Hey guys!
Well I'll make this short and sweet.
A couple of days ago, my email account was hacked into, and I was forced to delete it. I tried to change my email address, but blogger is giving me problems, so I've decided to take this opportunity to move to another blogging service. I was considering deleting this one altogether, however, tumblr, the new service I've decided on, doesn't import blogs, so it will stay online, although abandoned [sad face], for I will no longer be posting here.
I would like everyone to click here for the link to my new blog, if you can't, simply go to chroniclingmontax.tumblr.com to view my blog.Thanks for all of your support, you guys! you've been amazing!
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
advice... well meaning if nothing else.
I was studying for finals when I all of a sudden had a friend send me a message on facebook, depicting a video he wanted to share with me and discuss when I had the chance. It is the video described above.
I would sincerely like your thoughts once you watch it.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Prayer: Best served Dry and Covered in Doubt.
The morning greets me with a sense of estrangement. The clock reads twenty-'til, and I left my phone in the car. I'm still in my pajamas, feeling less handsome and more homely, less prodigious and more pitiful, and I don't know whether it is sad thing nor a liberating thing. Nor whether or not I should care either way.
I suppose what concerns me today is merely me, but I've recently come to look at myself as "less ____ than..."; less brilliant than my classmates, less handsome than the guys with girlfriends (or boyfriends, depending), less capable than the ones in my life who accomplish anything. Less than, less than, less than: it's been ringing in the hallway maze of my mind, and I've been searching of how to get rid of it: to drown it out with my own saying otherwise. I've been trying to find out how to explain to myself the constant lack of confidence, the cringes of disapproval upon every picture of myself on facebook, the less than attitude of myself in comparison to everyone.
A part of me feels like the same avenues are useless: My body and my mind know all of my tricks. The same distractions won't do anymore; I don't know how to fool myself into being self-confident, how to fool myself into being self-sufficient, how to fool myself into doing anything. A part of me feels trapped in my own skin syrupy mind.
And a part of me feels like a waste, how the best things that I could think of could change the world, and will never be able done by another, how this time is meant for me, and that is why I am here. How the general's horn is sounding and I should be answering, not laying in my cot.
But my body feels foreign; heavy, like a suit of armor. My soul feels frustrated at the daily beating, and we don't seem to be getting any stronger, any more pretty, any smarter, just hearing more of the same in all the words spoken to us from our mother and our friends, the actions, the plans made for us, the plans made without us. We aren't strong. We aren't pretty. We aren't smart. My body says to me, echoing in the halls of my mind. I can't turn the music up loud enough in my ears or my head: they just chant louder.
So here I lay, ugly, stupid, and weak, my body too heavy, the chanting too loud. I have no one beside me, and no future before me, but I know I'll keep pushing for Pushing's sake.
And I look in the mirror, give it a kiss.
"Look at me, Baby. We'll be fine.
Look at me, Baby. We'll be fine.
'Cause all We've got to do is to be brave and be kind."
Baby, We'll Be Fine by youngestson
I suppose what concerns me today is merely me, but I've recently come to look at myself as "less ____ than..."; less brilliant than my classmates, less handsome than the guys with girlfriends (or boyfriends, depending), less capable than the ones in my life who accomplish anything. Less than, less than, less than: it's been ringing in the hallway maze of my mind, and I've been searching of how to get rid of it: to drown it out with my own saying otherwise. I've been trying to find out how to explain to myself the constant lack of confidence, the cringes of disapproval upon every picture of myself on facebook, the less than attitude of myself in comparison to everyone.
A part of me feels like the same avenues are useless: My body and my mind know all of my tricks. The same distractions won't do anymore; I don't know how to fool myself into being self-confident, how to fool myself into being self-sufficient, how to fool myself into doing anything. A part of me feels trapped in my own skin syrupy mind.
And a part of me feels like a waste, how the best things that I could think of could change the world, and will never be able done by another, how this time is meant for me, and that is why I am here. How the general's horn is sounding and I should be answering, not laying in my cot.
But my body feels foreign; heavy, like a suit of armor. My soul feels frustrated at the daily beating, and we don't seem to be getting any stronger, any more pretty, any smarter, just hearing more of the same in all the words spoken to us from our mother and our friends, the actions, the plans made for us, the plans made without us. We aren't strong. We aren't pretty. We aren't smart. My body says to me, echoing in the halls of my mind. I can't turn the music up loud enough in my ears or my head: they just chant louder.
So here I lay, ugly, stupid, and weak, my body too heavy, the chanting too loud. I have no one beside me, and no future before me, but I know I'll keep pushing for Pushing's sake.
And I look in the mirror, give it a kiss.
"Look at me, Baby. We'll be fine.
Look at me, Baby. We'll be fine.
'Cause all We've got to do is to be brave and be kind."
Baby, We'll Be Fine by youngestson
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Oh Joy, Where Art Thou?
President Obama announced approximately an hour ago that Osama Bin Laden was killed by US Forces. There is talk of celebrating in Washington DC and New York. I don't watch.
I need not to say nor hear all the reasons any American would see this as good. The final defeat that comes to Bin Laden, death, is in someway comforting to the patriot. Death is a form of retribution. Death is a form of punishment. Only one person has escaped it, that I know of-- a prophet that could easily be painted as abrasive or obnoxious, going on record to mock those of other faiths. He lived a life of exile, but his message was harsh, and he didn't spare feelings or mince words. He was the prophet Elijah, and instead of dying, God himself sent down a chariot of fire to greet him and carry him off to heaven. Not having a chariot of fire take you from the earth and dying on the same rock as the people you have avidly sought to destroy comes as a relief to us. We, the inhabitants of this earth, find it to be a comfort, because then we can know that you are not an Elijah. You are not favored by God. You are not right.
Perhaps another reason this poses such a surprising reaction within me is because, according to the bible, there will be peace in the middle east in the book of revelation. I don't usually go with the bible theories, but I still find it troubling, even politically speaking. I don't know who will take his place, this man who caused some of the most disturbing times in America's history. Biblically speaking, I do not know whether I would be more troubled if no one replaced him, and only more tension rose in the middle east between 8 different factions where 2 once stood.
So, what do you feel about it? How does his death affect you? Leave a comment below.
I need not to say nor hear all the reasons any American would see this as good. The final defeat that comes to Bin Laden, death, is in someway comforting to the patriot. Death is a form of retribution. Death is a form of punishment. Only one person has escaped it, that I know of-- a prophet that could easily be painted as abrasive or obnoxious, going on record to mock those of other faiths. He lived a life of exile, but his message was harsh, and he didn't spare feelings or mince words. He was the prophet Elijah, and instead of dying, God himself sent down a chariot of fire to greet him and carry him off to heaven. Not having a chariot of fire take you from the earth and dying on the same rock as the people you have avidly sought to destroy comes as a relief to us. We, the inhabitants of this earth, find it to be a comfort, because then we can know that you are not an Elijah. You are not favored by God. You are not right.
Perhaps another reason this poses such a surprising reaction within me is because, according to the bible, there will be peace in the middle east in the book of revelation. I don't usually go with the bible theories, but I still find it troubling, even politically speaking. I don't know who will take his place, this man who caused some of the most disturbing times in America's history. Biblically speaking, I do not know whether I would be more troubled if no one replaced him, and only more tension rose in the middle east between 8 different factions where 2 once stood.
So, what do you feel about it? How does his death affect you? Leave a comment below.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Discovering Who Pishon is
I've recently come to discover a new facet of one of my lesser examined spirits, Pishon. I'll admit, I've always regarded Atticus as my favorite, what with his many virtues and wise ways of being, and Israel has always brought me a level of peace in my day-to-day dealings, but Pishon, until now, I have regarded as a child, his most prominent trait being that of merest curiosity and undying simplicity in the debates the three of them would engage in. Pishon, however, has been responsible for a lot more it seems.
I have discovered that, if Atticus is Wisdom and Judgement, and Israel is Peace and Grace, Pishon is Courage and Strength.
I have tried the highly fancied "following one's bliss," a task I left up to the smallest of the spirits. And so Pishon led me to the springboard.
"But I'm afraid of heights!" I protested at first.
"But it's so cool!" Pishon giggled, disguising his lesson in the most brilliant of smiles.
And so, my racing heart beating off sheer crack-imitating adrenaline, we drove ourselves to the ten meter platform before we set foot on the one meter spring. 3.2 feet vs. 9.8 feet vs. 32.8 feet, and still he pulls me forward. Off each board until we hear the thunder of the metal against the fulcrum and we fall, shoot, splash into the water below like lightning after the sand. And then we strive to do it again, with more tumbles and faster spins, hungry for more air and louder claps of thunder and quieter splashes. Pishon is the wall breaker of my physical being, willing my body to learn how to sing without me ever opening my mouth.
And yet, he is tugging at me again. He's on a mission, and I'm afraid he won't stop until my fears are but shredded ribbons falling to the ground. Maybe he's got a dark side, but I don't mind much, because his sights are my sights, and maybe we should both be locked up... ;}
I have discovered that, if Atticus is Wisdom and Judgement, and Israel is Peace and Grace, Pishon is Courage and Strength.
I have tried the highly fancied "following one's bliss," a task I left up to the smallest of the spirits. And so Pishon led me to the springboard.
"But I'm afraid of heights!" I protested at first.
"But it's so cool!" Pishon giggled, disguising his lesson in the most brilliant of smiles.
And so, my racing heart beating off sheer crack-imitating adrenaline, we drove ourselves to the ten meter platform before we set foot on the one meter spring. 3.2 feet vs. 9.8 feet vs. 32.8 feet, and still he pulls me forward. Off each board until we hear the thunder of the metal against the fulcrum and we fall, shoot, splash into the water below like lightning after the sand. And then we strive to do it again, with more tumbles and faster spins, hungry for more air and louder claps of thunder and quieter splashes. Pishon is the wall breaker of my physical being, willing my body to learn how to sing without me ever opening my mouth.
And yet, he is tugging at me again. He's on a mission, and I'm afraid he won't stop until my fears are but shredded ribbons falling to the ground. Maybe he's got a dark side, but I don't mind much, because his sights are my sights, and maybe we should both be locked up... ;}
Sunday, April 17, 2011
An Interesting Thought
So I'm reading chapter 7 of Romans, the first time in what seems like ages, and I read the first half, as stated in the NIV version:
But I feel the need to also put up what Paul argues as well:
The point that I was trying to make was that, homosexuals, in accordance with the old law, were to be punished with death. We were also hailed as detestable. But with God's death, we were freed of those things, and given the marriage example, our desire to be loved by another man is no longer punishable by the old law, because we are alive in Christ, which means death to the old Law.
But of Course, I would like to open the floor to my readers, the intellectuals and academics, the patient and the wise, to openly criticize and support my findings. As iron sharpens iron, so shall we to each other.
1 Do you not know, brothers and sisters—for I am speaking to those who know the law—that the law has authority over someone only as long as that person lives? 2 For example, by law a married woman is bound to her husband as long as he is alive, but if her husband dies, she is released from the law that binds her to him. 3 So then, if she has sexual relations with another man while her husband is still alive, she is called an adulteress. But if her husband dies, she is released from that law and is not an adulteress if she marries another man.I feel that in this passage in the a key point to peace between me and the God model through orthodox Christianity. The example presented explicitly illustrates that, by the law of God, a woman is tied to her divorced husband for as long as he lives. It is then by this case that, once he is dead, and is no longer tied to the Law that governs the living, she is then released by the stipulation to marry whom she wishes. It goes on to say that, with the death of Jesus, and extension of God, the Law is then null and void, so that we can redeem ourselves through this new life-- we are then free to marry again, because our husband is dead...
4 So, my brothers and sisters, you also died to the law through the body of Christ, that you might belong to another, to him who was raised from the dead, in order that we might bear fruit for God. 5 For when we were in the realm of the flesh,[a] the sinful passions aroused by the law were at work in us, so that we bore fruit for death. 6 But now, by dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit, and not in the old way of the written code. [Romans 7:1-4]
But I feel the need to also put up what Paul argues as well:
What shall we say, then? Is the law sinful? Certainly not! Nevertheless, I would not have known what sin was had it not been for the law. For I would not have known what coveting really was if the law had not said, “You shall not covet.”[b] 8 But sin, seizing the opportunity afforded by the commandment, produced in me every kind of coveting. For apart from the law, sin was dead. 9 Once I was alive apart from the law; but when the commandment came, sin sprang to life and I died. 10 I found that the very commandment that was intended to bring life actually brought death. 11 For sin, seizing the opportunity afforded by the commandment, deceived me, and through the commandment put me to death. 12 So then, the law is holy, and the commandment is holy, righteous and good. [Romans 7: 7-12]Get it? Got the difference? Good. Moving on...
The point that I was trying to make was that, homosexuals, in accordance with the old law, were to be punished with death. We were also hailed as detestable. But with God's death, we were freed of those things, and given the marriage example, our desire to be loved by another man is no longer punishable by the old law, because we are alive in Christ, which means death to the old Law.
But of Course, I would like to open the floor to my readers, the intellectuals and academics, the patient and the wise, to openly criticize and support my findings. As iron sharpens iron, so shall we to each other.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
"This time next year?"
The words echo in my head. Although I said them, her voice is attached to them. This time, next year... next year seems so far. Too far.
I am a complete and total failure when it comes to long-term goals. I lament the lack of mental fortitude on my part to complete projects that would ask more that a smidgen of my potential. Now comes another, and the stakes are high. The stakes are so high.
"It's just a school," says a half-spirit, his voice tired and a perpetual yawn. "You are smart enough. You don't need to go there.. It's just Berkeley. Besides, you can't do it."
"Would you button it?" Pishon responds, but he raises his hand to stifle an involuntary exhale. "I wanna go! It sounds wonderful! Musicians and friends. Literature Heads and Math Wizards! Can't you imagine?! Why don't we try our hardest?"
"But people better than us haven't gotten in!" says the nameless voice. "What hope do we have?"
"More than enough, with you gone." Israel snaps. "And stop saying 'we', like you are a part of us. I know who you are, Sloth. I've grown tired of you, you saboteur. You have no business being here."
"Oh, off your high horse!" He steps out of the shadows. "I've been here since before you were conceived. I know this soul inside and out. I bring him pleasure when his mind is blank and his body is lax. I have brought out the contentment in stillness."
"Oh, so wrong, boyo," Atticus objects. "You have plagued him, kept him dependent and hostile. You have allowed his to grow weak and insecure with your partners in crime. You do not belong. He loves you no more. He has grown tired of you."
Atticus, Israel, Pishon, such wonderful protectors. They are the friends I will need as I head into this War. It has been a war of attrition, and I've been on the losing side, but I've got a star on the dark horizon, a promise and a deadline. Heading through the haze I must go. I must pack my bags.
I am a complete and total failure when it comes to long-term goals. I lament the lack of mental fortitude on my part to complete projects that would ask more that a smidgen of my potential. Now comes another, and the stakes are high. The stakes are so high.
"It's just a school," says a half-spirit, his voice tired and a perpetual yawn. "You are smart enough. You don't need to go there.. It's just Berkeley. Besides, you can't do it."
"Would you button it?" Pishon responds, but he raises his hand to stifle an involuntary exhale. "I wanna go! It sounds wonderful! Musicians and friends. Literature Heads and Math Wizards! Can't you imagine?! Why don't we try our hardest?"
"But people better than us haven't gotten in!" says the nameless voice. "What hope do we have?"
"More than enough, with you gone." Israel snaps. "And stop saying 'we', like you are a part of us. I know who you are, Sloth. I've grown tired of you, you saboteur. You have no business being here."
"Oh, off your high horse!" He steps out of the shadows. "I've been here since before you were conceived. I know this soul inside and out. I bring him pleasure when his mind is blank and his body is lax. I have brought out the contentment in stillness."
"Oh, so wrong, boyo," Atticus objects. "You have plagued him, kept him dependent and hostile. You have allowed his to grow weak and insecure with your partners in crime. You do not belong. He loves you no more. He has grown tired of you."
Atticus, Israel, Pishon, such wonderful protectors. They are the friends I will need as I head into this War. It has been a war of attrition, and I've been on the losing side, but I've got a star on the dark horizon, a promise and a deadline. Heading through the haze I must go. I must pack my bags.
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