Says the Devil

Lately I’ve been in a sour mood. I’m going to be very honest and very blunt about the reasoning–and this will probably force into this mess the possibility of those I’m angry with seeing this and all that, but I’ve been clear about my anger with them already, so that’d be nothing new–and the reason is close-mindedness and intent to argue.

These both might seem patently vague, and perhaps they are, but I think both of them are cause for frustration, and unalleviated frustration does sow anger. It’s no doubt that I’m angry. I understand this. So do they.

What bothers me is the reason they cite: If I’m opposed, it’s not worth the time to talk about. Or if I’m inclined to agree, they want to play devil’s advocate.

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I is for It Gets Better (Part One)

Back while I still pondering over what H is for, I felt I was for Invincible. I said to myself, being open, being confident, being who you are, makes you invincible, makes you impervious, makes you incredible. I felt of sharing: When I’m afraid, when I don’t think I can go on, I surround myself with positive things–with thoughts of my friends, thoughts of the great people in whose presence I stand, of the glory of God imbuing everything there is with his light and his love, and then I feel invincible and I can go on.

Last week, I began to wonder if I really is for invincible. Instead, I began to think I is for Individual. I felt of sharing: There is no greater bliss than of knowing who you are, all your faults, all your foibles, all your fortes. To understand what goes on inside is to make you impenetrable, insightful, indivisible. To feel, nay, to know what is hidden beneath your exterior, that part of us that we so often wrongly equate the entirely of “I,” is to open doors and possibilities and events that otherwise would remain lost forever. To be an Individual is perhaps among the greatest gift God has ever given us.

Today, although both of these statements stand true and always will–I am Invincible, I am Individual–I know they are not all I is worth. I is worth a wealth of ideas, a well of inspiration, a river of incentive. I spoke the other night with a wonderful man, a man of whose nature and build I did not think even God could have crafted, and it made me realize, in that strange way that unrelated events inspire worlds of difference, in the way that butterflies in Africa incite hurricanes in America, that I is well worth so much more than all of this.

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For This One Moment

Yesterday I got carried away with art. I like art. I like it even more since I added another hundred or so plugins to I knew it would happen when my internet came back, but I hadn’t expected to spend so many hours playing with them all right away. Nor had I imagined we’d be going to the laundromat last night, chasing circles after my niece for an hour or so, and then spend a few more folding before, so exhausted, bed was the only option.

And today, my head feels like one red balloon floating to the moon, quoth Enya. Carry on, I dare say, carry on. This one will be interesting. As I feel half Luna and half drowsy, I don’t see it being any other way.

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More Than Mirrors

There’s few books on my “favorite books” list when you look at my profile on Facebook, at least for the number of entries present. Half of them are authors, for I tend to find individual books lacking in some way, small for the best of them, to be considered favorites, but an author presents a body of work, where the shortcomings of one are augmented by the facets of the others, so that all the areas I wish could be fulfilled are done so, and thus they have become a favorite in my eyes.

One of the five stand-alone novels (for the other four “books” are more appropriately book series, namely Harry Potter, the Chronicles of Narnia, the Lord of the Rings, and Percy Jackson & the Olympians) is Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carol (the other four books are The Thief of Always by Clive Barker, the Princess Bride by William Goldman, What is Mathematics? by Richard Courant, and Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan, which wasn’t a phenomenal book, but I liked what it represented and what it idealized).

Before reading Through the Looking Glass, I read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and I must admit, sadly, that I didn’t find the latter book nearly as much as the former, which is actually the latter, if you’ll kindly forgive my inversion of sentence structure, since it did me little good here.

My point in mentioning any of this is that, although Alice has gone through a mirror, that plane of which we’ve learned reflects flawlessly, she doesn’t at all reflect very much through it, does she?

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A Song for the Seige of Society

Last week left me no time, but this week has left me plenty, and I’m happy to return to this once more. I must say, though, this teaching is not only longer than usual, it appears, but also a little more challenging to decipher. Why not take a look and see what you think?

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Under the Tide: The Tragic and Comedic Tale of How I Danced With a Monkey and Had a Baby in My Sleep (Part Two)

Now came the finale. Now, he told us, the three men in the group were miraculously pregnant, eight months along. I felt the weight at my abdomen, and when he told us to stand, I struggled to move from my seat, barely kept my balance once I was standing, and then moved carefully back to my seat when he told us to sit.

And you know what? I was happy.

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Under the Tide: The Tragic and Comedic Tale of How I Danced With a Monkey and Had a Baby in My Sleep (Part One)

I was skeptical, but I was also intrigued. Here I was last night, at the Phi Theta Kappa Carolinas Region Regional Conference: After our first general session and dinner, there was a presentation on…HYPNOTISM!

Like I said: Skeptical, but intrigued.

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The Sweetest Thing

I’m a diehard romantic and apparently I’m picky. I don’t get what the one has to do with the other, and most of the time I really don’t care. I like most romantic comedies, even if there’s a ninety-percent chance I’ll predict the entire movie before it’s over. When I’m surprised, I love it. When I’m blown away, I’ve fallen in love.

Music is one of those things that seems to capture the moment the moment I’m feeling it. There’s always a song playing, whether on my headphones or the radio or on the ring tones of the classmate who never turned off their phone, that just in a few verses, in a single melody, can sum up life in a matter of seconds.

Then there’s those times when I’m standing at the white board, three markers of three different colors in my hands as I try to solve a determinant in some new way to check my other answer, and I see how it’s supposed to work out in the end, but I can be fairly certain that I’ve made a careless mistake in my algebra somewhere because, very clearly, it won’t add up correctly. And yet I see it all at a once. The answer is right before me. It always is.

I thought I was going to be thankful for love today. But it seems like fate’s had its own way again.

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Plenty and Nothing

Yesterday sucked. Like an emotional train wreck. No survivors. One of those news stories that sticks with you, like Virginia Tech. I followed that story so much I had to stop following the news at all, I started to get so depressed. I really haven’t recovered: I’d like to follow the news again, but I’ve not been able to since then. And like then, whirling from yesterday’s distress, today doesn’t seem much better.

But feeling isn’t knowing.

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