Silvery Night

A wind from the North
blows unknown change from afar.
Silver comet falls
below night’s starry canvas—
A new year glitters to life.

Night-fishing

Fireflies cavort in
night’s aphotic, velvet shade.
Sundry frogs exhort
the current’s babbled sermon.
Dusk brings summer lessons near.

In the Midnight Hour

My Research Methods course is one of those scary classes that wields science like some leaden sword. You may duck it quite often and avoid the blows most of the time, but if it strikes you, you are in for a severe wound. I say this not to complain, but to make the point that it requires WORK. Academic work is one of those things that I have in the past been able to deftly avoid by luck, grace, or another means. Much of the work in this course has been reading. Such reading is often dry and uninteresting. But, there has been one theme that has emerged several times in the readings that I wholly agree with and am interested by.

We do not take time to think.

We may answer questions and solve problems, but much of this is stock and store. Rarely do we ever think. As I walked across campus tonight I took in the smell of incoming rain and the dances of lightning streaking across the clouds. I thought, this is a beautiful night. Admittedly, I did not immediately set to immerse myself in the nocturnal splendor. I did what I normally do, I get on my computer and dive into the social media to see who is doing what, and what issues they are grappling with. One of my friends mentioned that she was listening to the rain with book in hand and hot tea sitting by. What a novel idea! Hopefully by citing her ambiguously I am not plagiarizing her brilliance, but I did the exact same thing.

Assam tea was steeped in my earth-toned mug and granules of stevia were introduced. I dragged a raggedy wood chair (complete with paint splatter) onto my "porch" and began to read. I'm reading Francis Chan's "Forgotten God" currently. The book is about how Christians in today's society largely neglect the Holy Spirit. The book reinforces much that I already knew---that some people fear the Spirit as an emotional manifestation, others abuse its existence to attempt to edify themselves, and still others (who nonetheless claim to be Christian) are completely unaware of its existence. Granted, my spiritual background includes time spent in so-called "Charismatic" churches (labels, labels). But this issue grieves me seriously. The author confesses that he once openly denied the word of any person prophesying in modern times. I know many who are like this today. Yet, I have (and will continue to be) witness to such prophesying. I have seen an elderly woman speak with such boldness, authority, textual correctness and power that it was completely beyond her mortal ability. There was no denying it, just as there is no denying the importance of the Holy Spirit to the Christian faith. Unfortunately, so many churches are dead in the Spirit. There is no passion in their belief and there is no boldness and inspiration in their lives. Likewise, on the other end of the spectrum, there are churches that are full of passion and worship, but they do so not for the edification of God, but for their own ego and entertainment.

I was struck by such an image when I purchased "Forgotten God". I was in Ruth's bookstore in Quail Springs Mall shopping with some friends when I came upon this:


Who is being edified by this image? I confess that I am not familiar with this man's works (and they may very well be good). However, the portrayal of him on this book cover should make the practicing Christian shudder. There is no room for ego in the Christian heart. This brings me back to our lack of thinking. Chan quotes 1st Thessalonians 5:21-23 in his book and it made me sit up and pay attention:

"But examine everything carefully; hold fast to that which is good; abstain from every form of evil. Now may the God of peace Himself sanctify you entirely; and may your spirit and soul and body be preserved complete, without blame at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ."

Our society largely lacks critical analysis with respect not only to our everyday lives, but also with respect to our spiritual beliefs. We cannot claim to be in the rank-and-file of Christendom with thinking about and applying the whole text of the Bible, not just those passages that are convenient. I myself am guilty of such, as are many others. This applies totally to the Holy Spirit. One cannot except a part of the Trinity and lead the full life of a Christian. This does not mean that it is easy. There are many stumbling blocks in the way. I personally have had such negative experience with people who fake the presence of the Holy Spirit that I abandoned attending church for some time. We cannot let such stumbling blocks ensnare us. Always ask, who does this edify? If the answer is not God, then the legitimacy is not there.

Song of the Whippoorwill

A poem of nature and folklore---of me, really!



As I lay fighting the descent of sleep,
A voice, like soothing waters begins to weep.
A dapple grey with mottled wing,
Nature’s own lullaby so sweetly sings
The lament of summer and lofty things,
Like time.

Echoes from my country home,
What spirit roams these woods
And brings to me this enchanting psalm,
Which June alone provides?
I roust and wake and seek her song,
In dew and darkness dwell,
What can this fowl of holler and crick,
mean to raise the frail?

A well worn path I trod and search,
My prying eyes can’t find
This soulful and beguiling bird
Whom flies o’er hill and dale.
Come forth to me,
O Guard of Night,
Whom nature’s secrets keep!
What in thy voice,
Thy riveting tune,
Doth wake me from the deep?

I wouldst not cage thee,
For my own gain,
But suffice to behold thy grace.
Why dost thy fly from oak to pine
The nocturn air to taste?

From on high,
A flittering glance,
A leaf cast by the wind---
Or twas some angel passing by
In haste, abrupt, descend?
Not leaf nor seraph,
But holy fowl,
alights on yonder post,
I kneel to it to hear its plight,
How Will gave up the Ghost.

It speaks to me,
From ages past,
A sage beyond the years:
“Thou shouldst not rise,
with haggard eyes,
in dusk I come to call--
let all men know,
that moons may wane and cities fall,
but nature has no fears".

To really appreciate this poem you have to listen to a Whippoorwill for a bit:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXnnfg1CepE

How beautiful!

Footsteps in the Darkness

Footsteps in the darkness,
how fondly I do recall them.
Guided by starlight, inspired by connection;
a conversation sung to the tune of the melody of the night.
Words. Emotions. Revelation.
The stony path unfolds before me,
but only in small strides.
Summer breeze provides refuge,
summer words relate experiences.
Darkness envelopes me;
I am not afraid.
What it hides I do not consider,
what it reveals I cannot deny.
A word here is worth a saga in the day.
Emotion is liberated,
anxiety is repressed.
Lapping waves absolve all troubles.
The potion of moonlight intoxicates my spirit.
Have I said too much?
A drunkard is always a drunkard,
whether be from moonlight or wine.
Words drift like cottonwood seeds in the dusk.
See them flutter, see them alight.
I cast them gaily,
but they always are given at a cost.
Pride.
Night is the slayer of pride.
May the darkness be eternal;
I have too much to say.