Tuesday, January 15, 2013

January 15, 2013

“…Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things (Philippians 4:8).

I want to sit at the edge of a waxing crescent moon and collect thoughts and visions of beauty; words of wisdoms… to only think of whatever is pure and whatever is lovely. But the mind must be trained on this. It is a continual struggle. And then, the atmosphere has turned blue—the blues of a pitiless January, which persist on piercing my soul with a thousand knives; daggers of ices and stalactites that freeze and obstruct the miracle of light. And there’s a whole world out there of ground-and-ceiling growths made of ice that are as intriguing as they are strange—merciless demons in ice garments; wrapping roses in attire of ices; frozen dew on the ground and the formation of ice in standing bodies of water. And inside… inside dwells an allegory; an absurdity. Ices treating with contempt all that emanates from God. The atmosphere where dwells the soul is quite complex; it reflects micrometeorological conditions; ribbons and needles of ice in some intricate patterns—much like the outside.

I don’t wish to reason with faith, but I often find myself struggling with doubt.

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