On Downpours

I love thunderstorms. Few things affect me as powerfully. Those that compete are stars, moon, fire, and some music, but none of them are quite like storms.

I don't know exactly how to encapsulate the feeling. I don't know that I can. All I know is that lightning makes my blood dance, thunder shatters me, wind reconstructs me, and rain is the music of my soul. Storms are all around me right now, and it is wonderful.

On Impression

Scene on the Road to Winchester

Silent, these giants

watch over the countryside

standing still as the earth

and to the young, they are as solid.

But the old can remember

the days before they rose up

the days when only trees reached to the sky.

They pass these giants

coldly with a shudder--

thankful for their care,

but fearful of their power

Contrast holds the world like a mother

holds her child, and the world

drinks her milk unaware

push and pull

love and fear

It is a comely composition

a pristine artistic study

line, gradient, texture

those elegant forms

cones and cylinders in one--

the delicate conversion

cool on one side

warm on the other

simple strange beauty

There are well-lit shadows--

whispers that never cease . . .

Let us sit and watch the world turn

Her first kiss is gentle,

her delicate lips

like the bud of a blossom,

then they embrace--

breathing together--

and her kisses travel

like the course of blood--

burning together--

fusion of a different nature

as the morning sun

gathers these towers in her arms.

On a Moment

There was this poignant scene that I saw in Oxford that just captivated me. I tried to describe it in the same mood in which I experienced it, and I think it was pretty successful.

Breath

a cigarette

and an arch of yellow light

reaching out into the dark

for a hand to hold

he is a shadow on the steps

listening

there are voices on the cobblestones

laughter like the stars

that come through clouds

On Time

I've been wondering if, as a follower of Christ and a believer in Scripture, I necessarily have to believe in a linear view of time: something with a beginning progressing toward an end.

I suppose part of my problem is that I so strongly associate a linear view of time with the Hegelian notion of progress--a view that defined Modernity by regarding each successive generation, each successive society, as a move closer to perfection--which is one that seems neither like a logical conclusion nor like an actual fact. We are no closer to a utopian society than we were a couple of centuries ago when Hegel was forming these ideas.

My view has increasingly been one of balance and moderation. I view humans as a blend of evil and good in their hearts, and it seems to me that everything humanity comes does will have a mixture of good and evil. For instance those who say we are progressing will point to vast technological advancements that have improved communication and quality of living, but it is just as easy to point out loss of jobs due to automated manufacturing, decreased health due to more sedentary lifestyles, and pollution as negative drawbacks of these advancements.

In opposition to this view, it is also arguable that we are degenerating instead of progressing, perhaps to a dystopia or just to chaos. This negative view will point to things like moral degeneration, warfare, and particularly in America right now, increased government control. However, it is also simple to point out that where some morals have degenerated (sexual morals are often an example), they have come in conjunction with moral gains (individual rights, rejection of oppressive arranged marriages, equality of women); that warfare is a constant, and we have faced nothing like the massive slaughter of the World Wars; and that socialist governments have succeeded in helping their people across much of Europe.

It just seems that there are gains and losses. We measure time by the earth's movement, but the earth rotates on its axis and revolves around the sun. The season's are cyclical. There is life and there is death and there is life again--over and over and over. And this leads me to view time as cyclical.

And I mean, just think of the quote, "History repeats itself."

Here's the thing: according to the Revelation of John the Evangelist, we are progressing toward an apocalypse which will carry with it the second coming of Christ. According to much of what scripture says, the world is only going to get worse and worse, particularly for Christians. Then Christ will return and do away with evil for good. His followers have been waiting for this return since the day he left. This is referred to quite often as the end times.

End.

That means time is finite, and it means it is linear--not cyclical.

Or does it?

Naturally, if you assume time was created by God, which I do, then it must have a beginning, and therefore must be finite, and thus linear. So, what's the problem? Why is that so hard for me to accept? Is it just because time seems so cyclical? That would be a silly reason. After all, the sun seems to revolve around the earth, but based on the accounts of experts, I have accepted that this is not how it works. Maybe I am just being stubborn, unwilling to let go of a perspective I reached (somewhat) on my own. I'm sure that factors in, but I also think the consideration must be made that perhaps these two views are not mutually exclusive.

Time could be linear AND cyclical.

After all, this is the view that the pre-Reformation (or perhaps just pre-Modern) church held. That is how the holy calendar came about. Regarding certain days as related closely through time based on when in the year they fall rather than when in the sequence of many long days, months, and years they fall is a very cyclical notion of time. And yet, they too believed that the end times were coming. Why can't both exist? It may seem contradictory, but the whole world is contradictory if you look at it long enough.

And it is worth pointing out that the end times are not really the end. Rather, they are the most glorious of beginnings. This is the coming of the New Heaven and the New Earth. This is the beginning of an eternity with God for the Saints.

Eternity: time unbounded.

What if eternity is simply being removed from linear time or the dissolution of linear time? Does that mean the substance of this cyclical time is everything that is left, or must that disappear as well? I guess I don't know much what this new world will look like. Will it still have decay? Will there be a new sun as well? New stars? Will there still be a distinction between the New Heaven and the New earth just as there is between the present heaven and earth? And presumably there will no longer be a need for moral gains or losses if there is moral perfection, so what of that? Will we even perceive time?

I don't know. I guess that is what it really comes down to. But after all, "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him." Thinking about what comes after the end doesn't really do much to help me grapple with the world before the end anyway. And whether I believe that time flows like in a circle or a line, it will flow as it pleases, just as it always has, and I'm just another stick floating in that stream, being carried along until I too reach the sea.

Time just blows my mind.

On Women

After the fall described in Genesis, God delivers three curses: one to the serpent, one to Eve and one to Adam. To Eve, representative of all women as mother of them all, he says, "Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you."

What I want to know is this:
Is it true because God said it?
Or did God say it because it was true?

Is there a difference?

On Desire

I want to write.

And I want that to suffice.

For everyone else.

And for myself.

On Oxford (part xiii: Conclusion)

It took a while, but I have finally recovered from the writing load of my term at Oxford. I loved it, and it was incredibly rewarding, but it got to the point where I had done so much writing that the thought of doing any more, even replying to e-mails, seemed like a strain. Fortunately, such states of fatigue rarely last too long for me. I have returned to a state where I want to do nothing but write and now have difficulty finding time for it. Such is life I suppose.

The last few weeks at Oxford seemed fairly uneventful. That is not to say that there was nothing happening--everyone was doing a lot, but it was all bookwork: researching and writing the last papers. Much of my time was spent in libraries during the day, then I would spend the evening working. There was a rhythm to it, and each day had its own interests, but they all seemed to run together after a while. The last week was probably the toughest I have ever had academically. I have never researched and thought about a topic as in depth as I did for my long essay on Samuel Beckett's Endgame. I was one of the last people in our house to finish, but fortunately, it was not because I had been lazy, but because I had filled my time with as much work as possible. I loved the topic, I believed in my argument, and I wanted to do them justice. I think I did.

Once that final paper was turned in, there was such an amazing flood of renewed life in our house. We could finally all unwind and spend time together without feeling like we were neglecting homework. It was great. I finally made it back to the Ashmolean Museum and checked out their fine art--some very impressive pieces. I started playing outside more: frisbee, soccer, badminton, and even some wrestling. It was terrific. I wish that state could have gone on longer.

For some people it did, of course. At our debriefing on the last Friday, the head of the program told us about the eruption of the Eyjafjallojokul volcano which had closed British airspace. Most of the people in the program were to be stranded in Oxford for the next week. By sheer providence, my friend Eric and I had made plans to travel to the continent by bus and in continent by train, so we did not have to cancel our plans.

Saying goodbye was strange. Strange and difficult. I still don't know that I have processed it.

After a final meal of fish and chips in London, Eric and I boarded our overnight bus and set out for Paris. What we did not realize was that our bus was not going through the tunnel to France, but was stopping in Dover to board a ferry and cross the channel. Exciting as this was, it meant we had to get off the bus where we had been sleeping (or trying to). This made for a rough night, but waking up in Paris was worth it.

What one must understand about Eric and I is that we are both pretty laid back fellows. What one must understand about our trip is that we had done next to no planning. We knew where we were staying every night and how we were getting from city to city, but that was it. Thus, most of our sightseeing ended up being whims of the moment. This was how, on our first day, we stumbled upon the Bastille monument, Notre Dame, the Louvre (including the Mona Lisa), and the Eiffel Tower. I had been sceptical of the Eiffel Tower for a long time, but we saw it at sunset, and it certainly lived up to the hype.

The next morning, we walked into the lobby of the hostel and saw several of our friends from Oxford. We had originally been planning to share most of our travels with them, but they had bought plane tickets and could not arrange all the changes in transportation, and so this was our only day with them. We tried to make the most of it, visiting the Moulin Rouge and Sacre Cours before buying baguettes and cheese and having a picnic in Luxembourg Park, where we learned that you are not allowed to sit on the grass. After lunch, we saw the Pompadour, a very odd building, and visited lots of famous dead people in Perre Lachaise. After this, Eric and I found our way to the train station to say goodbye to France and begin our overnight journey to Rome.

Waking up in Rome was about as mystical as waking up in Paris. We checked into our hostel and then began to explore the ancient part of the city. It was surreal to come over the crest of a hill and see the Coliseum waiting for us. The structure was just incredible. From there we went to the palatine hill and the Roman forum. The ruins were just incredible. There is something about ruins that just captivates me. That is a big part of why I like capricci paintings so much.

Our next day was spent at the Vatican, where we got to stand in St. Peter's square and here the Pope himself address the people assembled there. We didn't understand the Italian, but it was cool to see His Holiness. We left early to stay ahead of the crowd and visited the Musei Vaticani, one of the largest museums in the world, and also home to The School of Athens and The Sistine Chapel. It was incredible. We spent hours there and we only saw one wing of the museum. On our way back to see St. Peter's we stopped at a gelateria a friend had recommended called The Old Bridge and

Oh

my

goodness

There is no way to put into words how good gelato is. It is everything ice cream ought to be. After that we visited the basilica. If Notre Dame was the most imposing church I had ever seen and Sacre Coeur the most elegant, then St. Peter's is by far the most magnificent. There was more gold and marble than I could begin to comprehend. It was overwhelming. I must have taken more than 200 pictures just of that building. The Vatican had exhausted most of our day, but we had time to find a nice cafe and buy paninis...panini's conveniently named after American movie stars. Eric got a Sylvester Stallone, and I got a George Clooney.

Our next day started with a quest to visit a gallery which happened to be closed: huge bummer. However, this gave us time to visit the zoo: a very fun little experience. And while we were there, we saw signs for the National Museum of Modern Art. That museum was easily the best surprise of our trip for me. We spent several hours there, and I now have a list of dozens of artists and works of art to research. They also had an incredibly fascinating exhibit on 1970's avant garde feminist art--mostly photography, but also featuring some videos, drawings, paintings and sculptures. After this, we visited the Piazza del Poppolo, in the vicinity of which we found a charming Italian restaurant where we decided to splurge on a hearty meal. The bruschetta was absolutely incredible, my pesto was remarkably creamy, and the espresso surpassed even the French coffee. Such a meal.

Our next and final day in Rome was dedicated mostly to plazas and fountains. They are all over the city, and most of them were designed by Bernini. The man practically built Rome. In the midst of all of these, we found the Pantheon. It is unfathomable to think that the Pantheon has been standing for almost two millennia, and while it is smaller in scale than St. Peter's, it's furnishings have just as much splendour. While enjoying a fine lunch in The Miscellenea, we made plans to work our way back toward the Vatican (and by way of the Vatican, to The Old Bridge). On our way, we got to walk along the Tiber until we reached the Castel de Sant Angelo, a building which has served as a mausoleum, as a papal palace, and as a medieval fortification. After this, we got our last gelato and realized that we still had an hour before we needed to head toward the airport, so we filled this time by tracking down the Church of St. Peter in Chains featuring, as its namesake, the supposed chains which held Peter in the story from Acts 12. However, the church is more famous for housing Michelangelo's Moses. Seeing both this sculpture and La Pieta while in Rome were fantastic honours.

It was all downhill from there. We caught our flight to London Heathrow, spent the night in the airport, then caught our eight hour flight to Chicago.

Home.

I still feel somewhat like a visitor and not like someone who lives here, but I am home.

On Oxford (part xii: Complete)

14 essay

89 pages

29,813 words

And that's without the works cited.