And so it is

-part of St. anselm's proslogion-
(chapter 1: In which the mind is aroused to the contemplation of God)

Come now, little man, turn aside for awhile from your daily employment, escape for a momentfrom teh tumult of your thoughts.

Lord, if you are not here but absent, where shall I seek you? But you are everywhere, so you must be here, why then do I not seek you? Surely you dwell in light inaccessible - where is it? and how can i have access to light which is inaccessible? who will lead me and take me into it so that I may see you there? i have never seen you, o lord my god, i have never seen your face, most high lord.

you have created and re-created me, all the good i have comes from you, and still i do not know you. i was created to see you, and i have not accomplished that for which i was made.

how wretched is the fate of man when he has lost that for which he was created. how hard and cruel the fall.what has man lost, and what has he fond? what has he left, and what is left to him?

he has lost blessedness for which he was made and he has found wretchedness for which he was not made. He had left that without which there is no happiness, and he has got that which is nothing but misery.

a grievous loss, a grievous sorrow, the whole thing is grievous.

Been reading

So, I've been reading this book, "On Killing" by Lt. Colonel Dave Grossman. It's very interesting and pertains immensely, though I haven't killed anyone, in combat or otherwise, I suppose it may come in handy someday. Other than that it is a very interesting read on why and how and what happens afterwards (psychologically) when soldiers kill or do not kill in combat. I will probably post more later when I have more time.

But, as a teaser, if anyone would be teased by this, according to some research done by the Colonel Grossman and other scientists, there are about 2% of soldiers who are "natural soldiers" which means that they have tendencies towards "aggressive psychopath" behavior. Psychopath, in this sense, is not a bad denotation. Grossman differentiates between "aggressive psychopaths" and "sociopaths". And it would appear that, according to the research, I am one of those 2%. So, that means I have "leanings" toward "psychopathic aggressiveness". Interesting.

ok so it's pissing me off. the stupid thing makes the poem below look retarded cause the lines don't quite match up and I don't know how to extend the borders to make them even, so it's not going to look right, which is important because the layout of the sentences lends itself to the way in which you are supposed to read the poem, but oh well, whatever.

Another one, forgive me...;-)

Well, here's another one I wrote awhile ago in a fit of Musing.

It's called "And so then, they followed..."

"Walking towards that which is hidden,

Forward to the fate who is his companion so dear.

Unknowing thoughts lie behind, forever lost on this path that twines,

what he was and forever shall be, What he was made and who he shall be.

How bold and brave and gallant you see, for he knows not to where he leads.

A war he fights, ever pushing forward through that which he fights,

Unknown to you and to me.

A fate drives him forward, See? Look in his eyes,

A fate drives him forward till the day that he dies.

So far has he gone so little to tell, 'What?' cries the Rose, 'could deserve a fate so fell?'

Well my Enchanter, should you not know? You who drives away the winter and snow.

This man you see, can you not tell, is under the fate of one escaping from Hell.

He pushes onward you see, till his once known life he no longer can see.

His feet have trodden many a road, a vagabond, a ragamuffin, very far from home.

His trials, no one may know, but they have shaped and chiseled until he is stone.

This road that he walks may be his tomb, for the fate that he follows is a fell doom.

A fate drives him forward, See? Look in his eyes,

A fate drives him forward till the day that he dies.

'Arms shall I give him then,' said the Mountain Lord, 'gifts of steel and leather.

May it never be said that he passed by here unhindered.

But help him I shall and give him rest,

For who knows when he may be next put to the test.'

Nay tall Rowan, forgo your desire, the heart within our wanderer is one fed on fire.

Onward he pushes though the way grows dark,

Never does he falter, he always leaves his mark.

His sword is sharp and his shield worn well, it shall be said at the end of his days

'He swung his sword well'

Look at his face, jaw set firm, see his eyes, see how they burn?

There lies a fire unquenched, bright, fierce yet humble it is.

Look at the face that Fate has kissed.

No, he shall onward through rain and snow,

making the fire, that blessed oak pyre, always and forever grow.

A fate drives him forward, See? Look in his eyes,

A fate drives him forward till the day that he dies.

These leaders of men, petty kings all, fail to see where our stranger's footsteps fall.

Through their villages and through their woods, slowly winding through,

There he makes his way through trials, and those, not a few.

But there are men who have seen, who have felt the heat.

They tremble in awe at what this could mean.

Is there more than this?

How can they follow?

Could they possibly escape from this, their Abyss?

See the Flame of Hope kindled? Burning brighter and higher,

Slowly they wake, they shake their heads as they pass in His wake.

Slowly they turn, barely daring to see, what it has been, what has made them to see?

They look around, staring in wonder.

'Go on,' says the Mountain Lord, 'follow that man and follow him hard,

Soon you will learn who he is and how far.'

They stare after as slowly it dawns, the flame, once kindled, never is gone.

They move; they walk; the brave, they run.

They follow the same path that the stranger has come.

Forward they march, each to his way, but following each the fate of the brave.

A fate drives him forward, See? Look in his eyes,

A fate drives him forward till the day that he dies.

To battle, to the field, to death do they go, forward, marching each to his own.

Their fellows they see, knowing each and every thought that runs through these.

Of one mind, Enchanter, is it not so? "Yes, forward to the death they will go.'

To field, the fight, the battle! Go on, move on, do not ever slow!

Loyalty, faith, and in Him believe.

Swing well and true and thus you will perceive that to follow Him is never to fail;

For forever and ever will He ever prevail.

A fate drives them forward, See? Look in their eyes,

A fate drives them forward till the day that they die.

Forward they go to the fate once known, forward they go until their story is done.

He passed and showed them the flame.

He passed, and so then, they followed."

A poem about a dream I've had twice, very vivdly

This was written on Saturday, March 04, 2006 it was about a dream I had twice that was so vivid, the oppression so real that it stayed with me for days, and also, helps explain why I like guns, just kidding, but really....

But these flowers.... Dark and steep the hill is, very dark. The going is not too hard, I hold my sword at the ready, wary, so very wary, this is not safe, oh so very dangerous. Someone once believed he felt safe because he could not see his enemy, till a wise man said “It is because I can’t see him that I fear my enemy.” So true, so true. Here it is, here we are, we barely see, the hill is so very dark. Everything is so gray and dark. The hill levels off into a forest that crowns its head. It’s so dark. Slowly forward we crawl, weapons ever in front, faces behind the shield, this enemy is unknown, but felt, oh is he felt. The awful presence, the tension, building, building ever so much; alone I am now. Bah, these flowers, these so bright yellow flowers. This, above all else, tells me something is wrong. Why the yellow? Everything is dark, so very dark….but these flowers…. There is a house, I can see it now. The house is dark, no candles, no fire, no movement. But this is the place. How do I know? Presence…can you not feel it? Suppressing force, weighing on me, on my soul. If only I could know my enemy, see him face to face, I would be unafraid. This tension, this breath before the yell, this silence before the storm, this prayer before the end... Circling, I wait, circling, around and around we go, and where I stop…there’s nothing, but I can feel it. It’s here, it’s all around, and it’s coming from this house; and these flowers….

Gives me the chills just to reread it...

Ok, so, here's my first one.

Ok, I used to be on Xanga, back in High School, but now Xanga is dead, so I am here. I will slowly repost some of the more important or defining or funny/whatever posts until I get something new and good. So, enjoy, maybe......take it for what it is. (oh, and the whole, "but these flowers" thing, there's this dream, it had flowers and it wasn't good. So, I'll post that one later and it'll make more sense, again, maybe)


March 1st, 2008

Ah, and so it begins again.....and where it stops...but these flowers....

(Introduction necessary? I didn't think so. This is me. For real. And this is you. The Real You?)

It dwells on me to speak. And truth be told, the truth is hard put to be spoken truthfully by one truth from whom the Truth is hidden. It is here and then it is gone. Like the paths on the other side of the awen, hazy mist obscures, just as my mind obfuscates its intent. It dwells on me but the dwelling is not understood. The Raven croaks a throaty note but it is not for me, the bell that tolls. It is Royalty beyond royalty calling me to what I am. King Raven here I am, give me something! As the doomed man in Hades ever reaches for the ever retreating moisture, so does my soul ever yearn to be moved by the yearning of the First Mover. Yet again it is the misunderstanding corrected rather than the understanding that sharpens the mind and so my writ is thus. To those who understand through the misunderstanding of the that which is written, perhaps you now see. To those who do not understand, then perhaps King Raven did not intend for the misunderstanding to know the understood, at least not yet. Or as it could be, this truth has misunderstood the understanding and therefore has not understood the Truth so truthfully told.