Tag Archives: Life

Big Questions

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The big questions:
What is a good life?
What is truth?
What is God?

The concept of a ‘good life’ varies from person to person. Someone’s impression of what constitutes a ‘good life’ can tell you volumes about them. Some people say fun is the most important factor; others place emphasis on morality. The meaning of life is a subjective question. The meaning can be different for everyone, depending on their values. To me, a good life involves adventure. We are pleasure-seeking beings, and we can enjoy life the most when we are exploring new things. In order to lead a good life, one should make the most of every opportunity they are handed. Life is composed of experiences. Having more diverse experiences enriches the quality of life.

 

Another thing which enriches life is the pursuit of truth. What is truth? This is a question which I have given a considerable amount of thought to. I was raised in an environment where I was constantly being told that only a certain set of beliefs was true. I don’t agree with the notion that truth belongs exclusively to a specific religious group. I think in order to find truth, one needs to explore as many of the possibilities as they can. Truth is a balance of opinions. No one should claim to have the complete truth if they haven’t gotten an accurate picture of the contradictions to their truth. I turn to Hegel’s Dialectic as a good model to demonstrate the intangible quality of truth. Someone’s assertion of what is true operates as the “thesis” and then someone’s contradiction operates as the “antithesis”. Somewhere in between is a “synthesis” of the two which is the truth. The “synthesis” becomes the new thesis and is open to contradiction. The process continues. Truth is a balance. It is defined by people collectively and applies to them individually.

 

Truth applies to people on an individual level similarly to theism. God is personal, dealing with people individually on their level, in their language. Any attempts to institutionalize Him only limits Him. Although attempts have been made to universalise God, e.g., Roman Catholicism as the only religion in 16th Century Europe, people interpret ‘God’ differently depending on their culture, heritage, experiences, and other factors. I have pried my image of God free from the claws of religion. The God I have come to know differs dramatically from the God I grew up hearing about. He is nothing but kind to me. He understands me perfectly. He gives me advice that’s far more sound than I get anywhere else. This is the God I know, and I have salvaged his reputation from the debris of human assumptions.

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Inner Sock Puppet

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Hello you. Hello acquaintance, friend, teacher, parent, pet, secret admirer, or stranger. Hello everyone who has ever spoken to me, and hello everyone who is yet to speak to me. I send you my fondest greetings.

I am persuaded that each of us has an inner sock puppet. Everyone possesses the malleable virtue which is manoeuvrable by charm. While I smile and stretch my hand out to you, you think I might give you something. No, I am only reaching to your inner sock puppet. The game is not over, while my work remains unfinished. Your sock puppet will love me more than life itself by the time all is done.

I need to learn the accordion.

Ex Animo,
A repeat offender of smooth talk

Bloggy Brain Burdens

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I’m lingering in the valley of indecision in regards to how to publicize my blog. I began blogging with the good intentions of giving all my relatives the URL as a means of keeping in touch. However, I’m rethinking. I want to retain the liberty to circumlocute at the expense of the reader’s comprehension. At this point in time the most idoneous option is waiting, and thinking about it more. I get the sense that my blog would become burdenous for anyone who actually subscribed. I mean, in all honesty, how much does a person want duck photos clogging their inbox? Or chameleon clocks? Or, expositions of Deuterocanonical works? Vehement and wordy rants against the male half of the species? Any takers? I doubt it. My blog is one giant buffet for everyone. Come pick and choose; I doubt you will make sense of it all. The moral of the story is, subscribe at your own risk.

The only sensible reason why I metablog (to blog about blogging, truly a lame art in its own sense) about my apprehensions is because this question affects my blogs orientation in a dramatic way. I began blogging for the utility of keeping in touch with the people I love, and now, for the love of blogging, I have been unwilling to fulfill my initial motive.

C’est la vie.

By Jacek Yerka

Six word stories say it all.

Jacek Yerka: Amazing! Check him out!

Favourite things? So MANY, so few.

Don’t like my music? Suffer then.

“Suffer then” =not the original words.

 

I don’t owe you any explanations.

Am I random? Never, just clever.

Don’t keep me straight and narrow.

I’m who I am. unorthodox forever.

Followers: Subscribe at your own risk.

Reepicheep

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I mosey the cluttered lanes with poetry.
Alone with lines of prose to comfort me.
I dare not look around my ankles,
At crumbling ground, trod by angels,
Soil sighing beneath cadavers,
Reincarnation won’t reimburse
The lives that fall away.
I’m all that’s left today.

“Keep walking, helping is coming,
Keep singing, laughing, humming.”
One foot in front of the other,
Wait for the sound of the trumpeter,
We shall not sleep, but be changed,
Into air, freely arranged.
In the twinkling of an eye,
I will breathe my final sigh.
Laughter will accompany my days henceforth,
Treading lanes of a pilgrimage north.

But until that day I might never see,
I’m bent on living my life completely.
In abundance, to the full, till it overflows,
Getting back up after the cruel blows
Thrown at me from every side.
The hell on earth which I abide.
My life is a raging battlefield,
But peace is on my shield,
Though I walk through the valley of death,
The air composed of final breaths,
I will walk on through the bodies,
Disregarding these robberies
From the bank of lives.
Death tries, almost deprives
Me of life but is unable.
My life cannot be fatal.

Life waits across the bridge of mortality,
Which I will strut in style and vitality.
I don’t know this bridge’s length,
But I do know my Lover’s strength.
That’s enough to carry me.
Through endless lanes that weary me.
I have more than my poetry,
A Protector close to comfort me.

Kitten In A Tree

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Tired of drowning in things to be done,

Tired of fighting the battles I’ve [not] won.

While victory lies on the table of contemplation,

And my flaws grow in the soil of frustration,

Am I overcommitted, under acquitted?

Still wrestling pain that I’ve [not] admitted?

Am I working too much, trying to touch,

The glory, the talent of such and such?

Do I need a new fire, a spiritual zeal,

Something to coax my numb senses to feel? 10

Something to bring me down from a tree,

Like the kitten crying, just to be free.

Where are the hands of my Rescuer?

The holes in the hands of my Discover.

I am small enough to fit in His hands,

Large enough to walk with Him on the sands.

Where is He now but a moment away?

A voice away with the sound of “hey”

The voice which knows the length of my day,

Who touches my shoulders and breathes it away. 20

Filling my senses: I’m no longer dead.

When His faithful hand is beneath my head.

Together we recount the ups and downs,

Of a full day, with sights, memories, sounds.

With tears over the unkindness faced,

When I couldn’t cry, but my heart still paced.

Now ocean pieces sting like glass my face,

But cannot stay, for He will yet erase,

And heal their present dwelling place,

Renewing beauty and giving grace. 30

I have a wall of love to run into,

Whenever I have none to hang on to.

For now I will stay in this tree,

With the One who will rescue me.

I am not ready to face them all,

I don’t want to see their faces at all.

They ask for answers, I have none,

They try to make me have some fun,

But forget that I’m not one of them,

That I will never, never be one of them. 40

On a separate note, I was given a gift today,

It was when I heard someone say,

I was not a problem to be fixed,

A wasteland of emotions mixed.

But that life as I knew it was normal,

Problems, pressures, pains were normal.

It was the voice of an angel informal,

A voice pragmatic, sensible, moral.

Which has made me [cry] behind her back,

For the sense and sensibility [I lack.] 50

The encouragement to move on when,

You’ve messed up in front of all of them.

These are the tear which I keep [hidden],

Behind the glass of perfection |forbidden|,

I hear a siren, the glass will -crack-.

But again my Saviour wins it back.

I might be cute, fuzzy, and purring daily,

But I’m wet, shivering, shaking faintly.

Until I’m enclosed within His grasp

Like magic safe within the clasp. 60

Where I release the sounds exiled,

To be within my poetry [silenced.]

Betrayed, portrayed, arrayed,

The words condense on those hands scathed,

The sunlight peeks in through the holes

Of pain, of price for healing souls,

Sometimes I think I’m one of many,

Other times His love says I’m the only,

But I have been healed, am being healed,

And He is my cure thus far concealed. 70


Thou Shalt Never Be Too Serious.