a Soul Searching

In Flanders Fields

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 12:40:00 +0000

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

"The poem 'In Flanders Fields' by the Canadian army physician John McCrae remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915.

"The most asked question is: why poppies?

"Wild poppies flower when other plants in their direct neighbourhood are dead. Their seeds can lie on the ground for years and years, but only when there are no more competing flowers or shrubs in the vicinity (for instance when someone firmly roots up the ground), these seeds will sprout.

"There was enough rooted up soil on the battlefield of the Western Front; in fact the whole front consisted of churned up soil. So in May 1915, when McCrae wrote his poem, around him bloodred poppies blossomed like no one had ever seen before."

Find much more on this poem and its author here.

Dostoevsky's Sonia reads Lazarus

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 15:12:00 +0000

“So you pray to God a great deal, Sonia?” he asked her.

Sonia did not speak; he stood beside her waiting for an answer.

“What should I be without God?” she whispered rapidly, forcibly, glancing at him with suddenly flashing eyes, and squeezing his hand.

“Ah, so that is it!” he thought.

“And what does God do for you?” he asked, probing her further.

Sonia was silent a long while, as though she could not answer. Her weak chest kept heaving with emotion.

“Be silent! Don't ask! You don't deserve!” she cried suddenly, looking sternly and wrathfully at him.

“That's it, that's it,” he repeated to himself.

“He does everything,” she whispered quickly, looking down again.

“That's the way out! That's the explanation,” he decided, scrutinising her with eager curiosity, with a new, strange, almost morbid feeling. He gazed at that pale, thin, irregular, angular little face, those soft blue eyes, which could flash with such fire, such stern energy, that little body still shaking with indignation and anger–and it all seemed to him more and more strange, almost impossible. “She is a religious maniac!” he repeated to himself.

There was a book lying on the chest of drawers. He had noticed it every time he paced up and down the room. Now he took it up and looked at it. It was the New Testament in the Russian translation. It was bound in leather, old and worn.

“Where did you get that?” he called to her across the room.

She was still standing in the same place, three steps from the table.

“It was brought me,” she answered, as it were unwillingly, not looking at him.

“Who brought it?”

“Lizaveta, I asked her for it.”

“Lizaveta! strange!” he thought.

Everything about Sonia seemed to him stranger and more wonderful every moment. He carried the book to the candle and began to turn over the pages.

“Where is the story of Lazarus?” he asked suddenly.

Sonia looked obstinately at the ground and would not answer. She was standing sideways to the table.

“Where is the raising of Lazarus? Find it for me, Sonia.”

She stole a glance at him.

“You are not looking in the right place. . . . It’s in the fourth gospel,” she whispered sternly, without looking at him.

“Find it and read it to me,” he said. He sat down with his elbow on the table, leaned his head on his hand and looked away sullenly, prepared to listen.

“In three weeks' time they'll welcome me in the madhouse! I shall be there if I am not in a worse place,” he muttered to himself.

Sonia heard Raskolnikov's request distrustfully and moved hesitatingly to the table. She took the book however.

“Haven't you read it?” she asked, looking up at him across the table.

Her voice became sterner and sterner.

“Long ago. . . . When I was at school. Read!”

“And haven't you heard it in church?”

“I . . . haven't been. Do you often go?”

“N-no,” whispered Sonia.

Raskolnikov smiled.

“I understand. . . . And you won't go to your father's funeral to-morrow?”

“Yes, I shall. I was at church last week, too . . . I had a requiem service.”

“For whom?”

“For Lizaveta. She was killed with an axe.”

His nerves were more and more strained. His head began to go round.

“Were you friends with Lizaveta?”

“Yes. . . . She was good . . . she used to come . . . not often . . . she couldn’t. . . . We used to read together and . . . talk. She will see God.”

The last phrase sounded strange in his ears. And here was something new again: the mysterious meetings with Lizaveta and both of them – religious maniacs.

“I shall be a religious maniac myself soon! It’s infectious!”

“Read!” he cried irritably and insistently.

Sonia still hesitated. Her heart was throbbing. She hardly dared to read to him. He looked almost with exasperation at the “unhappy lunatic.”

“What for? You don’t believe? . . .” she whispered softly and as it were breathlessly.

“Read! I want you to,” he persisted. “You used to read to Lizaveta.”

Sonia opened the book and found the place. Her hands were shaking, her voice failed her. Twice she tried to begin and could not bring out the first syllable.

“Now a certain man was sick named Lazarus of Bethany . . .” she forced herself at last to read, but at the third word her voice broke like an overstrained string. There was a catch in her breath.

Raskolnikov saw in part why Sonia could not bring herself to read to him and the more he saw this, the more roughly and irritably he insisted on her doing so. He understood only too well how painful it was for her to betray and unveil all that was her own. He understood that these feelings really were her secret treasure, which she had kept perhaps for years, perhaps from childhood, while she lived with an unhappy father and a distracted stepmother crazed by grief, in the midst of starving children and unseemly abuse and reproaches. But at the same time he knew now and knew for certain that, although it filled her with dread and suffering, yet she had a tormenting desire to read and to read to him that he might hear it, and to read now whatever might come of it! . . . He read this in her eyes, he could see it in her intense emotion. She mastered herself, controlled the spasm in her throat and went on reading the eleventh chapter of St. John. She went on to the nineteenth verse:

“And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary to comfort them concerning their brother.

“Then Martha as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming went and met Him: but Mary sat still in the house.

“Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.

“But I know that even now whatsoever Thou wilt ask of God, God will give it Thee. . . .”

Then she stopped again with a shamefaced feeling that her voice would quiver and break again.

“Jesus said unto her, thy brother shall rise again.

“Martha saith unto Him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection, at the last day.

“Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in Me though he were dead, yet shall he live.

“And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die. Believest thou this?

“She saith unto Him,”

(And drawing a painful breath, Sonia read distinctly and forcibly as though she were making a public confession of faith.)

“Yea, Lord: I believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of God Which should come into the world.”

She stopped and looked up quickly at him, but controlling herself went on reading. Raskolnikov sat without moving, his elbows on the table and his eyes turned away. She read to the thirty-second verse.

“Then when Mary was come where Jesus was and saw Him, she fell down at His feet, saying unto Him, Lord if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.

“When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, He groaned in the spirit and was troubled,

“And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto Him, Lord, come and see.

“Jesus wept.

“Then said the Jews, behold how He loved him!

“And some of them said, could not this Man which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?”

Raskolnikov turned and looked at her with emotion. Yes, he had known it! She was trembling in a real physical fever. He had expected it. She was getting near the story of the greatest miracle and a feeling of immense triumph came over her. Her voice rang out like a bell; triumph and joy gave it power. The lines danced before her eyes, but she knew what she was reading by heart. At the last verse “Could not this Man which opened the eyes of the blind . . .” dropping her voice she passionately reproduced the doubt, the reproach and censure of the blind disbelieving Jews, who in another moment would fall at His feet as though struck by thunder, sobbing and believing. . . . “And he, he–too, is blinded and unbelieving, he, too, will hear, he, too, will believe, yes, yes! At once, now,” was what she was dreaming, and she was quivering with happy anticipation.

“Jesus therefore again groaning in Himself cometh to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it.

“Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto Him, Lord by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.”

She laid emphasis on the word "four".

“Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee that if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God?

“Then they took away the stone from the place where the dead was laid. And Jesus lifted up His eyes and said, Father, I thank Thee that Thou hast heard Me.

“And I knew that Thou hearest Me always; but because of the people which stand by I said it, that they may believe that Thou hast sent Me.

“And when He thus had spoken, He cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth.

“And he that was dead came forth.”

(She read loudly, cold and trembling with ecstasy, as though she were seeing it before her eyes.)

“Bound hand and foot with graveclothes; and his face was bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him and let him go.

“Then many of the Jews which came to Mary and had seen the things which Jesus did believed on Him.”

She could read no more, closed the book and got up from her chair quickly.

“That is all about the raising of Lazarus,” she whispered severely and abruptly, and turning away she stood motionless, not daring to raise her eyes to him. She still trembled feverishly. The candle-end was flickering out in the battered candlestick, dimly lighting up in the poverty-stricken room the murderer and the harlot who had so strangely been reading together the eternal book. Five minutes or more passed.

Ch-Ch-Chia Obama

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 15:57:00 +0000

I was up late and thought I was dreaming or unknowingly watching a Saturday Night Live rerun when I caught the infomercial for this bizarre commemorative. The grassy-headed figurine of President Obama was pulled from Walgreens shelves in Chicago and Tampa after some people called it racist and company brass decided the new collectible was wrong for their image.

But, Chia Obama is for sale online - in "Happy" or "Determined" poses - for the amazingly low price of just $19.99 (three seed packs included!).

Work & the Four Agreements

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 14:54:00 +0000

"In his book, The Four Agreements, Don Miguel Ruiz outlines four essential codes of conduct that can be of significant value when used as directed in a consciously applied program of mental hygiene and regular professional care ... PLUS you’ll have fewer (mental) cavities.

"The Four Agreements gives us direction about what WE can do to respond appropriately to difficult behaviors and make our work relationships run more smoothly. They are deceptively simple, yet are rather difficult to apply. However, with mindful and diligent practice, they are utterly effective.

"1. Be impeccable with your word... When your colleagues know you are on the 'up and up,' that you’re willing to own up to your mistakes, ask questions, and be who you say you are, they are more willing to hear you out, and work through any real or imagined slight or conflict...

"2. Don’t take anything personally... [you are not] the center of the universe...

"3. Don't make assumptions... When we assume, we’re working... quite frequently with data that is incomplete, if not flat out wrong... and behave as if our incomplete and unverified data is 'reality.'...

"4. Always do your best... When we put forward our best effort, and our colleagues know they can rely on us, they are much more likely to hear us out. When we’re doing our best we are fully engaged in our task, we have passion for the work and best of all, it doesn’t even really feel like work! Doing our best brings out the best in others..."

from this Good Morning Thinkers! post.

Columbus Was First

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 14:48:00 +0000

So contended the Honorable Michael Musmanno, the colorful, outspoken, controversial judge, Congressman and author, who died, fittingly, on Columbus Day in 1968. Mussmanno is buried in Arlington Cemetery almost directly across the road from the eternal flame of the grave of John F. Kennedy.

The Michael A. Musmanno collection at Duquesne University contains the personal papers and library of the man. "Among the many highlights of his career were the campaign to abolish the Coal & Iron Police,(a private police force maintained by the coal companies for the purpose of strike breaking), legislation to end the Sunday Blue Laws, a defense lawyer in the Sacco & Vanzetti trial, a presiding judge at the Nuremburg war crime trials, and appearing as a witness for the prosecution in the case against Adolf Eichman...

One of the highlights of the collection is the transcripts of Musmanno's personal interviews of the Hitler intimates. Other noteable features are the transcripts of the Einsatzgruppen Nuremberg trial and the Adolf Eichmann war crimes trial. Musmanno was also the author of a number of books including, Ten Days to Die, which recounted Hitler's last days and was later made into a motion picture, and Black Fury a novel about a coal miner struggling with the hardships of the mines and the brutality of the Coal and Iron Police. He was also a zealous defender of Columbus discovering America and supported his claims in the book Columbus Was First.

Musmanno penned blistering and sometimes hysterical dissenting opinions as a jurist. His dissent in the Pennsylvania Supreme Court obscenity case regarding the book, The Tropic of Cancer, is a classic. The majority opinion failed to find the book obscene within the meaning of the First Amendment. Justice Musmanno disagreed:

The decision of the Majority of the Court in this case has dealt a staggering blow to the forces of morality, decency and human dignity in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. If, by this decision, a thousand rattlesnakes had been let loose, they could not do as much damage to the well-being of the people of this state as the unleashing of all the scorpions and vermin of immorality swarming out of that volume of degeneracy called the "Tropic of Cancer." Policemen, hunters, constables and foresters could easily and quickly kill a thousand rattlesnakes but the lice, lizards, maggots and gangrenous roaches scurrying out from beneath the covers of the "Tropic of Cancer" will enter into the playground, the study desks, the cloistered confines of children and immature minds to eat away moral resistance and wreak damage and harm which may blight countless lives for years and decades to come.

As this post from Moleskin Notebook observes "That's just the introductory paragraph, it only gets better." The opinion continues and concludes:

[Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer] is not a book. It is a cesspool, an open sewer, a pit of putrefaction, a slimy gathering of all that is rotten in the debris of human depravity. And in the center of all this waste and stench, besmearing himself with its foulest defilement, splashes, leaps, cavorts and wallows a bifurcated specimen that responds to the name of Henry Miller. One wonders how the human species could have produced so lecherous, blasphemous, disgusting and amoral a human being as Henry Miller. One wonders why he is received in polite society. ... From Pittsburgh to Philadelphia, from Dan to Beersheba, and from the ramparts of the Bible to Samuel Eliot Morison's Oxford History of the American People, I dissent.

The opinion can be found at Commonweatlh v. Robin, 421 Pa. 70 (Pa. 1966).

Musmanno loved Columbus, but he didn't care for jazz music, as noted in this The Volokh Conspiracy post, quoting another of his dissenting opinions:

In the eyes and ears of many people, including the writer of this opinion, a juke box confined to ‘jazz’ records may be a nuisance. It robs the air of sweet silence, it substitutes for the gentle concord of stillness the wailings of the so-called ‘blues singer,’ the whinings of foggy saxophones, the screeching of untuned fiddles, the blasts of head-splitting horns, and the battering of earshattering drums. It makes a mockery of music, it replaces harmony with cacophony, tonality with discord, and peace with annoyance.

Quite a character.

Happy Columbus Day.

God is a Decision

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 15:20:00 +0000

God is a decision
to embrace the good in me and in others
God is a force, a spirit, a choice, a verb
I do God
by bringing love to every situation
God is love
God is the essence of being
God is the ultimate mystery
God is the ultimate reality
God is not up there somewhere controlling everything
God loves me into existence
I do nothing to deserve God’s love
God just loves me
To know God, I give myself away
Do, then know -- not know, then do
I am a creature on a journey
I am happy to be a creature
It is good to be a creature
I reflect the image and likeness of God
My response to the love of God is love
I love God by loving my neighbor
My neighbor is anyone I encounter
My neighbor is anyone with whom I have a relationship
– close, distant, direct or indirect
In God I find peace in chaos, light in darkness, without denying reality
The evolving human species has just been born
I exist therefore I am loved
I am saved in this world
I let God worry about the next
I am part of God’s life
God’s love is the true drink
If I love, God lives in me
I bloom where I am planted
I pray for guidance and strength
God is revealed in Buddha, Krishna, Mohammed,
the Law and the Prophets and other spiritual teachings
God is revealed in Jesus
Jesus is the word of God (love) made flesh
Jesus is love (the word of God) incarnate
Jesus gives himself away, fully, without reserve
Jesus is love - the bread of life
Jesus gives himself away so that I may be nourished
Jesus is the example of how to live
What did Jesus teach? That is the question
Love as Jesus loves and all will be well
I try to do my best – that is all I can do
My soul is all that I am and all that I will become
My soul will exist after my body ceases
I will not be surprised by what follows this life
I will die – am I afraid to die?
Yes, but I know God will take care of me

--Anthony Cerminaro

Conceptions of God

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 14:04:00 +0000

"Maybe you should see your inability to picture God as a Santa Claus above the sky as a step into maturity and wholeness... there are other ways to conceptualize God.

"Alfred North Whitehead conceived of God as a Process. Paul Tillich experienced God as the Ground of Being. The problem is that we use the language of time and space to give form to an experience and a reality that is not bound by or within time and space. When I use the word 'God' I am not talking about a being. I am describing that sense of transcendence that I believe I have encountered within time and space. I believe I experience God as life fully lived, as love wastefully given, as being completely realized. I cannot tell you or anyone else who or what God is. I can only describe my experience...

"I join the mystics in saying that I think I am part of what God is. God lives in me, loves through me and empowers me to escape that drive to survive that is in every living thing in order to give my life away. That is the Christ role and I think it is also the role that his disciples are called to model.

"So I am drawn by God beyond my boundaries and I perceive that God becomes real when I enter into the task of living and loving and being. This means that it doesn't occur to me that I am alone with no one to whom to pray. This makes me rather a deeply infused, God-intoxicated human being who no longer has the words to describe the God in who I live and move and have my being, but it does not even occur to me to doubt the reality of that which I experience, but can never define..."

--- Bishop John Shelby Spong

For more on this topic, see Conceptions of God - Wikipedia

Hey Yunz G-twunnies 'n'at

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 13:58:00 +0000

Yinz visitin' Picksburgh for the G-20 some-it, ya may wanna learn some Pittsburghese, since yunz ain't from aron here, same fer doze of ya in Ahia, other parts of Pensivania, and even yunz up 'ere on da Sahside slopes, or ov'ere in Sliberrty, Sharteers Crick, da Mon or da Yock or dahntahn or in da Strip or near da carline in da Sout hills or in Oaklan near where Jaynell used ta be.

So take off yer babushka, read' up yer room, and if ya haven’t et yet, reach into yer cubberd for yer favorite snack. Get up off yer p'toot and off yer stoop and head to da Jynt Iggle. Grab some jumbo or chipped ham for a sammich and pop it in your poke. Or get some city chicken, and a Klondike. And to worsh it down, drink yer pop, or take yer church key and snap da top off an ahrn.

If ya cuttent or dittent understand what I jus wrote, yer prolly wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. Don’t worry, y'aint lost jet. 'Specially if yer nebby, stick with it. Don’t get tangled up in your gutchies, or be a jag off 'n'at. Don’t worry 'baht da sidewalks bein’ slippy, or brown warter comin’ out da kitchen spicket or if da Stillers will win this week. Put a gum band on your wrist soze ya remember. This is yuge.

That’s it Fort Pitt. Yer first lesson is over.

Roughly translated:

You who are visiting Pittsburgh for the G-20 summit may wish to learn about the local vernacular spoken by native Pittsburghers, because you are not from Pittsburgh, and also those of you may be interested who live in Ohio, other parts of Pennsylvania and those of you who live in the South Side Slopes or East Liberty neighborhoods of Pittsburgh, or near Chartiers Creek or the Monongahela River, or the Youghiogheny River or in downtown Pittsburgh, or in the Strip District section of Pittsburgh or near the trolley tracks in the South Hills of Pittsburgh or in the Oakland section of Pittsburgh in the vicinity of the former site of the Jones & Laughlin steel mill.

So, remove the kerchief that is folded triangularly covering your head and tied below your chin, clean your room, and if you have not eaten, reach into your cupboard for your favorite snack. Get off your behind, leave your front porch and head to the local Giant Eagle grocery store. Buy some bologna or processed ham sliced as thin as an onion skin for a sandwich and place the items in a grocery bag. Or enjoy a meal of breaded pork and veal skewered and grilled, or a Klondike brand ice cream bar. And to wash it down, drink soda, or take a bottle opener and open a bottle of Iron City Beer.

If you could not or did not understand what I just wrote, you are probably wondering what is going on. Don’t worry, you are not lost yet. Especially if you are nosey, stay with it. Don't get tangled up in your underwear or be a jerk. Don’t worry about the sidewalks being slippery, or brown water coming out of the kitchen spigot, or if the Steelers football team will win this week. Put a rubber band on your wrist as a reminder. This is huge.

That’s all. Your first lesson is over.

Chronicle of Creation

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 13:42:00 +0000

"In the darkness something was happening at last. A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes he thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words. There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond comparison, the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. It was so beautiful he could hardly bear it...

"The voice was suddenly joined by other voices; more voices than you could possibly count. They were in harmony with it, but far higher up the scale: cold, tingling, silvery voices. The... blackness overhead, all at once, was blazing with stars.

They didn't come out gently one by one, as they do on a summer evening. One moment there had been nothing but darkness; next moment a thousand, thousand points of light leaped out—single stars, constellations, and planets, brighter and bigger than any world.

"There were no clouds. The new stars and the new voices began at exactly the same time. If you had seen and heard it, as Digory did, you would have felt quite certain that it was the stars themselves which were singing, and that it was the First Voice, the deep one, which had made them appear and made them sing...

"The Voice on the earth was now louder and more triumphant; but the voices in the sky, after singing loudly with it for a time, began to get fainter. And now something else was happening.

"Far away, and down near the horizon, the sky began to turn gray. A light wind, very fresh, began to stir. The sky, in that one place, grew slowly and steadily paler. You could see the shapes of hills standing up dark against it. All the time the Voice went on singing...

"The eastern sky changed from white to pink and from pink to gold. The Voice rose and rose, till all the air was shaking with it. And just as it swelled to the mightiest and most glorious sound it had yet produced, the sun arose.

"Digory had never seen such a sun… The earth was of many colors; they were fresh, hot and vivid. They made you feel excited; until you saw the Singer himself, and then you forgot everything else.

"It was a Lion. Huge, shaggy, and bright, it stood facing the risen sun. Its mouth was wide open in song... The Lion was pacing to and fro about that empty land and singing his new song. It was softer and more lilting than the song by which he had called up the stars and the sun; a gentle, rippling music. And as he walked and sang the valley grew green with grass. It spread out from the Lion like a pool. It ran up the sides of the little hills like a wave.

"In a few minutes it was creeping up the lower slopes of the distant mountains, making that young world every moment softer. The light wind could now be heard ruffling the grass. Soon there were other things besides grass. The higher slopes grew dark with heather. Patches of rougher and more bristling green appeared in the valley...

"The lion was singing still. But now the song had once more changed. It was more like what we should call a tune, but it was also far wilder...

"Can you imagine a stretch of grassy land bubbling like water in a pot? In all directions it was swelling into humps. They were of very different sizes, some no bigger than molehills, some as big as wheelbarrows, two the size of cottages. And the humps moved and swelled till they burst, and the crumbled earth poured out of them, and from each hump there came out an animal.

"The moles came out just as you might see a mole come out in England. The dogs came out, barking the moment their heads were free, and struggling as you’ve seen them do when they are getting through a narrow hole in a hedge. The antlers of the stags came up a long time before the rest of them. The frogs, who all came up near the river, went straight into it with a plop-plop and a loud croaking.

"The panthers, leopards and things of that sort, sat down at once to wash the loose earth off their hind quarters and then stood up against the trees to sharpen their claws. Showers of birds came out of the trees. But the greatest moment of all was when the biggest hump broke like a small earthquake and out came the sloping back, the large, wise head, and the four baggy-trousered legs of an elephant.

"And now you could hardly hear the song of the Lion; there was so much cawing, cooing, crowing, braying, neighing, baying, barking, lowing, bleating and trumpeting.”

--C.S. Lewis in the "Magician's Nephew" - Book 6 of the Chronicles of Narnia

More Walden Quotations

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 14:40:00 +0000

I recently read "Walden - A Life in the Woods" by Henry David Thoreau, so I am filled with his wit and wisdom, some of which I share with you:

If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away...

Why do you stay here and live this mean moiling life, when a glorious existence is possible for you?...

The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of rainbow which I have clutched...

The incessant anxiety and strain of some is a well nigh incurable form of disease. We are made to exaggerate the importance of what work we do; and yet how much is not done by us!...

So thoroughly and sincerely are we compelled to live, reverencing our life, and denying the possibility of change. This is the only way we say; but there are as many ways as there can be drawn radii from one centre. All change is a miracle to contemplate; but it is a miracle which is taking place every instant...

To be a philosopher is not to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to live accordingly to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity and trust. It is to solve some of the problems of life, not only theoretically but practically...

I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion...

I have a great deal of company in my house; especially in the morning, when nobody calls...

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them...

I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavours to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours...

Time is but the Stream I Go A-Fishing In

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 15:42:00 +0000

We are constantly invited to be who we are... You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment...

Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains. I would drink deeper; fish in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly with stars...

I love a broad margin to my life. Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sing around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller's wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time. I grew in those seasons like corn in the night...

When we are unhurried and wise, we perceive that only great and worthy things have any permanent and absolute existence; that petty fears and petty pleasures are but the shadow of reality...

--from Walden by Henry David Thoreau

The Lord Shows His Cosmic Form to Arjuna

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 15:04:00 +0000

Lord Krishna, the great Lord of the mystic power of yoga, revealed His supreme majestic form to Arjuna. (11.09)

"Arjuna saw the Universal Form of the Lord with many mouths and eyes, and many visions of marvel, with numerous divine ornaments, and holding many divine weapons. Wearing divine garlands and apparel, anointed with celestial perfumes and ointments, full of all wonders, the limitless God with faces on all sides. (11.10-11)

"If the splendor of thousands of suns were to blaze forth all at once in the sky, even that would not resemble the splendor of that exalted being. (11.12)

"Arjuna saw the entire universe, divided in many ways, but standing as all in One, and One in all in the transcendental body of Krishna, the Lord of celestial rulers. (11.13)

"Having seen the cosmic form of the Lord, Arjuna was filled with wonder; and his hairs standing on end, bowed his head to the Lord and prayed with folded hands. (11.14)

"Arjuna said:... O Lord of the universe, I see You everywhere with infinite form, with many arms, stomachs, faces, and eyes. O Universal Form, I see neither your beginning nor the middle nor the end. (11.16)

"I see You with Your crown, club, discus; and a mass of radiance, difficult to behold, shining all around like the immeasurable brilliance of the sun and the blazing fire. (11.17)...

"I see You with infinite power, without beginning, middle, or end; with many arms, with the sun and the moon as Your eyes, with Your mouth as a blazing fire scorching all the universe with Your radiance. (11.19)

"O Lord, You pervade the entire space between heaven and earth in all directions. Seeing Your marvelous and terrible form, the three worlds are trembling with fear. (11.20)...

"All the celestial beings amazingly gaze at You. Seeing your infinite form with many mouths, eyes, arms, thighs, feet, stomachs, and many fearful tusks; the worlds are trembling with fear and so do I, O mighty Lord. (11.22-23)...

"You, O Lord of the infinite form, pervade the entire universe. (11.38)...

"Salutations to You a thousand times, and again and again salutations to You. (11.39)

"My salutations to You from front, and from behind. O Lord, my obeisance to You from all sides. You are infinite valor and the boundless might. You pervade everything, and therefore You are everywhere and in everything. (11.40)...

"Beholding that which has never been seen before delights me, and yet my mind is tormented with fear. Therefore, O God of celestial rulers, the refuge of the universe, have mercy on me... (11.45)

"Lord Krishna said: O Arjuna...

"Do not be perturbed and confused by seeing such a terrible form of Mine as this. With fearless and cheerful mind, now behold My four-armed form. (11.49)...

"After speaking like this to Arjuna, Krishna revealed His four-armed form. And then assuming His pleasant human form, Lord Krishna, the Great One, consoled Arjuna who was terrified. (11.50)

"Arjuna said: O Krishna, seeing this lovely human form of Yours, I have now become tranquil and I am normal again. (11.51)

"Lord Krishna said:... This four-armed form of Mine that you have just seen cannot be seen even by study of the Vedas, or by austerity, or by acts of charity, or by the performance of rituals. (11.53)

"However, through single-minded devotion alone, I can be seen in this form, can be known in essence, and also can be reached, O Arjuna. (11.54)

"The one who does all works for Me, and to whom I am the supreme goal; who is my devotee, who has no attachment, and is free from enmity towards any being; attains Me, O Arjuna. (11.55)"

From the Bhagavad Gita from sacredtexts.com.

Compassion Grows in Solitude

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 12:50:00 +0000

It is in deep solitude that I find the gentleness with which I can truly love my brothers and sisters. The more solitary I am the more affection I have for them. . . . Solitude and silence teach me to love my brothers and sisters for what they are, not for what they say.
---Thomas Merton

"I might put on a monkey suit and act like a monkey, but that doesn't make me a monkey. Likewise, the fact that another person acts like a jerk doesn't make that person a jerk. In reality, we all are beautiful creations... here on this planet for a human experience, going through similar trials and tribulations but reacting differently to them. It's in silence and solitude that I can come to the understanding that every person on this planet is a brother or sister, and deserving of my love... fellow spirits on a difficult journey in a beautiful but trying world."

From livinglifefully.com.

Mourning Becomes Genji

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 13:27:00 +0000

Bright spring was dark this year. There was no relief from the sadness of the old year. Genji had callers as always, but... remained in seclusion... All through the wakeful nights he thought of her courage and strength and longed to have them with him again, even in a dream... It was snowy dawn... and he was alone...

"The snow will soon have left this gloomy world.
My days must yet go on, an aimless drifting."

...The Second Month had come, and plum trees in bloom and in bud receded into a delicate mist. Catching the bright song of a warbler in the rose plum that had been Murasaki's especial favorite, Genji went out to the veranda.

"The warbler has come again. It does not know
That the mistress of its tree is here no more."

It was high spring and the garden was as it had always been. He tried not to remember, but everything his eye fell on brought such trains of memory that he longed to be off in the mountains, where no birds sing... Evening mists came drifting in over the garden, which was very beautiful indeed...

... Presently it was dark, and great swarms of fireflies were wheeling about. "Fireflies before the pavilion of evening [and I mourn]" -- this time it was a Chinese verse that came to him.

"The firefly knows that night has come, and I-
My thoughts do not distinguish night from day."

The Tenth Month was as always a time of gloomy winter showers. Looking up into the evening sky, he whispered to himself: "The rains are as the rains of other years." He envied the wild geese overhead, for they were going home.

"O wizard flying off through boundless heavens,
Find her whom I see not even in my dreams."

The days and months went by, and he remained inconsolable...

In the Twelfth Month the clanging of croziers as the holy name was invoked was more moving than in other years, for Genji knew that he would not again be present at the ceremony... There had been a heavy fall of snow, which was now blowing into drifts... The plum trees, just coming into bloom, were lovely in the snow. There should have been music, but Genji feared that this year music would make him weep. Poems were read, in keeping with the time and place...

"I pray that these blossoms may last a thousand springs.
For me the years are as the deepening snowdrifts."

Genji was more and more despondent as the New Year approached...

"The end of the year -- the end of a life as well?"

from the The Tale of Genji, a classic work of Japanese literature attributed to the Japanese noblewoman Murasaki Shikibu in the early eleventh century, around the peak of the Heian Period. It is sometimes called the world's first novel, the first modern novel, the first psychological novel or the first novel to still be considered a classic.

Forgiveness is the Purest Justice

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 16:32:00 +0000

Mercy or forgiveness is the purest justice. Mankind, being herself ever liable to be judged, she must accord to others what she would accord to herself, viz. forgiveness. Only by cultivating the spirit of forgiveness can she reach the state of a yogini, whom no actions bind, the person of even-mindedness, the person skilled in action.

my paraphrase of Gandhi's commentary to the Bhagavad Gita in The Gita According to Gandhi - Wikilivres.

The Famous Madeleine Scene

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 13:05:00 +0000

In Marcel Proust's, In Search of Lost Time (aka Remembrance of Things Past) an experience of "involuntary memory" involving a madeleine cookie causes the narrator to experience childhood time spent in the village of Combray in a flood of memories:

"Many years had elapsed during which nothing of Combray, save what was comprised in the theatre and the drama of my going to bed there, had any existence for me, when one day in winter, on my return home, my mother, seeing that I was cold, offered me some tea, a thing I did not ordinarily take. I declined at first, and then, for no particular reason, changed my mind. She sent for one of those squat, plump little cakes called "petites madeleines," which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted valve of a scallop shell. And soon, mechanically, dispirited after a dreary day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake.

"No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory - this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I sensed that it was connected with the taste of the tea and the cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could, no, indeed, be of the same nature. Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it?...

"... Suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom , my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it; perhaps because I had so often seen such things in the meantime, without tasting them, on the trays in pastry-cooks' windows, that their image had dissociated itself from those Combray days to take its place among others more recent; perhaps because of those memories, so long abandoned and put out of mind, nothing now survived, everything was scattered; the shapes of things, including that of the little scallop-shell of pastry, so richly sensual under its severe, religious folds, were either obliterated or had been so long dormant as to have lost the power of expansion which would have allowed them to resume their place in my consciousness.

"But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

"And as soon as I had recognized the taste of the piece of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy) immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like a stage set to attach itself to the little pavilion opening on to the garden which had been built out behind it for my parents (the isolated segment which until that moment had been all that I could see); and with the house the town, from morning to night and in all weathers, the Square where I used to be sent before lunch, the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine.

"And as in the game wherein the Japanese amuse themselves by filling a porcelain bowl with water and steeping in it little pieces of paper which until then are without character or form, but, the moment they become wet, stretch and twist and take on colour and distinctive shape, become flowers or houses or people, solid and recognizable, so in that moment all the flowers in our garden and in M. Swann's park, and the water-lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and the whole of Combray and its surroundings, taking shape and solidity, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea."

To read what I left out of the quote, see The cookie-Proust.

The Art of the Now

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 13:03:00 +0000

"We live in the age of distraction. Yet one of life's sharpest paradoxes is that your brightest future hinges on your ability to pay attention to the present." This Psychology Today article suggests six steps for living in the moment - (1) unselfconsciousness, (2) savoring, (3) breathe, (4) flow, (5) acceptance, and (6) engagement - explaining:

"You Are Not Your Thoughts

"Life unfolds in the present. But so often, we let the present slip away, allowing time to rush past unobserved and unseized, and squandering the precious seconds of our lives as we worry about the future and ruminate about what's past...

When we're at work, we fantasize about being on vacation; on vacation, we worry about the work piling up on our desks. We dwell on intrusive memories of the past or fret about what may or may not happen in the future... Our thoughts control us...

"We need to live more in the moment. Living in the moment—also called mindfulness —is a state of active, open, intentional attention on the present... Instead of letting your life go by without living it, you awaken to experience.

"Living in the moment involves a profound paradox: You can't pursue it for its benefits. That's because the expectation of reward launches a future-oriented mindset, which subverts the entire process. Instead, you just have to trust that the rewards will come... Here are a few tricks to help you along.

"1: To improve your performance, stop thinking about it (unselfconsciousness)...

"2: To avoid worrying about the future, focus on the present (savoring)...

"3: If you want a future with your significant other, inhabit the present (breathe). Living consciously with alert interest has a powerful effect on interpersonal life.

"4: To make the most of time, lose track of it (flow)..., the state of total absorption... [that] occurs when you're so engrossed in a task that you lose track of everything else around you...

"5: If something is bothering you, move toward it rather than away from it (acceptance)...

"6: Know that you don't know (engagement)... Once you recognize that you don't know the things you've always taken for granted...it becomes an adventure in noticing—and the more you notice, the more you see.... And the more excitement you feel.

"Don't Just Do Something, Sit There...

"Become aware of being alive. And breathe. As you draw your next breath, focus on the rise of your abdomen on the in-breath, the stream of heat through your nostrils on the out-breath. If you're aware of that feeling right now, as you're reading this, you're living in the moment. Nothing happens next. It's not a destination. This is it. You're already there."

To Live in the Love of Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 18:51:00 +0000

I ask not from Heaven that it give
Fortune or power,
I ask but a garden apart,
Where for the brief hour
That we are appointed to live,
Of earth the delight that is nearest divine
Might be mine—
To live in the love of the friends of my heart.

The rapturous nightingale sings,
Wooing the rose
In the midst of the garden new-born:
But only the gardener knows
Of the labor that brings
To the garden its beauty; he toiled in the heat,
And his feet
Have been wounded by many a thorn.

from The Diwan of Zeb-un-Nissa.

The Church of the Jedi

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 16:22:00 +0000

"The Jedi Church is a good force in the universe... The Jedi church accepts all races and species from all over the universe as potential members of the religion...

"Basic concepts of the Jedi faith... are the following:

"There is one all powerful force that binds the entire universe together. It is 'an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the galaxy together'...

"There are 2 sides to the force, the dark side and the light side. 'Beware of the dark side... The dark side leads to fear. Fear leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering'... This is the Jedi's belief, that morality, good and evil, are all axioms of the force, and that we must listen to the force so that we will know the right thing to do...

"The force contains all that is good and all that is bad. We all are free and sentient beings who have the capability to do good or evil. It is our choice of direction that determines if we do good or evil. The existence of good and evil is necessary for free will.

"So in summary, listen to the force [within you], and beware the dark side!"

For more information see, Jedi Church - Jedi Religion and Jedi Faith from which the preceding was quoted

A Feast of Lanterns

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 16:33:00 +0000

"When the littleness of man came into hopeless conflict with the vastness of destiny, there was but one way of escape for the poets and philosophers of China. It is called "the Return to Harmony"; it consists in identifying oneself with Nature. Chuang Tzu, the philosopher, knew this; Li Po, the poet, felt it; and here is the conclusion—the futility of the wine-cup and the call of great rivers:

In vain we cleave the torrent's thread with steel;
In vain we drink to drown the grief we feel.
When man's desire with fate doth war, this, this avails alone,
To hoist the sail and let the gale and the waters bear us on.

So the poet, out of harmony with inexorable law, lets soul and body drift with the natural movements of the wind and the waves. Discord is silenced in the primitive music of the world."

Visit to the Cold Clear Spring

Ah! when the darkness blinds the orb of day
This cold clear spring chatters my grief away,
And, as the current whirls along,
She lilts a little wordless song;
This little wizard, clear and cold,
Echoes the thoughts I left untold,
And for music I have the sound
Of the tall pines surging round.

--Li Po

The Pavilion of Abounding Joy

Red trees, green hills in the sunset, and steppes of boundless grass.
O little the pilgrim reckons of the Spring about to pass.
In front of the Joy Pavilion, in the drift of scented showers
To and fro I come and go on a carpet of fallen flowers.

--Ou-Yang Hsiu

Morning

Sunbeams through twinkling pinewoods cast
Their shadows on my window screen.
A night of clouds and rain is past
And, newly blue and freshly green,
The Dawn rebuilds my world at last.
Pear-tree and plum-tree shed their burden sweet,
And children's happy voices rouse the street.

--Wen T'Ung

from A Feast of Lanterns on sacred-texts.com

The Pursuit of Happiness

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 16:37:00 +0000

"So, what has science learned about what makes the human heart sing? More than one might imagine - along with some surprising things about what doesn't ring our inner chimes. Take wealth, for instance... research... has shown that once your basic needs are met, additional income does little to raise your sense of satisfaction with life...

"A good education? Sorry, Mom and Dad, neither education nor, for that matter, a high IQ paves the road to happiness. Youth? No, again. In fact, older people are more consistently satisfied... And they're less prone to dark moods... Marriage? A complicated picture: married people are generally happier than singles, but that may be because they were happier to begin with... Sunny days? Nope..

"On the positive side, religious faith seems to genuinely lift the spirit, though it's tough to tell whether it's the God part or the community aspect that does the heavy lifting. Friends? A giant yes....'Word needs to be spread,...It is important to work on social skills, close interpersonal ties and social support in order to be happy.'

"Of course, happiness is not a static state. Even the happiest of people - the cheeriest 10% - feel blue at times. And even the bluest have their moments of joy... Our overall happiness is not merely the sum of our happy moments minus the sum of our angry or sad ones.

"This is true whether you are looking at how satisfied you are with your life in general or with something more specific, such as your kids, your car, your job or your vacation... what you remember of an experience is particularly influenced by the emotional high and low points and by how it ends...

"[Dr. Martin] Seligman...puts the emphasis on the remembering self. 'I think we are our memories more than we are the sum total of our experiences," he says. For him, studying moment-to-moment experiences puts too much emphasis on transient pleasures and displeasures. Happiness goes deeper than that, he argues in his 2002 book Authentic Happiness.

"As a result of his research, he finds three components of happiness: pleasure ("the smiley-face piece"), engagement (the depth of involvement with one's family, work, romance and hobbies) and meaning (using personal strengths to serve some larger end). Of those three roads to a happy, satisfied life, pleasure is the least consequential, he insists: 'This is newsworthy because so many Americans build their lives around pursuing pleasure. It turns out that engagement and meaning are much more important.'

"...You can raise your level of happiness. For Seligman and like-minded researchers, that involves working on the three components of happiness - getting more pleasure out of life... becoming more engaged in what you do and finding ways of making your life feel more meaningful.

"There are numerous ways to do that... One is the gratitude journal - a diary in which you write down things for which you are thankful... Another happiness booster... is performing acts of altruism or kindness - visiting a nursing home, helping a friend's child with homework, mowing a neighbor's lawn, writing a letter to a grandparent...

"Seligman's biggest recommendation for lasting happiness is to figure out (courtesy of his website, :: Authentic Happiness :: Using the new Positive Psychology) your strengths and find new ways to deploy them...

"Why do exercising gratitude, kindness and other virtues provide a lift? - 'Giving makes you feel good about yourself...puts meaning into your life. You have a sense of purpose because you matter to someone else.' Virtually all the happiness exercises being tested by positive psychologists... make people feel more connected to others.

"That seems to be the most fundamental finding from the science of happiness. 'Almost every person feels happier when they're with other people...If you're alone with nothing to do, the quality of your experience really plummets.'

Quoted from TIME Magazine: Happiness The New Science of Happiness -- January 17, 2005 ©2005 Time Inc.

The Power of Hope

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 14:56:00 +0000

"I was in a post-college, quasi-nihilist, and anti-religious period of my life...I equated hope as 'wishful thinking,' something we implore when all else fails. I thought of afterlife as token promise to soothe the pain of the oppressed masses...

"Today, it is very clear to me that 'hope' is not wishful thinking for the weak. It is a positive action that will affect the course of our lives. It is for the strong who are willing to embrace change. For hope is a doorway to positive creative transformation...

"Quantum physicists today not only tell us that we are faced every second with an infinite number of possibilities but that our thoughts are a form of energy that affects the outcome of our reality on a moment to moment basis, and therefore, affects the universe. You may not have realized how much power you have...

"Ernst Bloch, 20th century philosopher wrote...some...possibilities are 'merely wishful thinking, or hocus pocus.' But there are others, he posits, that have that kind of relation to the world 'which makes them effective in the transformation of your life and of the world.'

"Teilhard de Chardin states that...without hope or ...zest for life, the whole human system collapses-not just your life but the human race...What an interesting thought that is. Without hope, not only do we lose life, but also we contribute to the cosmic loss of life in the human race.

"John Cobb, eminent theologian and 'father' of Process Theology, writes in his book Christ in a Pluralistic Age, 'The loss of hope cuts Christ ( which he calls Creative Transformation) out from effectiveness in human affairs.' He continues, 'Whenever hope is present in history, Creative Transformation, or Christ is present in the world.' In the same book, Cobb posits that the primary message in the Christ story is that there is always hope for positive transformation in our lives and in the world. 'Christ is the image of hope!' John Cobb states, without reservation.

"I suspect, at some level, my teacher friend understood this. For her 'hope' was not wishful thinking as much as it was the guiding light for her life. In part, because of her, I came to realize that hope is the doorway to new possibilities, to the 'God within' working in our lives and in history. Hope is an action and an attitude at the same time. It is a form of meditation and a way to mediate one's life. Hope is an indication that God's creative transformation is at work in us.

"We are faced with some significant challenges in our world and in our lives today. Just think. If we remain hopeful, we can add to the cosmic positive energy in the universe and create positive transformation in the world and in our lives. Now that is power..."

Quoted from this Center for Progressive Christianity article.

Drawing Us Near

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 14:20:00 +0000

We listened to Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son on the way back from New York yesterday - a wonderful companion on a long journey home. Here is an excerpt in which Father Nouwen tells us that God is longing to bring us closer. Will we let God draw us near and embrace us?

****
For most of my life I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God. I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life — pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures — and to avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself. I have failed many times but always tried again, even when I was close to despair.

Now I wonder whether I have sufficiently realized that during all this time God has been trying to find me, to know me, and to love me. The question is not “How am I to find God?” but “How am I to let myself be found by him?” The question is not “How am I to know God?” but “How am I to let myself be known by God?” And, finally, the question is not “How am I to love God?” but “How am I to let myself be loved by God?” God is looking into the distance for me, trying to find me, and longing to bring me home.

--From The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming by Henri J. M. Nouwen (New York: Image Books, 1992).

A Writer's Lament

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 13:27:00 +0000

"Violent obsessions sometimes lay hold of a man: he may, for instance, think day and night of nothing but the moon. I have such a moon. Day and night I am held in the grip of one besetting thought, to write, write, write!

"Hardly have I finished one book than something urges me to write another, and then a third, and then a fourth—I write ceaselessly. I am, as it were, on a treadmill. I hurry for ever from one story to another, and can't help myself. Do you see anything bright and beautiful in that?

"Oh, it is a wild life! Even now, thrilled as I am by talking to you, I do not forget for an instant that an unfinished story is awaiting me. My eye falls on that cloud there, which has the shape of a grand piano; I instantly make a mental note that I must remember to mention in my story a cloud floating by that looked like a grand piano. I smell heliotrope; I mutter to myself: a sickly smell, the colour worn by widows; I must remember that in writing my next description of a summer evening. I catch an idea in every sentence of yours or of my own, and hasten to lock all these treasures in my literary store-room, thinking that some day they may be useful to me.

"As soon as I stop working I rush off to the theatre or go fishing, in the hope that I may find oblivion there, but no! Some new subject for a story is sure to come rolling through my brain like an iron cannonball. I hear my desk calling, and have to go back to it and begin to write, write, write, once more. And so it goes for everlasting.

"I cannot escape myself, though I feel that I am consuming my life. To prepare the honey I feed to unknown crowds, I am doomed to brush the bloom from my dearest flowers, to tear them from their stems, and trample the roots that bore them under foot.

"Am I not a madman? Should I not be treated by those who know me as one mentally diseased? Yet it is always the same, same old story, till I begin to think that all this praise and admiration must be a deception, that I am being hoodwinked because they know I am crazy, and I sometimes tremble lest I should be grabbed from behind and whisked off to a lunatic asylum.

"The best years of my youth were made one continual agony for me by my writing. A young author, especially if at first he does not make a success, feels clumsy, ill-at-ease, and superfluous in the world. His nerves are all on edge and stretched to the point of breaking; he is irresistibly attracted to literary and artistic people, and hovers about them unknown and unnoticed, fearing to look them bravely in the eye, like a man with a passion for gambling, whose money is all gone.

"I did not know my readers, but for some reason I imagined they were distrustful and unfriendly; I was mortally afraid of the public, and when my first play appeared, it seemed to me as if all the dark eyes in the audience were looking at it with enmity, and all the blue ones with cold indifference. Oh, how terrible it was! What agony!"

from The Seagull, by Anton Checkov.

Anton Apocalypse Seagull

noreply@blogger.com (Anthony Cerminaro) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 01:04:00 +0000

"O, ye time-honoured, ancient mists that drive at night across the surface of this lake, blind you our eyes with sleep, and show us in our dreams that which will be in twice ten thousand years!...

"The curtain rises. A vista opens across the lake. The moon hangs low above the horizon and is reflected in the water. NINA, dressed in white, is seen seated on a great rock.

"NINA. All men and beasts, lions, eagles, and quails, horned stags, geese, spiders, silent fish that inhabit the waves, starfish from the sea, and creatures invisible to the eye—in one word, life—all, all life, completing the dreary round imposed upon it, has died out at last. A thousand years have passed since the earth last bore a living creature on her breast, and the unhappy moon now lights her lamp in vain. No longer are the cries of storks heard in the meadows, or the drone of beetles in the groves of limes. All is cold, cold. All is void, void, void. All is terrible, terrible—

[A pause]

"The bodies of all living creatures have dropped to dust, and eternal matter has transformed them into stones and water and clouds; but their spirits have flowed together into one, and that great world-soul am I! In me is the spirit of the great Alexander, the spirit of Napoleon, of Caesar, of Shakespeare, and of the tiniest leech that swims. In me the consciousness of man has joined hands with the instinct of the animal; I understand all, all, all, and each life lives again in me.

[The will-o-the-wisps flicker out along the lake shore.]

"... I am alone. Once in a hundred years my lips are opened, my voice echoes mournfully across the desert earth, and no one hears. And you, poor lights of the marsh, you do not hear me. You are engendered at sunset in the putrid mud, and flit wavering about the lake till dawn, unconscious, unreasoning, unwarmed by the breath of life. Satan, father of eternal matter, trembling lest the spark of life should glow in you, has ordered an unceasing movement of the atoms that compose you, and so you shift and change for ever. I, the spirit of the universe, I alone am immutable and eternal.

[A pause]

"Like a captive in a dungeon deep and void, I know not where I am, nor what awaits me. One thing only is not hidden from me: in my fierce and obstinate battle with Satan, the source of the forces of matter, I am destined to be victorious in the end. Matter and spirit will then be one at last in glorious harmony, and the reign of freedom will begin on earth. But this can only come to pass by slow degrees, when after countless eons the moon and earth and shining Sirius himself shall fall to dust. Until that hour, oh, horror! horror! horror!

[A pause. Two glowing red points are seen shining across the lake]

"Satan, my mighty foe, advances; I see his dread and lurid eyes...He longs for man..."

from The Seagull, by Anton Checkov.