notes from the underground: my attempt to keep the things I read in my brain
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
the real question is...
"Indeed, the most ghettoized people of all, I've come to learn, are those who don't know they grew up in a particular time and place and culture, and who think they can get to universal truths outside of particular realities and commitments. There are ghettos and then there are ghettos. The real question is not whether you grow up in a ghetto, but whether the ideas and customs and rhythms of your particular ghetto prepare you to engage other ideas and customs and life experiences without losing touch with your roots."[George Weigel]
Monday, August 15, 2011
steering clear of what we'd like to say
Moths by Jennifer O'Grady
Adrift in the liberating, late light
of August, delicate, frivolous,
they make their way to my front porch
and flutter near the glassed-in bulb,
translucent as a thought suddenly
wondered aloud, illumining the air
that's thick with honeysuckle and dusk.
You and I are doing our best
at conversation, keeping it light, steering clear
of what we'd like to say.
You leave, and the night becomes
cluttered with moths, some tattered,
their dumbly curious filaments
startling against my cheek. How quickly,
instinctively, I brush them away.
Dazed, they cling to the outer darkness
like pale reminders of ourselves.
Others seem to want so desperately
to get inside. Months later, I'll find
the woolens, snug in their resting places,
full of missing pieces.
[Hat Tip: The Writer's Almanac]
Adrift in the liberating, late light
of August, delicate, frivolous,
they make their way to my front porch
and flutter near the glassed-in bulb,
translucent as a thought suddenly
wondered aloud, illumining the air
that's thick with honeysuckle and dusk.
You and I are doing our best
at conversation, keeping it light, steering clear
of what we'd like to say.
You leave, and the night becomes
cluttered with moths, some tattered,
their dumbly curious filaments
startling against my cheek. How quickly,
instinctively, I brush them away.
Dazed, they cling to the outer darkness
like pale reminders of ourselves.
Others seem to want so desperately
to get inside. Months later, I'll find
the woolens, snug in their resting places,
full of missing pieces.
[Hat Tip: The Writer's Almanac]
Saturday, August 13, 2011
through other people
You aren’t able to repent properly and
to be alone in the heights of the love of God. That is to say, just God
and you; just Christ and you. The love of Christ is offered and always
passes through other people.
- Elder Porphyrios the Kapsokalyvite (1906-1991)
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in each sister and brother
If God comes down to earth through [the] Son made flesh, then we ascend toward heaven through Jesus present in each sister and brother for ...
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Photo from Hipster Christianity Pride comes from knowing, and deciding, what’s cool in advance of the rest of the world. [Mark Greif...
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"It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt." - Fyodor Dostoevsky