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

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 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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?

5/09/18

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? 

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?'

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.