New Sensation

I had a new sensation this morning while waiting on the train. I felt my left eyebrow freeze. Well, I'm pretty sure that's what it is. I should say that I've also felt my nose hairs freeze. Apparently not everyone has experienced this sensation. If you've played with tiny magnets and felt them pull each other. It kinda feels like that, except in your nose. It kinda tickles too.  I must admit I kinda liked it.

The eyebrow thing is new, though. It felt like there was cake icing in eyebrow. I always figured my eyebrows were pretty dry, but I wonder if some residual shower water was trapped in my eyebrow hairs. At any rate, it was a new sensation.

And I kinda liked it.

Image(s)

Leaning my head against the train window,
closing my eyes to try and get a short nap,
the morning sun and shadow flicker violently against my eyelids
and I remember why I hate riding on this side of the train.


------------------------------------------------------------
Driving to catch the 7:46 I project my own desire
for quiet time with God on the man in a suit with a pepper beard,
floating through the mist, wearing a Taqiyah and weaving
his prayer beads around his wrists and hands.

Water'd heaven with their tears

I do not understand much of anything in this world. And I can't even begin to understand the madness and evil that led the despicable act in Connecticut today. It's clear this world so unsafe and dreadful at times. I don't get it. I know there is hope. I believe in the hope found in Christ. I still can't make sense of this insanity, though.

For some reason it all made me think of the mad man, poet, philosopher, prophet, artist, and visionary, William Blake. He seemed to see paradoxes in the world pretty clearly. Some would say he was nuts. Maybe that's the same thing.

At any rate, here are a few of his poems that echo some of my feelings on the event.

Holy Thursday

Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty! And their sun does never shine. And their fields are bleak & bare. And their ways are fill'd with thorns. It is eternal winter there. For where-e’er the sun does shine, And where-e’er the rain does fall: Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall. The Lamb Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild, He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little lamb, God bless thee! Little lamb, God bless thee! The Tyger Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare sieze the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Explanation

So this is my first blog post since November 20. I'll be honest, I'm on hiatus. At least I hope it's a hiatus. I have no plans for this silence to be permanent. I'm just, well, mentally tired. And a bit overwhelmed. I enjoyed writing every day, but it was not easy. It was hard to think of something to write about every day for forty days. It's one thing to write something whenever you feel like, but writing every day is a bit like exercise. Well, it's a lot like exercise. So, right now I'm reading, thinking, praying listening to new music and playing games. Seriously, I got some gift money and gift cards for my birthday, so I downloaded some new iPad games and some music as well.

I will be back. Really. I will. Don't give me that look.

I saw that.

What She Said

Great author and blogger, Rachel Held Evans, wrote an excellent post about the same issue I discussed in my "I Told You So" post. I highly recommend you read this article, especially before you sit down with family and friends for Thanksgiving meals that could involve political discussions.

Here are a few quotes from the post:

This, I believe, is the real evangelical disaster—not that Barack Obama is president and Mitt Romney is not, but that evangelicalism has gotten so enmeshed with politics, its success or failure can be gauged by an election.

Beautifully written:

And no matter what happens in the halls of power, we will never be part of a disaster. Instead, we will be part of a stubborn and relentless movement of hope—the kind of hope that can heal the world.

Check out the rest of the article here. She has a great blog I don't read often enough.