I'm in English class, and we're reading this poem... It's by John Donne.

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for You
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend.
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town to another due,
Labour to admit You, but Oh! to no end.
Reason, Your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak and untrue.
Yet dearly I love You, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto Your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to You, imprison me, for I,
Except You enthral me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except You ravish me.

A rush. That feeling you get when you face fear or danger with confidence. I haven't felt it in so long. Last night our adventure reminded me of the days when it was something normal for me. I love the feeling. Would I sound crazy to tell you I loved being chased by police when there was a real chance of jail time on the other end of it? It was exiting. Have you ever stood on the yellow area when the subway comes, looking right at it as it brushes your shirt flying by at ridicules speeds? I have, it's a rush. Flying over the top of a mound, when you can't see what's next, on a double back diamond hill with but a snowboard to help you. You come over that arch to see something quite near and incline, and you push on, flying down this hill at speed enough to break your body should you fall. Switching, edge to edge, one piece of ice could screw it up, one missed edge and you're going head first. It's a rush.

I don't get it anymore. It was something I loved. I've never really been afraid of death, I'm even less today. But there seems nothing left, nothing exhilarating, nothing dangerous. Well, there is one other way I've felt it. It's not quite the same though. Have you ever seen God's glory clearly? I mean, just for a second. You see a sunrise, or think of something he's doing, recognise something, and just for a second, your taken aback by him. I love that too. Though, it's no common occurrence these days. In fact, it's a rarity, though not altogether outside of my experience.

Somehow it seems like a sorry replacement though. I know, I just called something of God a sorry replacement for something like being chased by the police, but that's how it seems. That rush of God is there, but it's not something we must have. It's surplus. And so it does not have to be necessarily better. It's experiential, and God must be better in an absolute truth sort of sense.

Anyway, I suppose I'm not really saying much here. Just thoughts going through my head, I thought I'd let them out. Time to get ready for chapel...

Dreams... I will retell some that I just had.

We were in a hospital, an old hospital. The kind were everything is either black, white, or chrome. Everything was very clean. There was someone trying to kill us with knives or blades of any kind, really. This was a very bloody dream. Limbs were cut off, fingers were cut off, people were slashed, it was all around bloody. Some people I was with died, and it ended up a struggle between me and him, and I slit his throat with a scalpel. When I killed the him, his father was there. He had some blade that was supposed to have some practical purpose, but it really just seemed to be cutting up his face when he used it. He threw it at me, and it just barely missed.

Next dream: the father of the man I killed. Somehow he was a friend of the family. He lived on some water in what seemed like a sort of cottage with his wife. We went over there, and he was trying to kill me. He had a scalpel: ironic, really, since I killed his son with one. No one around could see that he was trying to kill me: he just looked like a senile old man to them. But when anyone looked away he would slash with the knife, or even throw it. I always jumped, or put something in the way for it to get stuck on. Eventually I was completely terrified of this man, and I wanted to get out of there. I was planning an escape, knowing that he would chase me, and that somehow he could easily kill me if he were not hiding it from everyone else. I think I ended up leaving with everyone else, cowering behind my family as we got into a van. I reported him to the police as mentally insane and trying to kill me. I believed that he was capable of killing anyone who he perceived reason to kill. They didn't believe me.

Next: my wedding. It was my wedding day. I was standing at the front of a filled church. A man walked up to me, my dad I think, and told me she wasn't coming. With a mix of furry and disappointment I left to some sort of backstage area: where there were walls of layered silk and lace that created small rooms. They gave a sort of surreal feeling, like I could move through these fake rooms forever without finding an end. I felt more rash then I've ever felt. Like I was just looking for something stupid to do. I wanted to fight, or to fool around with the closest girl (somehow I though there was one who was willing rather close). But in a effort of self restraint I stayed in these rooms, burning in my strong emotions, knowing that the only person who I could talk about this too just betrayed me. Driving away, I asked my dad what she claimed the reason was. He told me there was none. In a sort of outburst I declared that there had to be. It was logically impossible for there not to be. He told me I was too philosophical, it wasn’t a matter of logic. This angered me all the more.

I woke up feeling rather bitter, but with an itch to write these things down. So I have. I’m not sure why, really. Read into them if you like but I can’t see much, I doubt you could either. Have a good day.

Ok, I've been rather busy, so I haven't posted much recently, only small things I've come across while lying in bed with my computer at arms reach. So I apologise to those who were looking for something interesting to read. Anyway, on to what I have to say... mostly from freedomize on Sunday.

2 Peter 1:3
His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.

What the fuck? Everything we need? I don't know about you, but this strikes me as something odd. I've been talking about it for weeks in this blog, I don't have what I need. Hell, I don't even know what I need.

So, what is this supposed to mean? Dave, whom I'm loving more and more every time he preaches, seems to propose that it runs on the fly, if you will. I don't get shit until I actually need it, and even then it's really sketchy approaching. I want to return to God, plainly, but I don't practically know how; God will give me what I need. Even if the first step of things is trusting that he will give me what I need, he will give me this when I need it. Hell, even if the first thing I need is a removal of the fear that keeps me form letting God have me trust in him for giving me what I need, he will give me this when it's needed.

Ok, so, this is all well and good, but what do I do? It seems the more God shows me, the more I start thinking that this is all just a waiting game. It can't be though, and that’s certainly not what Dave was proposing. Trust him? I can't unless he gives it to me. Rend my hear? How? I can't: not unless it's a gift of God.

So in this end I'm stuck like a Calvinist, with no choice or action. I wait for God, wishing he would tell me something to do, some clear cut exercise that would be a quick fix, but there is none. I have nothing. No ability, or regenerative capacity.

Hell, maybe I am a Calvinist. Though the futility of all this seems instinctively false. Do you have an answer?

This morning I woke up, only for a moment, right at sunrise. It was beautiful: the sun was sitting an inch or so above the skyline. There were clouds above and below it, and it cast light on them, making them seem to glow a bright yellow.

Odd how the clouds that cause me such grief when I wish to see the sunrise, turn out to show the beauty of this one.

 Psalm 74

⁴ Your foes roared in the place where you met with us;
they set up their standards as signs.
⁵ They behaved like men wielding axes
to cut through a thicket of trees.
⁶ They smashed all the carved paneling
with their axes and hatchets.
⁷ They burned your sanctuary to the ground;
they defiled the dwelling place of your Name.
⁸ They said in their hearts, "We will crush them completely!"
They burned every place where God was worshiped in the land.
⁹ We are given no miraculous signs;
no prophets are left,
and none of us knows how long this will be.

Indecision and apathy get me again, except this time I don't know what's right. If I did, it might be easier. But the size of it, the complication of it, I'd rather just lie here in bed, not sleeping due to the speed of my brain. Should I talk it out, try to understand? Try and know what I should do: so that I can escape apathy. Should I let it be? Finding would be hard, solving even worst. Doing nothing, as I'm tempted to do, and well might be what I ought, is so easy. But... if I'm wrong: if my motivation for doing nothing is located in my apathy, and not in my intellect, I could harm: prolong the suffering of one I care for.

Yesterday was an angry day. I felt like picking a fight, and I was still sick. I didn't have patience for anything. It seemed Coker was in a similar way, so we got out of here. We just went for pizza, and everyday thing, but it was cool. Getting out, and just talking to a friend about whatever, it seemed to help a lot. And even though through talking I discovered a rather unfortunate situation, it was still cool. Coming back, the rest of the night was good. I somehow felt a lot better, and even though I had something new to think about and try to resolve, which would be frustrating most days, it was all write.

Maybe it's superficiality that I needed to escape. To get away from tact. Away from any pretence of deception that likes to weasel itself into my character. To purge it, to spend time away from the crowd, away from anyone who I can't open my mind to.

Maybe it wasn't though. Maybe it was learning of something more important then my stupid shittyness. Knowing that I need to suck it up, because in the end, it's not high on my list of priorities, even though I might like to think so when I'm there.

Maybe I have no idea what I'm talking about...

"So you've got all the rage, and none of the energy? We call that depression." - The Awesome

Another night of insomnia. 3 hours of sleep to 6 trying. It doesn't help that I feel like shit. Why hasn’t the sunrise been beautiful in so long? It always seems grey these days. A beautiful sunrise seems to be one of the only natural things in this city that can still drive me to praise God.

It seems like a night that had such potential for greatness was mainly crap because of this sickness. Church, hanging out with people I love, and even a rather hilarious surprise by Missina and Andrea. Unfortunately I leave it all feeling like shit, bitter because of this somewhat torturous body ach and lung ripping cough.

Man, sorry to anyone who reads this, I just really felt like complaining. I don’t actually have anything to say here other then that. Maybe pray for me or something.

As I get into bed and my music starts, I hear a familiar guitar riff. I can't place it though. Immediately I think to myself, this must be some annoying Christian song that somehow got onto my playlist, and sit up to change it. The bass part starts, and at once I recognise The Man Who Sold The World, by Nirvana.

When did I become so judgemental of things I once loved?