...this is what I thought about.
WHY PHILOSOPHY/THEOLOGY?
Am I chasing something that will eat me alive…soul and all? It could…I can see it. Like Jimmy said last year – “people leave Wheaton not believing Christianity anymore”. I could see that. Particularly in the community setting I feel constantly exposed to – so like our pencils and desks: developed, produced, plastic. The soul must spring like new life from a charred old tree. The nutrients are there, but if they connect in time?
But at the same time, how can a fish spit out the hook that’s firmly lodged in its jaw, without wearing or tearing itself to pieces? Is there any way to suck yourself out of a black hole, even though you’re the one who steared yourself there? Once you’re swum, in chasing the sunset’s glory, out to the middle of the pacific ocean, how directionless and with glazed stunned vision is there a choice but to continue all the way to … japan? Asia? The man (or woman) truly in love, likewise, is not so easy to let go of the pursuit, shrug shoulders at the foothills, and turn and walk away a different path. I like the fish-hook one best. Or a leather bridled horse.
Whether it is right or not, I do not know what else. If it’s not sacreligious to say, as Peter, “where else, Lord?” It would seem God has given me some direction, some intellect directed a certain way, the narrow path but the one with joy. Let me accept my assignment and know peace.
But God – it’s so hard! They ask me “how are you?” and I want to say, “I am not good enough!” I will surely fail. The bar is set too high for me; I am crippled by various forces. I am a different color than those running the race with me; I fear them, repel them. My soul – it’s like the boy’s hollow leg who, to the astonishment of his mother, can eat bowl after bowl of cereal. Like my stomach right now – craving food to make me strong, but too weak to handle it/keep it down. I’m trying so hard, inside. I’m not good enough.
Sometimes the Cartesian doubt sets upon me, and I am alone with it. Attack like a ravanging lion, my soul shreded…
I don’t even know how to read, or write a research paper…
There is so much to know. And I would rather not worship anything besides you in the great amount of time spend in the library and talking – I would please you in every single move I make. To the highest degree, Lord. How can I please you? These mere words... I seek to answer them by Philosophy and Theology (for it appears the true queen of sciences has returned, and is indeed not without her handmaiden.) But the laborer needs refreshment. You’ve given me such a mind, God – I don’t understand it. It amazes me, frustrates me, I need a manual to learn how to work it right, or the right experience.
All this verbal homage I give to you. But is the same in my heart? Can I force it to be? Can I know you, or are you indeed like mars (do you realize I randomly chose a meaningful planet for that poemetry?! Cool!), beyond my reach in my paddle boat.
Am I chasing something that will eat me alive…soul and all? It could…I can see it. Like Jimmy said last year – “people leave Wheaton not believing Christianity anymore”. I could see that. Particularly in the community setting I feel constantly exposed to – so like our pencils and desks: developed, produced, plastic. The soul must spring like new life from a charred old tree. The nutrients are there, but if they connect in time?
But at the same time, how can a fish spit out the hook that’s firmly lodged in its jaw, without wearing or tearing itself to pieces? Is there any way to suck yourself out of a black hole, even though you’re the one who steared yourself there? Once you’re swum, in chasing the sunset’s glory, out to the middle of the pacific ocean, how directionless and with glazed stunned vision is there a choice but to continue all the way to … japan? Asia? The man (or woman) truly in love, likewise, is not so easy to let go of the pursuit, shrug shoulders at the foothills, and turn and walk away a different path. I like the fish-hook one best. Or a leather bridled horse.
Whether it is right or not, I do not know what else. If it’s not sacreligious to say, as Peter, “where else, Lord?” It would seem God has given me some direction, some intellect directed a certain way, the narrow path but the one with joy. Let me accept my assignment and know peace.
But God – it’s so hard! They ask me “how are you?” and I want to say, “I am not good enough!” I will surely fail. The bar is set too high for me; I am crippled by various forces. I am a different color than those running the race with me; I fear them, repel them. My soul – it’s like the boy’s hollow leg who, to the astonishment of his mother, can eat bowl after bowl of cereal. Like my stomach right now – craving food to make me strong, but too weak to handle it/keep it down. I’m trying so hard, inside. I’m not good enough.
Sometimes the Cartesian doubt sets upon me, and I am alone with it. Attack like a ravanging lion, my soul shreded…
I don’t even know how to read, or write a research paper…
There is so much to know. And I would rather not worship anything besides you in the great amount of time spend in the library and talking – I would please you in every single move I make. To the highest degree, Lord. How can I please you? These mere words... I seek to answer them by Philosophy and Theology (for it appears the true queen of sciences has returned, and is indeed not without her handmaiden.) But the laborer needs refreshment. You’ve given me such a mind, God – I don’t understand it. It amazes me, frustrates me, I need a manual to learn how to work it right, or the right experience.
All this verbal homage I give to you. But is the same in my heart? Can I force it to be? Can I know you, or are you indeed like mars (do you realize I randomly chose a meaningful planet for that poemetry?! Cool!), beyond my reach in my paddle boat.
posted by Anna's Abstract at 1:22 PM
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