i remember the first dance.
this is a good morning. a nice cool day with a hot cup of tea... sitting in front of a huge glass wall looking out at the woods... have my bible and journal, the book i am reading (_the knowledge of the holy_ by tozer) and my ipod... and of course my laptop. woo-hoo. there is a gentle fog settled over camp this morning, and that is a beautiful thing. i am skipping the "organized events" of the retreat today - but who cares. i'll be that girl, the antisocial skipper girl. one of these is not like the other.
my total pet peeve is that i have three phone calls from last night and this morning that did not leave messages and i can't tell who they are. they are all from a recognizable exchange - all three verizon cell phones based out of dickinson. but i don't know who they are. and for some reason it drives me crazy. no, i don't want to call them and ask them, i hate it when people do that. but i might fall prey and have to try it. what is it about me that can't handle this?
oh, and the philosophical question of the day for you philosopher-worshippers: what is it about music that ministers uniquely to god? i am so curious on this. why is it than when the sleeping wake up they are commanded to sing? why is it that we know that what we do in heaven is make music to god? why is it that god calls himself "our song?" why is it that we are told to pray - and to sing? why is it that there will be music in heaven? i wish i knew.
this i love this morning:
but if a living dance upon dead minds
why,it is love;but at the earliest spear
of sun perfectly should disappear
moon's utmost magic,or stones speak or one
name control more incredible splendor than
our merely universe, love's also there:
and being here imprisoned,tortured here
love everywhere exploding maims and blinds
(but surely does not forget,perish, sleep
cannot be photographed,measured;disdains
the trivial labelling of punctual brains...
-Who wields a poem huger than the grave?
from only Whom shall time no refuge keep
though all the weird worlds must be opened?
)Love e.e. cummings
i surely need to read more poetry. i need more creative stimulation. i need to write more again - but the prelude to that is to read more again.
my total pet peeve is that i have three phone calls from last night and this morning that did not leave messages and i can't tell who they are. they are all from a recognizable exchange - all three verizon cell phones based out of dickinson. but i don't know who they are. and for some reason it drives me crazy. no, i don't want to call them and ask them, i hate it when people do that. but i might fall prey and have to try it. what is it about me that can't handle this?
oh, and the philosophical question of the day for you philosopher-worshippers: what is it about music that ministers uniquely to god? i am so curious on this. why is it than when the sleeping wake up they are commanded to sing? why is it that we know that what we do in heaven is make music to god? why is it that god calls himself "our song?" why is it that we are told to pray - and to sing? why is it that there will be music in heaven? i wish i knew.
this i love this morning:
but if a living dance upon dead minds
why,it is love;but at the earliest spear
of sun perfectly should disappear
moon's utmost magic,or stones speak or one
name control more incredible splendor than
our merely universe, love's also there:
and being here imprisoned,tortured here
love everywhere exploding maims and blinds
(but surely does not forget,perish, sleep
cannot be photographed,measured;disdains
the trivial labelling of punctual brains...
-Who wields a poem huger than the grave?
from only Whom shall time no refuge keep
though all the weird worlds must be opened?
)Love e.e. cummings
i surely need to read more poetry. i need more creative stimulation. i need to write more again - but the prelude to that is to read more again.