Heading North

Off to the north country:  I’ll read my essay, see old friends and former students, enjoy the change of scenery.  I will learn a lot, I’m sure.  I return to the heart of Dixie on Saturday, I hope in time to celebrate the Paschal Divine Liturgy with my parish.

For those who do not know the Paschal Liturgy, one of its many highlights (and indeed one of my favorite pieces of writing of all time) is John Chrysostom’s Paschal Homily.  I post it here:

If any man be devout and love God, let him enjoy this fair and radiant triumphal feast. If any man be a wise servant, let him rejoicing enter into the joy of his Lord. If any have labored long in fasting, let him now receive his recompense. If any have wrought from the first hour, let him today receive his just reward. If any have come at the third hour, let him with thankfulness keep the feast. If any have arrived at the sixth hour, let him have no misgivings; because he shall in nowise be deprived therefor. If any have delayed until the ninth hour, let him draw near, fearing nothing. If any have tarried even until the eleventh hour, let him, also, be not alarmed at his tardiness; for the Lord, who is jealous of his honor, will accept the last even as the first; he gives rest unto him who comes at the eleventh hour, even as unto him who has wrought from the first hour.

And he shows mercy upon the last, and cares for the first; and to the one he gives, and upon the other he bestows gifts. And he both accepts the deeds, and welcomes the intention, and honors the acts and praises the offering. Wherefore, enter you all into the joy of your Lord; and receive your reward, both the first, and likewise the second. You rich and poor together, hold high festival. You sober and you heedless, honor the day. Rejoice today, both you who have fasted and you who have disregarded the fast. The table is full-laden; feast ye all sumptuously. The calf is fatted; let no one go hungry away.

Enjoy ye all the feast of faith: Receive ye all the riches of loving-kindness. let no one bewail his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one weep for his iniquities, for pardon has shown forth from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Savior’s death has set us free. He that was held prisoner of it has annihilated it. By descending into Hell, He made Hell captive. He embittered it when it tasted of His flesh. And Isaiah, foretelling this, did cry: Hell, said he, was embittered, when it encountered Thee in the lower regions. It was embittered, for it was abolished. It was embittered, for it was mocked. It was embittered, for it was slain. It was embittered, for it was overthrown. It was embittered, for it was fettered in chains. It took a body, and met God face to face. It took earth, and encountered Heaven. It took that which was seen, and fell upon the unseen.

O Death, where is your sting? O Hell, where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are overthrown. Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen. Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice. Christ is risen, and life reigns. Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave. For Christ, being risen from the dead, is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To Him be glory and dominion unto ages of ages. Amen.

Lord, have mercy!

A vow of conversation

Though has clothed me in a body of clay, O Saviour, and breathed life into me, and I beheld Thy light; and Thou hast raised me from the dead by Thy command.

Thou has breathed life into my flesh, O Saviour, when there was no breathe within it; Thou has bound it fast with bones and sinews, and Thou has raised me from the dead by Thy command.

Thou hast broken open the all-devouring belly of hell and snatched me out, O Saviour, by Thy power; and thou has raised me from the dead by Thou command.

Canticle Six from the Canon of St Andrew of Crete for Lazarus Sunday.

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Drama of the Soul in Exile: PI, (Yet) Again

Those who have been following the blog will recognize this as a both recapitulation and variation on earlier bits and pieces.  It is from the essay I am working on.

Soul in Exile

No Finis–Poem (David Schubert)

When you cannot go further
It is time to go back and wrest
Out of failure some
Thing shining.

As when a child I sat
On the stoop and spoke
The state licenses, the makes
Of autos going somewhere–

To others I leave the fleeting
Memory of myself.

Composition and Rejection

Expect the blog to be slow for the next ten to twelve days.  I am in full prep mode, trying to finish an essay that I am due to share publicly at the end of next week.  I have no illusions of grand success; but I devoutly hope not to waste my audience’s time–and there is a real danger that I will do so.  –Some days I fear Lady Philosophy has in fact and finally relegated me to the Friend Zone.

Spring–Poem

Beneath a Barlett pear
Upright in its spring candor
A judgmatic plum grows
Grasping upward with spread fingers
Delicately dotted warm pink

Birdsong garlands the empty spaces
Of the yard as the afternoon
Sunlight stretches to retain
Its ubiquitous gloze

I sit on the edge
Of the yard–in it but
Not fully of it–wearing
No bridal garment

My clothing accuses me:
Black shirt, grey pants
Black socks and shoes, a
Chromatic color amiss:
But my eyes are blue

Immortal Openings, 7: Clarice Lispector, The Stream of Life

It’s with such intense joy.  It’s such an hallelujah.  “Hallelujah,” I shout, an hallelujah that fuses with the darkest human howl of the pain of separation but is a shout of diabolical happiness.  Because nobody holds me back anymore.  I still have the ability to reason–I’ve studied mathematics, which is the madness of reason–but now I want plasma.  I want to feed directly from the placenta.  I’m a little frightened, still afraid to give myself over since the next instant is the unknown.  Do I make the coming instant?  Or does it make itself?  We make it together with our breathing.  And with the ease of a bullfighter in the ring.

Thursday Thought for the Day

I ran across the following in a recent post on Language Goes on Holiday.  It is from Simone Weil.

The distinctive method of philosophy consists in getting a clear conception of insoluble problems in their insolubility, then in contemplating those problems without anything else; fixedly, tirelessly, for years, without the least hope, in a state of waiting.