Formidable
My foe sits on cowls, cloaks
and confessional masks
naked
wasted, silent and frail.
Sits on grey cathedral steps.
Enticed
Doors open, they swirl and coalesce,
crowd and edge closer
to the beggar
naked
sitting on their chapel steps.
Defeat
I tear at their coats and scream
“your children, your homes!”
but trip on a cane and tumble
down their steps; I have lost
them.
Hope
The crowd parts. The beggar, my Foe,
naked
descends the chapel steps. Raises
my cowl, my cloak, my confessional
match.
I catch and burn.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Camp 2006
I attended Upper Peninsula Bible Camp's family camp this week. After two trains, one bus, a five mile walk, the movie "Miami Vice," and one four hour car-ride I happily arrived at camp tucked in pines and undergrowth by an aptly named "Little Lake." I spent the week either sitting by lake reading or swimming in its murky waters. Dead Souls by Gogol is hilarious and its genius characters would make a wonderful timepiece comedy. Fear and Trembling by Kierkegaard is a profound piece of exposition on existence and faith, build on paradox, anguish, and honest inquiry. I haven't finished The Sound and The Fury by Faulkner and as of yet haven't grasped much of the plot hidden in Faulkner's stream of consciousness style, but perhaps the plot will become clearer later. I read in the shade on a wooden swing painted brown. I swam in cool water that smelled of fish and aquatic vegetation.
It has been four years since I last attended UPBC. Four years since I last talked to my friends there, and most of them have left camp themselves. Only two remain, both now on staff. One found his wife at camp, the other perhaps a sense of purpose. Regardless, when I arrived both were either busy re-roofing or were otherwise engaged. So I was left to my books, my family, and the lake. Later in the week a girl I once knew appeared at camp, but I never found the nerve to talk to her. I could never talk to her before. My hesitation was simply a carry over from the past. Strange how some places, some people inspire feelings, fears, and attitudes that don't dwindle with time.
But what good are northern forests and their lakes without their solitude? The weather shifts swiftly from warm to cool, from sun to rain. Creatures dash about ferns and trees, spew noxious perfumes, and buzz about with the sole purpose of raising welts on unsuspecting victims. Everything changes, everything seems chaotic, but patterns hide in plain sight like how dappled shadows overlay meshed pine needles and dirt. Nature is downright philosophical - concerned with life, death, and little else.
I enjoyed reading at camp and talking about literature with a middle aged South African woman who currently seeks her PhD in rhetoric at Northwestern and heads the English department at Trinity University in Chicago. Every morning before chapel we sat and talked about whatever was on her mind, be it Katrina, political language, South Africa, or what should constitute an English curriculum. No translations. Learn the French and read Camus and Sartre in the French department, for goodness sake. David Carruth, she salutes you. I suppose it makes sense though. Her father studied Chinese and Russian, only to settle on Zulu as his dominant second language.
Of course, it was a Bible camp and there were two chapels a day. The morning meetings concerned the Fruits of the Spirit. I must admit that love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faith, gentleness, and self-control are beautiful qualities. I still doubt the statement that only Christians exemplify these traits, but in some regards I agree with the doctrine of moral stagnancy outside of an external force. I cannot increase my love for others or self-control no matter how hard I try. Combine this series of lectures with Fear and Trembling, and perhaps I have an avenue to God and change. Time will tell.
I left a day early with my sister. The drive is long and she wanted company for the trip, so I obliged. I had no reason to stay. So now I’m back to my computer and a new anthology of contemporary poetry I hope browse in search of inspiration.
It has been four years since I last attended UPBC. Four years since I last talked to my friends there, and most of them have left camp themselves. Only two remain, both now on staff. One found his wife at camp, the other perhaps a sense of purpose. Regardless, when I arrived both were either busy re-roofing or were otherwise engaged. So I was left to my books, my family, and the lake. Later in the week a girl I once knew appeared at camp, but I never found the nerve to talk to her. I could never talk to her before. My hesitation was simply a carry over from the past. Strange how some places, some people inspire feelings, fears, and attitudes that don't dwindle with time.
But what good are northern forests and their lakes without their solitude? The weather shifts swiftly from warm to cool, from sun to rain. Creatures dash about ferns and trees, spew noxious perfumes, and buzz about with the sole purpose of raising welts on unsuspecting victims. Everything changes, everything seems chaotic, but patterns hide in plain sight like how dappled shadows overlay meshed pine needles and dirt. Nature is downright philosophical - concerned with life, death, and little else.
I enjoyed reading at camp and talking about literature with a middle aged South African woman who currently seeks her PhD in rhetoric at Northwestern and heads the English department at Trinity University in Chicago. Every morning before chapel we sat and talked about whatever was on her mind, be it Katrina, political language, South Africa, or what should constitute an English curriculum. No translations. Learn the French and read Camus and Sartre in the French department, for goodness sake. David Carruth, she salutes you. I suppose it makes sense though. Her father studied Chinese and Russian, only to settle on Zulu as his dominant second language.
Of course, it was a Bible camp and there were two chapels a day. The morning meetings concerned the Fruits of the Spirit. I must admit that love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faith, gentleness, and self-control are beautiful qualities. I still doubt the statement that only Christians exemplify these traits, but in some regards I agree with the doctrine of moral stagnancy outside of an external force. I cannot increase my love for others or self-control no matter how hard I try. Combine this series of lectures with Fear and Trembling, and perhaps I have an avenue to God and change. Time will tell.
I left a day early with my sister. The drive is long and she wanted company for the trip, so I obliged. I had no reason to stay. So now I’m back to my computer and a new anthology of contemporary poetry I hope browse in search of inspiration.
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