Journal Entries
Yet Another Journal
Posted Jan 17, 2003
It has happened again. I felt the need to write, and here’s what’s come of it:
And here it lies before me.
Some mere twenty-six keys emblazoned with sigils, characters, letters, unceremoniously dumped together, without consideration for what they could be.
Only for what they are.
But they flow beneath my fingers, they leap, and run, and flow to life.
Words spring from the vaults and crevices of my mind, entwining, snarling, binding together like a tapestry of mental hues, singing, changing, taking form.
They become an army, tall and strong, stretching from horizon to horizon, banners tattered but proud, their holders bewildered and sobered, like so many dolls in a child's game. But that all streams away,
like a fog stirred by so much a calm winter's breeze.
The words twist in the breeze, and twirl, becoming more tangible as they are read.
The inner script dictates, and they play the part.
A cold, snowy church-yard is plain in view, tombstones covered with snow like funeral shrouds, alone, forgotten, they stand, grim monoliths towering over the pure land, but still so very alone. Desolate, the tears of their owners long forgotten, the causes forgotten, the banners laid down and trampled, the battle won...
But now? Lost.
The unruly wind offers me no rest.
It blows again, the gossamer threads of this vision twisting and straining,
And they vanish once more. The words swell, the harmony and dissonance playing havoc and peace,
As the conductor makes his last performance, his work forgotten, his joy replaced by the dark monotony.
It brings tears to the eye of the beholder, to see his grand performance blend with the running river,
The dull, polluted channel of the mundane, the grand, glorious rapture that he creates, netted, caged,
and sold. Forgotten.
But not totally. Once, younger, he laughed, and sought out his dream. It ran though is fingers, and swept him about, like a leaf on an errant breeze. He found his art, his love and joy, and it was all he needed from such a mortal world. And then, back, to the sad form of what he is. Not what he could have been. The joy twisted, hanging just out of reach, spinning slowly in the wind, which once more flows about me, and lifts the sights from my view.
Again, the church-yard, but no longer does winter’s icy hand throttle the cheer from the earth. And the veils fall. Children now read the tears, and see the banners. An age goes by, and those children, children no longer, look at the fallen coat of arms, at the mud, and the blood stains. They see the glory, the triumph, and the pain, the cold arms that await them at end of the march.
They pick up the banners, and are no longer alone.
Alone in a dusty room, illuminated by a lowly bulb, a student finds papers, words, letters, clefs, notes. He reads, he learns, he sees, and feels. He sees the tears, of joy and pain both, and sees the laughter, joyous and bitter. He looks, through unclouded eyes, at the horrible, dreadful gray that had overcome these words, like a dust of the soul, longing to be swept away. He knows the price.
And pays it gladly, ignoring the mutters and the disdain.
The papers ruffle, and the wind picks me up once again. The words whisper, and crumble, like the masonry of a tower over the span of centuries, back into the shapes I know. The letters allow themselves to be placed back into their small cage, and then, with apparent grace, grow silent.
For now.
Well, see you all later. I'm gone skiing with my dad in Utah 'till the Twenty-Third! 
Discuss this Journal entry [6]
Latest reply: Jan 17, 2003
Again, Sorry To Use Up Your Space
Posted Jan 10, 2003
I'm creating a script for a class, whereupon Death goes to college. This will be a comedy, involving Death gaining disapproval of a History Professor named Lars.
Anyone have any ideas of funny antics that may occur? Death has no sense of sarcasm, and a bad sense of humour...
Discuss this Journal entry [6]
Latest reply: Jan 10, 2003
Another Thought
Posted Jan 9, 2003
It seems that there are three types of Christians.
First is the lifelong Christian. Born, and raised as such. Nowadays, they seem to have very little spirit, though not all. They follow God, but some do not realize that they are lost. Like one who has always lived in the light, they can take it for granted.
Next is the Christian who has fallen from Grace, and come back. One who has always lived in light, and suddenly realized that there is no light, and when they finally find it, they never let go. That would be me. And they find Joy. They are very strong in their faith.
Last, is the atheist. He who has never seen the light, and comes into it. They are the greatest of all. Knowing what there was once, and where they are know. They know Joy, like nothing else.
There is no real good way to describe that joy. People can describe feelings like “Heart in your throat” or “Heart in your feet”. The state in-between would have to be “Heart in your chest.”
Well, joy is like, “Heart where it was meant to be in the first place.” And even that can’t describe it. When you see people with their hands in the air, praising God, you think that that’s kinda silly. Joy makes you feel that way. True joy. Like the joy you feel on an amazingly beautiful summer day, and know nothing is going to go wrong. Like that, only better...
So much to say, and not enough words to do it in.
Discuss this Journal entry [31]
Latest reply: Jan 9, 2003
A Thought That Stuck Me Late One Night...
Posted Jan 1, 2003
An idea popped into my head late, when I was alone, simply thinking.
Man's search for God could easily be compared to a man chasing the sun. The man runs, and runs on, seeing that the sun is there, but yet is leaving. No matter how hard he tries to chase it, it always moves ahead. And, as the sun sets, depression sets in, despair. There is no hope left. There is no sun. And, as he collapses in the darkness, and as he gives in, he looks over to from where he came. And there, rising in the east, is the sun. And a thought comes that perhaps the sun was chasing him... and he was running away.
Man doesn't like to hear he is wrong. And so we seek God without ever really wanting to find him. We often fear the truth, as much as any child who just broke the cookie jar. But the Son is chasing us. A comforting thought, methinks, in such dark days as in we live.
The dawn is coming.
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Latest reply: Jan 1, 2003
A Sad Day
Posted Dec 16, 2002
Rather sad. I think that my heart may be calloused.
Two nights ago, a student from my school got himself drunk and then, killed. Drove into a pole, killed on impact. Now, there's much weeping around, and yet, I feel nothing.
This kid was a problem, even if he was in my class. The closest thing I had to an enemy. He went out of his way to mock and hurt the lowly and humble, those less attrative or glamourous than himself. I hated him for his arrogance, and now that he's dead, I realize that, in my eyes, he was never alive.
It's sad, to see so many people weeping, some over a person they never knew. And I feel nothing. Why does Death no longer make me stumble? It seems that I have no more tears, even for the suffering...
What have I become?
Discuss this Journal entry [43]
Latest reply: Dec 16, 2002
Mystrunner
Researcher U173132
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