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Wednesday, August 9th, 2006
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| Time: | 1:23 pm. |
| Mood: |  calm. | | Music: | The Man Is Alive - Luka Bloom. |
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Oh, hmm, have been neglecting livejournal. I don't know what there is to say. Life continues in circles, doors open and doors shut, but Eden remains. Emergencies arise and are overcome, struggles change the faces of men, but God remains consistant. Learning to take loneliness and turn it into hospitality is still a struggle. Spring turned to summer, now summer lengthens, and darkens, and ripens, and soon it shall redden into the apple of autumn. My little paradise continues to try and rebuild the gap between the world and the divine.
How different, now, looking back. I hadly feel I am the same person I was then, those dark days, when I came, when I fought, when life was maps and soldiers and swords and death and tragedy. I have needed peace, peace I have found. God gives me peace. I try to show others the way, the road, the path of God and help people understand, he took me down a lonely road, but he may take you anywhere.
I have agreed to play in a game, to be myself, to be myself as I was. To be the captain-general, the commander, the hero, the soldier, the charismatic. To be the Captain. To lead. Perhaps, to die. I do not know how I feel about this. God has given me a measure of peace about the past but I cannot stop missing Tirith, missing Gondor, no matter how beautiful Eden is. I want to go home, it is good to think I will see her again. My beautiful city. And there are people I have wished to resume long neglected business with. Maybe it will work. Maybe it won't. Either way, it will be.
I find God is gradually diminishing the old urge to have a lover that came after I came here and realized I could have a life outside of swords. I would rather love, now, and stop discriminating and stop demanding and just give what I can as each has need. It seems ages and ages since I was just Captain, who had a smile for each soldier and a good word for every man, but I was that man, and I know I ought to be him again. God willing. I'm growing.
It is hard to want to talk of the disasters we have seen; kidnappings, betrayals, murders, terrible stories of broken trust and lies, the loss of love, of faith. It is hard to look into the face of someone I had thought I hated, and see his fear and innocence, know he was a victim as much as the rest of us, and find myself pitying him. Working beside him in the kitchen at the monastery, one can see the psychological scars that will not heal until a long time from now, and how he is afraid of the lothing and uncertainty his name now conjures. The scars of murder and imprisonment are so clear to me, he needs help more than a psychiatrist can ever give him, he needs to believe God loves him again, that we will accept him and not harm him.
And yet there are those who grow through their tragedy. Galahad took to Eden for refuge from his confusion and guilt - he has learned to smile. To see him push Emilio down the halls, or watch Galahad help Emilio to and from his chair unafraid, to watch him laugh at jokes and speak with animation... that is a gift from God. He is coming out. He is waking up. To behold the two of them sitting in the grass outside, and looking at the sky, and to listen to them talk about life, and God, and true stories... that is a gift God has given him, a thing of change for the better. They grow.
We are safe, here on Eden, bad things do not reach us. But we work to reach those who suffer. We have everything, and more, in abundance, and that is from God. But how can I be unaffected by suffering and fear? Francis and I try to minister, to aid, we work with Laurie in Egypt, we work with Fingon in his travels through Africa, and there is always something else to be done in the Sarikari. How can we not? God said to love the poor, the afflicted, diseased, the lost. Our brothers, and ourselves.
Despite everything, I am content. Come what may, I will trust God. Even if all experience says I cannot trust the people around me, I will try. And when decisions must be made I will make the hard choices, those are the only ones I know. For is it not right that brothers live together in peace?
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Just because it doesn't look useful doesn't mean it isn't. Silence and reflection included.
If you can learn a lesson from a rock or a twig, that is excellent. If you can learn one from a brother, that is even better.
It is easy to mock other people's flaws. It's a lot harder to change your own.
The grass is always greener on the other side, no matter how often you water it. This does not mean anything is wrong with your sprinkler.
Pride and envy are often alike. It is insecurity and a defeated spirit that seldom are the same.
Do not ask what "kind" of love it is, ask how you can best pass the love along to those around you. One question is afraid and closed, the other is open and brave.
The only sin of ignorance is allowing someone else to stay in the dark.
No one likes to be corrected, but it is worse to make the same mistake over and over than to suffer brief embaressment.
Don't be afraid to talk about the good things that happen in life. Just because everyone else around you is negative does not mean only bad things happen.
Nobody comes to a man of religion for the man himself; it is to see what his God looks like.
The only way to love a person is to know who and what they are. If you know who and what the stranger truly is in the kingdom of God, you can love them too.
Wisdom does not come from esoteric reflection alone in a cell; wisdom comes from standing in the kitchen and watching other people cut themselves on accident.
Do not assume God cannot use you as you are and where you are at; the only condition God is looking for is willingness.
Self-reflection is useful in limited amounts - do too much of it and you shall become self-focused.
If you water it enough, even a desert will grow flowers.
The human mind is like a ruined city. You will find flowers growing among the stones, and also people who just want their old city back.
Most people do not realize they are drowning until they can't breathe. That doesn't mean they're not drowning, nor that you shouldn't try and save them.
The only thing funnier than a bad pun is the groans of the people who are afraid to admit they thought it was funny.
Talking about God is like growing a tree from the seed. You usually are not around to see the results, but that doesn't mean nothing is happening.
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Wednesday, June 1st, 2005
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I don't even know what to talk about, what to say. Life has been... hectic. I have been out more, due to the need of those around me for a voice of peace, but sometimes I wonder if that's enough. I used to find myself straining against my commitments and my promises, but I find that I am no longer bothered the way I used to be by the restraints I have put in my life for the good of others.
I wanted to serve God, and He has opened the doorway to such service. I wanted to have nothing stand in my way of putting my full focus on Him, and He has surely has granted my request. I used to miss Elphaba, wish her constant nearness, but I am beginning to realize, she is near even when I cannot see her. She is near me, for her words linger, and when I feel lonely, the thought of her will bring me a feeling of peace. I asked God to reconcile a distraction - however sweet - with my calling, and it has been done. I love her no less, but I am able to let her be her own person, without fear of losing her.
Theodred has come. My very own Rohirric prince, surely from my world as Faramir is from home. I have missed him, I missed him and did not realize I missed him, I missed the long conversations over a glass of wine, I missed his ability to relate to me so perfectly, because of the similarity of our lives and mindsets. I missed him, yes, and he is here. There is nothing like being with an old friend, to bring a sense of contentedness to my living. A little gift, small, compared to the storms that ravage us, but a little gift can reap great rewards. He has needed my help in adjusting, as much as I have needed his practical wisdom and light handed humor to help me focus on what is important. He has chosen Ewan McGregor icons, as a proof of his long-lastingness, and they call him "Ewanodred"; and it suits him, quite well.
There is trouble for Karigan again. It is hard to think of the words to explain that she has not done so herself, in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) hells_rider, her journal, so I suppose I will not bother. Yet, as upset and distraught as she has been, I find the rider who used to be ever-close to my side, returning to me again for help, which I have been so long dying to give her. Another old friend returns, perhaps, but what words can be said of my own errand-rider, that when she feels weak and afraid, I am the one she goes to, to find strength and defense? I have missed her, and though she is certainly not the girl I found near Pelargir anymore, or even the rider who faithfully was at my side through most battles, she is not so different that I do not know which words to say to quiet the fear in her eyes. Not so different than all that, that when the rest of the world upsets her, she cannot still come sit with me, and rest her head against my shoulder while we wait the night out of its darkness.
There's trouble enough for the whole world wrapped up in Karigan's cares, maybe, but God is good and will see us all through this madness. There are no end of things to pray for these days, I fear, but faith will see us to the ending of even these lasting terrors. No trouble is eternal, and maybe Karigan will return in confidence of her security to her husband tonight. Fear, it is said, is made out of imperfect love, but I have another theory of fear. Fear comes from uncertainty about God's ability to turn the worst case scenario for good. But faith can carry us through uncertainty, listening for the voice of God can provide direction, and the slow process of trust can find fear diminishing.
Spiritual journeys are the hardest, because it is hard to see the path we are taking leading anywhere. Sometimes the path seems to lead us around in circles, and we wonder, is anything worth this frustration, this pain, this anger, this lostness, this confusion we feel?
...yes, Karigan, many things are worth it. Your safety is worth it.
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Saturday, February 26th, 2005
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...I died today. I do not know how this is supposed to make me feel. I know that some people get emotional or upset when they remember dying, and certianly, they have a place. I don't know if I can feel upset, anymore. It's been three years, since I died, in my world, and I don't know, what am I supposed feel?
I talked a bit about it yesterday, and I don't really know why I did. I didn't really talk about in detail, not really, just... the vague, fleeting impressions of so much glory that fell like stars reeling in the sky and tumbled down, to fall into the burning sea. Some people will not want to think about my being dead; some people forget I am dead, because I have resolved to live again even though it has a cost. But I am dead, though my hands still stretch and strain with the pull and tear of years, and there are new scars and hurts. My heart beats in my chest; I can hear it, I can hear the faint rush of blood, and I feel pain; my eyes close, and they open, and I can see. I can feel, I can breathe, I must eat to sustain myself... I live here, yet I am dead.
You can see the weight of my death in scars. I counted, once, and only once. Seventeen arrow wounds. Kari has always said it was close to twenty, and yes, she is right. It is close to twenty. It does not matter, now, if it is seventeen or twenty, not really. I know I removed a good many of them; I only died with three or four in my body. I think that comforts her. I feel as if she is the one who needs comforting today, not me. After all, I'm the one who saw the face of God, for a moment or two, and she has never been comforted.
...I could talk about how I died, the pain, but there's not really a point in that. My death was prolonged a very rediculous amount of time. I look at the time that elapsed, everything that happened, and part of me believes it was not physically possible. Not that it changes the fact it happened as it did. Sometimes, logic does not have to apply.
( ...here is the tale of the death of Boromir the Bold. You've been warned. )
...and now I am here, and it does not matter so much as I thought it would.
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Friday, December 17th, 2004
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You believe in doing the right thing, but aren't
always sure what that is.
What is Your Shakespearian Tragic Flaw?
brought to you by Quizilla
...dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, after all. I would know. I would know, exactly what it is like to die for one's country. It is very cold, 'mori', and 'dulce et decorum' has a bitter taste to it, like cold tea seeped too long, unsweetened, though 'pro patria', I would do anything...
I do believe, in 'pro patria mori'... there are other things worth dying for too.
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Night-eyes is lying quiet in her bed... but I can't believe we found her. Jehanne found her, really, sensed a "presense" behind the door... I don't know how she did it, and I hardly know what happened to Night-eyes... laying so very still against the bed, so very quiet and so very... cold. The cough is worse today, I can feel my insides ripping to shreds, but Night-eyes needed the help to sleep quiet and dreamless. I don't regret it, though my body does...
I know what it is like to be cold.
Her wings are... gone. I do not know where they have gone. It looked... as if someone had ripped them out. And done worse. I don't know. Night-eyes, Night-eyes, why have you been sitting in the dark, dark room? How long?
Halls of the Forgotten. Sounds so... ominous. I never thought we'd find a truly forgotten there... everyone thought Night-eyes was gone... but not Jehanne. Leave it to a saint of God and a captain of Gondor to find a winged fruit-bat child of distant lands, her only joy wrested and ripped away. I don't know why.
Amrothos was shaken to hear... entanglement with an enemy? Self-mutilation? I told him Night-eyes is too proud for that... Imrahil dropped fun and games and gaped stupidly, shaken by the revelation, and Elboron turned pale and asked if he could see her. Jehanne has not left her side, and if I were Night-eyes, I would find it comforting, but I am not so sure.
What a world. What a world. This is not how the story goes. This is not how the story goes! Where's my damn happily ever after? What else can be done to me? Are there any more tricks up your sleeve, cruel fate? Are you going to drive a knife into my chest worse than this cough?
Just what I wanted; Elphaba's ire, the world's irritation at my sickness, internal bleeding from the damn portal I opened that is taking all my strength to heal a sickening cough, a warzone hanging over the soulspace, playing traffic monitor to Kari's bonding, and six bloody days to the birth of Christ.
Spirit of the season? I think my spirit is being asfixiated.
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Sunday, December 5th, 2004
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We have another guest... this one is not welcome. Following is violent, and maybe disturbing. PG-13 if you really need a rating for the rigors of war.
( Logged for reference; his arrival )
...and that brings us to the portion where I have to explain things. We had a conference, out of munsight, the full of which I don't need to recall for you, but the most pertinant part was the history...
( A taste of Gondorian history, Boromir style... )
...so now he's lying in a cell, he and his bizzare flying machine... he's here to kill me, I think, but that sort of fell through... so I have no idea what he is here for. Let's just say it doesn't make me happy. I killed the man... I wish he'd have stayed dead. I didn't want to think about these things... I don't want to see his twisted, ugly face, which I so morbidly destroyed.
...I feel like a monster.
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Friday, December 3rd, 2004
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The clouds were rolled back like scrolls, and snow fell as I walked. The mountains were blue and white with frost and glory, and I laughed like a boy, and snow fell in my hair and caught on my jacket shoulders. Magic tasted in the air, for the lyric flower twined around the trees and blossomed in the pale light, and tangled around my feet, lighting the path no mortal man had ever before trod. A good sign, a good sign, always, the lyric is a good sign, and the earth was sweet with snow and the sweet scent of my white flower.
There was a flash of red, the twining of something stranger and sweeter still, and the golden creep of Avalonia, circling towards a clearing in the wood. I stopped upon the ground, and stared, and watched lights spinning, around, and around, as the golden flowers of the reel scattered up in the falling snow. There was a shape, a woman, spinning around and around.
( And I wondered... )
When the faerie lights faded, I found my way back...
Luck always has it that at the moments of perfection, there's not a camera in sight.
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I have no idea where I dredged this up.
you fade away like ice on a window pane
the numbing cold seeps through every vein
so finally it's coming to this
the freezing of death's kiss
you will never understand
the journey into eden's land
The night air by the mountains is very cold in Eden this time of year. I can taste the snow up on the heights. I forgot my jacket, and I can feel the starlight on my sleeves. It is very alone. I won't stay here long. Mir will be wanting me. He's the only one who will. I don't mind. I think it's better that way.
The cathedral is very cold, and because the leaves have fallen up in the mountain, and the earth is wet with frost, I can see the lyric flower and the wild reel and all the stars I named. It's extremely cold. If I don't go back soon, I'll fall back to where I was.
I don't want to share this, the coldness, the aloneness, the stars. This is mine. No one has ever been here except God and me. And I think maybe that's how it should be. No one will ever appreciate this. This is the deepest reflection, and it is very, very cold and strangely dark, and I find it too untamed to be a good gift. I must go back before I fall into the cold that was. The stars kiss me goodnight, and frost clings to the knees of my pants, but goodbye is only until tomorrow... God does not say goodnight, He goes with me everywhere... He is the only one who wants this strange, cold reflection.
I should always take my own advice. No one wants my gifts.
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| Subject: | ARRGHH!! |
| Time: | 1:38 am. |
| Mood: | really very extremely hacked. | | Music: | Free - Sarah Brightman. |
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The fucking bastard rude person left a bloody corpse, and we told him to release himself from the body all he had to do was try. That is so unamusing. It's like staging your own death. If he wanted to test us he could have picked a way that didn't involve staining my damn poor carpet.
The fucking fucked up fuckwad of a fucktard!
...I feel better.
The arrangement is as ideal as it can possibly be. He's finally got what he wanted all the long; a place to have the time and reflection to ask forgiveness for everything he did wrong, and then to go back to his heaven if that's still what he wants. It was still inconsiderate of him to leave a corpse.
I don't like it when the right thing is hard and does not feel like the right thing and is extremely subjective and gray.
(...for those of you who have no idea what I am talking about; we had an unwilling visitor sucked in from his afterlife who was a ghost, made a lot of problems, then borrowed a body, then to get out of here, stabbed himself with a knife to release his spirit from the body and escaped into aether. I did not like having the guest here and wish he had never come as he complicated things and just complicated them further by "dying". Actually all he did was add another scar to a recyclable body [yes we have those here, bodies are concepts] and left blood stains on my library carpet. Idiot.)
eta I'm having temperment issues and my language has been absolutely unacceptable, especially as I ragged on Kari today about her use of very negative words directed at her mother's retreating back... and have edited the post accordingly.
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Wednesday, December 1st, 2004
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There are so many people who are willing to talk to me. This somehow surprises me. Stupidly I forgot to log all the names, so if you are a person I contacted yesterday, and you noticed I haven't IMed you, it's probably because I don't have your screen name, so IM me again.
...my head is in a whirl. I don't know what I'm thinking today. I don't even know how I'm feeling. I think I should allow Kari to make me new icons... and maybe a layout that isn't black. It's so dark looking... Speaking of dark looking things, I was reading through my journal and found an entry that struck a note with me.
I think I am burning out. I have no where to belong, nothing to do, no where to go... I keep no hope for myself. I am fighting a disease with no cure, and I can only treat its symptoms. I've lost interest in curing myself; it is only for Faramir and Dred I now care - well yes, and Erchi, but I have little place in my cousin's life now....
The circle of names is bigger now, particularly the names I no longer have a place in... yet I don't really think I want to cure myself the way I used to. It reminds me of Clocks by Coldplay. Am I a part of the cure, or am I part of the disease?
...I think maybe I'm afraid I'm the disease.
Emma, don't worry about it.
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Tuesday, November 30th, 2004
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I had a lovely weekend with the mun and with Faramir on the coast. It felt very right, suitably fitting, as we all walked together along the beach, digging cold feet into the damp sand and letting frigid water wash over our feet. It was right. It was comforting. I am glad I went.
Kari's younger brother watched Band of Brothers one night while we were there, and I watched for a little while. It made me think about my battlefields, the cost of war, the tragedy of loss. I have seen real blood, of course, but I hadn't expected the televised gore to bother me as much as it did. I suppose it's only the nearness to the real thing, which is something that no one who hasn't stood upon a field and watched the red sun rise, and look about them and see only bodies and red grass mingling with black blood can really comprehend.
I do not wish to be morbid. But honestly? Honestly? I can't forget those things. I never will. I try not to think about them too much. But I can't forget, not when I see friends, gone forever, fading into eternity, and knowing that it could have been me, it maybe should have been me, except that I heard a voice call in the darkness.
I don't remember how I came here. Not really. I remember stars, and the face of light. I remember a hand shutting my eyes, and the whisper of God; by his stripes you will be healed. Heal. I remember warmth, and cold, and stars, brighter in the darkness than any sun close to earth, penetrating the silken black of space.
And I remember a girl. Seeing her. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching her, wondering. Wondering, I don't know what, but wondering. Watching her cry uncontrollably, seated on the floor. I remember a girl, I remember thinking she should not be so sad.
I don't really remember much else until I found Mir. I just don't remember how I got here. But I wouldn't trade being here for anything. I'm glad I'm here. Here is a place where I can make things right, and that's the most important thing for me to do these days.
...to the kind, nameless friend who left me a comment, I extend my thanks, and hope they are not too shy to one day give me their name.
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Friday, November 26th, 2004
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I have a new screen name on AIM if anyone who sees this would ever like to talk to me. I am not particularly differential between hosts or their bonds, I could just use some good conversation, to be frank. artist of worlds is where you can find me now.
Everything is all right with Elphaba. We are of an accordance, and I think I finally understand what happened between her and I. It's taken a lot of time, but that, at least, feels right. Emma seems uncomfortable, which worries me, but she has her reasons, I suppose. I'm nearly done with Halcyon's wall. I feel...
I don't know how I feel. Relieved. Tired. As if the constant cycle of yes and no and high and low and joy and bittersweetness, art and company, healing and recovering, music and paint and Eden... is finally coming to a place where I can see it sweetly to sleep, and live quietly, a hundred days of art and company and a hundred nights curled by the fire in an oversized chair with Mir.
...I'd like a life like that.
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Wednesday, November 24th, 2004
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| Time: | 10:56 am. |
| Mood: | better. | | Music: | Blackout - Muse. |
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Halcyon will love her mural. I find there is magic in these paints, as I can put whatever temporary pain I feel into art, and watch it disappear from the emptiness inside. She loves the sea, and so, I am painting her the sea. I'm bitter and raw and inexcusably angered, today... but oh, what pretty art. It is a bit of a challenge, this wall, but it feels so constructive to paint it, to find something to paint when I want to go sleep forever.
This is temporary, of course. I went and visited Mir, and he felt warm with his head against my chest, curled up with me in an armchair, staring into the fireplace. It felt very right, to have Mir cuddled up into my skin again, and he made me laugh, and it was very comforting. I miss him, yes, even at this very moment, and almost wish I could spend all my hours curled up in an armchair, awkwardly sipping coffee from our position, talking about inanities. I love him so very much.
Emma is distraught, but I do not think she wants me to go to her. I have been told to seek out Johnathan if I am in want of anything, but I am in want of many things, and neither he nor anyone else can give them to me. I want to see Elphaba. I want Emma's Severus to stay dead, as I don't like him at all (and we thought my dislike of Fiyero was interesting. It's at least excusable. Severus Snape the first is... such a nasty, unpleasant person, even Professor Severus Snape doesn't like his great-granduncle.) and I want my heart back, damn it.
The part of my heart that felt rejected and scorned and bitter and bruised went into the ballroom painting. And thus, in the picture, you see the part of me that is rejected and scorned and bitter and bruised, as it were. I don't know what I'm putting into this stormy sea in which Halcyon stands upon the prow of her Abaddon as if she is the captain, while the crew strains beyond... I suppose this senseless, wasteful anger, bitter rage and tired frustration, is what I'm putting into it.
...I think I understand how the paintings work though. Because they are exactly what I am, infused with so much of what I am, it shall keep that part of me I cannot stand to have inside under the cliche of 'art', until some magic number of people have seen, and understood, and then the pain in the beauty will be discharged, and I can have back the sweetness, the bitterness spent. I seem to have no problem retrieving back so many trivial trifles of my heart; the ability to laugh - but I have not painted that, have I? - and the ability to sing and smile and pray and feel pleased...
Kari was worried for me, but I feel so much better than I did around 3 this morning, wallowing (pointlessly) in the fact that so soon, I'll be relegated to back burner, and feel too out of touch with the world to want to write in this journal. I am thinking about asking for my own screen name again, to give to people, so I can talk to people who do not belong to either the Sarikari or The House. I do not tire of their company, but simply want for someone to understand. Still. I am better, what more can I ask for? American Thanksgiving tomorrow, and that is what will gratify me, that I feel a great improvement in my spirits.
I took a trip to Eden, and trapsiezed around for a few hours. I took pictures of the mist and the fog and the dew, and drenched my hair in rain by praying in the chapel of trees - the trees still have their leaves, bless them, and won't lose them, as the temperature won't get cold enough - before I came back.
It felt very, very good to go home and do something normal.
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Nothing in life is mine. Why does everything cost so much? I did not expect this. I really didn't. I was... very unprepared. So soon. This is only to remind me that nothing is mine. I must not be posessive of people. I must not think to myself how dear they are. I must not think I know how to make people happy...
...I was so happy yesterday, too... things felt so much better after all this to hardly have a heart that can bleed... Emma gave me the most personal gift I've ever recieved, her violin and the chapel and the music... and for her to see... unspeakable joys... and she was so happy to have danced...
I am so tired of losing everything right when I finally have it.
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Friday, November 5th, 2004
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( Photograph Vouyerism of the Soul )
The only real question is whether I'm the man, or the camera film. I'm so numb today, I can't tell. I'll see her, to say goodbye. She has all she ever wanted now. She, like everyone else, will find her way out of my life. Here is her window to do it with grace.
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| Time: | 1:16 am. |
| Mood: |  enraged. |
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She doesn't love me.
She never did.
I knew she didn't, but I pretended she did, because I wanted her to love me so much.
Damn you, Fiyero, make her happy or I will make you wish you'd never been reborn.
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Wednesday, September 29th, 2004
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....twice in a row I have been very close to saying something important only to miss the opportunity. It won't be three times. Maybe all I want to say is how much I want...
...to spin around in circles when I think about her amd fall asleep dizzy.
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hopeful.
uncomfortable.
moody.
sick.
thoughtful.
depressed.