Over the weekend, I went on a four-hour caving expedition with a group of students from my college. We first climbed to the top of a waterfall, where we could look into the vast gorge and drink fresh water straight from a spring. Then we descended to the bottom of the gorge, where the entrance to the cave lay behind the waterfall.
And we plunged into darkness. After squirming through crevasses, scaling cliffs, and turning off our flashlights to sing the Doxology in utter darkness, we emerged into sunlight. We emerged dirty and exhausted— but victorious. We emerged with a greater bond with each other and memories to share for years to come. And I emerged with inspiration for poetry. It started as one haiku. And then it became a cycle of five linked haikus describing my adventure in the cave. Thus, I present you: The Cave Cycle I. Waterfall’s summit Six-foot log tumbles off cliff Four seconds till crash II. Down the slick wet rocks Do not think you’ve reached the end No! You must go up. III. Beneath the mountain Light we cannot see; ten voices Join to sing Tallis IV. Sharp crags, black fissures Acorns at cave’s end. We won! Wait— we must go back. V. Ten cave-conquerors, Cold and muddy, embrace light. We taste summit’s spring. *** Fun fact: In elementary school, I learned that a haiku is a form of poetry with three lines following a five-seven-five pattern of syllables. That may be true for English haikus, but the original Japanese form is different. A haiku isn’t defined by the number of syllables but by the number of on— that is, characters in the Japanese hiragana alphabet. Since English uses a different alphabet, counting syllables is the closest we can get.
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My rhetoric professor, Dr. Carolyn Weber, knows poetry. Oodles and oodles of poetry that she’s memorized and can recite at the drop of a hat. And she’s inspired me to start memorizing poems myself.
One of these poems is a short, profound work by George Herbert that I want to share with you today. It goes like this. The Pulley When God at first made man Having a glass of blessings standing by “Let us,” said he, “Pour on him all we can. Let all the world’s gifts, which dispersed lie Contract into a span.” So strength first made a way, Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure. When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that, alone of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. “For if I should,” said he, “Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He’d adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in nature, not the God of nature, So both should losers be.” “Let him keep the rest, But keep with them repining restlessness, Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, then weariness May toss him on my breast.” One of the really fascinating things about this poem is its title. The Pulley— what does a simple machine have to do with rest and blessing and all that? I think the title is, in fact, a reference to God. A pulley is device that redirects force, which is precisely what God does in the poem. He takes the strivings of mankind and turns it toward Himself. All the energy that people pour into chasing after wealth or pleasure or honor, temporary things that can never satisfy the desires of their heart— this energy is not wasted. It would be, if we were left to our own devices. All our efforts would spill out and fade away. But God does not abandon us as we pursue our myopic goals. My moral philosophy class just finished discussing Augustine’s Confessions. In that book, Augustine laments all the time he spent looking for satisfaction away from God, but he also realizes that each lesser good he chased after turned out to be a tool used by God to draw him to Himself. The force of young Augustine’s passions and desires went one direction; God captured that force and turned it to a better direction. Seeing how God works as a pulley encourages me in my own Christian walk. I am not smart enough to figure out how best to use my time and energy. The world is vast. Who knows what the far-rippling consequences of my actions will be? I don’t, but I don’t need to know, because God does. If I strive to love my friends and neighbors, God will take that striving and use it to further His kingdom. When I serve others, do I do so because I love them with the pure of love of Christ, or because I am seeking to be praised? The answer is yes. But it is better to love imperfectly and trust God to redeem my impure motives than to not love at all. This is the lesson I learn from ‘The Pulley’— that has God has lavished abundant gifts upon his creatures, and that as we attempt to use those gifts well, we will fail. But our failure is the beginning, not the end. While we seek after God in our weak and faltering way, God is seeking for us in His strong and unyielding way. Living a fruitful Christian life does not rely on our foresight so much as it relies our Lord. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths” (Proverbs 3:5-6). Over the summer, I watched a movie called Patterson. The title is very appropriate— it’s about a bus driver named Patterson, who lives in the town of Patterson, whose favorite poet wrote a poem called ‘Patterson’. Patterson the bus driver writes poetry himself, and his poetry is simple yet sublime. The words he scribbles in his notebook sound as natural as if he was merely talking to himself, while conveying a vast depth of feeing beneath his calm exterior.
The film left its mark on my mind, and pretty soon I found myself thinking of poetic ways to describe the world around me. Sometimes poems sprang to me unbidden, and I scribbled them in my own little brown notebook. One of these poems tells of the little creek behind my condo complex, and the transformation it experiences during a rainstorm. This is the one I want to share with you today. Is it a terrible poem? Maybe! I haven’t delved deep enough into the art of poetry to know for sure. But I enjoyed writing it, so that gives me hope that you’ll enjoy reading it. Here you go: The Creek I crossed the creek with bare dry feet Before the rain began last week Then clouds called out from the sky Waters roared with answering cry And for one flooded, frenzied hour My sweet still creek surged with power Burst its banks and broke its bonds Sweeping soil toward the pond But past the firmament’s full furor It once again took up its murmur The sky is blue, the storm is done My creek still frolics beneath the sun |
Progress on Doombear, Rough draft:10%
Progress on The Lore of Yore, third draft:
100%
"In truth, by leaving, I was seeking only one thing. A journey."
-Oathbringer, pg 981 Types of blog posts:
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