the very sweetest wisdom

Remember that the fool in the eyes of the gods and the fool in the eyes of man are very different. One who is entirely ignorant of the modes of Art in its revolution or the moods of thought in its progress, of the pomp of the Latin line or the richer music of the vowelled Greek, of Tuscan sculpture or Elizabethan song may yet be full of the very sweetest wisdom. The real fool, such as the gods mock or mar, is he who does not know himself. ... The supreme vice is shallowness. Everything that is realized is right.
-- Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

The very sweetest wisdom...what is that? To know oneself?

To know oneself...but how? For within oneself, there are many people to know. I am acquainted with my dark side. My quirky side is my soulmate. I am quite close with my spiritual side, and we are becoming better friends every day.

But while I know much of what lies within myself, I do not know what I want in life. It occurs to me that perhaps wisdom is what happens when one stops trying to be wise, but trying to navigate life and love without a guide, a map or a compass is not exactly an easy thing to do. I feel as though I am wandering. The Lord dwells within me, yet uncertainty and insecurity remain my closest traveling companions. If the opinions of others are mirrors, what does my reflection look like? When will I know what is right for my life? How can I possibly leave this world better than I found it? Whose heart will I break on this seemingly aimless quest?

All I want for myself is this: to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God, to be kind and compassionate even to the least of my brethren, and ultimately to find wisdom in the fear of the Lord.

Yet this is that which I have come to know about myself, that which is realized, and therefore is right:

Despite all attempts at depth, I can only scratch the surface. Shallowness has become my supreme, unhappy vice. The gods shall mock and mar me, for I do not know myself. For all my love and desire of wisdom, I remain a fool.

only in music

Only in music does 4 + 5 = 8.
Thus, traditional math is irrelevant to any music major.
Hence why I am still procrastinating on my math assignments.

distance

distance separates in more ways than one,
like smoke between us,
putrid and stifling smoke
that renders us mute
and makes us speechless
please don't be so silent

clean slate

I was reading some of the posts on my old blog earlier today and I realized that that person speaking is no longer me. It's amazing how much a person can change in just a few months.

So, here is my new and improved blog.

(I did repost a few things that I still like.)

after the weekend

After the weekend, my week starts, and I have returned to my old habit of being stressed out all the time.

Something about these uncharacteristically warm autumn days gets me thinking, usually about nothing in particular.

"What is the greatest experience you can have? It is...the hour when you say, 'What matters my happiness? It is poverty and filth and wretched contentment. But my happiness ought to justify existence itself.'
-- Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (Kaufmann translation)

I had never read Nietzche before, though I knew a good deal about him (or so I believed). I think my friend Matt ascertained it best: reading Nietzche is difficult because "either you're going into it biased, in which case you may as well not even bother, or you're going into it blind, which is worse." I found myself to be one of the former, at least, until I began to read. What I did not find was a sense of disgust at the absolute blasphemy, nor that disdain of what I would term to be overly "emo," and therefore not worth attention.

Instead, what I found was compassion and pity. I owe it to reading the translator's notes at the beginning of the book, detailing Nietzsche's bad digestion, near-blindness, and migraines that would hold him hostage for days at a time, among other things. Yet it was not simply the physical maladies of the slight, slightly stooped man that caused me to pity him. It was when the translator spoke of him as an "utterly lonely man" that I began to feel very sorry for him. I hated myself for having thought ill of him simply on the basis of quotes which I read completely out of context. Rather than seeing Nietzsche as the sneering, arrogant, angry Modern who writes "God is dead" simply to draw a reaction, I saw him for what he was: unaffected, tortured, and utterly lonely.

Nietzche himself would hate me for pitying him, as when he writes,...The hour when you say: "What good is my pity? Is not pity the cross on which he is nailed who loves man?"
But I have found that while being compassionate towards other people can sometimes be a burden, it is far lighter than the feeling of guilt for refusing to sympathize for a fellow human being.

We live in an age where the individual is considered the supreme entity. Self-consciousness, self-awareness, self-improvement, self-confidence, self-esteem, self-help, self-indulgence, and the list continues.

Let me put it this way: if you ever have need of a camera, you only need to go so far as a teenager's bathroom to find one.

Clearly, we are obsessed with ourselves.

I heard a statistic once that said the average person spends only 5%-10% of his or her time thinking about other people. This is a problem. Isn't it interesting how, along with our total vanity, we are now seeing an utter breakdown of community? Families are imploding upon themselves, countries are divided, and bombs rip apart entire neighborhoods daily, all because people are so busy pushing their own agendas that they have forgotten what is truly important: life, love, breath, friendship, family, cooperation.

If we put all of our effort into ourselves, what is left after we die? It is like renovating a home after it has been condemned to be demolished. It is pointless. I recognize that it is not always easy to put other people before yourself. But then, that which is truly rewarding is never easy. And so I offer a challenge:

"This is ME. This is what I am. This is what I do. This is what I think. This is MY opinion. This is what's important to ME."

Just stop.

Banish these thoughts. They are poverty and filth and wretched contentment.

Today is the day to ask someone, "What is important to you?"

that's my KING

My King is a sovereign King. No means of measure can define His limitless love. No far seeing telescope can bring into visibility the coastline of His shoreless supply. No barrier can hinder Him from pouring out His blessings. He's enduringly strong. He's entirely sincere. He's eternally steadfast. He's immortally graceful. He's imperially powerful. He's impartially merciful. Do you know Him?

He's the greatest phenomenon that ever crossed the horizon of this world. He's God's Son. He's a sinner's Savior. He's the centerpiece of civilization. ... He's unique. He's unparalleled. He's unprecedented. He's the loftiest idea in literature. He's the highest personality in philosophy. He's the supreme problem in higher criticism. He's the fundamental doctrine of true theology. He's the cardinal necessity for spiritual religion. He's the miracle of the age. He's the superlative of everything good that you choose to call Him. He's the only one qualified to be an all-sufficient Savior. I wonder if you know Him today?

He supplies strength for the weak. He's available for the tempted and the tried. He sympathizes and He saves. He strengthens and sustains. He guards and He guids. He heals the sick. He cleanses lepers. He forgives sinners. He discharges debtors. He delivers captives. He defends the feeble. He blesses the young. He serves the unfortunate. He regards the aged. He rewards the diligent. He beautifies the meek. I wonder if you know Him?

My King is the King. He's the key to knowledge. He's the wellspring to wisdom. He's the doorway of deliverance. He's the pathway of peace. He's the roadway of righteousness. He's the highway of holiness. He's the gateway of glory. Do you know Him?

His office is manifold. His promise is sure. His light is matchless. His goodness is limitless. His mercy is everlasting. His love never changes. His word is enough. His grace is sufficient. His reign is righteous. His yoke is easy, and His burden is light. I wish I could describe Him to you, but He's indescribable. He's incomprehensible. He's invincible. He's irresistible.

You can't get Him out of your mind. You can't get Him off of your hand. You can't outlive Him, and you can't live without Him.

The Pharisees couldn't stand Him, but they found out they couldn't stop Him. Pilate couldn't find any fault in Him. ... Herod couldn't kill Him. Death couldn't handle Him, and the grave couldn't hold Him. Yeah! That's my King, that's my King.
-- Dr. S.M. Lockridge

why i came to the city

I came to the city to learn deeply, to be challenged greatly, and thus be greatly rewarded.

I came to create and explore that which ennobles mankind: music, art, philosophy.

I came to read Nietzsche, Coleridge, Sartre, Byron and Poe and have no one tell me that they were drunken, drugged or lifeless men, only that they were exceptional men with ideas and visions and passions that set them apart from their peers.

I came to ask the pressing questions -- Who am I? What is humanity? What is a life of faith? Who is God? What am I really supposed to do with my life? -- and begin to find the answers.

I came to dive into cultural diversity, to smell and see it everywhere, to make friends in many circles, savor their differences and experience that which makes us all the same - breath, faith, love.

I came to be moved to tears by poignant moments, unashamed of emotion and dedicated to living a life in bright and saturated color.

I came to surrender myself to God and experience Him in new ways.

I came to sip coffee and intellectualize, unashamed to be young and curious.

I came to develop my own potential, with the help and blessing of He who gave me that potential.

I came to take in the bad times along with the good, to suffer, to toil, and thus to reap a greater appreciation of the good times, when they come.

I came to taste freedom, free from material burdens.

I came to speak dramatically, even poetically, with many infinitives.

I came to throw my head back and laugh with gusto.

I came to be bold, broke and happy.

I came to live my life in a shout, not a whisper.

Oscar Wilde once said, "It is tragic how few people ever 'possess their souls' before they die. Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their life a mimicry."

Myself, I refuse to live in shades of gray.