Properties

These are properties. Powerful properties. I have, in recent months, had many struggles with the execution of what some call 'Devotions.' My struggle has not been with those things which oftentimes cause me trouble, but from recently received powerful encouragement, in the form of a description (here I must note that when transcribing this entry from my journal, I decided to leave out the lengthy discourse about 'those things' which 'often cause me trouble' -I think I may post that in a future month).

This description was different. It described three things; the object, the purpose of the object, and the power of the declared purpose of the object. I may have an object of power, say, a revolver -but this object is powerless without the message; its purpose. We may understand its message; the message of danger, and the somberness of possible death and injury, but someone without that same societal background, may not understand, and so; without the purpose or message of an object of power, the object is bereft of some of its power. Granted, the revolver still has power, but the message gives that power an even greater range and effect. Further, the declaration of the purpose of the object gives to that object a greater and even more potent power. In my analogy then, it is easy to spot the weakness; my object isn't powerful in and of itself, it needs an individual to give it its power, purpose, and declaration.

So then, this encouragement which I received was about the properties of that book which has been given to display that message which has been declared in my life. God's Word has inherent power, based upon the One that gave it (this is experienced in the courts when a Bible is produced for witnesses). Yet it gains more power, based upon those that understand it (this is experienced when the knowledge from a Bible is transferred to those that study it).

But when it comes down to it, the one thing which the Spirit uses, is the multiplied power which comes from the audible recognition of the Word; that is, when the Word itself is declared, uttered, spoken. This power is the power which has brought every one who is claimed by God to God, and it is the power which I myself have been continually taught by. For, as we know, it is 'sharper than any two-edged sword, able to divide between the soul and spirit.' Let us never replace the spoken Word of God with just the knowledge of His message, or the declaration of His Word with an unused book on our shelf.

Sickness

Sickness signs the warrant of destruction upon the object already filled with wrath; destining it for doom. While it is ridiculous to maintain the conclusion that pain is lucrative, it is perhaps wise to accept the realization that it is poignant; in that it does not beat about- but clearly and succinctly presents its case: that the body of pain is the body of death, and that destruction is our ultimatum, if not our destination.

That is, our destination in its most pure form is nothing more than a potential location maintained within that framework of reason that spins unceasingly toward its continual seeking resolution which is Time. And, as it is said, with much fortitude and often with sorrowful sincerity; Time is always against us. And this opponent of time, while an opponent, is not an enemy -for our enemy is death, and this death which we seek to dissuade from its constant march to gain our souls is only slowed in its march by times immemorial march upon itself, and upon that future destination which is so closely tied to our current location.

And these marches, which we desire to ultimately cancel each other out, in fact, cancel the debt that is owed by us, to ourselves, and it places squarely in our laps the ultimatum which we cannot misapprehend, not misappropriate. In fact, it is the one responsibility which we can never remove from our soul's list of labors- the one responsibility besides the greatest responsibility, the concern of a future entry; the responsibility to live in light of death and time.

But sickness, this is our bane. Why? But for the simple reason that in sickness we behold the terrifying power of Death & Time, and at the same time experience the debilitating fury of their marriage and conception of their despicable child; our own wills. Sadness overcomes me in the realization that death and time have this in common; they both hold dominion over us- but only to the extent that we allow them to become our demonic obsession. Demonic, since it is the convention of misappropriating God's location as head; the essence of self-indulgence and obsession: idolatry.

What angers us most about sickness, but the ability of it to render us completely unable to forsake, within our minds and attentions, the experience and reality of such? We can never escape from sickness. Though we may spend our lives attempting to overcome the symptoms and expressions of sickness- we can never escape from the experience of its reality in life.

And this sickness, which so plagues us, does us in the end an extreme favor; it releases to our minds and bodies a small foretaste of the reality which is based within the realization of our own wills: the marriage of death and time, that beautiful destruction of ourselves which is the ultimatum we must accept if we have fully been able to forsake our greatest responsibility, and instead sought (and in this case; found) our own indulgence and idolatrous self-obsession.

Security

What is security but being free from the care of those things which the object of our security has been entrusted to by us? If our security is based upon something which in and of itself is free from us, then perhaps this could be true; under the condition that this object of security actually secures us and not those things which we ourselves secure. Do we understand this delineation?

We secure those things which we claim as ours (the claim itself touches upon another interesting topic: that of the Moral Word, and its power over objects -in a sense; the security of objects as is maintained in morality), so those things which are claimed have been secured by something outside of themselves. In the same way, we ourselves must be secured by something bigger than ourselves which must, in effect, claim us. For a more theological interest about this thought one may always refer to Containment. Yet, to maintain a resolute and less-than metaphysical relationship here, we can refer to what some have called the Practicality of Haecceity.

Haecceity has the meaning of "the aspect of existence on which individuality depends; the hereness and nowness of reality." Now, the practicality of haecceity is seen in that, there is no moment in time or place in space which is not wholly individual or unique. This conceptualization of uniqueness is what allows for there to be this following understanding: If I possess the ball, you do not. If you possess the ball, I do not. Yet, while neither of us may possess that specific ball at the same time, we both can claim it at the same time.

This is where the practicality jumps into the theoretical (and consequently where I get back on track); for this reality exists: to claim something is actually to place one's security in one's ability to secure that item. In effect, since I have the ball I may (with sound mind and logical resolution) claim it as my own. However, if I claim the ball while I do not possess it, I have stepped over the bounds of our discussion, into what we mentioned before; the power of the moral word (for in the power of the moral word, the ball may be placed in my possession and therefore is mine to secure and claim -yet, if my security over this ball is lost, the power of the moral word has the ability to return this ball to me, based first upon my claim of it, but also, (and more importantly) upon the power and timing of the moral word -in this case known as the Law. My ability within this law of the moral word only extends far enough to claim that which is mine, and secure that which I claim).

Now, back to the subject at hand (taking into account the fact that we can only claim those things which either we, in our ability can secure, or those things which the moral word may, in its ability, place into and return to our possession); those things which are our security should have the ability either through some ethical word (morality has no place in a discourse of things greater than human invention) or through some claim which in and of itself must be "free from care."

I must admit that this original entry in my journal was much longer and perhaps enjoyed a bit more proliferation and consideration of the classics and those theological and philosophical considerations which often reach my eyes via the large and full shelves of books which around my desk do crowd themselves most rudely. Yet, even so, I do wish to remind the reader that my final part of this entry is maintained in that place and I do not shrink with fear that I should be misunderstood -only that I may be left unheard. I think that what I reached in conclusion is still true, though in its current medium it is concise and bereft of all its progressive supporters.

So then, this is the place in which I find myself. Security, is the object which in its ability is able to place one (in this higher ethical discourse) in the reality of being secure. Further, secure is the one who has been claimed and maintained in a position where the Security is free of care for this one and the one is free of care for his own security. Therefore, I would submit that the one who wishes to be secure in this life, must earnestly seek God, for only God can (in His ability) claim, and maintain our being in a secure place, and only He is free of care for us (yet full of love for us). And in this freedom from care, I would even go so far as to remind the reader (and myself) that being "free from care" is defined as the state of being Carefree. If we are secured by God, and He is carefree, what have we as beloved children and imitators of God (Ephesians 5:1) to keep us from being the same?

Containment

When containment sinks within us its deep and suppressed absolution, much like an arrow of similarly intentioned completion; we do not -as with the proverbial arrow- reach a quick witted death of wisdom's expression within our reputation; instead, we reach a conclusion much more fitted for the dying; one that refuses the freedom of death, but at the very same moment compels us to life- to a life which is not our own. As we claim our own life, we forget what we never knew; the value of our existence. Only when we forfeit what we think that we have, can we realize the actual value of it. Thus, this principle is at work within our bodies: its preservation is desired because of its apparently great value. The Pride of Life therefore being a great and common transgression, if not the root of most transgressions themselves.

We must realize our own foolishness. The preservation of our lives is desired so much because of how much we believe it is worth; yet we forget that until we place it in comparison with something else, this life is out of context and is lost in nothingness. However, the powerful and debilitating truth is that as soon as our life is put into context it never even budges an inch from the nothingness it was already. In fact, I think that as soon as our life is put into context, it becomes even less than nothing. How can we expect to move beyond the containment which is itself contained within our souls if we never get past our own boorish tendency to think that we are worth something -even to think that we are worth a great deal? We must step beyond this pride, and recognize the necessary trading of our life into the currency of value and its consequential and immediate decimation.

Yet, when decimated, I think that we may find what we were looking for; as we realize the less-than-nothingness of our life's value we will be able to admit our own inability to change that status, and thus, in the most dire need, cry out to something which can both claim and retain some value for our lives and person; something which does not have an obligation to make something of the nothingness of ourselves, but rather something which can move beyond the containment we naturally maintain to deadly perfection within our mortal bodies into a place where the containment is a constant acceptance of the absolutionistic terms of peace we have been offered -no- commanded, by the One who lays claim to our nothingness.

And who alone, my soul, can rightly lay claim to nothingness but the One who can make from it something? To this One I do myself repair, most diligently and urgently, for if I tarry- I am lost.

Sybaris

Debating along the western shore,

Sunset colors sweetly filling the sky,

Ionian waves softly doing their chore;

Whispering news from the bridged Gallipoli,

Its beauty due not only to its name,

But also its taste, its touch, its prize;

From its aging wine, and oily fame,

Praising its Island beauty and limestone thighs.

Taranto also speaks softly through,

The idyllic waves of the Mediterranean Sea;

Calmly they report the stunning view,

Its eponymous founder once felt on knee,

As he rode dolphins near the Appian Way,

Neither also must one cast a worried glance,

For the Theraphosidae keep away;

The Tarantella thus a superfluous dance

Pleasure dribbles across the lip,

And the opulent musings of the mind,

Keep the body closely to the sensuous script;

The song the sea that with wind combined,

Follows the hips in their regulated,

March upon the beach of mystery,

Its fields behind, its waters ahead,

Nearly all is washed away through history.

Politicians, bureaucrats, and those lacking zeal,

Gathered as one, and sought with success,

The scorn of the nations –oligarchic ideal–

Drowning the beauty of happy excess;

The passion of rage and resentment,

Raising Telys, their demagogue devil,

Who would free them of contentment,

Unto their lowest and darkest level.

The sea, mapped closely, does run,

As do fugitives from pleasured simpletons,

Along the grave of Dyrrhachus’ son,

The way to the Panhellenic Olympians,

Safety was sought in power, in discipline;

Away from the tug of luxury, of vanity;

In exile then, contented Crotona within,

From the voracious Telys, from insanity.

Reaching strong gates, housing men of the same,

Seeking surrender and completion of the death,

The luxurious citizenry, sought to regain,

Those gasping through the blood for breath,

Into their hands, bloodied by the greed of security,

Calling down curses upon their sober opposition,

Preparing to draw the sword even against purity,

The seekers of indulgence pined for deposition.

Unable to stand by and unwilling to yield,

Those strong Crotoniats, upholding the right,

Boldly they, to the partisans of doom, themselves revealed,

Heavily outnumbered but in strength not slighted,

The defenders of plainness battled the aggressors of lavishness,

While the reckoning of pleasure saw insufficiency;

The science and strength of the simple saw success,

Over those with a distaste for pleasure’s deficiency.

Down at the river Traeis did the armies meet,

To decide the graceless end of this sudden war,

Which leaned most powerfully to the defeat,

Of the seekers of pleasure with their luxurious rapport;

Reaching their own gates, gasping for breath,

Even the devoted could not deny the demonization,

Of their own personal Angel, whose name is Death,

And who sought with success their complete annihilation.

So ended the army of the city, pleasurably inclined,

But the simple in life, could not be simple in mind,

Destruction of this pleasurable place, determined,

As they were, that no human within should any ever find;

Turning the course of the river Crathis with spades,

The victors drown the ruins of the city of brutalities,

As they turned the battle with their blades,

And buried the aggressors in their own fatalities.

This divine punishment, the luxurious ignores;

Drowning the pleasured in their complete inability for restoration,

Allowing the survivors refuge on the Tyrrhenian shore;

A temporary base for the unsuccessful reparation,

Of their prosperous city of fantastic lore:

Complete was the punishment and swift the retribution,

Keeping dark the streets of pleasure forevermore,

Under the watchful and sharp eyes of the solution.

The questions of time weary the mind,

While the sun slowly ceases it dozing,

And bumbles to that to which it is consigned:

Dipping itself into the hills, dark enclosing,

Its rays slowly receding from the troubled tide,

Slowly moving over the finality of appropriation,

Appropriation of pleasure debates with one’s pride,

Misunderstanding simplicity and reservation.

This mysterious shore, near the sunken city,

Its somber message to the listener whispers,

Queries of the value of luxurious prosperity,

As does the wind in the ear and through the firs;

Those who hope to see its profound combat,

Must move beyond greatness enjoyed,

For this city of pleasure, was that, and for that:

                                                Destroyed.