Showing posts with label Poetria. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetria. Show all posts

Monday, May 20, 2019

Priests of LMGTFY Culture




Who can get whom to do what with their bodies?
Take
Eat
From all the trees
But not this one
Remember lest ye forget
Indeterminate future manifestations abound

The goal is to discover
We call it mathematics for a reason
Hempel's ravens provide for us a clue
Knowing is a process, not an event
Their eyes were opened and they knew
They were advanced, but not scientific

We think we write our script
They actually do

It's now Us versus Them
Moderns or Primitives
Those of the Present or Past
Science or Tradition
Reason or Revelation
Jet sons or Flint stones

In their dispensation of the printing press
God became a book
In our dispensation of "Secret" in Swahili
Blogs become gods
Non-penetrative
Cyborgic extensions
Habituating their bodies to not know anything without the gods







Thursday, January 31, 2019

Psalmos 10•3





How dare you
Perpetuate ignorance 
Denying Science 
Elevating your ego 
Above the heavens 

Religion is a poison 
In a hundred years 
Its death is inevitable 
Progress is the real antidote
For our ancestral disease 

Can’t you see the problem? 
If you teach contrary to Science
Entire generations will devolve
Civilization as we know it will regress
Must we return to the middle-ages?

Your beliefs are the real threat
If the foundations of facts are destroyed
What can the righteous do? 
You can’t possibly remain so illogical
In light of all the progress we’ve made

How dare you
Above the heavens
Elevating your ego
Denying Science 
Perpetuate ignorance 





Monday, December 24, 2018

Cliffnotes




I read it all
Every jot and tittle
It's all or nothing
So I'm told
In the beginning
Adam took notes
Named every creature
Even his wife
Begat in perfect tens
Two sevenths from him were also special
One proclaims the need for justice
The other walks with gods
Who play an important role
Three days of forming
Three days of filling
It was evening
It was morning
Then seventh day had no end
The story prefigures a promised rest
Adam falls like Israel
Failing to enter that rest
Exiled east of the temple
But his children were still welcome to draw near 
Jachin and Boaz with two flaming swords
The younger son draws near according to the Law
The firstborn destroys his brother
Is exiled east of Eden
He receives a city of refuge as his mark 
The deluge parallels the fire of Sodom
And the brimstone of Gomorrah
Offspring of gods are produced
Babelic empires are dispersed
A temple on water is built for rest
War-bows are made to be seen by the Most High
Patriarchs are viewed as princes by all
Giving away their sisters
Not once, but twice
The Canaanite friendly wife takes a look back
As a perpetual witness to a covenant of salt
The seed of Adam remains special and protected
A covenant remains secured
Even the king of peace receives tithes
Eve's daughter grows old and bears a son
The slavegirl and her son are cast out though
Only the freeborn son remains
Only the freeborn is sacrificed on a mountain
Where the temple would be built
To be raised from death
Or receive a lamb to pioneer for him
I read all of this
Every jot and tittle
Must be true
So I'm told
But what if every jot was beside the point
What if each tittle need not be precisely true
But merely to be faithful
To a promise
To a tradition
To a word of God
To a word from God
Who spoke through the prophets
Who prescribed and proscribed how to draw near
And how to be raised from the dead ones
And when that tradition became an empire
Of tribal allegiance with heavy burdens and no rest
Exiled east of the Garden
East of the temple
East of the promised rest
Scribes scrambled to collate and redact
To prescribe and proscribe their tribalism
Yet according to promise
Through a living tradition
When god became vellum
The word became flesh
And tabernacled among them
To rival their gods
And to raise their dead ones
Because the word of God is inspired
The word of God is infallible
The word of God is inerrant
The word of God read it all, too
And his apostles took notes











Friday, November 23, 2018

Myopia





Words clothe God's silence with meaning
Describe a sunrise to the blind
Democracies of ideas aren't enough to comprehend it
Shibboleths of collective identity politics forbid it
Life wastes away because of suffering
A spirit captivates us
Drunk on democracy we cave in
A spirit of consumption
A spirit of cancer
A spirit of addiction
Fear repels us away 
Instead of drawing us closer
Fear is the real suffering
Fear is where the real pain is felt
Fear is also the antidote
Life wastes away because of suffering
You watch me suffer and tell me I don't need to
Being human is not qualification enough for you
Don't allow suffering and pain to go to waste
A word has already clothed God's silence with meaning





Saturday, August 18, 2018

Loving to Know






What does it take?
...
To reach the point of no return
To say, I can't anymore
I don't even want to anymore
I need You
I want You
For ever more than now
Don't fix things for me—Fix me
Fix all of me or none of me
In Your mercy exact justice
I trust Your judgment—I don't trust mine
I deserve it
What ever that is 

I'm more than a fool
Lost without You
Leading others astray from the Holy
Feet running swiftly toward the void
None of my paths are peace
I only know how to survive
And not very well
When You serve me justice I will need more 

That stream which I poisoned
How can it be purified?
I don't trust my passions
I don't trust in flesh anymore
I used You as my crutch 
I polluted wells
For fun or out of spite
You were elevator music to me
I never had to learn Your rhythm
You were just there in the background
For my listening pleasure
Or to annoy me
As evil as that sounds
It's true 

Now I don't want to live without You
Have mercy on me
According to the multitude of Your tender mercies
Heal my soul
For I have sinned against You
Give me life or give me death
I know what I deserve
Whatever You choose
Do so for the sake of Your name alone
My name isn't worthy
Uproot and plant anew
Kill and make alive

As You wish
Thy will be done
Not mine
I just want what You want
Happy is he that findeth
Happy is he that getteth
Happy is he that retaineth
Happy is he
...
What must I do now? 










Filling the Void







Wisdom hurts 
Like a broken nose
It cannot be touched lightly
Its damage is done
It can’t be unspoken
Rewinding the clock doesn’t heal its bruising
Even without batteries it keeps ticking
Only more can be spoken 
Even its silence is speech 
Beware of its soft words 
Many bones are broken by them
Its quietude is as cloaked daggers
That which has been done in silence is worthy of the Father
To possess this Word is to hear its silence
For it acts through what is spoken
And is known through its silence
Its mysteries were loudly proclaimed
Yet are accomplished in the silence of God







Sunday, July 29, 2018

Matthew 11:29






Expose the dishonest
Listen to the self-deceived
Confront the rebel
Support the surrendered
Bring low the pride of the haughty
Offer forgiveness for the guilt-crushed
Abolish the schemes of nations
Provide hope for the despairing 
Humble the exalted
Exalt the humble
Ransom the prisoners
Comfort the discouraged
Impoverish those rich by corruption
Enrich the poor in spirit
Turn back those who wander
Destroy and make alive
Die for the sake of others
Practice resurrection like Jesus







Friday, July 6, 2018

John 3:20



Light investing the saint
crowns the virtues with dispassion
fulfills the desires beyond expectation
chases away all distracting passions
banishes the powers of darkness
opens up the depths of oracles 
makes the saint himself scripture
giving boldness before God
receiving the robe that Human Life lost
interceding on behalf of others
consuming the stains of sin
radiating the presence of the age to come
shimmering the brilliance of its pledge of immortality
Light invests the saint












Wednesday, July 4, 2018

My Lady






At nights and at the dawn of day, I bow before the great radiance of the light of your loveliness
Light unfailing you allowed to dawn upon me, letting me tell everyone of your wonders with fitting loyalty, each one in their proper season
In the name of the father who made you a jewel of his heart, and of the son who veiled himself with your flesh, and of the spirit whose hovering over you brought sweet and glorious new creation, I sing to you
Sacrifice I offer you, my lady, even the fullness of praise that my heart can conceive, and my mind able to perform
O lady, my garden that brings forth aromatic herbs and pleasant aromas, my summer and spring, you are my portico of prayer, my festoon of heavenliness
Night and day I beseech you, my lady, that I may enter your sanctuary, where I am protected from the whispering of those who malign and slander, and find rest from the tongue of the proud who find fault in me








Thursday, June 28, 2018

Not Yet















How does the infinite distance itself and yet draw us so intimately near?
How do you make peace and yet appoint calamity?
How do you both enrage the depths and yet level the waves of the sea?
How are you everywhere and yet not in this or that?
How are you omnipotent over all and yet happily delegating authority to mankind over all?
How do you provide patient endurance for your slaves without crushing them, and yet allow freemen to be crushed by the weight of their own glory?
How do you prevent mortals from perishing and yet prevent immortals from redemption?
How do you become one with a human being?
How do you drag darkness into your light?
How do you illumine my soul and yet not others around me?
How do you fan the flames of love within me and yet wound my thigh through wrestling?
How are you enduring patiently with me always and yet responding with perfect severity at times?
How are you omniscient and yet tolerant of my shenanigans?
How do you enforce your law upon your firstborn and yet relax your sanctions when my age and prodigality increase?
How do you listen to the prayers of the whole world and yet stop your ears to hearing my wickedness?
How does the infinite unite with this terra firma and yet not drag all of heaven down with it?







Tuesday, June 19, 2018

The New Mythicists




We deplore myths because they're not scientific, not logical, not atomic enough
We neglect the ultimate source of truth and embrace novelty and exploration with enthusiasm
We encourage youth to be more open, more honest, more vulnerable, more creative
We think that if there is an opinion to be had, there is an entitlement to express it
We unwittingly welcome more manipulation
There is no more slowness of speech
No more haste to listen only
Just wrath, just wrath, just wrath
Like and share the exhibitionism
Click the agree button and subscribe to future programming
We think and act and play God impulsively
We can see that air bubbles in ice crystals hold the key to understanding our past 100,000 years ago
We hear that search engine behemoths, space traveling virtuosos, and Antarctic treaties hold the key to understanding our future 100,000 years from now
We are told that Ezekiel, Zechariah, and Daniel, as well as Joel, Jude, and John all hold the key to understanding our present wars and rumors of wars
We imbibe and indulge anew, day after day, that which we deplore because of the sugary facts we are fed






Thursday, May 10, 2018

Metamorphosis





What would man be like without it?
How could man know what to do?
By shelving it, there would be war

No voice could be heard
No individual could lay hands on themselves
No hope in this life or the next

Every thing changes without it
Every man must at least have God in paperback
Every accent and root must produce a fresh sermon
Every year a new and better denomination must evolve

Does she still have to walk the yellow brick road?
What if the beginning or end is never revealed? 
Does she still get to compose new chapters with her silver slippers?
What if the chromium rich land and gem-shelled sky has already come?
What if the one book just witnessed to its coming magic?
What if that magic already flows to all four corners of the land? 
Does she get to drink of it or not, to swim with or against its current?
What if all we ever see is the end of the beginning?
Does she still co-author each season of life?

Every year a branch could be grafted in
Every day another wound would begin to heal
Every man could then safely draw near to their cocoon
Every thing in the cosmos would change with new wings

No one could cast a spell or a curse on anyone but themselves
No concordance or confession could define it perfectly
No voice could be muted

By putting down all weapons, there would be peace
Does she want peace or a sword?
Must we drop the magic book to taste and see Goodness?


-JS (5/09/18)












Sunday, January 28, 2018

Dark Side of the Moon





Who really knows science so called?
Scientia potentia est is the theoretical dictum
Spinning faster than the speed of sound
Spiraling through an infinite vacuum
Perusing across this terra firma
All is fine as long as one giant leap is made on behalf of mankind 

Satellites everywhere now fill our eyes with wonder and glory
The ideocracy of globulizing and scientizing reality captivates us
The opposite of joy is unearthed once we begin to question authority
Friendships become feuds with comments like daggers
Marriages liquidize like coconut oil in hot summer pantries
Dresden like bombings of cynicism anesthetize our minds 

Just as water within its container always finds its own level
So the atomization of everything razes the science of being
Who cares if material presupposes existence?
The electromagnetism and sacramentality of it all still remains
After the mushroom cloud dissipates and the trending tweets die down

Indwelling the personal is what we really need to know and be known 

Existence is what science needs for every one to be known at all
Like the two things every monk is taught to avoid at all costs
Sacramentality and its authority are what scientism must deflect our attention away from
The plane truth underlies it all while the dreams of man dominate one small step at a time
Potentia est scientia is the official praxis
Who really sciences knowledge so called? 





Thursday, December 28, 2017

Let Us Be Attentive




Slow down your thoughts, hazed and needy to escape.
Slow down your anxieties, apprehended by the motives of others.
Slow down your ambitions, carrying you off to a place of honor and glory.
Slow down your busyness, distracting you from prayer every hour.
Slow down your feet, swift to walk toward convenience.
Slow down your hands, pointing and prodding in other directions.
Slow down your eyes, zoomed in to what's wrong with the world.
Slow down your ears, tuned into scandal and hearsay.
Slow down your mouth, regurgitating popular dogma.
Slow down bothering with who's wrong and who's right.
Slow down and concern yourself only with what is true or false.
Slow down everything.
Then ask, 'Why is anyone morally obligated to believe or do what is true?'

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

The Proclamation of Mortal Man



I am weary, O God.1
I am weary, O God, but I can persevere.
Indeed, I am too dull of a man to discern.
For I have reached my limit and I don't even have the understanding of Adam.
I have not yet learned wisdom, but I know it can be attained.

Who on earth has gone up to you to bring wisdom down to us?
Who has walked the recesses of the deep?
Who has comprehended every detail of land?
Who has entered the storehouses of snow and hail?
What is his name, and what is his son's name?
Surely You know!

Our lives are filled with various trials and dangers.
And so You say, "Take refuge in Me."
Even if we don't consider every word of Yours to be true.
Even if You rebuke us when we add words to the invitation.
Every word proves true.
Our lies are found out.

Oh God, please consider helping me by granting two things before I die. 
I need deliverance from my most basic temptations--those of falsehood and lying. 
If I only had daily bread, the bread sufficient for each day.
I wouldn't be tempted to suppress You or transgress Your law in times of poverty or wealth.

I wouldn't be tempted to slander your servants to their employers. 
I have done that before, and ultimately to my shame.
Every generation seems to act shamefully as I have.
There is cursing of fathers and mothers.
There is hypocrisy in how they view others while not seeing their own filth.
There is great audacity and condemnation in their eyes.
There is a relentless disregard for even the poorest of souls.
As long as that is what it takes to remain wise in their own eyes,
They're like the blood sucking leech and their spawn, crying out, "Give! Give!"

I ponder this vast domain of Yours, and the way they strive for satisfaction without You.
They're insatiable, like the grave or the womb which can't even produce life.
They're like parched land or an entire valley on fire.
Their eyes lead them into shameful desolation.
They could look for the wisdom from above, but they won't.
This mortal existence, and all its wisdom down here, is the only viewing they take pleasure in.

Many more things astonish me, and I don't understand how they can continue living as they do.
They rationalize their adulteries away, as though they have done no wrong.
They feast on violence and then wipe the blood off their lips, leaving no trail behind.
Like an eagle in the sky, or a snake slithering across a rock.
Like a ship in the heart of the ocean, or the way of a successful man with an impressionable woman.

The whole land trembles over such disordered desires.
The weight of it all cannot be sustained forever.
Consider the slave who finally becomes Emperor.
Or the senseless fool, filled with food at the celebration of his coronation. 
Or the servant-girl who, somehow, some way, displaces her Queen.
Or the lady whom we all thought would never get married because of how insufferable she often is.
Do you think she will magically change overnight in her wisdom once she receives a husband?

Even many frail animals serve as lessons of wisdom for us mortals.
The ants prepare for bad times during good times.
The rock badgers provide security for each other.
The locusts cooperate together. 
The geckos are defenseless, but they live in well-fortified palaces.

There is also a proper grandeur which God has given to His creation.
The lion, mightiest of beasts, retreats before nothing.
The rooster walks bravely among female hens.
The hunting-dog is another, as well as the king whose army is with him.
As long as mortals remain wise in their own eyes, foolishly exalting themselves above others,
Instead of being exalted by others,
We can only hope that they cover their mouths while talking.
Raging against others will only provoke further strife, of which we have plenty already.

Rules and prescriptions alone are not able to fix the brokenness all around us.2 
Libraries of law won't suffice for the healing of generations either.
Only the wisdom from above can come down and save us.
The wisdom from below is earthly, unspiritual, and demonic.
If any of us lacks wisdom from above, ask God for it.
He gives generously to all those who do so, and without rebuke or disapproval.
But be sure to ask in loyal trust of the One you're asking,
With no doubting about what you receive as being from the Lord.
If you remain double-minded in your loyalty, don't presume that you'll receive anything from Him.
Let the lowly brother boast in being exalted by Him.
And the rich brother boast in being humbled by Him.
Because like a flower of the field, each will pass away.










1. The inspiration for this comes directly from my reflections upon the Book of Proverbs, chapter 30, and the Book of Wisdom, chapter 2.
2. The inspiration for this comes from the book of James.