of the present me in the past. Who really knows? I don't seem to. I was a good person, by the way, but this much has to do with states of mind.

This photo example is just that: an example. The same principle applies to every aspect of existence, including my blog title. Whereas it was once "brilliantism", it is now "brilliance". The tism was an index to an inferior me, and conjured up emotions that I would prefer be kept at bay. It represented an immature, arrogant, elitist, self-proclaimed intellectual attitude that I once possessed. But I have now forsaken that (don't tell me I'm wrong on that). The more I write, the more I realize that I don't know much of anything. I read my thoughts from months past and lament my ignorance and the hollow gravity of my own words. Thus, the change in the title of my blog is a rejection of the past.

However, I am not compelled to reject it altogether. If we don't learn from history, then we are doomed to repeat it. Yet I do not reject my history's lessons, nor do I reject the happy threads that weave through the fabric of the whole. All experience is to be learned from, in order to live better today.

I thank my God that he has filled my heart with a desire to live for today and tomorrow. No matter what worry or deprivation of heart, mind or body, he will aid and assist us. He is the only sure foundation, yet oh how often we build upon another. Whatever the circumstance, we needn't change the extent of our diligence and faith. To act, and not to be acted upon by the elements and evils of this world: that is the goal, is it not? To be constant in Christ, even as he is constant in all things: our faith should not be function of what happens to us. That is true strength, the only lasting strength. Righteousness is the ultimate liberty. Anything against it is slavery.

And life is always better than we think it is.

A Slight Modification

2008-10-08T11:24:00.000-07:00

I was informed that the link on the last post no longer works. Try this new one.

Burning Down the House

Also visit my new political blog, "Purely Political".

Political, or the Truth?

2008-09-26T22:37:00.000-07:00

I don't think I've been very political on my blog yet, but I can't resist on this one. This is an excellent video that tells how the current economic mess came to be. It doesn't look pretty for one presidential candidate...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5tZc8oH--o

It all sounds pretty consistant with what I've been hearing. By the way, use the pause button throughout the video if it's moving along a little too quickly. Enjoy.

A Thought

2008-09-24T20:03:00.000-07:00

"If the whole universe has no meaning, we should never have found out that it has no meaning: just as, if there were no light in the universe and therefore no creatures with eyes, we should never know it was dark. Dark would be without meaning."

-C. S. Lewis

Happiness is Power

2008-08-27T21:43:00.001-07:00

Power: "the ability to do or act; capability of doing or accomplishing something." - Random House Dictionary

Some time ago, I heard an interesting statistic. It was that gun owners tend to be happier than those who do not own guns. The speculated reason was that gun owners feel like they have more control over their lives. This fascinated me, and has inspired me to write on the subject of power as it relates to happiness. They are both important subjects, and it is likely that we are all seeking for more of each. But how are they related? After much brainstorming, I have come to the conclusion that without power, there is no happiness.

Undoubtedly, at the very mention of the word power, some will immediately entertain thoughts of corruption, war, or dictators like Hitler or Stalin. They both definitely had a degree, or at least a certain type, of power, but it needn't be argued that their power ultimately led to a great deal of suffering and unhappiness. The power to oppress is not the type of power that I am thinking of, for it is a power that is driven by contempt for fellow men. So power can be thought of as a tool, which, as any other tool, can be used for good or ill.

Though it is a tool for evil as well as good, I say that it is nonetheless essential for happiness. In a broad sense, the content of nations is determined by the power they have over their own lives. Through the ages they have fought mostly for liberty, or to be free from government intervention - that is, free from external control of their existence. They wanted to worship as they wished, provide for themselves and their families, and control their own destinies. Whenever the ability to fulfill these desires was taken or usurped by unjust powers, they casted off those powers that oppressed, and reared up new protections to their liberty.

Agency plays a huge part in all this. Without power, there is no agency, because power is the ability to act. Every extant bit of matter has power to act in it's own sphere: electrons have their regular motion, as do the planets and stars. Therefore, power is a characteristic of existence. No power, no existence. Without existence, there is no happiness, nor sadness. There is no triumph of overcoming, no victory, no intelligence, no purpose. Power simply is. We all have some power within us - some potential for happiness - but only in the sense that we are intelligent beings, free to act or react.

We live to make decisions, to walk the journey on our own two feet. At times we misstep, but the mistakes are essential in pushing us to improve, learn, and ultimately be perfected. Agency is the ability to exercise power in whatever way we will, but when external forces seek to constrain the realm in which we can exercise it, we become very displeased. Agency cannot be taken away, but we can give it up through sin. Think of the terrible state of the wicked; they are slaves to sin, their power lost to a terrible master, and feel like they cannot break the chains that bind them. It is this feeling of powerlessness that, in part, drives them to a state of misery. They cannot break the chains. It takes the Savior. Through his grace, or enabling power, the sin is overcome. Happiness is regained, and the great motivator and empowerer - love - is kindled in the heart.

Here we come to the truth that without submission to He that has all power, we have none ourselves. And there is no happiness without power. President Monson says, "If we do not try, then we do not do; and if we do not do, then why are we here?" I submit that power is the force that moves us to do and to fulfill life's purpose. As long as we are moving toward accomplishing our purpose, we have happiness.

Power. If we don't have it, then we don't have much. We must retain the ability to act and to direct the course of our own lives. Being driven and tossed by the waves of life is not much of an existence at all. In this short span that we call mortality, it is up to us to exercise our individual power for the benefit and happiness of ourselves, our families, and the people of the world. Even those without a worldly possession have turned the world upside down because they were willing to act, and to be a force for good. Look at the Revolutionary soldiers (...gun owners) in the picture to the right. They had nearly nothing, were nearly naked, nearly starved to death, yet they, by the grace of God, broke the chains that would bind them. May we do the same, figuratively or literally, whatever the trial.

The Faith of a Pumpkin Seed

2008-08-24T22:16:00.000-07:00

If you've never witnessed the germination and growth of a pumpkin vine, then you are missing out on something magical. This has been the second season in which I have seen the fruit of my labors, but moreso the fruit of the hand of God. This summer, in perhaps a more feeble way than I think, I have come to know why agriculture can make a God-fearer out of you.

It all starts out with a seed scarcely the size of a fingernail, which sprouts within a week or so. From there the growth is rapid and vigorous. Within a couple months the ground that was once the home of a little sproutling, is covered with green. The pumpkins are formed and ripening.

Where is the miracle, you may ask? It is in the fruit, in the vine, in the habitation formed by the Whole. The miracle is in the organization of Chaos. Dirt is entropy of earthly organic materials. Dirt is death, the disassociation of materials from a lively form to a non-intelligent state. Somehow the pumpkin seed uses the roadmap of DNA, water, and solar radiation, to elevate the dead earth to a higher state. In that seed is the blueprint for the roots, vine, leaves, fruit, flower, and little grabby things. Each cell has been planned from the beginning. They all follow an order. What is most amazing to me is that hundreds, if not thousands of seeds are produced from the one original. Baffling is the thought that my seed is the product of thousands of generations of pumpkins.

Can man, with his puny arm create life? Has he discovered this great secret? No. There is no method of constructing a seed from raw materials by hand. It is entirely too complicated. Man can only follow the course that nature's God has prescribed for his creations - that is, plant the seed, and water. The rest is left out of his hands. It is in pondering the infinite detail of something so common as a pumpkin seed, and man's inability to recreate it, that we truly appreciate the hand of God. Life is intelligence, which cannot be created or made. It is from the ground that life springs forth. The elements of the dust are elevated to the level of a plant; man and animal then incorperates the plant into his own body. The flesh is then subjected to the spirit of the organism as the spirit submits itself to the Father. There is always a higher power to exhalt matter to the next level. The dirt does not simply form itself into a plant, and the plant does not become an animal of its own free will. The flesh of man cannot be spiritual unless the spirit brings it under its power. Man cannot be like unto God unless God and Man becomes one through the Atonement. Life on every level, therefore, is out of the hands of the organism, and wholly dependant on a Higher Power.*

*see the writings of James Talmage

Almost

2008-08-22T20:56:00.000-07:00

Now that this blog has been long forgotten, it is time to write again.

I just lost inspiration...

Dizzy and Blindfolded to Walking a Tightrope

2008-05-31T18:49:00.000-07:00

I took a creative writing class in high school, in which we would daily have time to free-write. The theory was that moving the pen would spark creativity and give us something to write about, even if we were at a block. That's kind of what I'm doing here. What resulted were directionless babblings, sprinkled with flecks of creativity. Now that I think of it, why would anyone care to read my "free-write"? It is probably uninteresting so far. Answer: because it will likely be brilliant.

Or not. This may just be a waste of time, but I'm in one of those moods that compells me to write, even though my thoughts haven't taken a definite form. I should be ecstatic for the sole reason that school is out, but I'm not exactly that. It seems like life is a tricky thing. It may be that we have more things to stress about than we can cope with, so we just pick a few at a time and are never short of supply of them; or there are multiple spickets that turn on and off, but keep a constant quantitative flow, working in harmony to maintain the resistance. It's like seven leaks all around you, but only two hands to stop the leaks. That leaves five leaks in progress at any given time.

Constant resistance may seem like a stinky thing, but would we ever want it any other way? We may think we do, but I think we'd find ourselves miserable without something to push against. It is the constant resistance that keeps us moving forward, because the only other option is to have the resistance crush us. I think of pushing a big rock up a hill. You don't just stand there and hold it in place. That's a waste of time. But if you let go, then it rolls over you, and you become part of the dirt.

The conclusion I've come to is this: if God loves us, then he will ensure that life is difficult. He knows that an easy life would do us little good in our progression toward eternal life. So if life is constantly a struggle, then we can be assured that God is giving us opportunities to be more perfect. If life seems easy then we're not paying attention to the hard things we're supposed to be doing.

Well, there's my free-write. Good day.

Roman Blog

2008-05-17T15:39:00.000-07:00

Here I am blogging when I should be working on a research paper for my history class. It's about the three ancient civilizations that have had the greatest impact on our modern society. I'm arguing that Greece, Rome, and ______ are the podium perched trio in this one. If you think it sounds boring, read on, because I won't be writing about it. But it got me thinking about things Roman and how I want my blog to look more Roman. Now, my perception of a Roman blog is probably nothing like the blogs they actually had in 37 B.C., or whatever, but that's okay. My real question that I asked myself was "why do I want a Roman-looking blog?"

The answer delves deep into the essence of human nature and comes disconcertingly close to viewing the nucleus of consciousness. Put on your non mercury-tainted beaver pelt hat, and grab your walking cane, for this may be a long walk down the road of knowledge. It's a rough and dusty road, full of hills and potholes. Do not fret or complain; without bumps and scrapes, hills and mud bogs, taunters and mockery-makers along the side, the nature of the road would be changed along with its name. It would be a road that is unprofitable to travel upon. You simply would want nothing to do with it.

And now for it...

What does it mean to be Roman? Indeed we may say that there is little in our modern world that has not been touched by the bony, rotten flesh-covered fingers of antiquity. Yet it is not the everyday aspects of historical effect that we wish to implement into our lives, but rather the buried mammoth achievements of generations long dead that we desire to resurrect from the dust. It is the mighty architecture of Rome, the unmatched beauty and livelihood of Hellenistic sculpture that seem immune from deaths corruption, unstained by time; it is immortality shaped by hands long dead.

We, like the ancients, - and much do our dismay - are mortal. It is the aim of mankind, and ever has been, to achieve the infinite. The world is full of things that rot and wither away. We have, as a society, traded permanency and quality for the gratification of the instant. What is currently the best will be replaced with the better in but a short time. Quantity, not quality has become the aim of today, and it seems to me that we try to associate ourselves with as much physical matter as we possibly can, as if somehow that will make our importance to the universe a little greater, as if it will make us a little more immortal. All the while, our subconscious knows a little better, but the execution of the ideas it presents becomes a little flawed.

The inconvenience of death ends all property rights, but the influence we have can last generations. Therefore, property and matter (nothing more than quarks and electrons) are of far less import than the effect we have on the intelligent beings that follow us in life. Often, however, the quarks and electrons that generations leave behind become symbols of their influence. When we consider our measly life-span of seventy-five years, then all the old stuff seems like it has always been. We see in the ancient race of man, the infinite. They are immortal to us. Their story will always be told, yet the flaw is in the fact that they are dead. Any immortality that will literally come upon them will be the doing of that Higher Being who created us. So as the subconscious directs our desires to the long lasting, we fulfil those desires with the counterfeit of mimicking the dead ancients - such as creating a Roman blog, or modeling literature after myth, or erecting buildings and statues in ancient fashion... All so we might feel grounded on something more secure than our own insignificant power.

So the question that I would ask is this: is it at the point that our life seems foundationless, that we seek the immortal stone of antiquitous creation, the dust covered simplicity of years past? This is troubling. Do I only want a Roman blog because I am lacking the infinite and the eternal in my life? Let's just say no. That makes me feel better. But I still contend that the world is hungry for things that are not made of plastic. They want the stone; it lasts longer. We create much junk that will never be seen in a millennium. Our creations die. In the past people died; they didn't live too long. They projected themselves into their own creations - creations made of stone - so they wouldn't die. We don't create the immortal, so we seek to associate ourselves with things that are. So instead of hello kitty blogs, or pop culture blogs, sometimes something deep within reaches out to make an immortal Roman blog.

A funny article(s)

2008-05-06T22:17:00.000-07:00

Go here to read it. Need I say more? Yes. Global warming is fake. Go here too.

Okay, so I feel like posting more, and it's the same day...hour. In light of the subject of the great hoax called "global warming" I would like to share my tribute to coal from a recent academic assignment:

Man's best friend
The magnificence, and uses of coal are endless. The rotten carcasses of the dinosaurs have travelled through the ages to bring us the miracle of Prometheus's' spark. The flame, the soot, the toil, the sweat, even the blood, are all part of the undying legacy of coal. It is a legacy that powered the engine of the rising industrial machine, and a legacy that will take us down the rails of a glorious journey, of which the end can scarcely be comprehended. While the fads of green power will come and go, coal will remain ever constant, like a loyal friend. Never did a young child receive a better gift on Christmas morn, than a lump of coal.

Nothing really...

2008-05-06T21:58:00.000-07:00

It seems like all of the famous blogs post on Tuesdays or thereabouts, so it would only make sense for me to post on a Tuesday also. But I feel as though I have nothing to say that is worthwhile, or I at least struggle to have the desire to continue, which leaves me in that undesireable state of deciding whether I want to keep tapping the keyboard, or just click on the little red X in the upper right hand corner of the screen.

*click*

Genesis

2008-04-29T22:34:00.000-07:00

It has finally come to the point that I deem it literally and metaphorically time to begin this little venture into the blogging world. For many weeks my mind has laboured heavily over my decision of what to write about. It had to be impressive, I thought, so as to attract the masses of the web. But blogs are many, and time is short. Not every voice can be heard by many.

Yet I begin in the face of daunting odds. It is to the subject of beginnings that my thoughts are appropriately drawn. Now for the metaphor. I think of the soil of the earth, from which emerges plants of infinite variety. The dust of space is routinely drawn together to form stars, solar systems, galaxies... Our minds take the chaos of life, the entropy of non-intelligence, and find meaning. What is this miracle that we behold? The miracle of intelligence, of order! Gradually, we take the chaos of life, and we arrange it in such a way that the chaos becomes creation. The universe moves and labors to destroy itself, to uncreate, to reach entropy and chaos. Yet man ever seeks to reach the highest state of existence: to not only maintain his own intelligent existance, but also to move and organize the elements into an intelligent design. As the physical laws of matter constrain the universe to become cold and dark, he seeks to lighten the shadows, to understand, unveil, discover secret places.

It is essential that knowledge is spread among us. We build upon each other. On the shoulders of the greats we rest our assurance of our understanding of the workings of the physical world. On the shoulders of God rest they the glory of it all, which glory manifests itself in the wonder of the worlds, the majesty of infinite space and creation, the brilliance of the sun at noonday, and the miracle of life and its infinite complexities. The love of God is manifest in the great and last sacrifice of His Son. Through reconciliation, understanding is opened, and his Spirit teaches us all things – even the workings of the universe, from the smallest particle to the giant careening bodies of space. In vision of eternity we are left to behold our finite understanding against the backdrop of infinity. We glory in our so called knowledge, but merely observers we are – observers of a glorious reality, whose architect is greater than us all.

On that note, this is the blog: the blog in which you will find the luminiferous, the brilliant. There will be, no doubt, imperfections and entries that one may find lacking some or all the virtues of perfection. But I'm no prodigy. This entry has been spawned by the decomposition of my thoughts into chaos. A rich soil has resulted, promoting the growth of lively thought. From time to time I may require the incineration of the fields of my mind, in order to bring forth a good crop.

It is time to begin... time to sprout from the soil. Good day.