Dressing the Queen for the Ball. Same time as most of the other random shape drawings.
Something I for some reason drew twice in high school. Compare this to the second drawing from the last set, the blue random shape one.
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Interview. Same time as the first one. Random shape.
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Awkward turtle. High school.
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Je suis un artiste.
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Held up by a bear. HS random shape drawing.
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Random shape drawing. Same time as the others pencil ones, 2013
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1
In the middle of the semester,
my Lady summoned me to Heaven one day by the messenger Uriel. Behind my left
and right shoulders he and another angel took me up into the blue sky. Out from the sky there materialized above me, from the left and right above me, from a height above I could
not see, what looked at first like steps of stairs. The steps were coming together into a pyramid upside-down, the
boarders of a glass pyramid, like the Louvre. They streamed down but never quite met together all the way to the tip until I was between them and lifted up inside.
I knew I was being called up by a woman highly esteemed in the whole world, but a woman familiar to me, who had met with me a few times before. I remembered it was such an important meeting that we had always stayed in each other’s hearts since, and meeting again would pick up just where it had left off. There would be a few others who I couldn’t think of right now, a few slightly younger men, whose meeting would come back to mind as soon as I would see them.
~
2 (1/2)
I returned after that and finished my last undergraduate semester. It was a long way from Florida to New England, but a big group from my mom’s side of the family came with them to help me move. I wondered why they were so eager. It was the longest I’d been away from New England yet, three and a half years. They arrived at my door and before I knew it were carrying my things to their cars. And now I had a new little niece and nephew, the boy six or seven and the girl four or five.
The boy was mischievous, unpredictable where he wandered around, but he was still reserved, subtle, deliberate about when he really wanted to push the boundaries with his parents and he usually kept in their view. There was something dark about him for sure. He almost always had his head slightly down if he was facing others.
His sister seemed more innocent, but no less
dark. I can’t even recall her face well, because she never looked at anyone. She
didn’t seem to want to be seen, so how could I really look at her? If it wasn’t
for her slightly faded pink shirt, you would rarely notice she was there. She
was always where her brother was, orbiting around him on some side or another, usually
several feet away, but never out of view from him. We obviously didn't have to worry about misbehavior from her like her brother, but I couldn’t figure
anything about her. She was a sad sight, whatever her story was.
We finished our packing quick and were off to New England. (On the plane I dreamt I was telling my friends from school about how the love of friends and the love of a spouse are really the same kind of love, but that a whole new kind of love grows out of it with the spouse, which is kept for only one friend. I saw my friends all standing together, and as I told them about spousal love, they began to look up with ooh-ahh faces. My sight of them, all huddled together, turned into a wide staircase for a moment, which then faded into a beautiful woman looking at me intently. She looked Arabic, slightly dark skin, looking at me through a transparent white veil over her face. She wore a long, bright white dress, solid white except for her sleeves which were a flowery mesh. She looked as beautiful as a woman could be.)
At the airport, we passed through bag checks and security, and up the elevators to the terminals. I stopped at the last step of the escalator and took a seat, looking up at the flight schedules on screen. I forget what movie was playing, I think a classic comedy with Leslie Nielsen or Steve Martin (I always get them mixed up lol). My brother sat to my left on the bench and my eldest cousin on the right, who opened a cooler of beer and offered me one. “Oh yeah, I have some in there you’re welcome to too,” my brother said. So my cousin offered me either my brother's Irish red ale or her Heineken. I felt the same about either, so I picked the red ale.
When I took my first sip,
I remembered that this was the last seat facing backward from the rest of the
pews. The pews stretched behind me and gradually sloped down a long slope, until the
ground plateaued; and it plateaued for several feet up to a small flight of steps
ascending to the altar. It was Sunday. Was I missing Mass or were people only
getting ready for it to start? I switched back and forth whether I thought
people were going up for Communion (although, well, technically they were going
down the slope, but you know, in the symbolic sense, they were going up to the altar)
– or whether they were going up for something else. Because I didn’t see long
lines the way I would expect if it was Communion, yet there were three priests there, standing facing the people at the
bottom of the steps, to the left, middle and right. Only a scattered few people went up, and not by the middle isle but on the sides. Either way I thought, it must be
time for me to go up. So I went up along the right side, no one ahead of me for
a ways, but my mischievous cousin trailed a ways behind me, with his sister as
far behind him.
I wondered, was he actually
going up for Communion? It’s pretty rare where I am anyway for kids that young
to receive. And where are his parents anyway? Do his parents take him to Mass?
Does he know what’s happening? It seems likely he doesn’t know what he’s doing
and just went up because he saw people doing it and felt like it.
It was a long isle. Halfway there, the boy came up to me and whispered in my ear, “I’m gonna pull your pants down when you go up there, and I’m not gonna feel bad about it.” I don’t know how to respond to misbehaving kids. I haven’t been tasked with that before. I thought to myself, don’t overthink it, just tell him what he needs to do. So I just sternly looked at him and said, “Go back to your parents…and stay with them.” I didn't feel terribly confident saying it, but he did go back.
I continued up and turned around the corner to the priests, standing tall in their green, gold and purple robes. I pulled out from my pocket a packet of peanut butter crackers, opened it and put one in my mouth. I took the first crunch and realized, Wait, I'm going up to the altar, possibly to receive Communion (I still don't even know yet). I thought to myself, What am I doing! I stuffed the crackers back in my pocket and quickly quickly swallowed the bite I still had and licked my teeth clean, thinking, Wow, that was silly of me; what was I thinking? But while I considered it too scrupulous to say I had broken the eucharistic fast, I realized I myself had gone up to the altar without thought to why I was going. I felt unprepared to receive Communion for other reasons anyway.
But when I got there I noticed the priests were only handing out bulletins. So I took one, thank you,
and went back. Why wouldn’t they just hand out bulletins at the entrance?
~
3
My
first year of grad school I had my own residence but not my own land. I owned a
toolshed in my dad’s backyard. My dad had recently moved here with my
stepmother. His house was large and nice but generic-looking, in a generic
looking neighborhood. He even had a backyard with a flat lawn. Strange, because
he didn’t mind a generic house, and he could tolerate a generic neighborhood, but
a generic landscape, him? Never! He was practically against lawns in principle.
My toolshed was pretty
large, but, you know, for a toolshed, so I had to really clear it out and fit
everything efficiently. I did a good job, let me say. I set up a wall right in
the center, so there was really just one room around the wall, but with different "rooms" segmented off. There was a lobby, at the door at the corner, where
I could leave my shoes and coat and compactly store various things. There
was a small kitchen where the only two windows were. And there was a little couch and
living room area, which had the back side of the middle wall facing it to mount
a small flatscreen TV.
I would walk just fifteen minutes or so to class and work (I worked at the school too). I would cross right from the back of my dad’s backyard to the street to go. I just got a small stipend and had tuition covered by the school, but I still depended on a fair amount of loans, so I felt I only had a token of independence. Not quite full independence, but conditional - a dependent independence. I did not enjoy feeling still beholden to my parents for their financial support, even if only in a small way by living on my dad's land. But I also felt too weak to take on everything I needed at once to reach that full independence; it would still be at least a few more years.
The first semester was going well
enough anyway. I came back one day in the middle of the semester and this man
seemed to follow me the whole way back. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. I
had seen him that morning too. He may have had business past my school and
lived the other way past my toolshed and our timing lined up. It happens.
So I
got home, and as I was settling in, that man knocked on the door. He just about
invited himself in and I didn’t resist him at all. He was tall and muscular and
intimidating. He reminded me of my friend’s boyfriend. His hair was buzzed and
he wore a grungy old grey t-shirt and baggy jeans. He was the devil, actually.
He told me to agree to sell him this toolshed. He wasn’t asking, but he didn't seem to think he sounded threatening, just, “Hey, I’m gonna buy
this toolshed from you. You need to sell it to me, okay? Here’s some money.”
When
I did not agree he began to beat me and I would begin to go limp. Actually, it
was more like he threatened to beat me, closing in on me, holding up his fist,
and I went limp and writhed in anticipatory agony. But then I would straighten back up; we
would move to another part of the toolshed; he would tell me again; I would
disagree again; and he would begin as if he would beat me again. This repeated a
dozen times or so, all around different parts of the toolshed.
Finally
I relented and he gave me some money. Feeling defeated, I began to pack my
things. Now he spoke gently, with a sympathetic voice. “I know this is really
inconvenient for you. And you have a lot going on in your life right now. Man, this
must be really bad timing for you. But it’s really important that I buy this
shed. So hey, it’s up to you, you can move your things back to your dad’s house
this afternoon or you can wait until tomorrow. I know this is all really short
notice for you.”
But I
moved back that afternoon, although the sun was already almost down, wanting to
get it over with. I said to my dad, without much explanation, that I would have
to return, that I didn’t want to but had to, and that I didn’t want to discuss
why. My dad let me move back in, speaking sympathetically. He was not always so lenient, but he could see that something was going on
that didn’t need to be justified right now, that I was simply too ashamed and was asking to move back in only as a last resort. He called to another part of the
house to his wife about something, but I didn’t hear the reply. He asked if I
wanted help with my bags, but I said no. He seemed to realize I felt ashamed enough
that I would not want him to be around while I moved all my things back in. So
he left to some other part of the house, leaving me to it. So, while he was
away at work the next morning, I moved my bags in through the back door,
upstairs and to my old room.
~
4
I
pushed on in grad school, hoping to get back to having my own place as soon as
possible. I did push on, but a bit demoralized. I felt more than usual how emotionally stunted I’ve been, how I wanted to become financially stable, stable
in a career mostly so I could be ready to meet a girl and marry and be halfway
competent to have kids. I had not come even close to a real relationship with a
woman in all my adult life, avoiding that for so long. I had given up early on,
my only romantic relationship I ever had being this one girl I loved when I was
thirteen—if that’s possible at that age—who felt so natural to me, like maybe
what those cheesy phrases like “my other half” are intended to tell.
We would
meet outside almost every day after school and walk around town instead of
taking the bus home. We often went to the daily Mass they had at 5PM and then
walked around the park or went to the pizza and sub place nearby. We always
seemed to know what to do together without discussing it much.
One
day after evening Mass we decided to stay in the church all evening. Late in
the evening the place was lit only by whatever votive candles worshipers had lit.
It was a long, austere looking stone church. When everyone else was gone, we
went up to the steps to the sanctuary and danced. We rung around in circles
hopping, holding each other’s arms, dancing around the altar. We weren’t
dressed up; it was no occasion really, but it was sweet and carefree. Around and
around we went many times until she stood off to the left of the altar and I circled around to
the right where I danced by myself to win more of her smiles. I didn’t really know what I
was doing dancing, but it came out so naturally and gracefully, improvising through
some vague inspiration of Irish dances I’d seen before, hiking my legs up high and
kicking my feet. All the moves came so naturally to me, as if they were
perfectly planned out, and yet they were completely improvised. I didn’t know
where this was coming from.
(An AI generated pic. The last one I could make - darn limited free trial!)
I hopped my way back over to her side of the altar to bring her back into the dance. The movements again came so unexpectedly and yet so rightly, until I planted down my right foot in front of her, held out my hand as if to say, “And now you,” when suddenly, as if with a simple poof, we were both naked.
I froze. My eyes widened. What
happened?! Are we doing this? We are? Now?? I suppose I do want this, don’t I?
This is what I want, isn’t it? Well, of course I’ve wanted it, but not this
soon! I don’t think anyway, right? No, we were having such a good time just
getting to know each other, dancing and being happy and becoming comfortable
and romantic together. But if this is what’s happening now, am I going to
refuse it? Well, everything else came so naturally; I guess this is what’s
happening now? I suppose I should go with it—although I wish it would be for
later—otherwise I might ruin the flow.
I
didn’t, of course, stand there thinking all these thoughts one after another,
but they all flashed through my mind in less than five seconds. As soon as I had gone
into this internal conflict, frozen in place, she walked quickly down the middle of the steps, saying, so very
simply, “Oh no, that’s not what happens,” or, “that’s not what’s supposed to
happen.” I felt no trace of judgment or shame in her voice. This just isn’t
what was supposed to happen; she was right. She walked down the steps, down and
to the right, and pulled the plug.
~
5
Grad school kept me plenty busy and my mind off regrets. They were getting me more involved in school events at my office job at the theology department, helping set up Christmas events happening the last days, celebrating the end of the semester. Normally I found these kinds of things incredibly tedious, setting up for social events, and then going through all these formalities and ceremonies. I didn’t really get how people organized social gatherings; I just went to them and sometimes would help clean up, but I didn’t have much sensibility for how to actually organize and bring people together, all the variables to consider, what different people will want or need. I could see how other people got lots of social energy out of helping set up events, but I never felt I could do both socializing and working at the same time, so it usually left me feeling dissatisfied and exhausted.
But I tried to put aside the things I’d rather do
and make the best of it. I did pretty well actually. I felt pretty
professional, even though seeing all the things the professors did made me feel
childish in comparison with the ease with which they took care of adult responsibilities.
But again, I tried to set aside the worries and remember that those skills
would come to me in time. It was a nice thing, stepping back at the end of it to
see that I’d helped make this place beautiful and cheerful and make us all feel like
Christmas.
All
kinds of events happened, ceremonies, speeches, liturgy, entertainment, games. And
on the last evening, there was one last gathering in a meeting hall for some
parting speeches. The meeting hall looked like it had once been a church, still
with the pews, the big vertical columns between the three columns of pews. The
floor was all red carpet, and it gradually inclined upward in stair steps, all the way from the entrance to the front where the altar once was, ascending in steps all the way, never plateauing. It was a very long and thin room, and as it ascended to the front, it also narrowed. At the top, instead of an altar, there was now just an open space for speakers
and a semi-circular wall, with seats lined up along it where the main speakers sat facing everyone else. The room was brightly lit and
the atmosphere of the event was cheerful but with that academic regality.
Most of the speakers were
Dominican priests and professors. There were congratulatory speeches, Advent
and Christmas homilies, with some more academic bits. There were lots of speakers
giving short speeches. They seemed like good speeches but I was at this point
too tired and saturated with stuff to pay much attention. They were really all just parting words.
Just then, the MC—my friend’s
brother who MC’d her wedding, who had tried to get me to dance, knowing I’m so
shy about that kinda thing—announced that I was speaking next. Uwwww…what? Really?
Whywhywhy??? Okay, I’m not about to argue about this in front of everyone here
and now. So I went up, hoping I could find something to say about
Christmas. Fortunately I had something kind of interesting and amusing on my
mind about Christmas at that very moment, so I said it, got a little laugh from
the crowd. I forget what it was, but it took about 20 seconds to say. No speech
was shorter than a few minutes, so I feared if I said, “Alright, that’s all for
me! Thank you very much!” someone might call back at me in front of everyone, “No, no! You gotta speak longer than that!” So I scrambled
in my mind looking for something to say. Surely I knew plenty of things about
Christmas…but if I could have just had two minutes to think about it first!!
I mumbled out loud to
myself various things I’d studied about the Incarnation. “Okay, so you know,
uh, Jesus is, uh, you know, the new Temple, right? So, and the, uh, Temple in
Jerusalem was destroyed by the Romans in, uh, you know, during the first
generation of Christians. So uh…” (Oh geez, I should have just ended after I
said that first thing.) I couldn’t control myself from pacing around in a
wide circle, or oval or diamond or eye shape, up and down the red steps in the open speaker’s
space. “And, uhm, uhhh, there’s uhhh a lot-, uhm. You know, yeah, the meaning of the
Incarnation is really the same as the meaning of the Resurrection and the uh-, the
uh-, the Passion and the Resurrection. It’s actually the same uhhh…” (Okay
this isn’t working.) “Yeah, I’m trying to figure out how to say what I’m
trying to say. I didn’t know I was gonna be uh giving a speech today.”
“We know!” said the MC from the front seat. “Don’t worry! Just stop saying ‘uhm’ so much!”
So I continued on pacing around and up and down the steps trying to figure out something to say. Well, eventually I said something, I don’t really remember what. I tried to brush off this thing afterward, considering anyone who saw it would probably just think, “Well, he was on the spot and couldn’t think of anything to say.” Was anyone really gonna care that much to bother judging me for it?
Well, so, that's how I got to where I am right now.
Written all on Dec 28, 2022, dreams from some time in 2020 until yesterday morning.
(This is a huge poem I wrote and I don't know quite what to do with it since I never finished it. I like certain parts of it but not really all of it. I began this in the winter of 2019/2020 as I was at the height of certain mental/emotional issues related to social anxiety, gender identity and body-mind alienation. I kept adding more to it probably until that summer. My thinking has developed quite a bit since writing this, and I feel like a lot of this poem is overly cerebral, but that's kind of what the poem represents in a way - me trying at one time to dis-identify with my body and other times trying to dis-identify with my mind. Or something like that. So besides removing some whole stanzas (*) I left it as is, because I do like parts of it.)
*
*
1
Off to the doctor with my insecurities,
Asking the good man, "What gives?
Like, make some gosh darn sense please?"
Who told me, "Define your fears, these nebulous what-ifs."
So I chiseled away at this bone of blockade:
My cares of man's opinion.
Which brings me here today:
"Is it I who cares?" I begin with the question.
* (So I debate about whether or not my social anxiety is really "me" caring about others' opinions or just physical and mental forces I can't really control and is therefore "not me". Or something like that...But I end up realizing I can't really separate these things. My body is me, and my mind is not "more me" than my body.)
*
*
*
2
I think when in town: "How irrational my fears
Of bodily behavior!"
Then embarrassment appears,
The stiff moves the thought of looking out of grace stir!
"Whose nonsense? Not mine! Where was reason's consent?"
But as he who does is I—
Lest body and soul be rent—
I next view the insecurity of my mind.
My mind is right to say, about the body's faults,
They make no identity;
Since they happen, and are not
(And for the time make of a man a parody);
But with what do I avoid identifying?
These flesh and bones which quake?
Or the one which does the trying,
Hides my love of honors, displays myself a fake?
My body and my mind, I am the both of these;
Yet so desperate to distance
From the visible uglies,
I called the subtler one me with double insistence.
The problem looks to me like I called myself my mind,
For this reason, to be sure:
Wanting anxiously to find
A self who of such bodily tell-tales is pure.
The body, though all day it does flee and does fight,
Never seeks to be another;
But the mind makes its straits tight,
Which alone for honors claims a diff'rent mother.
They're like two friends from the crib, ent'ring public school,
The one socially graceless,
The other, knowing what's cool,
Abandons the friend who will win him no praises.
Worse than such rejection, the deceit behind it,
Calling it spiritual;
But to saints, it's no secret,
Who give expression to what is invisible.
Drive home to the head of my error, O Jesus!—
I sleep at Your stricken feet—
You, who not grasping Your bliss,
Bore torn flesh which no depths the display did not reach.
3
Rejecting the body rejects the soul, I know;
So now it is time I look
At why it bothers me so,
At why, ashamed, this frame my mind rashly forsook:
Three social fears:
awkward,
suspected,
creepy—
The third the ignited flame
Of the first two meeting;
When alone, each forgiven—when together, only blame.
Awkwardness: that meaningless, ever-looming threat
Among anonymous peers;
And how often am I suspect?
You'd think very seeing how hypervigilance steers!
But creepy: to be seen as this, this is my great fear,
The least likely, but the worst.
Other flaws friends can endear,
But man only sees in a creep a person cursed.
So, the first fear describes the fear of my peers;
The second, of superiors.
So, taking these two here,
See how each feeds the other like two mirrors.
It's around those peers called the fairer, and which
My psyche calls my betters,
That the first two fear both itch,
That each calls the other's help, each bound in fetters.
4
I think I at least embrace what is me
By artistic expression;
But O! when other eyes see
Come such misplacement of nerves I must question!
But no—though the question is fine—it reminds me:
The heart's garden has a gate,
A matter of dignity.
Who now calls that insecurity but for bait?
What in daily life should make being
Casual such a challenge?
I recall in youth seeing
Certain ways of mine meet certain faces with a cringe:
Finely mixed messages, my soul made out concrete,
Dried under lights for display;
Unseen, though, was He who sees
The heart which not hearing the knock invites His claim.
Why over mannerisms should I give much care,
Which my Love pays no regard?—
Except insofar as they share,
Friendliness, hope and cheer, to soften hearts made hard.
For though I've grown accustomed to play the Stoic,
To maintain the usual flow,
What's more like me—I know it—
Naturally plays an uplifting kind of weirdo.
Except my expression be God-given and shares
Some encouragement raising
The mind to heavenly cares,
What do I seek in elegance but navel-gazing?
Yet to heart I do not take this sure wisdom;
So I can hear the reply:
"Hang up the phone, you dumb-dumb!
Or this message won't exhaust 'til the death you die!"
*
V
*
*
*
VI
So I said it all and I did not deny it:
"It is I, yes, it is me
Who does it and who fears it,
Who struggles to admit it,
Although I already knew it:
I am not what I do but I do it indeed.
"This was no less a show of doings, of shadows,
As I said, the worst of all;
And we know shadows pass" (So,
If you seek what is you, seek what's immutable).
"Now as far as I can tell, my thoughts had yet been true,
And the truth is unchanging;
But what is here at issue
Is when I used what truth I possess to feign things.
"What do I feign but to call myself unafraid?
What do I fear but to know
That I made myself this way,
That fear has seized exclusive rights to my title?
"Let it! I won't dispute with that worm, the devil!
The Lord be my Advocate!
Dying to all that's futile,
Christ be my life, my Heart of hearts and my merit!"
Then all disputations hushed . . . Peace lit her gaze.
But I returned in short time
With a memory that plays
Back through my mind if I try the same way to find.
VII
Why this peace came, this day, on this reflection?
I don't know; but I wondered,
Could the same happen again,
Or must such insight be kept sealed once it's thundered?
*
*
*
*
VIII
Whoever finds his life will lose it, says my Lord;
And whoever loses his life
For My sake will gain it for
Eternal life—words I hear now with delight.
*
How solicitously should we all chase after
That which does not come or go?
Time we break now with good laughter,
Lest, restless, we settle for dwellings below.
Now I know I'm lost; now I can rest 'til I'm found;
I know it was grace that made
Yesterday's peace so profound,
But a greater grace, ordinary peace, for today.
Not mindful that all that is Yours in made mine now,
I kept on begging great signs;
Now extraordinary without
Special favors, might my life fin'ly join the divine's?
Cast out fear! Spare none! With sweetest perfumes, repent!
My old glories in full view
Resemble the dark where they're sent,
That the Son, once a stranger, is known forever new.
IX
You show Yourself in Your very Self all good—
Gently remind our frailty;
Would that our hearts understood
The greatness of God is not the least cause to flee.
Men who turn away feels His eyes a fiery ray;
Those without resolve approach
A sun resolved on midday;
But some wear white garments and many-colored coats:
The children, let them come and lay in His cool shade;
How like angels and like doves!
His face never leaves their gaze,
Sealed with the promise of the One whom their soul loves.
All thanksgiving in Yours, O Holy Sevenfold Light—
Grant that all Your creatures sing:
All endurance is from Your might,
Most High God, to whom alone we have cause to cling!
Amen.
____
A few parts I removed (the first stanza I used elsewhere):
* O Holy Spirit
If it pleases you, Lord, give grace to your servant,
That the words I look to write,
Left not to my eye's fervent
Watch for every wind reach the narrow way of light.
(I was reading the Republic for class at the time.)
* O Socrates, Socrates, you described man's soul
And your way into mine;
You divvied it as a triple
Of appetite, spirited and rational mind.
(The story begins.)
Off to the doctor with my insecurities, etc...
I
* The human person: a body-soul composite,
The soul is not what she does;
But it is she who does it.
Oh what errors on such a fine point I'll no doubt cause!
* For my thoughts and feelings do, while I, a person, be;
How then am I affected
Unless it is really me
Moving from place to place where the soul is detected?
IV
*Much grasping may shroud
it in a sea of worry,
But now I must be allowed,
Far away from the flurry
Of waves, to sink to the floor ‘til the source
is found.
V
* See
how the mind, the noble ruler, so afraid
To learn its plans are petty,
Stores its byproducts
away
To the one loyal to its own self-tyranny;
* They, by design, to every
other land emit,
And rain back fast on the sea.
I scramble to explain it,
How such gross incompetence can reflect on
me!
* But though I could grieve
about those who laid my
nest
(I have quite enough by now),
I found a diff’rent
thought best,
A thought of peace, what this story is all
about.
VII
* Humbly let me offer, now,
to you what I can:
When my deed is fallen, if
I accept it’s my doing,
then
It’s fin’ly made clear that I have no part in
it.
* Since there’s no denying,
when I act insecure,
The violence done to my sight
Concerning human nature,
The choice of looking at this fact may yet
set it right.
* The cart topples without the
both-and wheels
involved:
Of still veiling my eyes whole
I know myself unabsolved;
But the grace to confess it sets a smooth
arrival.
* These eyes—whatever they
can be taken to mean—
Don’t see me as a person;
Hence seeing I’ve not
seen
Except against negative spaces as they
worsen.
* And if I’ve seen me, I
don’t remember him well,
My flesh rebelling against him;
I don’t expect to ‘find
myself’
With any special sort of consideration.
VIII
*I have yet to discern how
He wants my self-gift,
But if it’s a sacrifice,
Perhaps it’s well I begin
Discerning how not to ‘til all that’s left is
Christ.
I even began a part two.
Part Two:
I.
I spoke to my brother of my struggle of soul,
Of newfound hope and insight,
When,
with his attention whole,
He began to make out a form of
triple light.
“It
sounds like you’re describing diff’rent parts of
you
Working in competing ways,”
So
he said. And like rain down a groove
Had my thoughts met my school reading
these last sev’ral
days—
That
is, Plato’s Republic, with old Socrates,
From intro philosophy class—
How
the hierarchies of threes
Were, between our models, a most
uncanny
match!
No
really, hear me! though not having Plato’s skill,
Just his words I read recently,
Which,
as if with their own will,
Read me high and low and through
hidden
ways sent
me.
First,
how'd describe the faculty of appetite?
It seeks to preserve the flesh,
But
is ordered not aright
When trying to glut itself at the
others’
expense.
Second,
the part called (not spiritual, but) spirited
Seeks out life, relationship;
But,
when order leaves its stead,
Then to honors and power its scales
sharply
tip.
Now
for the third, he says that the tripartite man,
Is crowned with the rational,
Dressing the Queen for the Ball. Same time as most of the other random shape drawings. Something I for some reason drew twice in high school...
