Lelio Rising

Something that grates... the way that people can sometimes feel they cannot be introverted, because society tells them that it is normal and good to be outgoing and extrovert. They are stigmatised as having something wrong with them, often simply because they appreciate the qualities of solitude and introspection. This is not wrong.

T

"A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back."

- Proverbs 29v11

Johnny Marr!

La Salle

Thoughts from a tired and rambling mind..

Has anybody ever read a book, and so completely identified with the main character that you wonder if the author could read your mind, even if they're centuries dead? I know that most books contain a character whom one can empathise with in at least one aspect - but how about an entire situation, a whole character?

If we are Christians, we should be seeking to identify with Jesus as much as is humanly possible. But that's just it - we might be able to empathise with his humanity and suffering, for he endured every kind of temptation and pain that it would be hard for us to find one which he could not identify with us in. But we could never empathise with his entire divinity. One of the humanly inconceivable truths of Christ - his complete humanity simultaneous with his complete supernature.

Look Ahead,

Peace

Porphyria's Lover

"If the whole universe has no meaning, we should never have found out that it has no meaning: just as, if there were no light in the universe and therefore no creatures with eyes, we should never know it was dark. Dark would be without meaning."

- C.S. Lewis

Mega update pending...

KTF

Don Corleone

Greetings upon this twilit afternoon in merry January. A north-westerly wind blows through the neighbours' pine-trees as I type this solitary web sonnet, sitting comfortably in a black wooden fold-up with a thick-set oaken pipe...

That's mostly all rubbish actually.

Film Review - Jarhead (Ang Lee). It's good. See it.

Film Review - It's All Gone Pete Tong. Amusing, but crude. If you've never seen a Coke Badger, you will be enlightened by this film.

1 John 5v1-5

Now Flameless Embers

I realise that what I am doing here is a prime example of 'blog-for-blog's sake', not a dissimilar idea to that of 'art-for-art's sake'. Because, it is only through love of writing, literature, Scripture and a lack of something to do that this weblog lives on. I mean, it's hardly as if anything vaguely meaningful or helpful has been brought to light through any of these literary vagaries. Enlightening perhaps.

That's aside though. The main reason for today's entry is to elaborate upon yesterday's blog, which included the writings of Henry David Thoreau, a man close to my heart and similar in sympathies. I realised, with a sudden shock not unlike one experienced upon the first step into an ice-cold paddling pool, that I wasn't entirely clear myself upon the meaning of the word 'transcendentalism', familiar as I am with it's followers and philosophies. And so, to enlighten myself as much as anyone else, here is a heavily inspired and attemptedly brief definition of the term...

Transcendentalism - An Exegesis

First to clear up a common misconception - this philosophy has nothing to do with the removal of teeth or the replacement of fillings.

American transcendentalism was an important movement in the worlds of philosophy and literature, flourishing in the years of the early to mid 19th century (1836-1860, specifically). It started as a reform movement in the Unitarian church, extending the views of William Ellery Channing on an indwelling God and the significance of intuitive thought. It was based on "a monism holding to the unity of the world and God, and the immanence of God in the world" (Oxford Companion to American Literature). It's adherents believe that the human soul is identical to the world's soul, and contains what the world contains.

Transcendentalists rejected Lockean empiricism, unlike the Unitarians: they wanted to rejuvenate the mystical aspects of New England Calvinism (although none of its dogma) and to go back to Jonathan Edwards' "divine and supernatural light," imparted immediately to the soul by the spirit of God.

Here's Lawrence Buell:

"Transcendentalism, in fact, really began as a religious movement, an attempt to substitute a Romanticized version of the mystical ideal that humankind is capable of direct experience of the holy for the Unitarian rationalist view that the truths of religion are arrived at by a process of empirical study and by rational inference from historical and natural evidence"

Webliography - Link here

KTF

Reading - Tess of the d'Urbervilles (Hardy)

Relaxing to - '93 Til Infinity (Souls of Mischief), Cypress Hill

The Case for Hermits

Rippo

Three loveliest things -

moonlight, cherry-bloom, and now

I seek silent snow.

In my extensive research on hermits, I have come across many interesting facts concerning these elusive gentlemen and women - found in the origins of the ninth tarot card (no disclaimer inserted here, just don't mess around with tarot decks. Or ouija boards), the lives of 19th century poets and Taoism.

One traditional view of the hermit is as the formal ecclesiastic and reclusive forest wizard - found in the likes of such literary gems as Mort d'Arthur by Thomas Malory. It is interesting to note that such beings are often not the dour, people-despising, slightly unhinged that one might immediately conjur to mind upon hearing the word 'hermit'. In literature they are often depicted as self-sacrificial and compassionate, who have chosen the solitary path to further themselves spiritually. Which, ironically, could better enable these particular individuals to serve their fellow man, than if they inhabited the deepest recesses of human colonisation. Such a figure is found in the pages of the aforementioned Mort - in the episode in which Lancelot is wounded by the boar he slays. Upon the mysterious forest-dweller inquiring as to his need for medical assistance, he refuses (actually, he does more than this, he threatens the man), and the hermit leaves, incidentally bumping into another group of wayfaring knights. He requests their help in his mission, and they accept. Taking Lancelot to the recluse's hermitage, his wound is healed, but due to a fever and the consciousness of his sins, Lancelot cannot be healed spiritually (a little theological errancy here). Only the Sangreal - the Holy Grail - can help him. Staying with him overnight, Lancelot recognises the man's kindness and presuming a unique wisdom, asks him for advice concerning a dream. The insightful hermit reveals that Galahad is Lancelot's son.

More recent eremetical characters include Emily Dickinson, the poet and feminist; and Henry David Thoreau, the transcendentalist philosopher.

"You think that I am impoverishing myself by withdrawing from men, but in my solitude I have woven for myself a silken web or chrysalis, and, nymph-like, shall ere long burst forth a more perfect creature, fitted for a higher society." - H.D.T.

Sweet Afton

A brief update, to bring your good attentions to a couple of well-worth-a-visit websites. The first being www.nickelcreek.com. This is the website of the band, who are Christians and play Appalachian folk music. Sweet. They're talented and beautiful. The second is for the more politically-minded of you - http://auto_sol.tao.ca/ - Autonomy and Solidarity.com. They are self-described as on-line network for anti-capitalists who believe that revolutionary transformation will come from workers and oppressed people self-organizing from below and not from the top down organizing of any state, party or union bureaucracy. Definitely worth a look.

Both of these will hopefully appear on the Links section shortly!

Meanwhile, keep it real, and don't let any sort of bugs bite, but if you do, it might as well be the bedbugs, because they're a lot less harmful than a lot of others, thinking particularly of such nasty specimens as the libernum leaf beetle, which will strip your libernum leaves in no time. No joke.

KTF

Postscript: Glad you're enjoying the blogtastic world of Tom, Maggie. Am striving to become prolifically superior to mugglenet, which hopefully should be short work. Take care!

Cellar Door

So I was sitting here, at my father's laptop (because the two house computers which we've managed to accumulate second-hand are both screwed up, not an unknown condition for Cox PCs), drinking Mango Indica and listening to Cypress Hill. Reading through random blogs about people's lives on the net, I realised how little I have written about anything I've ever done. Ever. So here goes...

Erm.. OK maybe I've never really done much. But what has come to me is the best beginning to an autobiography I've ever read:

"Shall we begin like David Copperfield? I am born, I grow up. Or shall we begin when I was born to darkness, as I call it. That's really where we should start, don't you think? "

Which is from that revered work of literature, Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice).

So here's what went on at Christmas and the birth of the NY, minus a lot of important events and by-the-bys...

~~~

The return of the family. This is always nice, really. To anybody who thinks their brothers and sisters just get the hell on their nerves, wait 'til they move out. So we spent some time chilling, exchanging the traditional presents (some very nice Misfits and Mescaleros CDs, cookbooks, toaster tongs and and espresso machine amongst them), having a festive laugh, winding up various girlfriends (not all mine, I hasten to add - I'm not Asian, Brad Pitt or a nerk) and just generally having a crazy, coffee-and-port-loaded time.

It was very pleasant also to see some good friends again, who have proceeded their adventure in life to university or other such institutions of conformist brainwashing . Ha ha, only messing. It did deem rather expensive seeing a couple of these dear people however, as they insisted on me buying every round of coffee in Costa. Ah well. When you're me, the only way you can get friends is to spend money. My dearest darling girl bought me the Family Guy film to celebrate the birth of our Saviour, which I have watched upon two occasions. Mirth. Dan was here to be a chauffeur, which is not a bad calling in life for someone like him, although he does talk quite a lot.

Overall, it was a memorable and peaceable Yuletide, which is a major and infrequent event in this depressing world. But not to sound old. My fingers, head and eyes are all fairly fatigued, so I won't say "thankyou for my food, please may I get down", but I will say goodnight, and keep your New Year's resolutions.

Love more.

KTF

Tom

Noctambulism

Yesterday I found out an intriguing fact. Amazing, in fact. Maybe a lot of people reading this (although there's not a lot of people reading this) are already aware of the central message of the Bible, but hey. Check this out:

Shortest chapter in the Bible - Psalm 117

Longest chapter in the Bible - Psalm 119

Central chapter in the Bible - Psalm 118

There are 594 chapters prior to Psalm 118, 594 succeeding Psalm 118. Add up these two numbers, and you get 1188.

The central verse in the Bible - Psalm 118v8

"It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man"

Damn right.

KTF

5

Five Ways to Help You Pass Safely through a Dark Wood Late at Night

1. Whistle a tune your father whistled when you were a child

2. Cross the first two fingers of your left hand

3. If you lose sight of the moon hold it in the mind's eye

4. Imagine the colours that surround you waiting for the first kiss of morning

5. Keep a Kalashnikov in the glove compartment.

- Roger McGough

Blighted Stars

Here follows a brief exposition on a paragraph of Hardy's Tess, being a subject which for once has some actual relevance to today's title.

It is the episode in which Tess and her younger brother Abraham are driving the bee-hive filled cart to it's place of delivery, at 1.30am, their father lacking the sobriety to perform this task himself (Obviously, the drink-and-drive campaigns were as prominent then as now). Her brother puts forward a question about stars, asking if they are all different worlds. She answers affirmative, and that some are blighted places, others joyful. She says that their star is a blighted one, proved by the fact of her mother's immaturity and her father's inclination to drunkenness. Subsequently, she falls asleep at the reins and their cart collides with that of the postman, his cart's axle spearing their horse Prince through the breast. She wakes Abraham, who has slept through the entire incident, who profoundly states that this has occurred because they dwell on a blighted star.

A thought struck me as I was reading this; the obviousness to people everywhere, of all religions and shades, that our world is fallen, and in desperate need of redemption.

"He entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption"

- Hebrews 9:12

Wizard and Glass

Ten minutes. How can I write anything vaguely digressive in such a pithy amount of time? I'd just like to straighten out the link on your right for 'Bookcrossing' - try going to www.bookcrossing.com, the blasted link seems not to have worked - which is surprising, because computers always do what you want them to. Especially when you've wasted about 40 mins of your life on them. Hope everybody's doing well back at uni - thinking of you all with exams &c.

KTF

"Power corrupts. Absolute power is kind of neat." - John Lehman

The Savoy Declaration

"Then I said, "Ah, Lord God! Behold, I do not know how to speak, for I am only a youth". But the Lord said to me, "Do not say 'I am only a youth'; for to all to whom I send you, you shall go, and whatever I command you, you shall speak. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, declares the Lord". "

- Jeremiah 1:6-8 (ESV)

Sunday greetings. This is a verse that I've been meditating on a lot recently. It's content, I find, is encouraging in two ways for young people. Firstly, there's the fact that Jeremiah was himself obviously a youth, and yet the Lord chose him to become a prophet to the nation of Israel! So much for adults running everything. Secondly, the words themselves. I don't know about you, but so often, especially in a church situation, you can feel a little dispensible and shunted aside, as if your presence makes no difference whatsoever to church life. I'm sure this isn't just an issue if you are a youth, but it probably makes it more of an issue. But here, God is saying, outright, that it doesn't matter about your age, because if He has chosen you to be of service in some way, He will be with you. Just as much as with an experienced pastor or elder. He knows what He's doing when he chooses a disciple for a job.

Okay, that's really one point and not two, but my writing on here is more stream-of-consciousness than anything else. So excuse me if any confusion occurs.

Well, happy days and peaceful nights for a while, until the blogmeister returns.

KTF

Tom

Reading - The Penelopiad (Margaret Atwood)

Partying to - Crimson (Alkaline Trio)

Spendthrift?

Blueberries. Pot. Tumbleweed. A few words of welcome into the New Year! Hope everybody has had a crazy Yuletide and NY, and a happy one to you if I have been rude enough not to talk to you. In search of something to do on this dark snowy afternoon in early January, I stumbled upon an epiphany. Why not create a weblog, Tom? I thought to myself. Everybody else is doing it. Which, I hasten to add, is not usually a very good reason to do something. Especially if it involves being drunk AND parked on the edge of a cliff, or needle drugs. So, I wended my merry way to a blogspot creating company (which I'm not going to plug any more, because their name is already on the page, at least once), and ta-da!.. here is Tom's blogspot - Caulfield Empathies.

Ever read the novel Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger? It's so wonderful I read it in two days. Not while I was supposed to be studying. Anyway, the protagonist in this gem of a book is Holden Caulfield, who's a bit random and likes to horse around. Stuck for an original name for my blogspot, this name lit upon me like a fly on a pile of three-day old horse manure. Not that I smell bad or anything, it just wasn't a great idea. To be honest, it sounds like the sort of name an emo band would adopt, but don't tell them, because they might start crying.

Harsh.

So, enjoy ranting rambles through the hedgerows of a probably demented sociopath (would I know if i was insane?..), and remember that sometimes, just sometimes, 3 is a magic number.

God bless,

Tom