I realize after several months of not posting anything on this blog that I rather miss it and am hopefully up to the task of posting more of my thoughts about our State of the Union, Christianity, Freedom and of course my inner Existential Angst. Although I very much doubt that many people even read this blog, I remind myself that its solely for my own edification. However, one’s own personal gratification can become lonely from time to time and my hope is that others will be inspired to think, act, and participate in future discussions. 

What I have noticed since I’ve been away:

- Many people have commented on the Joel Olstein article. I’ve got much more where that came from! 

- My previous writings had an imaginary audience in mind. I have since tried to take that part of myself back behind the wood shed and kill it. Even in the previous sentence I fear that it is attempting to drag itself back up to its feet. Therefore, my goal is to write more for myself in hopes that my newly found exhibitionistic introversion will somehow combat my narcissistic need for attention. 

What I want to do now that I’m back:

- I want to write more about the different constructs that we create for ourselves as a defense against the empty darkness of the abyss. (And yes, God is included in that discussion.) 

- I also want to write about the randomness of life. How I see chaos underlying order. Again, God is not excluded from this discussion either. 

So there you have it. I shall make a better habit of writing new thoughts and ideas for the next coming months.

American Christianity seems to have taken a turn for the worst. More and more, people are watching preachers on television instead of taking part in a church community, they take hold of messages that emphasize how to have “Your Best Life Now” through the accumulation of wealth and power. Pastors such as Rod Parsley, Joel Olsteen, and Benny Hinn appeal to our ingrained sense of realizing the so called “American Dream”. However, through these messages disguised as “hope” and “encouragement” many have traded their souls both literally and symbolically for those things that “the gentiles eagerly seek”. (See Matthew Chapter 6) No longer is holiness seen as living apart from the world yet in the world, but rather a means to bring heaven on earth, wealth, power, and glory unto ourselves, temporal things that will eventually become meaningless as we stand before the eternal God. These messages deny the very fact that all that is earthly has an end to it. Jesus said that both heaven and earth shall pass away, but yet we ignore this fact as irrelevant because we are “in the here and now”. Although there is absolutely nothing wrong with seizing the day, there is everything wrong with taking that day’s focus on God and placing it on ourselves as a sense of self entitlement all the while telling ourselves that we deserve it. 

This teaching is so easy to adopt into our daily lives because we are no longer called to suffer as Christ had suffered. We claim that we want to be like Christ, yet we only focus on the final product, His glory in heaven. We do not want to hear any more about suffering as we throw up our hands and exclaim, “We have had too much of that in our own lives already…why not focus on the positive?” However, if we do not gaze into the horrors that this world gives birth to every second of everyday, if we simply ignore the injustice and stop crying out to God for salvation and justice, then we have become numb. Christianity is nothing more than Prozac for the soul; it doesn’t heal, it simply dulls the pain of our existence. I know people out there will question this and make comments about how negative this is, how we need to focus on the hope that we have in Christ be happy. I am here to say that there will be times in life where we will be happy, but until we actually have joy in our lives, happiness in only a bottomless pit. 

Joy is what keeps us moving through the rough road of life. Joy is what allows us to have compassion and love when we are in great want of it ourselves. God never promised us our “Best Life Now”, but has said throughout the Scriptures that there will be troubles and sorrows when we follow Him. When we forget this principle, thats when we should have cause to fear, and if at that point we do not feel that somehow we have lost connection with God because we are focused on our own self esteem, then we are almost beyond all hope of redemption. Where is the salvation from the numbness?

The rain made light tapping sound on the roof of Syrus’ tiny corner study on the western tower of the School of Elemental Magic. It was drafty and cold; the walls did not do their best to keep out the elements. The floor was blanketed with old dusty books, while a hundred more lay scattered on various book shelves located through out the little room. A solitary window opposite of the door looked out towards the western plains and to the towering mountains beyond. The gloom was slightly lifted by a single solitary candle that sat on a desk next to the window, and a youth could been seen scribbling madly on a piece of parchment, the wrinkles of his furrowed brow spoke of the deepest of concentration in the flickering yellow candle light. A gigantic cobwebbed filled clock ticked ominously in a dark corner of the room, counting the seconds, slicing away moment by moment with each tick.

The youth would pause a second or two to gaze through the mass of cobwebs and then begin scribbling even faster than before. He was going to be late and he knew his professor would have almost assuredly torn him limb from limb. This paper was due any minute, he did not want to fail his first term in Will Mastery. The rain outside seem to laugh at his misery. He scribbled on; the candle flickered here and there with the drafty air and still the clock continued to tick onward. He was going to drive himself mad if he kept this up, he was running out of time.

A spider skittered the surface of his desk and onto to his parchment. The boy let out a startled yell and made an attempt at smashing the spider with his ink bottle. However, his efforts were useless and the spider found a dark place underneath a pile of books on the right side of his desk.

‘No time now’ he thought to himself as he frantically began to write again. If only he had one more minute, he would have enough time to finish this stupid paper. He looked up at the clock again. He stared at it, wishing that he could just move the minute hand back…just a little bit. He sat there and gazed into its massive face as if he were in a trance; there was something strange about this enormous clock in this tiny room. He felt like he began to leave his body, as if he was not himself anymore. Suddenly, everything seemed to stand still, the rain on the window froze, the candle was motionless, and then the minute hand on the clock, as if enduring some great struggle to move forward, shook violently and then moved backward ever so slightly. Thinking that it was some malfunction in the clock itself, he simply shrugged his shoulders and took advantage of the faulty time keeper and went back to his writing.

However, the hand on the clock was the only thing that the youth noticed, and not the massive black spider that had moved backwards from the books to his parchment once again. Letting out yet another loud yell he squashed the spider with his hand and then wiped the remains underneath his desk. ‘A few more lines to go,’ he thought. His quill speeding from line to line with fury. Then, as if it were a miracle from the goddess herself, he was done! He rolled up the long parchment, stuck it underneath his robes and hurried out of his study and down the hall to the twisting stair case. His feet made loud clanging sounds as he ran down the steps, skipping one or two at a time. Another round and he would be there.

He was panting now as he burst through the doorway and through another long hall lined with statues, white marble pillars, and large oak doors with strange inscriptions on each. ‘Almost there! Two more doors and I’m there!’ he was being hopeful. Then he heard it, coming from one of the doors on the left, a loud unmistakable bellow.

“SYRUS! I sensed that was you! I could hear you huffing and puffing all the way down those stairs! Not to mention smell you! You have absolutely no concept of time, do you boy!” The door swung open, and the large hulking frame of Professor Ironside seemed to fill up the entire hall almost instantly. He was a Tauren, a race of wolf-like humanoids who were brought and assimilated into the empire a long time ago. Professor Ironside stood about 7 feet tall, with greenish fur that covered his entire girth. He was snarling at Syrus with two huge fangs protruding from his lower lip.

“I am sorry Professor, but this is my last class in the School of Elemental Magic, I am being recruited to the School of Will Mastery next term.” Syrus did not want to make eye contact with his now ex-mentor. He was dreading this day for weeks now, Professor Ironside was an excellent teacher, mentor, and even friend, although sometimes overly strict and intimidating at times, he could be gentle and understanding given the right circumstances.

There was a very long and awkward silence that was only interrupted by Syrus’ heaving breathing. Then, Professor Ironside snatched the parchment from Syrus’ hand and without a second thought it ignited instantly and smoldered into ash. Professor Ironside’s shaggy dropped a little and Syrus could see directly into those big sky blue eyes. He thought he saw a tiny glimpse of a tear forming on the corner of one of Professor Ironside’s eyes.

The Professor’s huge frame heaved up an down and his voice was low and deflated, “ Syrus, you can’t be serious. You were one of my best students…no one could summon water sprites let alone hold raw fire in their hands until their second or third class. But you! You could do it within your first year. “ Professor Ironside gave another huge sign accompanied by a growel. “And now, you are siding with those heartless bastards! Be one of their watch dogs…” he bared his fangs in disgust. “Not you, Syrus, I never thought you would do it!” his voice trembled for a moment.

“Professor, its nothing personal, it just a much better opportunity to serve the Provost to the best of my abilities,” Syrus looked sheepishly down at the black marble floor. “ They said that I passed every test with the highest marks!”, he said feeling a little less guilty. “Besides, think…I can be my own master with the knowledge I will gain!

Professor Ironside slammed his fist on the wall causing a huge crack to run up the side, while Syrus took a few steps away. “I really sorry Professor! I swear by the goddness that…”

“You have sold your soul, boy! And the rest of you will follow soon enough! You will not become free, only a slave to the new Provost and ultimately yourself. Syrus, you will be damning yourself, no good can come from this new school.” The Professor slammed his powerful fist against the wall again. He was breathing harder now, growling menacingly at Syrus. There were angry tears in his eyes, he quickly wiped them away. Syrus almost felt bad, but he justified his decision by telling himself that he could change the lives of the people of Celstra for the better, he knew he could. “P-professor, p-please here me out! Its nothing personal! Just a better way to help everyone…that’s all…” it sounded better in his head than when he had spoke it.

“Don’t come by my office again, you here me, Syrus! I am at a loss for words right now! You have hurt me far deeper than you will ever hurt those you seek to help!” And with that Professor Ironside turned and slammed the door behind him causing several pictures to fall from their places and one statue of a very old and wise Professor of the Elemental Arts to fall and shatter in from of Syrus’ feet. ‘It’s a much better opportunity’ Syrus repeated the phrase withuncertainly in his head.

And with that, he walked towards the stairs and back up to his cramped study to brood over what had just taken place. He felt bad that Professor Ironside was so upset…even to the point of crying. He had never thought he would ever seem the Professor cry! What had he done? ‘Perhaps it was for the best’ a small voice said in his head, ‘Your talent lies with Will Mastery, not outdated Elemental Magic…’ said the voice. Syrus stopped at the threshold of his bedroom and wanted to cry, wanted to feel some kind of emotion for the severed relationship between him and Professor Ironside, but something wouldn’t let him. ‘Its for the best…’ the voice repeated soothingly. “Its for the best…”, Syrus repeated and he slowly walked over to his bed that was covered in books pushing them off the bed and slumped his body on the dirty sheets. The rain outside played a pleasant tune on the wooden roof that soon swept any guilty though Syrus was feeling over Professor Ironside as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

Hey all, here is a potential story that I am working on. Please give me some sort of feedback on what you think! Be honest! I want to know if the ideas in here stink!

The boy ran up the winding white marble stairs to the top of the tower. His footsteps echoing down the stair case, his shadow flickering in the lantern light. Outside the rumblings of heavy war machines could be heard along with the shouts of Military Mages barking out orders to the Makina. Explosions could be heard in the distance. The boy ran faster, tripping over his slightly oversized robe. He had to find his master. Three more turns of the stair case he was almost there. Screams could be heard outside, followed by the crash of walls crumbling. The vibrations from the destruction outside shook the tower beneath the boy’s feet. Finally he made it to the top most chambers.

Inside the spacious chamber, full of tapestries and books, large and small covered two entire walls on the opposite of the door. The master stood looking out a large and ornate window at the carnage of a city at siege. A huge plume of flame rose up behind the furthest city wall, lighting the chamber for a brief moment. The boy stopped for a second and then quietly and respectfully approached his master. He had a question burning within him. He needed to ask the master before all was lost and the city fell to the invaders.

“Master…I must ask you something of terrible importance…” the boy said shyly in hushed tones.

The master was still staring out the window, his kindly yet sorrowful face lost deep in thought. He stroked his beard absentmindedly. A soft gentle smile appeared across his face.

“Master…I must know…” the boy cleared his throat and spoke louder than before, “I must know the reasons why…why this all came about, why we are about to be overrun? There is cause in every effect…isn’t there master?”

The master turned to face the boy, his great blue robes made a swishing noise like a great bird taking flight. He looked deep into the boy’s eyes and thought a moment.

“No my boy, there is not necessarily cause in every effect. That is what those damn Will Masters want you to believe. No, no, cause and effect are what you make of it, boy. That is the cardinal difference between what is now, and what could have been.” He lightly patted the boy on the head and smiled.

“But master, I must know the history behind why this has happened, before it’s to late.” Said the boy who looked outside with wide eyed fear.

“My son, the past is not as important as the present. At least that is what we are told to believe. But, since I am one of the few surviving historians left in Occam, I suppose the story must continue on if anyone is to learn anything from this.” The master paced the floor, his robes like water flowing back and forth. “Where do I begin? Perhaps where the problems began? Ah, yes, perfect place to start.” He mumbled to himself. The boy sat down on an old stool and listened intently on the master’s account of the recent 500 years of Occam’s history.

“The school of Will Mastery was still in its young stages of development and met with great opposition from the people of the great capital city of Occam. For centuries the people were free to become what ever they wished to be. However, the recent Provost that came into power almost 50 years prior claimed that freedom was a dangerous thing. No one knows exactly why the 6 Deans from the 6 schools of magic chose him to be the new Provost, but the people trusted the Deans to make the right choice. Within 50 years of the Provost’s rule the school of Will Mastery was established as well as the creation of the Makina; nonhuman metal soldiers full of the sounds of whirring and ticking gears. Soon, the Magical Engineers had perfected a way to mass produce the Makina in a fairly short period of time. They were the new army, the new police; they were literally the Provost’s iron fist.

In no time at all, the Provost had expanded the country into an empire to be reckoned with. No one could stop the Military Mages and their Makina soldiers. However, for the people, the military successes of the Provost were bittersweet. They had now lost their freedom and were subjected to a caste system in which slaves and academics were separated by an impossible wall. There was a place for everyone, and everyone had their place. Those that oppose his fundamental law were thrown in prison or worse. Rumors of prisoners being tortured and used for all kinds of horrible experiments began to circulate through out the city of Occam. Thus, the shining white city of marble became like a giant tombstone on the landscape, full of decay and corruption buried beneath and within its walls.

No longer were the people free. The Will Masters took possession of their inner most thoughts, punished any they deemed fit, and became one of the most powerful and influential schools, even surpassing the school of Military Magic. Some Will Masters were so powerful that they could merely think harm on a person and they would fall to their knees in pain and agony. Although they could not control the Makina, they could control the minds of other men and women to keep their proper places. They only added fuel to the fire as the countless legions of Makina marched across the landscape, laying claim to more and more lands beyond their own borders. Thus, began the 200 years war, with another nation that even their goddess could not save them from.

A nation that held the ideology that there was some ultimate plan, that there was a force that moved men forward or backward. A force that had a density for all races and peoples, and the use of magic was a cardinal sin against the very fabric of this idea. Henceforth, a wise Mystic rose to power, claiming that all magic was evil and that anyone using it was condemned to eternal damnation. Her followers used their skills that she assigned to build cities, temples, and eventually armies. What was her secret to stop this now growing threat to the North? The answer was in a secret and newly discovered substance that obliterated all magic that it came in contact with. Thus, they entered into the 200 years war and fought to keep the land that they believed was rightfully theirs. The weapons of this small country to the South were its Mystic and the Holy Substance as it was called, which built a tiny empire to defend against the hordes of Makina that began to stream in like a great and powerful metallic flood.”

The room was dark now with the coming night. The boy sat in awe of the story his master had told him. Outside, fires around Occam burned bright through the large window. The master heaved a great sigh and look sorrowfully into some unknown point in time.

“Now my boy, I believe it is time for bed. Rest now while there is still time to do so. Rest before the fire consumes us all, in which time we are all eventually consumed, ah but no need for me to start reciting the creed to you, boy. Now off to bed!” he said with a faint smile, but his eyes had a look of hopelessness to them.

The boy hurried down the stairs and to his bed where he dreamt of the things his master had spoken of, and even something more.

Swimming through the mist he stretched out his hands into the gloom. Strange unearthly sounds filled the air with a cacophony of humming and swishing. Had he gone insane? Perhaps so he thought. However, a tiny but powerful thought kept him moving along the streets and back alleys, unnoticed by the people in the marketplace, nor the shop keepers, even the beggars took no note of his presence as he stumbled blindly on. Everything appeared so strange to him in this state. People appeared to be as living corpses with small glowing things located near their heart. He knew what he had done, but yet he did not. He was young, curious and open to new experiences. Nonetheless, the Will Masters would hear of this soon enough. They would take him and lock him away, or worse. Only disturbing tales escape those prisons. These thoughts haunted him as he trudged on, not altogether sure where he was going or what he was about to do.

He soon noticed how cold it was in this weird place. The mist would come and go and he would trip over bumps along the cobblestone streets as he walked on. On particularly unlucky stone what the one that changed his life forever. If only he had side stepped a bit to the right to avoid the oncoming cart, if only there was not a Makina guardsman standing where he fell and lost all concentration. Worst of all, if only the man that he accidently grabbed hold of as he tumbled towards the ground was standing selling meat some other place, the poor merchant would not have met his untimely end. And why of all times to lose connection with his own Will did he suddenly appear again to those who have eyes? Caught red handed, lying next to a now dead merchant he was escorted away by two Makina to be sentenced to life in prison, possibly even his Will completely obliterated so that he would become a soul without purpose. A punishment worse than death he thought to himself as he heard the Makina close the door to his cell and as he gazed back at the empty helmet, and listened to the quiet ticking and whirring that faded down the corridor as the Makina walked back to its post.

The field was all silver and gold on this particular midsummer’s afternoon. It was gold with the sun shining on ocean of wheat and silver with the army of Makina marching down the main road like a long and winding snake that glistened brightly in the sun. Several Military mages could be seen at various points along this massive serpent riding proudly on their mighty steeds, their crimson well pressed robes flapping and fluttering in the breeze. This war machine was known and feared throughout the neighboring countries as well as internally. However, one country was not so afraid of this monster, this metal lifeless beast that sought to devour or subjugate everything and everyone. This defiant country to the South was ruled by a Mystic who preached that all magic would bring about the end of mankind and ultimately the world itself. Seasoned Military mages knew better than these novices who were fresh from the academy to keep their heads down and stay out of range the plague that this Mystic used as her rapidly growing military force.

The long and toilsome march continued farther and farther South. The young mages were growing tired, their concentration began to wane. The Makina started to slow their mindless pace down to a crawl; some sections stopped altogether, their limbs swinging like scarecrows in the breeze, while others from behind began to pile up. A senior officer could be seen riding at a hard clip from the front toward the lazy young mages. His crimson robes whipping back and forth like a great banner, his silver staff shimmered in the sun light. The officer looked to be in his early 40’s, tired eyes that had seen too many battles, accompanied by the typical scares of war on various areas of his face. His name was Argon, celebrated hero of the 200 Years War. His voice boomed and filled the valley as he made one of the young mages partially deaf.

“What the hell do you mean by stopping here?! We have another half a day’s march towards the mountain pass! Wake up you fool!” Argon’s spit covered the poor lad’s face.

“Sorry sir…” the youth stammered, “I thought uhh…this m-might be an uhh, well, a good place to stop sir…that is if it’s a-alright with you s-sir.”

“Well it’s not you damn idiot! By the goddess you and your fellows have much to learn about war, and most of all your focus. Those stuffy academics are more interested in their research than they are in teaching any of you the science and the art of war.” Argon took his long silver staff and extended it out like a long metallic arm. His armor glistened from beneath his robes. Suddenly, the Makina began to walk at a faster pace than before. “If this happens again, mark my words, some of you will be left behind for the wolves to devour! Now march! We must make the path before dark!” And with that, Argon galloped off towards the front of the line while the young mages stood dumbfounded.

More to come, but it is 2:00 AM and I need to get to bed. However here are two interesting parallels to think about!

Exhibit #1:

Exhibit #2:

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Exhibit #5:

Johnny Cash’s cover of Hurt really portrays our fear of experiencing pain and the agony of remembering times in our lives that we wish to forget. He makes it such a powerful message in the words and the music itself. How true it is when he says, “Everyone I know goes away in the end.” Our relationships with others cannot and will not continue on forever. Part of the bittersweet joys of the grieving process is letting go, or to paraphrase Nietzsche, “Praise be to the truly dead, those that are now completely forgotten!” We need to realize that all things have an end. Clutching and clinging onto what was is a hopeless and indirect selfishness on part of ourselves. Ultimately we are alone from birth to death. We came into this world by ourselves and we will die alone. It does not matter if people were there at birth or at death. We alone are the ones that do the birthing and the dying. Neither of these are a shared experience.

However, there is hope to this song, even if it is somewhat bittersweet. Johnny Cash proclaims at the end of the song that if he could start again, he would find and keep himself. This is very important because when we lose something or someone who has a deep impact on our lives, we tend to think that a part of us is missing when they leave. As if that person were a thief trying to steal our valuables in the dead of night. But, if we examine our lives a little closer, we find that what was missing comes back to us again if we let it. Sometimes we deny it, or even reject that piece. This can come in the form of anger and resentment towards a person who may be the one bringing our piece back to us. Many times we don’t want it back because that piece seems tanished, its contains all the sorrow and loss that we do not want to experience again. We then have a choice, to accept ourselves once again, or be forever fragmented.

Maybe here I should stop and use “I language” at this point in time. This is about what I am going through this past year with something that was deeply painful. If I want to practice what I preach on here I better own up to it and admit the experience of what is real instead of placing it in the thrid person. I am finally starting to make this journey my own instead of an ambigious and faceless persona. I have to claim this for myself. However, I do not want to make this into a myspace type of journal either. I do not want to engage in online exhibitionism with my guts hanging out for the world to see. All I am saying is that this is my experience. That is it, nothing more and nothing less. Enjoy the video!

Ok, very brief post, but I am wondering…what is wrong with us here? We give Amy Winehouse a grammy because she said no, no, no to rehab. Where are our brains at these days? Does anyone know? I mean people say things about how she has been through so much and that she deserves this grammy. Wait a minute…what about all those people in rehab? I think we should give them a grammy too.

The direction the Church is going if we stop thinking, believing and praying for one another. We are going to wind up not worshiping God, but ourselves and materialism. Because of our consumerism, Joel Olstein is able to tickle our ears with promises of success and wealth beyond our wildest dreams! Here is where the Church needs to stand up against evils such as this. Satan offered Christ the world and all its wealth as long as He gave Satan his soul. I think Joel Olstein and Satan might have tons to talk about if ever they were to meet at a coffee shop. They may have more in common then they even know.

You know, those things that keep you in a viscous cycle that ultimately takes over different areas of your life. Habits come in quietly, like an uninvited guest at a party. The only problem is that they don’t know when leave. You entertain them for as long as you can stand it, until finally you are constantly trying to please your habit. Unfortunately, this guest is planning on taking up residency for a very long time. Speaking of time, its any habits’ favorite food. They seem to have an insatiable appetite for seconds, minutes and especially hours. Habits can also be very disgusting creatures. Some are not so good at remembering to brush their teeth, while others find it perfectly fine to shower only once a week. However, other habits are so clean and tidy that you would suspect that this was one of those model suburban homes you see on television and not a place inhabited by actual people. In either case, habits can become very unmanageable. To the extent that they will eventually try and kill even the most faithful of hosts. You see, habits get very bored after a number of years. Killing seems like one last interesting things to do on a Friday night when nothing else seems to be playing at the movies and there isn’t a good bar around for miles. Therefore, those with unmanageable habits that have taken their lives hostage must fight back as soon as possible! Man your battle stations! Or, in other words, take that bastard out behind the shed and shoot him before he shoots you!

So what have we learned? The lesson here is don’t invite habits to parties…ever! They will only take up your entire life before you know what hit you. Instead, leave habits to themselves. Now, some may say that I might go so far as to say that habits and people should never mix. It only gets people mixed up and into trouble. Therefore, I propose a mass segregation between habits and people. They should not ride the same buses, use the same bathrooms, and especially when it comes to dating and marriage! I’ve seen far too many married people marry some habit off the street first and not tell their spouse until its almost to late. Segragation of all habits will dramaticaly reduce the divorce rate in America. Also, students will do much better in school if they would stop hanging around all those bad habits. In fact, why don’t we propose to put all the habits on an island somewhere far away and let them have their own government! I wonder if the people in Washington D.C. would agree with me on this extreme form of segregation of habits and people.

I for one am tired of being oppressed by habits! I think it is time that we oppress them back!

Authors note: No, I am not crazy. I just thought it would be a fun to personify habits.

My cousin and I were talking about the whole free will versus determinism debate that has been going on for who knows how long. In fact, it really is a circular argument when it comes right down to it. The proverbial chicken and egg supporting points went back and forth like the fast paced fury of a ping pong game. Finally, she shot one that went whizzing right past my head before I could even swing back. “Do we choose to be born?”  I guess nobody asked for this, however, I’m not so sure that this is an excuse to pretend that we do not have any responsibility. Even so, I am still stumped on this one. Obviously we did not choose to be born, but what does that mean that all our other choices aren’t made by ourselves? I honestly don’t know how to answer this one. Any opinions, thoughts, or is this just plain stupid to even think about in the first place?