The two most recent posts were a little old, but I decided to publish them anyway. By a little old, what I mean is that I wrote them last week. This is my professional, uber-official, materialistic, shady business press release stating that I will be moving blogs. After 200+ posts, nearly all of them being self-reflective, I sense that it is time to move on. To put it simply, introspection has become rather miserable to me. Not to say that I have quit introspection all together, but I'm bored of it right now. A change of scenery (as far as scenery on the internet goes).
I have already started a new blog. If you are interested, here is the url: http://sketchbookworship.blogspot.ca/.
This might be the end of Stilts to Heaven, which is a sad thought. For one thing, this blog has received a lot more traffic than expected. This idea of success is pompous though, it's meaningless in and of itself. But if you want to know a little secret, I am currently at 11,398 page views. I mean, that's not great or amazing, but it's more than I expected. Thank you to those who took time to read. I don't plan on deleting this blog (I am very susceptible to nostalgia, after all).
I might be back, I might not be.
Thank you and farewell,
stiltstoheaven
Sunday 16 November 2014
At Odds
The certainty I have of the present is not near as accurate as the certainty I have of the past. I've seen it happen, time and time again. The person I was during our exchanged departures was very wrong. Yes, he was very mistaken indeed. I remember not wanting to be that person, but I couldn't help it. No, that's not true. Perhaps the person I was at the time was beyond the control of the will, but that's not the only utility I had then or even have now. I did not know how to not be that person, the opportunity never seemed real to me. But no, that doesn't mean that I couldn't help it.
The person I am now is the person I should have been when we departed from each other. If only I had been as forlorn as I am now! That sounds preposterous. Based on my reflections and writings, I have good reason to believe that internal willingness does not always bring forth external fruition. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I'm not actually the most charitable toward other people. Maybe this will serve as a reminder to myself and bring about something good.
I remember saying a long while ago that "things really can get better," but with the things I now hold in mind, my doubts are greater than they once were. These things I hold in mind both come from personal and non-personal experience, that is to say, the experience of other people. I won't say that all hope is lost though. I don't believe that I am the origin of hope itself, and with that belief I assume that hope exists somewhere else, and since I have not been everywhere else, I think there is still a chance that hope exists. That's not the most rigorous logic, but I think it has some substance.
I'm missing those times when my almost Gnostic tendencies raged inside of me. Not to say that I've shed them completely, but I miss when the spiritual was held in higher esteem than the material. I want the reality of the spiritual, but I don't know how to get there. Again, the will fails.
Thinking back, I used to really anticipate the thought of Heaven and escaping the earth. It seemed like the most absolute meaningful thing that could happen to a person. Now, this isn't a scot-free ideology, but I think there's something noble to it. It shows the excitement of witnessing God in his fullness. I'm not in that place anymore, though a part of me wants to be. Back then I didn't want human life but I wanted human death so that I could have spiritual life. That being said, this inclination toward physical death certainly wasn't brought out of despair, it's simply that I held a belief that the best spiritual life came after physical death.
And lately, none of these exactly appeal to me.
The person I am now is the person I should have been when we departed from each other. If only I had been as forlorn as I am now! That sounds preposterous. Based on my reflections and writings, I have good reason to believe that internal willingness does not always bring forth external fruition. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I'm not actually the most charitable toward other people. Maybe this will serve as a reminder to myself and bring about something good.
I remember saying a long while ago that "things really can get better," but with the things I now hold in mind, my doubts are greater than they once were. These things I hold in mind both come from personal and non-personal experience, that is to say, the experience of other people. I won't say that all hope is lost though. I don't believe that I am the origin of hope itself, and with that belief I assume that hope exists somewhere else, and since I have not been everywhere else, I think there is still a chance that hope exists. That's not the most rigorous logic, but I think it has some substance.
I'm missing those times when my almost Gnostic tendencies raged inside of me. Not to say that I've shed them completely, but I miss when the spiritual was held in higher esteem than the material. I want the reality of the spiritual, but I don't know how to get there. Again, the will fails.
Thinking back, I used to really anticipate the thought of Heaven and escaping the earth. It seemed like the most absolute meaningful thing that could happen to a person. Now, this isn't a scot-free ideology, but I think there's something noble to it. It shows the excitement of witnessing God in his fullness. I'm not in that place anymore, though a part of me wants to be. Back then I didn't want human life but I wanted human death so that I could have spiritual life. That being said, this inclination toward physical death certainly wasn't brought out of despair, it's simply that I held a belief that the best spiritual life came after physical death.
And lately, none of these exactly appeal to me.
Eyes of the Other
The well has lost its depth
in spite of the sun
Some warm spit
Looking across
how beautiful it is to stop and look into the eyes of the other
in spite of the sun
Some warm spit
Looking across
how beautiful it is to stop and look into the eyes of the other
Saturday 1 November 2014
Emotional Pain
It hasn't been easy keeping my eyes toward the heavens these days. Where the eyes wander, that is where the heart is. Or rather, where the eyes wander, these are the places where I want my heart to be. And the eyes wander to a lot of different places, but since the eyes are not omnipresent, it makes perfect sense that the heart is not found everywhere that is desired. But if I look toward ultimate reality, I might obtain the eyes of eternity. A good heart cannot be found in the world itself, as it exists metaphysically. Looking toward ultimate reality, God, is the first step(?)
Lately I've had this fear of falling into despair. Hopefully this present bridge won't collapse under the weight of future plans. I almost wish there weren't any plans. A world with only thinking and no action seems like bliss. I want for this night to be eternal. I just want to lay here and think so very intently or think so very little that I don't even have to think about it. But if God provides the day, the day has come. And as long as I come, the day is here ... dasein.
Whilst moseying in solitude last night, under the dark sky and between the cold air, I began to think about the pain that I've been suppressing. This pain has been with me for a year now. I have found myself tempted to rid myself of the pain, but I don't even want to do that. It seems as though I'm psychologically addicted to emotional pain. The pain itself is the closest thing I have to the cause of the pain, and I want the cause of the pain so badly because it once brought healing to me, therefore I hold onto the pain itself.
And is what I consider "the cause" actually the cause? Perhaps it's myself who is at fault? I am unsure. I'm not out to make accusations against other people, against other souls. It's just that it gets tiring praying, thinking, and writing about pain.
Lately I've had this fear of falling into despair. Hopefully this present bridge won't collapse under the weight of future plans. I almost wish there weren't any plans. A world with only thinking and no action seems like bliss. I want for this night to be eternal. I just want to lay here and think so very intently or think so very little that I don't even have to think about it. But if God provides the day, the day has come. And as long as I come, the day is here ... dasein.
Whilst moseying in solitude last night, under the dark sky and between the cold air, I began to think about the pain that I've been suppressing. This pain has been with me for a year now. I have found myself tempted to rid myself of the pain, but I don't even want to do that. It seems as though I'm psychologically addicted to emotional pain. The pain itself is the closest thing I have to the cause of the pain, and I want the cause of the pain so badly because it once brought healing to me, therefore I hold onto the pain itself.
And is what I consider "the cause" actually the cause? Perhaps it's myself who is at fault? I am unsure. I'm not out to make accusations against other people, against other souls. It's just that it gets tiring praying, thinking, and writing about pain.
Friday 31 October 2014
The Irony of Assumptions and Judgments
Don't make assumptions! You shouldn't judge others! There are more to these phrases than meets the proverbial eye, especially the myopic eye. These phrases don't mean to avoid assuming or judging at all costs; rather, the meaning found within is to not assume or judge with negativity. When people say these things, they are implicitly giving the person being judged the benefit of the doubt, which is in nature a positive assumption or judgment.
Friday 24 October 2014
Understand
The present really is the most painful thing to me. There must be an element of the human spirit that knows how to read present occurrences better than anything else. Perhaps there's even an element that reads past occurrences better than anything else? Future occurrences? They read books, we read books, they exist in bodies, we exist in libraries.
There's a mammoth temptation inside. Inside this temptation is an ardor for basking in memories. Memories have become my joy.
And yet, I don't spend as much time as I'd like basking in memories. I have a fear toward this desire of mine. Solomon said not to beg for the days gone by.
And here I am examining myself again, I think. But can I truly examine myself. If I and myself are the same thing, how is this examination possible? Can any one thing examine itself? Analyzing words can be very dull, which I just demonstrated.
Isn't it pathetic when ephemeral things become our joy? Joy should be divine. Joy should be God made. Joy should be eternal.
For awhile now, I've been thinking about how selfish my writings are. Tonight I finally feel some regret as I sit here writing about myself. Looking inward can be so mesmerizing at times - the ecstasy of self-consciousness!
But is it good? Ethics and morality should never be subordinate to desire and pleasure. Oh look, it's my inner zealot who will likely disappear in a matter of 10 minutes.
Self-examination has its share of sorrow too, however. But is that so wrong? Perhaps I feel sorrow when I look at myself because I recognize my own spiritual waywardness? And with this learning, I could find resolves. That sounds plausible.
I have somehow managed to will this dark night of the soul. I do not stumble under a sky of new clouds; I comfortably will the existence of these clouds - a vain passion over Godly reason. Why am I doing this to myself?
If only I had eyes to see the God that my heart so desperately wants to love.
There's a mammoth temptation inside. Inside this temptation is an ardor for basking in memories. Memories have become my joy.
And yet, I don't spend as much time as I'd like basking in memories. I have a fear toward this desire of mine. Solomon said not to beg for the days gone by.
And here I am examining myself again, I think. But can I truly examine myself. If I and myself are the same thing, how is this examination possible? Can any one thing examine itself? Analyzing words can be very dull, which I just demonstrated.
Isn't it pathetic when ephemeral things become our joy? Joy should be divine. Joy should be God made. Joy should be eternal.
For awhile now, I've been thinking about how selfish my writings are. Tonight I finally feel some regret as I sit here writing about myself. Looking inward can be so mesmerizing at times - the ecstasy of self-consciousness!
But is it good? Ethics and morality should never be subordinate to desire and pleasure. Oh look, it's my inner zealot who will likely disappear in a matter of 10 minutes.
Self-examination has its share of sorrow too, however. But is that so wrong? Perhaps I feel sorrow when I look at myself because I recognize my own spiritual waywardness? And with this learning, I could find resolves. That sounds plausible.
I have somehow managed to will this dark night of the soul. I do not stumble under a sky of new clouds; I comfortably will the existence of these clouds - a vain passion over Godly reason. Why am I doing this to myself?
If only I had eyes to see the God that my heart so desperately wants to love.
Apparition Chair
I had never found this chair occupied before. There was a slight feeling of hesitation when I glanced around the corner. But there it was, just as I expected, empty. I walked toward, collapsing into the chair. Nothing could take this chair away from me. Certainly not the people below whom I was looking at from the unusually skinny window nearby! I was on the second floor. And then I felt. It was obvious to me, unlike most of my other feelings. It wasn't just a banal surrounding, but it was pungent in terms of being. It started at the head and found its way to my legs.
These formerly dense bones have turned into withered feathers. The birds have forgotten how to fly. The sky holds me up, even though I have no understanding of its hands. I knew this could take me under no matter what I willed. The will did not matter, but how was that so? The words on the page had lost all readability. I no longer wanted to think about what I normally liked to think about. This spirit was taking over!
There's a loss of significance when I think about these chromosomes hiding in their cells, hiding even deeper in my body. They're these little arachnids blanketed by carapaces. And then I find myself practicing metacognition, where my fears wage war against authenticity. I have no thoughts, just neurons firing inside of my brain. I have no mind, I only have a brain. I have no spirit, I am just a sum of material parts - a collection of spinning cogs! This is a practice of horror, this reevaluation of things that I don't even believe in.
These formerly dense bones have turned into withered feathers. The birds have forgotten how to fly. The sky holds me up, even though I have no understanding of its hands. I knew this could take me under no matter what I willed. The will did not matter, but how was that so? The words on the page had lost all readability. I no longer wanted to think about what I normally liked to think about. This spirit was taking over!
There's a loss of significance when I think about these chromosomes hiding in their cells, hiding even deeper in my body. They're these little arachnids blanketed by carapaces. And then I find myself practicing metacognition, where my fears wage war against authenticity. I have no thoughts, just neurons firing inside of my brain. I have no mind, I only have a brain. I have no spirit, I am just a sum of material parts - a collection of spinning cogs! This is a practice of horror, this reevaluation of things that I don't even believe in.
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