DruadanForest

Wilderness Theology or Pagan Saints

2007-07-03T18:32:00.004-05:00

I have decided to devote this blog to developing thoughts I began collecting in college. Somewhere around fall of my senior year I began to think of things through the filter of the wilderness. I call these thoughts 'Wilderness Theology'.

It is a theology, because it is fundamentally rooted in theism (in the general use of the word). Wilderness Theology is a way to view the world in a similar way as Liberation Theology or Existential Theology. While belief in God permiates throug WT, it often focuses on humans and our environment. I have thought about renaming it Wilderness Anthropology or Wilderness Theory, but neither of these seem sufficient to capture its full measure of spirituality. "Anthropology" seems to neglect the deep connection the thoughts have with the divine. "Theory" is okay. After all, these thoughts are far from fully developed. On the other hand, for years I have lived the theory, and it deeply impacts my daily decisions. Wilderness Theology is far from abstract.

You may be wondering about the optional second title "Pagan Saints". Like all good theologies, WT has in mind the ethical turn. One core observation of WT is that the so called "Pagan" religions include some of the most connected people trying to live in balance with the wilderness. It is my belief that many versions of Christianity throughout the ages have diametrically opposed themselves to the way of the pagans. In doing so we have considered their connection with nature devlish; this should never have been, because deeply rooted within the heart of Christianity and Judaism is life in balance with nature. The title "Pagan Saints" labels the hope of making saints out of the pagans and re-paganizing the saints. Christian orthodoxy and orthopraxy must have the chance to regain God's heart for the redemption of the whole of creation.

I decided to develp these thoughts into a webpage for a few reasons. For starters, I have soaked in the implications of Wilderness Theology far too long. I need to put them in writing. Personal journaling has not worked too well. Blogging is more fun than writing in a book that is closed 95% of the day.

Furthermore, blogging is a community project. I want your insights. I hope to hear your thoughts on Wilderness Theology, because it will make them better. I think these thoughts have great implications for our society and for individual redemption. You will see corners of WT in greater ways than I can alone.

Of course, there are a few hazards to using a blog to develop what I consider some of my best thoughts. It makes them open for everyone to read. In a day and age when people like me want to make a living off our thoughts, blogging is not the smartest way to write. But this is the way I look at it: I'm going to die...someday. Perhaps this will be sooner than later, and I want to get the word out about the wilderness. The thoughts will do no good collecting dust in a journal. I have other projects that I'll save for the publisher anyway.

Like I said before, WT is a collection of thoughts. I probably am not the first to think them or organize them in this way, but I haven't read them elsewhere.

So, let me begin with a few disclaimers:

-WT stems from my experience in the woods. Many of you know that I love the wilderness. I have spent much time in the woods. While school has intruded on my ability to be in the woods, I hope to always find myself by a stream somewhere overshadowed with trees.

-WT does not center around ecology or a greener earth for the sake of generations to come, though it definately has implications toward balance in creation. It is a theology.

-WT is practical in nature, but rooted in the abstract. Readers beware of confounded philosophy, especially when in conversation with existentialism and transcendentalism.

-WT is rooted in Christian scripture, or perhaps it describes it (by the way, I don't think its scriptural connection limits its relevance only to Christian people. Actually it is quite the opposite).

-WT contains sociological and anthropological theory (This might be my favorite aspect).

-I am a western middle class male desceded from Europe pursuing doctoral work. Please let your heritage challenge my thoughts.

-I am weak in the realms of biology, chemistry, physics, and general math. I could imagine that these disciplines would impact WT in giant ways. I am counting on you to show me how.

-I am keeping the former site name: Druadan Forest. As you can tell, the creation of the former blog had the future blog in mind. (Click on the title to find out more about the name DruadanForest)

-WT has vast implications for the city.

I hope you enjoy this site, and feel free to add to the project (See the disclaimer about copywright below). Feel free to email any quesitons to me you may have. I am happy to talk more about WT or this project in general.

life needs grandeur

2007-06-29T19:00:00.000-05:00

Life needs grandeur. Luckily we live on the earth. As the mundanity of life creeps from our corner places into our everyday living, something in us begins to die. We suffocate within the walls of our sometimes sturdy shelters, losing perspective, losing awe, losing enchantment. One remedy for such a depression is grandeur. Mountains, trees, ravines, fields, starry skies, storms, oceans, lakes, deserts, glaciers; all pull us from our tiny lives into the greater epic that alludes the mundane.

There are many types of grandeur: large scale, small scale, mythical, actual, fast, slow, gentle, and full of power. Our access to the wonders of this world are most imperative to our health.

For example:

Mountains make you loose yourself in the firm and vast expanses. They are giants, full of solid rock that steep their way up to the sky. From a distance, an mountain is a unit of shades and cuts and lines. Yet, when climbing or hiking a mountainside it overwhelms you with its intricacies and parts.

Trees are firm but stretchy in the wind. Their thousand fingers wave in the wind, their branches twist from all sides. The trunk is firm and uniform, the roots complex and deep. The delve in the direction of strength and security.

Ravines are valleys full of growth and wild things dwell in holes galore. Vines and trees make a community full of diversity and wonder. Something is always at the bottom of a ravine, mostly water and dried up banks. But you have to climb down it to see.

Open fields invite freedom and lostness. The stretches of the prarie land flow in the wind mimicking the marching of a vast invisible army. An ocean of grass can strech for miles bearing millions of living things, billlions.

Starry Skies are like a scroll streched wide across the sky. Small things of light that engulf nearby astroids. Speckled across the cobalt sky the flickering dots have travled millions of years to meet our eyes.

Storms well up from billowing clouds. The terrifying calm that preceeds its fury steal the breatheable air. Slowly the shades of white, gray, and black squeeze single drops of warning until the skys pound the earth with water. Spectacles of light and loud rumbling-crashes frigten all living things into shelter. Sometimes deadly things spring forth from storms; giant suction clouds, deadly gales, and enormous waves.

Oceans command the deep respect of those who would venture within. Giant creatures swarm below while giant waves curl atop. The deep will swalow anything that drifts hundreds of thousands of feet. The oceans shelve the celestial beings revealing the morning sun and the evening moon. At night the oceans even swallow the sun.

Lakes reflect the world like a crysal mirror. They make the world seem twice as big and twice as plentiful. In the mornings the mist creeps its way over the calm glass. Creatures live below in murky waters while deer and antelope sip the shoreline.

Deserts consume the miles of landscape grain by grain of the life once there. At night it freezes and during day it scorches those who would venture into the wild.

Glaciers move mountains inch by inch creeping along the frozen ground. The cracking of ice, the skyscraper walls each tell of power concealed within.

The display of our vast earth is one example of grandeur. These are a few examples. In my experience, perceiving them is like ointment to the soul. Grand things are tangible versions. The skillful soul will percieve the grandeur outside her shelter door. But one must begin somewhere.

A Letter of Encouragement

2007-02-27T16:34:00.000-06:00

Sorry for my slow paced blogging lately. The litte girl has mixed all three of our schedules up. What a blessed mixing-up. We've enjoyed parenthood tremendously.
So here is a letter of encouragement that I wrote to the international community here at the seminary. Those of us who work with the office of international community life send these a few times a term. Enjoy.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------:

Dear Fellow Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

I want to encourage you today about the weather. I don’t know what the weather is like at your home, but here we have four seasons: fall, spring, summer, and winter. I want to remind you that God has created seasons, in various forms whether they be four or two or three. We don’t know all the reasons why God has created our earth seasonally, but we rejoice that we are part of his natural cycle.

Let me paint a picture for you of the four season cycle here. In the summer all is alive, from the trees, to the insects, to the flowers, and the animals. The temperature is hot, so that we seek shade in the day and walk comfortably outside at night. Fall comes and with it brings colder weather. The life begins to fade from the trees, to the insects, to the flowers, and the animals. As winter sets, all seems lost, the trees have parted from their leaves, the flowers have withered, and the insects and animals hunker down and seem to disappear altogether. Finally, in mid-February, all seems dead, and we scurry from house to house in search of warmth. But, spring is around the corner.

Some days in mid-February are warmer than others, whispering of some warm days to come, and in our hearts we hope again that winter is almost over.

So my encouragement to you today is that winter is almost gone, here in Kentucky. It lingers up north, but for us we have almost arrived to that time when the trees give blossom, and the flowers they bloom. The animals come alive and the bees and creeping things arise again. And best of all, the weather warms so that we can walk comfortably without a coat.

While winter has a few more weeks to live, we can rejoice that God has made winter and enjoy the cold air in our lungs; but, have hope that our mornings will soon be met without frost and with the sun on our skin.

Our great disparity

2006-09-26T20:09:00.000-05:00

As fall deepens at Shaker Village we have a little problem; or a litter of problems. For the last three weeks we've been haunted by the rustling sound of an illusive mouse and the scraps of tissue it leaves behind. No one has actually seen the little gal, but we all knew she was building a nest; under the desk, in crannies that we can't reach.

So the pest control man has come with sticky boxes and vanilla spray (He says vanilla will attract the varmint). They were trying to get her before she bred. But, all to no avail; and here's how I know why:

As I was reading my homework around 7.00pm I start to sense flashes of movement in my periphery. I've seen mice before behind our desk, so I knew what I was almost seeing. After a few minutes of intentional watching, the parade begins. Little mice appear, one after another, foraging around for tiny bits of food. I slowly learn where all the small holes are in the floor-boards as three baby mice scamper too quick to catch; even if I wanted to. One of them was definitely the brave one of the two, maybe he was the stupid one. He came within ten inches of my foot before I gave a little flick of my toes to scare him off. The other two were very timid; flashing at every tiny move I would make.

Anyway, this whole mouse experience has got me in a tight corner: on the one hand I know that the maintenance man will get them with traps eventually, on the other I know that God must delight in his little mouse-creation. Genesis 1 tells the story of our dominion over the creation: even to the little creatures that scamper across the ground (1.26)

Even Leviticus has an opinion:

Lev 19 "These are unclean for you among the creatures that
swarm upon the earth: the weasel, the mouse, the great lizard,
according to its kind, the gecko, the land crocodile, the lizard,
the sand lizard, and the chameleon"

One of the OT profs here give this great explanation of the Levitical codes on animals; that God wants us to STAY AWAY and DO NOT EAT, not because they are somehow gross, rather that he delights in them with intricate love.

I tried to remember this while the maintenance man set the traps. After I chased the furry toddlers around for a good half-hour, the clamps were sprung. I even gave a verbal warning to them, "Don't eat the trap-food. You have to leave now or you will die!". What were we to do? Leave the mice and give them the run of the place or just kill them? Is there a right way to co-exist with mice?

Now, all we had to do was wait for the snaps of death. The litany of my co-worker sums our great disparity, "I don't care if you snap them, stick them, poison them, or smash them; just get them dead". I couldn't help but wonder how our society has drifted so far from God's delightful creation and proclamation that this little mouse was GOOD.

We killed two.

Wilderness Bound

2006-06-10T22:55:00.000-05:00

So tomorrow morning, say six-ish, we're off to Canada. We've packed the essentials, I got some new gear, and tomorrow night we'll be sleeping at the international border in Minnesota. It gets better! Monday morning we'll float-plane 86 miles into the heart of the Canadian wilderness to spend our daylights fishing.

I'm excited to be out in creation, pristine and wild. I'm excited about being away from the duties of Kentucky. I'm excited about building relationship with other guys. I hate being away from eve and her little pregnant self. It hurt to leave her today; I'm gonna miss her a ton! Perhaps her puffing little belly will be noticeably larger when we see each other next. I wonder.

There's hand fulls of life changes all intersecting this June. I feel a little bit out of control: maybe it should be that way.

If you get a chance to pray for us, we could use an extra portion of encouragement and perspective.

Love y'all

Copywright disclaimer

2006-04-06T10:07:00.000-05:00

I hate having to write this link, but alas we live in a litigous culture. So, I want to voice at the outset that your participation in this blog is optional and and voluntary. If Wilderness Theology ever materializes into a work, I will use your ideas and suggestions as source material to be quoted and recognized. While it would be less than respectful to not honor the community-project as such, I reserve the rights to steward the the resources gained by the publication of the enclosed material.

It is difficult to discern, in these instances motivation for the above disclaimer contract. As far as I can tell, it is done out of community interest seeking to promote and preserve wild spaces.

Keith Jagger
April, 2008

Unprotected Walking

2006-03-07T12:17:00.000-06:00

I was thinking a few days ago that walking on the sidewalk is like wearing a condom.

Our society drives us off certain patches of grass. Feel free to run across a park lawn, scamper around at recess, or trample your own patch of grass. But, don’t walk on immaculate lawns. Be careful how you stride on golf greens. And for your own sake, don’t run across your mean neighbor’s back yard even if it’s the only one separating you from your best friends. Kindly walk around…on the sidewalk.

I have a distinct memory from grade school. Roosevelt elementary is surrounded on all sides by concrete and black-top. Yet on the east side of Roosevelt, a small hill of untouched earth compliments the adjacent stony surface. Of course we had to run on the grass. Up and down we zoomed until that horrific voice rang itself aloud, “Stay off the terrace”. I hated that. Some adult thought that this patch of grass was too important for us to play on.

Why? Why should we stay off the earth? Sure our trodding presses on the grass, but it always grows back. Anyway, it was her institution that already paid a huge amount of money to permanently kill the grass that used to live underneath the blacktop.

You might accuse me of rebelling against the institution, or pathologically needing to forge my own path. Perhaps. But there’s something a lot deeper at play.

We saunter here and there always touching the ground, never touching the ground.
Whose idea was it anyway to pave our city pathways? I can understand the streets for cars, but why sidewalks? People have walked on the ground for millennia. Sure pathways get beaten, but why cover them up?

I suppose we value cleanliness enough that we’d rather walk on concrete than mud, especially in the rain. But what do we forfeit for the price of purity? Relationship. With the earth. I suppose the value that builds sidewalks says to the earth, “I want to use you, walk on you, even enjoy you from a distance, but I never want to touch you”.

When using a sidewalk and when using a condom one thing remains true. You’re very close, but not quite touching.

Maybe I just need to read a good book on the anthropology of sidewalks? Can anyone recommend a good one? Until then you can bet that you’ll find me ignoring all order of sidewalk as I search out the earth that is so lovely to touch.

He has fallen

2006-02-27T11:57:00.000-06:00

About a week ago, my father's uncle was dying. His death surprised us all, him being the youngest of three living siblings. Services were held this last weekend attended by a phenomenal number of family and friends. He was my Grandma's baby brother and a distant friend of mine. Many farm memories (he was a farmer) and family memories filled my mind throughout the weekend as we celebrated his life and cried for his going. My grandpa had the most memorable quote this last Saturday when he said, "This (death) was a mean one".

So I post a eulogy poem I wrote during a stolen moment alone from the wake.

"There are fields in Central Illinois who have lost a longtime friend.
For a generation he turned their soil and placed new seeds in the tilling.
Thier childish confusion asks, 'Where has he gone? Will he be back,
to check on our height in early spring?
Will he be back to govern the summer heat?
Will he be back to to pull from us our autumn harvest?
Will he return to breathe the winter mist when snow blankets our hills?

No, my friend, he has gone down. He has fallen.
He will not tend you with his hands tomorrow
He will not shape your fallen trees into works of great esteem
He will not pull your fish from Canadian stream
He will not sleep next to his wife tonight
nor touch his grandchild with future bright
He will not joke or grin today, he has fallen and gone his way.
He will not see or hear his kids who've grown so tall.

So take him now, oh mighty clay, receive his flesh so lifeless lay.
Hold him now, hold him tight he rests away from us this night.

We miss him too, a boy that captured our hearts. Our sorrow deep. We'll see him no more.
Do not console us with future hopes today.
We want to hear his jokes.

Do not say it'll be alright
Today begins his restful night.
He's stepped into an unknown land
We cannot follow, our family band.
He has gone to death with Jesus.
We must hope now in Jesus.

How do you teach a child to say goodbye?
'Don't expect him back, oh fields, you must your cycling'.
'We will not forget him who cared for us'. "

Songs 3b

2006-02-06T11:28:00.000-06:00

6. What is that coming up from the
wilderness,
like a column of smoke,
perfumed with myrrh and
frankincense,
with all the fragrant powders of
the merchant?
7. Look, it is the litter of Solomon!
Around it are sixty mighty men
of the mighty men of Israel,
8. all equipped with swords
and experts in war,
each with his sword at his thigh
because of alarms by night.
9. King Solomon made himself a
palanquin
from the wood of Lebanon.
10. He made its posts of silver,
its back of gold, its seat of
purple
its interior was inlaid with love.
Daughters of Jerusalem,
11. come out.
Look, O daughters of Zion,
at King Solomon,
at the crown with which his
mother crowned him
on the day of his wedding,
on the day of the gladness of
his heart.

From the wild’s horizon, horse hoofs beat the dusty road into a unified cloud. Solomon storms to his wedding day.
We met in suspended moments. She wore a gown studded with jewels. I wore fabric chiseled and angled. Beneath our updressed garments rested nerves and our plain secret. I am no king. She is no queen. What can the Song of Songs be but a unreachable love? How cruel a thing to live in an epic creation and desire epic love when the courting of the gods mocks our fickle stories. And there
stood our mighty men and women beside us with sharp conviction. They ushered our family in royal procession. We might break under the pressure of sincerity, but for the roaring One. Somewhere in the middle of our humanity our hearts met, somewhere three years past on some grey night.
Come bridesmaids, see him coming. Come see his garland. Come see her jewels. Come see clean robes washed of gollums. Come see united hearts and minds rejoicing lightly about their weaknesses for the King is teaching their hearts gladness, softening their tempests, sheltering their love, in the heart of their humanity, in the beginning of their spring.

Songs 3a

2006-02-03T10:17:00.000-06:00

1. Upon my bed at night
I sought him whom my soul
loves;
I sought him, but found him not;
I called him, but he gave no
answer.
2. "I will rise now and go about
the city,
in the streets and in the
squares;
I will seek him whom my soul
loves."
I sought him, but found
him not.
3. The sentinels found me,
as they went about the city,
"Have you seen him whom my
soul loves?"
4. Scarcely had I passed them,
when I found him whom my
soul loves.
I held him, and would not let
him go
until I brought him into my
mother's house,
and into the chamber of her
that conceived me.
5. I adjure you, O daughters of
Jerusalem,
by the gazelles or the wild does:
do not stir up or awaken love
until it is ready!

She awakens to his absence. He has left in the watches of the night. In disoriented moments she searches, but he has gone. I hated when Eve had to leave late at night, and alone we slept. Slumber was no force, though, for the woman. She must find him. The shadows drew strange angles on mortar brick where life once filled the noonday. Yet, at midnight the squares were silent but for the echoes of her pattering. With obsession, she ran through the night, round the close corners. The emptiness ofcorridorsidors matched her pursuit.
They must have heard her passing by, those nightwatchmen. The strolling soldiers remained silent in the chilled moonlight. You can almost hear her heartbeat swift and almost see the joy pulse through her as he, the one she searches, appears. She has grafted him deep upon her soul. She hugs him. With all her might her shoulders press upon his. Her hands interlock, and she leads him to the threshold of fullness, to the place where her mother made love. Their courting time thins like chambered air.
Love is wooed from its inceptive slumber and perceives the coming tide. With all her wisdom she gives charge "Do not be pressured, O daughters of Jerusalem. Patiently await the waves."

Songs 2b

2006-02-01T08:57:00.000-06:00

8. The voice of my beloved!
Look, he comes,
leaping upon the mountains,
bounding over the hills.
9. My beloved is like a gazelle
or a young stag.
Look, there he stands
Behind our wall,
gazing in at the windows,
looking though the lattice.
10. My beloved speaks and says
to me:
"Arise my love, my fair one,
and come away;
11. for now the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone.
12. The flowers appear on the earth;
the time of singning has come,
and the voice of the turtledove
is heard in our land.
13. The fig tree puts forth its figs,
and the vines are in blossom;
they give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my fair one,
and come away.
14. O my dove, in the clefts of the
rock,
let me see your face,
let me hear your voice;
for your voice is sweet,
and your face is lovely,
15. Catch us the foxes,
the little foxes,
that ruin the vineyards
for our vineyards are in
blossom.
16. My beloved is mine and I am his;
he pastures his flock among the
lilies.
17. Until the day breathes
and the shadows flee,
turn, my beloved, be like a gazelle
or a young stag on the cleft
mountains.

Her fluttering dark heart announces his arrival and reveals her excitement. She hears his voice and watches his heroic entrance. Bounding.
She boasts of his strength, confidence, and energy. Through the lattice of her home, he steals a glance which she returns.
She has sought his paths. Now he searches hers, finding her drapes open.
He whispers to her words which draw her out from the lattice. From the walls to the wilderness. The beckon to arise promises an epic journey. Come away. These are words that she and I both have needed. Spring abounds as it did for us. Newness of our secret epic. We shall sing among the blooming floor, among the symphony of turtledoves, among the fragrances of figs, and bark, and nectar, and vines. We will taste the fruits. We will see our spring. This is what our love is like. For a second time. Arise. Awaken. Do not slumber. Breath the epic air.
This is perhaps my favorite section of the courting chapters. I read them to eve for her birthday present two years ago and included some of the lyrics in a song for her. The lover calls forth the dove who hides from the tempest . She is assured of his love for her. Vulnerability. Her voice and face are lovely and sweet. Our spring arrives. No tempest blows between us. There are only the foxes, which we can catch.
She emerges with confidence. We are each other's. She knows him. She knows where he spends his days. She has followed the path that leads to him. Somehow this reminds me of Dawson's room. She pleads him to stay. "If I fall asleep it's just because I feel so safe with you. It won't take much to wake me up".

Songs 2a

2006-01-30T11:32:00.000-06:00

1. I am a rose of Sharon,
a lily of the valleys.
2. As a lily among brambles,
so is my love among maidens.
3. As an apple tree among the trees
of the wood,
so is my beloved among
young men.
With great delight I sat in his
shadow,
and his fruit was sweet
my taste.
4. He brought me to the banqueting
house,
and his intention toward me was
love.
5. Sustain me with raisins,
refresh me with apples;
for I am faint with love.
6. O that his left hand were under
my head,
and that his right hand
embraced me!
7. I adjure you, O daughters of
Jerusalem,
by the gazelles or the wild
does:
do not stir up or awaken love
until it is ready!

Displaying her intense beauty, she uplifts the beauty of her sisters.
The king plucks her from her surroundings, enthralled.
The forest stands tall, strong, and firm of oaks, firs, maple, and birch. Among this wilderness stands a tree of delight, interest, and abundance under which the woman rests from sunlight. The world is as it should be, because the forest has faded while she enjoys the drippings of her time with him.
From personified images to courting scenes, the man leads the woman and brings her into his life, his house. His intention was not power.
She becomes overwhelmed with his love and needs the citrus of fruit and the sweetness of grapes to balance her.
Full of magnetism, his embrace, balances on the threshold of arousal. Passionate potential is a gathering storm. His hands stir safety and togetherness. Love is wooed from its inceptive slumber and beholds an age of ripe awareness. With all her wisdom she gives plea. She knows the face of wholeness, of passionate potential. “Do not be pressured, O daughters of Zion.”

Songs 1b

2006-01-25T15:45:00.000-06:00

7. Tell me, you whom my soul loves,
where you pasture your flock,
where you make it lie down,
at noon;
for why should I be like one who
is veiled
beside the flocks of your
companions?
8. If you do not know,
O fairest among women,
Follow the tracks of the flock,
and pasture your kids
beside the shepherds’ tents.
9. I compare you, my love,
to a mare among Pharaoh’s
chariots.
10. Your cheeks are comely with
ornaments,
your neck with strings of jewels.
11. We will make you ornaments
of gold,
studded with silver.
12. While the king was on his couch,
my nard gave forth its
fragrance.
13. My beloved is to me a bag of myrrh
that lies between my breasts.
14. My beloved is to me a cluster of
henna blossoms
in the vineyards of En-gedi.
15. Ah, you are beautiful, my love;
ah, you are beautiful;
your eyes are doves.
16. Ah, you are beautiful, my
beloved,
truly lovely.
Our couch is green;
17. the beams of our house are
cedar,
our rafters are pine.

The loved king is agrarian as well, even pastoral. Is this literal or figuratively pastoral? Is “pasturing flock” a sexual reference? The woman shows overt desire to be with the king. She wants to be his maiden and not part of another’s veiled harem. She longs for sleepy afternoons with him in the fields.
An answer from an admiring voice. She bids the woman to search actively after the shepherd she loves. Watch his ways, learn his paths, and then follow them. Paths that lead to him.
Finally the king knows of her and sees her. He sees her dark skin, her past, and to him her powerful beauty excels.
Emphasis form begins again of: ornaments, gold, fragrance, and henna blossoms. The king delights of ancient bath and body works. The woman’s value is great enough to give her jewels, gold, and silver.
A couch, the ultimate sign of virgin pleasure. Not yet the bed, the couch gives courtiers anticipated intimacy.
The woman speaks of the king with intimate hopes. He gives her sweetly soft comfort in her most vulnerable parts. She is safe with him. Her safety becomes paradise among deserts.
The king gives a double affirmation of his delight, of her beauty. The king has looked not only at her but in her eyes. Eve does not want to be an object, but wants me to see her, and deeply enjoy. A third affirmation turns into an exclamation. I’ve looked in your dove eyes, and you are truly lovely. Courting has brought confidence in our chemistry. Together our life is built with sturdy beams to shelter our unity, our intimate dance. The ceiling is beautiful.

1 The Song of Songs which is Solomon’s

2006-01-24T16:54:00.000-06:00

2.Let him kiss me with the kisses of
his mouth!
For your love is better than wine,
3. your anointing oils are
fragrant,
your name is perfume
poured out;
therefore the maidens love you.
4. Draw me after you, let us make
haste.
The king has brought me into
his chambers.
We will exult and rejoice in you;
we will extol your love more
than wine;
rightly do they love you.
5. I am black and beautiful,
O daughters of Jerusalem,
like the tents of Kedar,
Like the curtains of Solomon.
6. Do not gaze at me because I am
dark,
because the sun has gazed
on me.
My motherÂs sons were angry with
with me;
they made me keeper of the
vineyardss,
but my ownvineyardss I have
not kept!

Infatuation fills her thoughts of kisses and burgundy wine. His love enflares her better than wineÂs fermented taste. Humanity holds within itself a paradox. We are simple bumpkins full of wonder, nervous farts, approximation, full of death. Yet, wild dreams still court our expectations and puffing self image. ÂDraw me after youÂÂhmm. I think Eve desires this, that I might draw her after me with confidence. Longing to be drawn out. Humanity has two secrets.
Firstly, we are part of an epic world. The woman exalts, rejoices, and extols the king. I long for that affirmation from Eve. Secondly, we long for an epic life.
To the Israelite girls, she tells her story. Her skin is dark and different than those who offer passing glances. She is beautiful. Many seek the chance to love a king. Therefore womanly competition stirs the crowd. Fluttering dark heart. Poetry sings of nature and her skin and warm rays.
Flashback to her home life. She remembers her family vineyard and her angry brothers. Is this an explanation for her dark skin? She had to labor in the fields. She has not had the luxury to look after herself or her womanness.

The Sin of Butterfly Killing

2005-10-20T15:53:00.000-05:00

My red jeep flew down highway 68 in the last few mintues of 1 o'clock. I was determined not to be late for work, though it really didn't matter. Still, the principle of being on time drove my foot deeper into the machine.

Rural Kentucky breezed by with pastures lining the road and rock fences lining the pastures. Despite its winding character, the road was easy to drive, and few cars traveled this country way. Today the blue sky deeply accented the white clouds and the green hillsides which created the Kentucky horizons. It was all so serene and gentle, as gentle as the butterflies which fluttered among the grassy road's edge.

The more I looked the more butterflies appeared. In fact there were butterflies everywhere bubbling through the air and bl0wn by the wind of my red machine. And then it hit me, or I hit it. The roadway was not so peaceful for the little bugs. My red machine was a giant bullet. There was nothing I could do to avoid them. Some would fly safely above the car. Other's well....made this little popping noise as they moisened the windshield. I would see them hit and could actually watch them falling to the road a few seconds later as I looked in the rearview mirror.

In that moment my sin against creation was clear. I had killed at least ten butterflies on the way to work. It would not have helped to slow down. It wasn't safe nor efficient to go any slower than 20 mph. What were my options? There is no hope for the little creatures if I drive, but I have to drive. My life is structured around driving.

As I grow, it slowly becomes clear that much of my life is structured around acts of destruction, acts of waste, acts of blind devistation. It's as overwhelming as a heap of trash. I can never be rid of total destrucion, so what then are my options? I could restructure my life, walk everywhere, move in walking distance from everything I did, re-use my trash, figure out how to shop without things being wrapped in unusable containers, start composting, be careful where I walk so that no ant or ant hill is disturbed, learn husbandry, move to a shack, sew my own clothes, and grow my own garden. Nice dream huh?

There are no easy ways out from the corporate sins of our culture. I'm stuck. The process of re-structuring is much slower than I would want, though I am trying. So for now I just confess my sins and drive to work with a burned butterfly stuck to my radiator.

Yet not Alone

2005-05-13T17:27:00.000-05:00

I was sitting on Eve's porch today as the rain was preparing itself above. Shortly, the rain would wet all the leaves of her trees. And the birds were numerous. From distant branches they sung their phrases; from nearer trees they were leaping limbs and hopping along fence tops. What struck me the most was the litany of noise they made. I've never really noticed it before, it's one voice made of hundreds, it's slow crecendo and slow softening. For me reality sometimes is buried beneath a small understanding of what this life is made of. The surface dirt speaks of lonliness, unsolvable dillema, and burden. When reality is exposed it is confusing, almost beautiful. It makes me weaken. And the best part of reality is that I'm just part of it, belonging to the bigger view. The birds, the trees, the people. Not alone.