I was browsing my matches, and came across a journal entry that inspired me. The particular entry discussed religion, which I usually steer away from in my own public musings, as I consider it a very private matter. However, as I said, I'm inspired to share, so I shall do so.

When I grew up, I did not attend church. The closest I came to that whole experience involved vacation bible school, a handful of times, with friends. My mother grew up in a very strict, church centered family. If the doors to their church were open, they were inside them. After she got married, she never set foot in one again.

I've always been rather glad about that...I feel that it gave me the opportunity to learn about various religions and spirituality with more of an unbiased view. I don't think I've ever been comfortable accepting another person's firm instruction regarding the unseen, the spiritual. I never believed in Santa Claus...there was an absence of faith in me from the beginning.

Oh, I tried to believe in something. I tried praying, I listened to my friends talk about their spiritual experiences, I reached out with everything I had to find something similar. It just wasn't there. I went looking and found...nothing. I never felt the swell of religious ecstasy, never saw a ghost, never had a supernatural experience of any sort. It was Santa Claus all over again. What a disappointment.

I spent many years as an agnostic. Its a very comfortable place to be, admitting that you don't know, you can't know, and being okay with that. There were many amiable arguments with the type of theists who regard it as their duty to convert the atheists and agnostics of the world to their way of thinking. Those discussions helped me formulate my own particular philosophy regarding the matter. There is no logical, rational conversation that can convince one of the existence of unseen forces or gods. One either has faith or one does not.

In 2000 or 2001, certain circumstances occurred that caused faith to rear up it's head and bite my ass. Through that wound, it proceeded to infect my entire being. Suddenly I had to look at the world in a different light, rearrange my view and proceed forward with this feeling of "oh!". It wasn't an easy process for me. I was very comfortable with the way I was before. Actually, it hasn't really changed me...I still have the same code of ethics I had before. I still have no particular desire to attend any church. There's no need within me to push my beliefs off on anyone else. I've not become a rabid bible-thumper (whew!). That faith thing, though, is a powerful whammy, and it got me.

Forgotten realms of thought
Reach tendrils through space and time
Touching tentatively, I've lost
Sight of the search and I've
Leapt at this sliver of lust
Dropped metal fragments into the dust
Scattered ashes over the rust
and I do not want to but I must
Forge straight ahead into change
Screaming and thrashing my way
For with birth always comes the pain
Of bleeding the past away
Tears trembling, slip down my face
As I take part in this most basic race
That shapes me and molds me in place
'Til I no longer know my own taste
But it lies there in blood.


By me, on April 23, 2008

I lost my capacity for bitterness
An age ago, when I was still the young,
shy child who searched for vengeance.
I've torn down these walls
that I've hidden behind for eons
So that I might for once waltz,
Hand in hand with that second or third chance
I am sure will pass my way.
I run with the wind, a fire in my veins
and reach for you, for I know
you feel the same.
I see your heart has been pricked
By pain, rejection and loss
And the river of time has worn ravines
Through the canyon of your soul.
Who among us can ford the channel
of rending, who can climb
the banks of despair,
They are those who find
happiness in this fleeting moment.

Fairy dust settles on my skin
Intangible delights prickling
and fine hairs rise up in instinct
as the fairies begin their tickling
Touches, feather light, so soft
like kisses in the moonlight
barely, yet There, high aloft
in the branches of the Tree.
They whirl me into my lover's embrace,
Giggling at the magic, sparkles
Dancing over the water's mad race
to the oceans below.

By Me, on 1/15/08

Debaucherous gentlemen, come ye to me
Upon thy savvy tongue, sweet words
Are whispered, beckoning...
My heart a-pound, my senses awhirl
Ye silver tongued beguiler
Soon hast my skirts aswirl.
Yon moon, she shines
Upon a dewed, misty night
And hath but a laugh for my plight.
My mischevious gaze upon thee
I cry out, shaking, shuddering
Into thy hands I give my offering.
Debaucherous gentlemen, come ye to me
Upon this new year I undertake
To send thy senses reeling.

I like beer. I've always enjoyed the taste of it, although I like to think my palate has improved since my first one (Old Milwaukee's Best). My favorite for the past few years has been Heineken Dark. For such a tasty brew, it's surprisingly difficult to find. Everyone seems to carry the Heineken lager (in the green bottle), but it's got a skunky aftertaste I've never much cared for. The dark is richer, almost sweet. Almost nutty. Shiner Boch is okay...but it doesn't taste quite dark enough for a dark beer...and then Guiness is just a bit TOO dark for me. I'm also partial to Harp, which, although not a dark beer, is so incredibly smooth.

I looked up the definition of art and found 16 different definitions. None of them matched up with my personal definitions or feelings of what art is. It's a small word that could fill up pages, and has filled up museums, homes, walls, and the world. Is a blade of grass art? Some might not think so, but if they've read Jack Chalker's Soul Rider series, they might have to reconsider. The material world in that place was created out of "flux", by machines...and one particular character stared at a blade of grass, mesmerized by the equations that had caused it to be. Not applicable to the real world? Try looking at a blade of grass under a microscope, or ponder how it's molecular structure would appear. Is it beautiful? To some, perhaps, to others, perhaps not.

So is art beauty? That doesn't seem like an entire definition, either, because beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What one person finds beautiful, another may find macabre, repulsive. Even boring...

Is art a noun or a verb? I believe it's both. The dictionary agrees with me on that point...it can be an object, a sound, a performance, a skill, an action, a pause... The true question to consider might be what is Not art? What is not appreciated, by someone, somewhere? I'm trying to think of what is not art to me, but I can't say that someone, somewhere, might consider it a fabulous masterpiece. A parking lot...but who made the parking lot? And would someone else who mixes concrete for a living appreciate how well the job was done? Would that person look at the vast wasteland filled with vehicles and appreciate the lack of potholes...the spacing of the painted lines between cars...the curvature of the curb?

Fears and uncertainties surround
Then fade, and wash away
Like the tide of an angry beach.

I know who I am, what I am
But who am I becoming?
Peaceful vale or baleful storm?

My fingertips reach for frosting
Then hide in sudden solitude
Afraid of a little spanking.

So amusing, hide and seek
Deep within the soul
Who is It?

Okay, the Halloween pic is back...for those who may have missed it and want to give their opinion. What say ye? Unflattering? Flattering? Honest opinions are most valued. But you don't have to be mean about it...

Okay, the votes are in, and my Halloween pic was not well received. My brother cut the tie..."hmm...you could do better..." he said. Ok. It's gone!