Legion, II

The Legion’s ghastly face contorted as he leered at Jesus. Scabs and ragged scars covered his entire naked body. Father had once told me that Legion gashed himself with rocks as he wailed at night by the tombs. Now I could see for myself the awful destruction the demons had caused—nothing I had ever seen had terrified me so. The awful thing before me had the shape and language of a man, yet its body and voice were completely inhuman.
Legion shrieked a hideous laugh, scrabbling and writhing among the rocks. Jesus continued toward the Legion almost as quietly as before. I could see His lips moving slowly, forming words I could not hear, and I realized that the teacher’s eyes were closed as He walked. Was He praying at such a dangerous time? Didn’t He see that Legion was possessed? Hadn’t He heard the stories of men who had chained the Legion, only to find that the demons gave him strength to break any shackles?
Then Jesus stopped before the Legion. When he spoke, his words were clear, spoken in a gentle and level tenor. “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!”
The Legion fell instantly to his knees, groveling at Jesus’ feet. His whole body trembled in the brown dust, thrashing and contorting before Jesus. Father clutched me close as Legion gave an agonizing howl, as if his body was breaking under the strain of the thousands within him. In his sickening, many-toned voice he wailed, “What have I to do with You, Jesus, Son lf the Most High God? I implore You by God, do not torment us!”
Awe stole my breath as the Legion’s words roared in my ears, so incredible I almost couldn’t comprehend them. Legion had never laid eyes on Jesus of Nazareth, yet the Legion had named Him the Son of God! The Messiah. This Jesus had the power to frighten hordes of demons, demons who called him the Son of God! As I watched him stand in peaceful strength, regarding Legion with compassion while he harshly rebuked the demons, the cold sweat of fear dried on my hands. I knew in that instant—I knew—that this man was He. With this knowledge came a sudden sense of peace, and as my pounding heart slowed I realized how my limbs had shaken and my breath had come in gasps.
Before my palms were completely dry and my breath caught deep in my lungs, the Legion ended his howling cries. He thrashed in the soil at Jesus’ hem, holding up his torn hands in supplication, head thrown back at a horrible angle as he stared sightless into the sky. There was a sudden silence as the Legion drew a great breath, broken only by the eerie cry of a bird overhead. Jesus spoke again, his voice still more calm and resonate than before.
“What is your name?”
The Legion’s body stiffened straight and still. As he spoke, the tones of his voice became increasingly garbled and earnestly pleading. “My name is Legion; for we are many! Son of God, do not send us from the country! Do not force us out, Highest One! O Mighty Son of God, do not drive us from this land!”
Jesus lifted his eyes in an unspoken prayer, then looked to Father and me. “There is a herd of swine on this mountain, is there not?”
I opened my mouth to answer Him when all of a sudden one of the other men said, “Listen! I hear some pigs now!”
Father and I turned as one to look in the direction the man pointed. A herd of swine trotted into view, thousands and thousands of them. Their backs were streaked with mud mixed from rain and dirt, and the ground trembled beneath their innumerable feet. As they came nearer, we edged back but Jesus faced Legion with serene assurance. The Legion raised clawed and grasping hands in distress. “Lord, let me stay in this country!”
“Yes. You will stay in this land, demons.” Jesus’ voice was tinged with a strange irony.
Legion gave a horrendous, hollowly triumphant laugh that echoed off the rocks. “Send us into the swine so that we may enter into them.”
Father gave a strangled cry of dread and my heart sank sickly in my chest. A strange and evil look gleamed in the Legion’s wild yellow eyes—heaving himself on all fours, he raised his twitching head in triumph, face contorting into his hideous, grinning leer. His screeching laugh strangled to a hoarse and wheezing gasp of infinite terror. Jesus raised His strong brown hands to heaven. To His Father.
“Leave this man all you many legions of evil spirits!”
Instantly the swine began squealing terribly, painfully, and running in the direction of the sea. Their sickening squeals and gurgling snorts deafened even my thoughts. Hundreds upon hundreds careened past us, running into the sea and drowning in the deep blue waves. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the ghastly, horrific sight of the demon-pigs diving madly to death, their corpses filling the waves. Then Father covered my eyes and forced my face against his chest. My stomach churned and I swallowed the sour taste in my mouth, struggling to breathe beneath the deluge of horrific images and sounds. As the awful screams of the hogs finally died away, I carefully opened my eyes. My entire body was sick, trembling, cold.
There was sudden silence for the second time this morning. As my mind cleared, I saw Jesus bending toward Legion, who lay on the ground as if dead with shallow breaths barely lifting his chest. For the first time since I had seen him, Legion’s muscles were relaxed and still beneath his bleeding and bruised skin. Tears filled his dark-ringed, exhausted eyes. His gaze was fixed on Jesus with adoration and gratitude so intense, I could hardly stand to look. With careful and infinitely tender hands, Jesus helped him sit. Giving a soft, sane sigh, Legion bowed his head into Jesus shoulder and wept.
“Lord Jesus, Son of God—“ He spoke in one voice now, broken and joyous and gentle. “Bless You, Mighty One!”
Jesus smiled a loving smile that radiated something far beyond words. Legion put a trembling hand to Jesus’ face and traced a tear that trailed down the Messiah’s cheeks. As a seabird’s piercing wail echoed from above the water, high in the gold sunlight, a desperate longing filled my heart. This man who was more than a man—Messiah, conqueror of demons, gentle lover, Son of God—fulfilled that yearning and drew me inexorably to Himself.
Jesus helped Legion stand, then walked with his hand on Legion’s shoulder, leading him down the steep hill toward the sea. I followed behind, wanting only to be near my Jesus and marveling still at what He had done. The rising sun had no glory compared to Him but as it rose it traced His outline and Legion’s with light, and they appeared to walk into its brilliance and disappear.

The Legion

I've been so busy this summer that I haven't posted in over two months...although I've been trying to work on a post, the endless succession of work and chores and work renders blogging sadly impossible :( Thus I have decided to post some of the retold Bible stories that I wrote between 6-10 grades! I've never shared them before but since I was desperate and feeling somewhat whimsical today, why not? Since I can copy-paste, look for an update at least once a week :)

<><><> Part One: The Legion, from Mark 5 <><><>

Sudden silence woke me just before dawn. I had fallen asleep, just hours ago, to the shrieking winds and pouring rains of a violent storm. This abrupt stillness brought me instantly wide-awake. I lay still listening until the final faint, exhausted breath of storm wind died away. As the wet blue light of early morning seeped through the window cloth, I threw back my thin blanket and crept outside into the lonely morning air.
In the pale light droplets of fresh rain glimmered on everything in sight. They were calm and beautiful, unlike the wild and frightening deluge of the last few hours. Never in my life had I seen a violent storm—even a mild storm—stop so suddenly and completely.
I walked silently down the steep bank that led to the Sea of Galilee, a shining crown wrapped across the horizon. A few battered boats, looking weary of the winds and glad to finally be at peace, rested on the silvery water. As I drew closer to the sea, I watched the growing light distinguish waves from the shadows and bright patches on the water.
A bird screamed far out over the Sea of Galilee, the sound floating faintly to my ears. The sun was just rising in the east, like a brilliant jewel on the crown of the sea. It shone whitish-yellow and turned the sky to gentle orange. Black stood the fishing boats against this sunrise; our family fishing vessel among the silhouettes rocking on the waves. I stepped onto the sandy beach with my lungs full of clean air. Smiling happily, I listened to the muted calls of seabirds and the shift of wet sand beneath my feet.
As I came closer to the fishing boat, however, the low grumbling of Father’s voice resonated over the calmness of the morning, seemingly loud and out of place. I knew something was wrong; Father never grumbled, even when a storm prevented him from launching our boat early enough. Father glanced at me as I strolled toward him. His bushy eyebrows knitted together over eyes darker than their usual golden brown. “Samuel! Help me with the nets!”
My stomach lurched. The nets—I hadn’t repaired them last night as Father had asked. Instead, my friend Ezekiel and I had chased the storm up and down the sands, running ourselves breathless until stopped by the darkness and violence of the night. Lamenting my neglectfulness, I snatched one corner and tugged the soggy rope-weave onto the sand. The small hole of yesterday was larger, more ragged. Between missing the day’s fishing because of the storm and finding his nets in tatters, Father would surely not be pleased. Without daring to look in his direction, I began mending the net. Inside I wondered what punishment lay in store.
Father’s menacing shadow hovered darkly across the sandy net. My nervous fingers slipped and I threw the net down. “I’m sorry! Ezekiel and I were playing and we—“
Suddenly Father’s head swiveled sharply toward the Sea of Galilee, his concentration broken as my excuses fell on deaf ears. I stood up and gazed in the same direction, shading my eyes against the fiery sunrise with one hand, wondering what Father saw. No boat should be on the sea after such a fierce storm, that much I knew. Yet what else would my father see upon the waves?
To my astonishment, a simple wooden boat floated into view, dipping and rising with the tide. A group of men stood beneath its torn sail, all of them soaked with rainwater but excitedly gesturing. I froze at the edge of the water, incredulous—they had survived that storm at sea through the entire night! For a moment Father also stopped, stunned and silent, before splashing out to meet the boat in the last few feet of its journey to shore. Two of the men stumbled from their boat to the sand and caught some up in their hands, laughing and shaking their heads in disbelief. One man, however, caught my interest as he sat quietly and calmly in the rear of the craft, apparently less astonished to gain solid earth.
Then the rest of the men, excepting the quiet one who remained in the boat, swept me along with them as they leaped out to join their two companions in shouting gratefulness to God. As soon as they had finished their praises, they began telling Father about their night on the stormy waves. As we followed the group up the steep ground away from the sea, their voices gained volubility, the paths of their multiple narrations circling and crossing like the flight of the birds overhead. I trailed behind, my heart pounding with the contagious joy and excitement and wonder.
“Samuel, they spent the entire night out on the lake, and not a one of them was drowned! These men are followers of that Nazarene, Jesus, who teaches that he is the Son of God—the very man who is now in boat! No, but he is coming this way now! So much I have heard, I must ask—“
Father’s speech died, his mouth frozen and lips grayed, eyes fixed seemingly on my face. I opened my mouth to question him, but realized at the same time that he was staring beyond me, body tensing as his dark eyes narrowed and grew wary. The eyes of the men were transfixed beyond me as well, their tumultuous speech instantly stilled. Sudden as a fork of lightening, Father inhaled sharply, turning swiftly toward the sea and snatching my wrist. “Quick, Sam—“
“Stop!”
A horrible, inhuman hissing formed the single word. The sound of it hung in the now ominous morning air, heavier still because the birds had ceased singing. Everything had ceased. The hissing struck our ears again, one voice yet seemingly with thousands wailing and echoing in its inflection. “Stop. You will go no further, but listen to what I say.”
My hands clenched instantly into fists, nails piercing my palms. With a terrible, overwhelming fright I realized to whom the voice belonged—Legion. Legion. Legion, the demon possessed man of the tombs, the Legion, with his hissing, many-toned voice and inhuman keening shrieks. Night by night, his unearthly voice wafted from the burial places of the dead. A great scream rose in my throat that I was too frightened to voice, making me gasp for breath. In the deathly silence, I heard the Legion laugh madly, as he must have done during the fearsome storm.
Suddenly Jesus, the quiet man who had walked slowly behind the rest of us, came into view. He walked calmly toward my petrified father and the group of still-frozen men. From behind I heard a sudden rustle and a high screech. Freed by the knowledge that Legion’s freakish yellow eyes had finally left my back, I stumbled into Father’s arms. I peered over his tanned forearm, my horrified self unable to keep from looking.

The Excellent Woman

This is the Proverbs 31 passage describing a woman of excellence who will be a wife of excellence. It defines exellence of character, working/living skills, money and time management, treatment of those who are underdogs or impoverished or her loved ones, speech, teaching, dress, bearing, and reputation. I followed my "commentary" on the chapter with a brief poem about what it means to be a truly lovely woman!

<><><>Proverbs 31<><><>

10An excellent wife, who can find? For her worth is far above jewels.

A woman who would make an excellent wife is extremely rare and invaluably precious--she is a man's treasure.

11The heart of her husband trusts in her, And he will have no lack of gain.

A good woman is trustworthy. Her words and actions coincide and she has integrity, forthrightness, and has the moral strength to act as she believes is right and as she says she will.

12She does him good and not evil, All the days of her life.
A woman who is virtuous, trustworthy, and excellent in moral character will be a blessing to a man for his entire life!

13She looks for wool and flax, And works with her hands in delight.

She looks for work and does so cheerfully, with her own hands.

14She is like merchant ships; She brings her food from afar.

She looks for things that are excellent, even if it takes more time or effort.

15She rises also while it is still night, And gives food to her household, And portions to her maidens.

She is on schedule, productive, dedicated, and diligent. She not only cares for

those who are closest to her, but also to those who are under her or below her.

16She considers a field and buys it; From her earnings she plants a vineyard.

She thinks before she spends money and chooses to spend it wisely and frugally. She takes her profits and invests or saves them.

17She girds herself with strength, And makes her arms strong.

She works energetically, efficiently, and unfailingly--she is a hard worker.

18She senses that her gain is good;Her lamp does not go out at night.

She is a good steward who ensures that things in her house/life are properly managed.

19She stretches out her hands to the distaff,And her hands grasp the spindle.

She is diligent, faithful, and a joyful and dedicated worker.

20She extends her hand to the poor,And she stretches out her hands to the needy.

She reaches out to the poor and needy, whether they desire material possessions or spiritual ministry.

21She is not afraid of the snow for her household,For all her household are clothed with scarlet.

The people she cares for can trust her to take good care of them.

22She makes coverings for herself; Her clothing is fine linen and purple.

She dresses with modesty and elegance.

23Her husband is known in the gates,When he sits among the elders of the land.

She has influence in the world around her.

24She makes linen garments and sells them,And supplies belts to the tradesmen.

She is enterprising and industrious.

25Strength and dignity are her clothing, And she smiles at the future.

She is poised. She is unafraid of the future because of who she is as a woman (and because of the God she believes in!).

26She opens her mouth in wisdom, And the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

When she speaks and teaches, what she says is wise and kind--and she actually does speak and teach!

27She looks well to the ways of her household, And does not eat the bread of idleness.

She manages her home well as a diligent, productive, dedicated, wise, frugal, enterprising, industrious, joyful, faithful, kind, and caring woman.

28Her children rise up and bless her;Her husband also, and he praises her, saying:
29"Many daughters have done nobly,But you excel them all."

She is distinguished--she has an exceptional reputation for being the type of excellent woman who is described in this passage.

30Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, But a woman who fears the LORD, she shall be praised.
She fears God above all else!

31Give her the product of her hands, And let her works praise her in the gates.

The things she says and does in her life are so beneficial, that she would be blessed if they were done to her. Others praise her and her deeds/words praise her.

<><><>Retrospect<><><>

There is a better thing, dear heart,

Than youthful flush or girlish grace.

There is the faith that never fails,

The courage in the danger place,

The duty seen, and duty done,

The heart that yearns for all in need,

The lady soul which could not stoop

To selfish thought or lowly deed.

All that we ever dreamed, dear wife,

Seems drab and common by the truth,

The sweet sad mellow things of life

Are more than golden dreams of youth.

Spiderthreads on Created Beauty

"It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness." ~Tolstoy


Beauty is not goodness; in fact, beauty is often the most deceptive disguise beneath which masquerades abhorrent ugliness. Perhaps that statement hinges upon my definition of beauty...lately, I have realized yet more deeply that pure beauty is extraordinarily rare in this world (perhaps nonexistent?)--even in that which I love most for its beauty, that which draws me nearer to God and impresses me with His character or creation. Rather, anything done without God and without faith is dead, worthless, useless, ugly...no matter how such works may rate by earthly standards of beauty, what is not of God is hateful to God. Most of the works I consider so agonizingly beautiful are then the epitome of ugliness because they misuse God's precious gifts of amazing talent and breath-stealing beauty, seperating them from God. Such works take the glory of God, the ultimate aim of mankind, and cast it down in pride, even if unintentionally. "Beauty" created aside from God-centrific faith is then the greatest possible perversion of the incredible beauty and gifts with which God has endowed those who bear His image.

Thus plays like Our Town, sculptures like Nike of Samothrace, the Cruel World pas de deux, Prokofiev's score for Romeo and Juliet--each and every one of these agonizingly beautiful works is void of true, pure beauty. However, I am not condemning forms of created "beauty"--art, music, dance, theatre. Just as God speaks to us through sin-caused troubles and trials, I believe He speaks to us through these forms of sinfully-created "beauty". Despite their horrifying spiritual ugliness and perversion, God reveals Himself and aspects of true beauty through these works. We have spiritual eyes and hearts open to seeing and savouring God through such earthly and impure/imperfect beauty--I know I have seen and found God in Prokofiev, Nike, ballet, Emily Webb's final monologues...

So I desire to evaluate wordly beauty, to remember that it is ultimately repellant and revolting to God, but to see His beauty through it and to find Him in it. I seek beauty because God has created me with a soul that CRAVES it and cannot live without it. And I am eagerly and wistfully awaiting the time when I will finally see true, pure, unadulterated beauty unmasked! Then I will no longer hear an agonizing beautiful echo and suddenly, sadly realize in the midst of listening that it bears no resemblance to the real sound.


"Pleasures are shafts of glory as it strikes our sensibility..." ~C.S.Lewis

"The fine arts once divorcing themselves from the truth are qutie certain to fall mad, if they do not die." ~Thomas Carlyle

"We want something else which can hardly be put into words--to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it...Someday, God willing, we shall get IN." ~Lewis

Harry Potter

I realize the debate over Harry Potter is a thing long-past, but it's come up a few times in conversation here at school. I've been thinking back over the ages-old arguments for and against the popular series...the following is my attempt to express the evidence I've found and conclusions I've drawn.

The justification I hear most often is that Harry Potter is fantasy fiction, and therefore the witchcraft and sorcery in the book is only imaginary. This is not quite true. The thunderbolt on Harry's forehead is a historically famous occult symbol, used by Hitler for the SS (he was involved in the occult) and by various admittedly occult death metal bands. Nicolas Flamel, a character from the first HP book, was an actual historical alchemist and occult figure. The "Hand of Glory" goes back through history as a famous occult object--a severed (and often mummifed) hand used as a charm and for black magik incantations. Here is a list of actual occult and satanic practices that are ACCURATELY described and employed in the HP series:

• Reading of palms and tea-leaves
• Crystal-ball gazing
• Divination
• Curses
• Incantation, charms, spells
• Rune stones
• Divination
• Astrology
• Arithmancy
• Numerology
• Auras
• Trances
• Blood sacrifice
• Scrying (direct contradiction to Deut 18:11 and Luke 16:19-31)
• Possession--"I could possess the bodies of others...I sometimes inhabited animals - snakes, of course, being my preference - but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill-adapted to perform magic...and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long... 'Then...four years ago...the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard young, foolish, and gullible wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home... He was easy to bend to my will....I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders." (The Goblet of Fire, p. 567)
• Shape-shifting

The reader can walk into any bookstore or library and find books that will teach the reader to actually perform these occult rituals/practices as described! This is NOT true of the magic found in either LOTR or CoN. The magic of HP is NOT merely fantastical--it is magic from the real world, found in the real world! Real-world Wiccans, satanists, and occultists recognize this fact!

It is also commonly argued that the series presents an epic (and Biblically approved) battle between good and evil. The good and evil represented in HP, however, have a moral ambiguity that make its messages all the more subtle and dangerous. What basis do good and evil have in HP, and from whence does the HP magic come? Rowling writes of magic in one book, “There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it...". This thought aligns with the occult thought defined by witch Marion Weinstein, "No duality exists between good and evil. The One Power over all is neither good or bad; it transcends qualitative thought." The magic in HP has no higher power (allegorical God) that created and controls it, as the Emporer over the Sea does with Narnian magic. Rather, it is a sort of "force" that can be controlled and used as a character wishes--this nullifies any suggestion of a higher authority or God.

But this moral ambiguity also stretches into the actual actions of the characters. In MANY cases, the ends serve to justify the means. Harry performs good and sometimes noble actions, but often through/with disobedience and disrespect--not to mention the fact that witchraft in a sense chooses Harry and controls/guides significant life choices (which dorm he is placed in and which wand "chooses" him). Adults are viewed negatively and children escape to places where they have the power with Rowling herself admitting this idea as inspiriation for the series, "The idea that we could have a child who escapes from the confines of the adult world and goes somewhere where he has power, both literally and metaphorically, really appealed to me." In another BLATANT amoral concept, people who do not possess the ability to perform witchcraft and sorcery are looked down upon and typified as ignorant, boring, or bad.

Many still argue the permissibility of HP--after all, it isn't actually drawing children into witchcraft or the occult, especially if appropriately explained. On one hand, there is evidence that the rise of HP is related to a rise in occultism among juveniles: “... the Pagan Federation's Steve Paine, the high priest of a coven, said the highly successful Harry Potter books were popular amongst practising witches. "They are taken as fantasy entertainment. But they do encourage people to think about different forms of spirituality", he said." Deutoronomy 18:9 addresses interaction with occultism: "When you enter the land which the LORD your God gives you, you shall not learn to imitate the detestable things of those nations." The Hebrew word for "learn" means "to study, become accustomed to". The HP series--even if not directly pushing readers into the occult--does desensitize one to the occult simply by filling one's mind with an extremely positive representation of it. The reader in a sense becomes accustomed to the witchcraft represented in the book by reading about it over and over again.

Even if one finds no problem with the occultism or moral issues within HP, it would seem that the content is unecessarily dark and "creepy" and morbid. Phillipians 4:8 calls for CONSTANT meditation on what is beautiful and noble and good and true and pure and of good report. HP contains severed and mummified hands, black magik, blood sacrifices, a baby boiled in a cauldron, demons, werewolves, vampires, possession (described in eerie and dark terms), scrying, shape-shifting, among a host of disgusting/dark/morbid/just plain ickyness.

One last thought--if sorcery and witchraft can be justified in a fantastical literay setting, then adultery, immorality, murder, theft, lies, swearing, and any other negative element can likewise be justified. And in the end, is it not most important to simply avoid every HINT of evil? Especially an evil that is based on the worship of the Evil One, the greatest enemy of God?

Wolves in Wolves' Clothing

I can hardly believe the blatant, ridiculous, unapologetic, unashamed heresy of this false teacher! It's frightening and saddening to realize how easily people are led astray. A wolf in a wolf's clothing, if I've ever seen such:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22htEwXYkLU&feature=rec-HM-rev-rn

As Christians, we hear so much complaint about the elusive, entangling meshes of post-modern thought. Cultic or heretical teachings are so often depicted as close to the truth, and are led by smooth-talking fluent "Christianese-speaking" teachers. With all the emphasis on confusion and subtlty and trickery and deceit, we tend to see false prophets and false prophecy as wolves in sheep's clothing. Somehow the blame often transfers (even slightly) from us to their guile, expertise, and charisma. In truth, however, we cannot deny that the ultimate responsibility lies with us--God's truth is revealed and we are without any excuse. Equipped with the Bible, we are enabled to recognize untruth for what it is--the wolves look like wolves in wolves' clothing.

The Disconcerting Downfall of Verbiage

Language is one of my favourite things God has created, something so magical and beautiful and yet so confining. I love the shape of words as they meander across a crisp page (I keep a journal with all of my favourite words in alphabetical order!)...and I love the way words feel when you form them in your mouth, when you alter them with inflection or intonation or an accent. I absolutely devour words whenever they come my way--especially quaint words or words that look/feel/sound exactly like their meanings. And naturally my soul simply sings when words are linked together in a manner that perfectly and beautifully expressed some noble thought or lovely image or intense emotion...

As someone who loves words and language so dearly, modern literature and poetry are disconcerting! I am continually shocked by the lack of excellence in modern vocabulary and verbiage. With few exceptions, the beauty and excellence of verbal expression seem to be waning...it is as if a luminous and glorious moon were nearing complete eclipse. I certainly do not want to live in the darkness of prosaic, base, ignoble utlization of language. Without a proficient understanding of language, how narrow, how insipid, how unimaginative, how contstrained, how limited would be the "shorelines of wonder" amd the "waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind"! How frightening and dismal to not merely lose sight of the beauty of words, but to relinquish even the desire to see that loveliness...to have part of your mind shriveled, stagnant, and small...

"I am concerned that our reading and our writing is gravitating to the lowest common denominator so completely that the great themes of majesty and nobility and felicity are made to seem trite, puny, pedestrian...I am concerned about the state of the soul in the midst of all the cheap sensory overload going on today. You see, without what Alfred North Whitehead called "an habitual vision of greatness", our soul will shrivel up and lose the capacity for beauty and mystery and transcendence...To write pedanticaly about radiance or infinity or ubiquity stunts the mind and cramps the soul. To find the right word, to capture the perfect image, awakens the spirit and enlarges the soul."

"The true purpose...is to cherish and unfold the seed of immortality already sown within us; to develop, to their fullest extent, the capacities of every kind with which God who made us has endowed us." --Anna James

"The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them." --Mark Twain

"A large, still book is a piece of quietness, succulent and nourishing in a noisesome world, which I approach and imbibe with "a sort of greedy enjoyment"." --Holbrook Johnson

"Here are beauties which pierce like swords or burn like cold iron...in reading great literature, I become a thousand men and yet remain myself...I transcend myself; and I am never more myself than when I do." --Clive Staples Lewis

"What is well-written...it is the very blood of thought!" --Gustave Flaubert

I have many of my favourite poems hyperlinked at the lower right on the homepage of this blog...go read some :)