The Story
Getting hopelessly lost in the sound of it all
Piling hope upon hope that it’s not some fool’s fall
Don’t tell me how it ends, that’s the lame way out
Don’t try to fill the silence with unfounded doubts
Believe me, the alternative’s a well-trodden lane
It’s a funny place, a scary place, where everyone’s insane. (more…)
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The Prince and the King, a Parable
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There once was a king who ruled a vast empire which stretched over mountains and valleys, plains and seas, and deserts and tundra. The king knew his only son would one day take the reins of power, and wanted to prepare him for that monumental task. |
| One day the king was hosting an ambassador in his court when the young prince suddenly appeared, brushed aside the royal heralds, and approached his father’s throne. Interrupting the visiting statesman in mid-sentence, the prince brashly asked, “Father, I have been thinking. I am a prince, but I want to be king. When can I ascend the throne?” The king, who was as wise as he was just, thought for a moment.
Mindful of the eyes of many dignitaries fastened on his august personage, the king asked his son, “You have interrupted an important meeting with an ambassador. Since you wish to be king, let me test your knowledge.” The king asked his son about the longstanding trade issue he had been discussing with the ambassador. The prince, dumbfounded, said nothing. Sighing, the king said to his son, “If you had known more about geography, literature, and history you would have been able to answer my question. Do you know what you should do?” (more…) |
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This is what happens when I start thinking about life: I encapsulate my experiences and thoughts into music, poetry, prose, or pithy sayings. Take them for what they’re worth, and don’t forget to pack a salt-shaker.
Things Learned in 2008
1. Honesty seasoned with momentary pain is better than a life wracked by regret.
2. Sometimes, when your heart speaks louder than your head your ears aren’t working.
3. Corollary to #2: When your heart speaks louder than your head, there’s usually a reason.
I Remember…
On Youth
I was reminiscing on the innocence of youth, on the blissful ignorance blessed children possess, a state in which the few cares of one’s day were wiped clean with a good night’s sleep. I think early childhood pleasure is like the proverbial Garden of Eden, where the knowledge of the world’s evil is hidden behind a velvet curtain by vigilant parents. Yet too many children today are forcefully ejected from or lured out from that safe place far too soon. Worse yet, many will never be able to write anything remotely resembling these words, having known only the rage of the high seas and not the stillness of the harbor.
Child’s Mind at Play
The sap from the towering pine trees of my elementary school playground fascinated me. As a child, I couldn’t imagine how a hard, brittle tree could produce such a sweet scented, sticky substance. Nearby, I remember how the circular floor of the merry-go-round had metallic dimples which could form quick impressions into your knees and cause some discomfort.
My recess companions and I invented C4’s imaginary cousin. We had digital watches, mostly by Casio. Our devices were black, with cheap plastic bands and a metal tongue. As soon as the recess bell rang, we’d rush out the door to claim our demolition site. The target site was always a monument to youth: a three-tiered, metallic-grey, jungle gym. Careful to fasten our imaginary explosive devices with the utmost care, we set our timers for 1:00 and gingerly scrambled down before the whole structure blew up.I don’t know how often we played this, but it must have been enough times to imprint on my mind the smell of pine chips covering the chocolate-milk-colored dirt floor and the sharp, metallic tangy scent of my hands after gripping the smooth metal bars of the gym. Predisposed to avoiding injury, I was more careful to allow my high-top shoes had plenty of grip on the bars as I dismounted for fear of slipping and forcefully straddling an unyielding bar at an inopportune moment.
During our classroom hours, we furtively rescued spent computer punch cards from the trash and traced the tiny rectangles onto notebook paper, using them as mini-code cards for our secret meetings (no girls allowed, except Melody). We had ostentatious code names like King Cobra and Lightning Falcon- a fruit salad of sinister-sounding sobriquets formed from a jumble of G.I. Joe and Transformers re-runs.
Rochester
One of my earliest memories is just a glimmer of a fragment of memory. Outside our house, weeds poked up through the cracks in a sidewalk. Trotting to the left of my parent’s first rental, I ran along to an older gentleman’s house, where I was given hard candy- lollipops of various flavors, round suckers which invite one to make a game out of keeping it in one’s mouth without the combination of drool and flavored goop would slowly slide down the short length of the sucker’s paper stick. I don’t recall whether I ever said, “Thank you” to him, but I have vivid visions of sand dollars, doilies, and paper cut into snowflakes whenever I think of that half-blurred house shaded by oak trees.
I had lollipops until the day the moving trucks pulled up to our house, and the strong men came and carted up all of our belongings (including my Hot Wheels) into that mighty, cavernous space and I paid a child’s mental tribute to the kind old man with the lollipops in the shaded house.
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Something I Realized
Women are like finely blown glass: the ones of high quality reflect one’s imperfections and dreams, yet are exquisitely delicate and will shatter under the heedless force of anything less than a real man.
-CC
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Half Year Hope
God sometimes grants to us
Sorrows and great joy.
Woven into our brief lives
His tools, our trials, doth He employ.
The true test of our belief-
Its battle won or lost-
Is in life’s quiet, desp’rate hours
When our own strength we exhaust.
In those lonely, twilight moments
When our worlds have turned to dust,
I can do naught but cling to Him
And in Him renew my trust.
Madness surely this must be!
How can one trust what one can’t see?
What fairy tale or unreal hope
Can still be given unto me?
These thoughts attend my ev’ry move
And sorely tax my mind again.
Yet though I fail, and though I stumble
I’m given Him my life to reign.
-CC
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The Thinking Tree
I journeyed again
To that quiet spot
Where I set down my load
And wandered my thoughts.
Wiping sweat from my brow
I lounged in the shade
Of a stout, rustling friend
In a rich, verdant glade.
How many hours
Spent innocently,
With eyes half-shut
Did I bask in the breeze?
The world passed me by,
Time slowed to a crawl,
As I waited for answers
To ripen and fall.
Would they be bitter,
Or would they taste sweet?
Would they foretell
Of tasks I’d complete?
Perhaps I would taste
How my life could unfold:
Precious friendships and mem’ries
To be gilded with gold.
Or maybe I’d swallow
In disappointment and dread
One sour bite too many
And fear horizons ahead.
As I pondered my quandary
And dwelled on my fate,
A tiny thought struck me
And ceased my debate.
For then I remembered
A truth I’d long known:
That answers, like fruit,
Blossom all on their own.
Neither threats nor pleas
Nor vile malediction
Could hasten their ripening-
To say else would be fiction.
What answers it held
Were not yet meant for me.
I should merely trust in the One
Who planted that tree.
Its seed in due time
Would flower and grow
And provide me direction
Through life’s ebb and flow.
Yet the real fruit I sought
Would not be borne by a tree
But rather faith, hope, and love
Grown within me.
This above all,
My earnest desire:
To walk humbly in truth
And do all He requires.
-CC
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Added “The Minotaur’s Apologue” to the site under “Writings VI”.
The Minotaur’s Apologue
Pity the poet
Too blind to see
The world as it is,
Not as he wills it to be.
Hearing the music
Of days long gone by,
His ears soundly deafened
To the end of replies.
No more the warm touch
Of sun-bathed fall
Where frequented mem’ries
Had last been recalled,
Where fragrant aromas
Past thickets of stone
Wafted down gently
Where he still sat alone.
Since tasting defeat
Oh, its almondesque tang!
How initially sweet,
Yet now with sharp pangs
The senses are dulled
Yet stirred all the same,
By sojourns to freedom
Far from that fair flame.
-CC
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Through the Kaleidoscope. Added as “Writings V”.
The Kaleidoscope
Bits of color, bits of glass
Change each other as they pass.
Shards of light and shapes uncertain
Guide fools and wise through life’s curtain.
“What will I find?” “What shall I see?”
I asked the Other expectantly.
He shook his head, for he was a mute
His hair white and wiry, right down to its roots.
No words he offered, no answers he gave
He just pointed at me, then at an old grave.
‘Tis the end of all things, after all life is done
The end of the race, whether lost or won.
I looked through the ‘scope, and what did I feel
But remorse and sharp pain from crushed ideals.
This perspective was strange, not like the view
From my youth with childhood’s warm, pastel hues.
As patterns shifted, and shapes unraveled
My thoughts turned slowly to roads untraveled.
The music playing ‘twas a mournful tune;
A dirge perhaps, for some day soon
When a crowd would gather, as a mother’s cry
Pierces the silent, watching sky.
Arcane its features, but though of ancient design,
The kaleidoscope beckons, its polish still shines.
I cannot resist its call any longer, nor fight its embrace.
So if you find me staring, do not fear my wan face.
Some day, perhaps, you too shall discover
A tool like mine which will help you uncover
The truths of this world and the next in good time
Where displayed are great sorrow and perhaps the sublime.
-CC
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On Love:
“The phrase ‘I love you’ is not a common currency which depreciates with its frequent issuance. Rather, it is a singularly unique treasure which grows in luster each time it is carefully presented for its recipient’s pleasure and benefit. However, like paper money, it must be secured by the hard currency of utter devotion, complete honesty, selfless sacrifice, and a supreme and unflinching reverence for love’s original and frequent Issuer, the Almighty Himself.”
On Humility:
The first sign of an inflated ego is a diminished capacity for the well-being and benefit of others.
