Although we find pleasure in exercising our sexual powers, pleasure is not their purpose; it only provides a motive for using these powers, and a dangerous one, too, which may at times conflict with their true purposes and steer us wrong. Besides, to think of pleasure as the purpose of intercourse is to treat our bodies merely as tools for sending agreeable sensations to our minds. They are of inestimably greater dignity than that, for they are part of what we are.
I’ve gotta say. I really love the cover that Sleeping at Last does. It is so delicate.
Today I am lighter… feeling better, that is.
This version of the song, I perceive it as what the Lord is saying to me. I, the Lord would walk 500 miles, and he did. When He died on the cross, He was lonely without me. Yet… He would walk 500 miles, and he would walk 500 more… just to be the man, to be the God, that walked 1000 miles to fall at my door. My door. A flood of images come to mind… the Lord carrying his cross, walking on the road, the street to get to me, to find me. To offer me His love…
Too, it is how I, myself, want to walk to the Lord. As a woman, anyhow. I want to walk 1000 miles just so that I can fall at the foot of the cross, so that I can fall at his door.
when you’re happy to be alive.
-What about when you aren’t happy to be alive? That’s what I want to know. That is more of what I understand anyways…
There is a short supply of wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings in my horizon; the skies are cloudy and dark. The image of a disaster comes to mind, but not the preferential kind, not the beautiful, such a beautiful disaster. Barely even a disaster: doesn’t disaster imply some sort of sudden atrophy of earthen ground? Not even a disaster, not barely beautiful, a mess, just a convoluted, complicated, corrupted mess.
It’s like being hungry, but never eating.
Somehow, the pain that was so apparent becomes the norm. And the norm becomes the high. And the high becomes so intolerable you’re wondering why. Why and how you got to such a place. You’re thinking about how there isn’t enough space. No space to move, no space to breathe, the area that surrounds our emotions just heaves. Heavy from the wreckage and weak from the start, you look to escape yourself, and that’s where you start. You start from the beginning and question existence, you start from your birth and ask for a witness. Someone with eyes to have seen the hardened plaster that molded you into this person, disaster. From every angle you try to run, the heat and light, so strong from the sun. But you cannot withstand the anguish it unveils, nor can you marvel at the beauty that entails. So you turn in on yourself where it feels much less hot, and you grieve and you mourn, and you begin to rot. The darkness surrounds you and quiets your heart, it tells you lies and pushes you afar. The darkness becomes the norm and your resistance is low, so you fight off infection, until the final blow. Without thinking or acting you admit that defeat, that has crushed you from standing, offering you a seat. The seat on the floor, close to the wood floors, where everything is colder, and the wind tends to soar. You can rest your head, with great satisfaction, and simply escape from your land of transactions. So many losses, are there not any gains? You try to conjure the math once again. So many losses, with few glimpses of sun. And you wonder if it is worth it to stay in the run…
Nothing short of the Holy Spirit when a priest can make remarks on the burden of guilt, the healthy feeling that comes to guide our conscience back to its moral origin.
Today was a good day, a beautiful day, a sweet day.
I am excited to go to Mass tomorrow, to return home from South Carolina, and to finish up my summer.
I walk slow… I walk slow… take my hand, help me on my way.
This summer has changed my life.
The others have too, undoubtedly. But none like this. No… this summer has been quite different. I have been faced with searing loss. I have also, at times, chosen to turn away from God.
I could be angry about it… I could; it is true. Anger hasn’t gotten me far, though. Instead, I try hope.
This burning inside of me isn’t quenched by worldly things, by beautiful, or created things. That would be too easy. Why even create?
I struggle with something far more menacing: the discipline of the body, mind, and heart. Perhaps the biggest obstacle is that I believe I could… I believe I can actually overcome it myself.
Everything I have ever tried to overcome by my own merit has failed miserably. Instead, I need grace. I need grace badly.
Yet… I still find myself, though with hope, still distant, still uneasy. Still unsure about this God, whom is love. God, who allowed evil so that he may bring us back to Himself. No God, who prevented evil from entering into the world. God, who loves… me.
I am sorry God.
Please forgive me.
calvin the corolla. :)
This upcoming semester, I would like to be that person.
I want to become who I am.
It is most certainly an ongoing process; but, I want to make a conscious effort to realize it, to make it my goal.
I’ve realized, especially in this past year, that I have been very dependent on some of my other roommates and friends too and not in the “we are all called to community” way. Socially, I’ve been lazy; Spiritually, I’ve been slothful. Either way… the past is not present.
I realize that I also have a desire to become more unified; I am under the impression that there is a central core… but still there are these extraneous parts, odds, and ends… that manifest themselves frequently. Yet, who am I to have an opinion of myself…? I am quite biased and my opinion of, well, me is probably jaded.
Despite this I still see the incongruence within myself that I wish to be reconciled. The answer? Peace.
The search for and maintenance of peace.
Might I add that I am having a terrible time keeping my tongue caged up, when appropriate of course. I’m talking about gossip. Truthfully, I don’t consciously make an effort to talk about people… but because our existence is a coexistence there is ample opportunity. This must be overcome. I can certainly increase what I am doing on my part to put an end to it.
The sin of detraction is a violation of the virtues of both justice and charity. It is the unjust damaging on another’s good name by the revelation of some fault or crime of which that other is guilty. (Paraphrased from the New Advent) There is something so tempting about pointing out another’s fault, or examining their choices, as I find myself doing in conversation or thought. Perhaps the real problem is not the gossip itself but the plank hiding from behind the splinter… envy. The sorrow for another man’s good.
There is so much in me that I desire to be rectified in the eyes of God. Despite this, as I have been recently learning, I can’t change it all for myself… in fact, I can change none of it. Instead, in peace… with good soil… the Lord works; He will accomplish it, in his own time, and way. The saints pour out these words so perfectly for us…! Saint Frances de Sales says this: We must hate our shortcomings, but with a hate that is tranquil and peaceful, not with a hate that is fretful and troubled; and, yes, we must have the patience to see our shortcomings and to profit from a saintly abasement of ourselves… there is nothing which sustains our defects more than a sense of anxiety and haste to eliminate them.
It kind of makes you… shut up, effectively.
It seems almost backwards; Yet, it reinforces this concept that “without [Him] you can do nothing”. (John 15:5) This way of thinking brings me peace, or at least the taste of it. In sincere truth, then, I am called not to find my own flaws, as I am already limited in what I see in myself, but I am instead called to give the Lord and opportunity to sow the seed. I must pray for grace: that will set my heart into motion and clear the earth of my heart.
You’re making my heart a garden.
—Let Her Go
I came across this song a few days ago.
While it is still painful to think about Joe, I keep changing the lyrics when I think or sing this song aloud.
[The things we would’ve done, if we had known.]
I love you, Joe.