Glory of the world makes life meaningless. Glory of God fulfills it.

life love truth inspirational knowledge philosophy happiness wisdom fame faith hope pride joy god beauty religion self self-respect adoration spirituality conceit humility recognition motivational meaning-of-life writing ego self-love worship vanity happy-life education honor admiration wonder glory nobility blessing phenomenon modesty selfishness reputation greatness humble elegance grandeur praise popularity arrogance celebrate gentle self-importance self-righteous egocentrism narcissism self-worship joy-of-life tame delight acclaim acquiescent applaud biddable bless boast commend compliant conceitedness deferential diffident distinction docile egotism eminence eulogize exaltation exaltation-of-god extol extolment glorify-god glorify-god-in-everything glorify-self-vs-glorify-god glorifying-god glorifying-god-quotes glory-of-god glory-of-life glory-of-man glory-of-me glory-of-one glory-of-self glory-of-self-vs-glory-of-god glory-of-the-world glory-to-god glory-to-self god-s-exaltation god-s-glorification god-s-glory god-s-grandeur god-s-greatness god-s-honor god-s-magnificence god-s-majesty god-s-praise grandeur-of-god greatness-of-god honor-of-god how-to-fulfill-life hubris humbleness immodesty imperiousness joyful-living kudos lamblike life-fulfillment lionize magnificence magnificence-of-god magnify majesty majesty-of-god marvel meaningful-life meaningless-life meek mild modest obedient opulence pay-tribute-to pomposity pompousness praise-of-god prestige quotes-that-glorify-god rave renown resplendence self-admiration self-adoration self-centeredness self-conceit self-effacing self-exaltation self-extolment self-glorification self-glorifying self-glory self-glory-vs-god-s-glory self-honor self-magnification self-magnifying self-opinion self-praise self-pride self-regard self-satisfaction smugness splendor submissive superiority tractable ultimate-purpose-of-life unassuming unprotesting unresisting vainglory

Those who achieve the extraordinary are usually the most ordinary because they have nothing to prove to anybody. Be Humble.

It's in those quiet little towns, at the edge of the world, that you will find the salt of the earth people who make you feel right at home.

Jesus Christ is the source—the only source—of meaning in life. He provides the only satisfactory explanation for why we’re here and where we’re going. Because of this good news, the final heartbeat for the Christian is not the mysterious conclusion to a meaningless existence. It is, rather, the grand beginning to a life that will never end. That same Lord is waiting to embrace and forgive anyone who comes to Him in humility and repentance. He is calling your name, just as He called the name of Pete Maravich. His promise of eternal life offers the only hope for humanity. If you have never met this Jesus, I suggest that you seek spiritual counsel from a Christian leader who can offer guidance. You can also write to me, if that would help. Thanks for reading along with me. I hope to meet you someday. If our paths don’t cross this side of heaven, I’ll be looking for you in that eternal city. By all means, Be there!

Beware ! Discipline goes to two different directions : success and self glory. Self glory is the biggest failure of life.

fame pride beauty self-respect adoration conceit humility discipline success recognition ego self-love worship vanity honor admiration wonder glory nobility blessing phenomenon modesty selfishness reputation greatness success-quotes humble temptation elegance grandeur praise popularity arrogance celebrate gentle self-importance self-righteous egocentrism narcissism self-worship tame delight acclaim acquiescent applaud biddable bless boast commend compliant conceitedness deferential diffident distinction docile egotism eminence eulogize exaltation exaltation-of-god extol extolment glorify-god glorify-god-in-everything glorify-self-vs-glorify-god glorifying-god glorifying-god-quotes glory-of-god glory-of-life glory-of-me glory-of-one glory-of-self glory-of-self-vs-glory-of-god glory-to-god glory-to-self god-s-exaltation god-s-glorification god-s-glory god-s-grandeur god-s-greatness god-s-honor god-s-magnificence god-s-majesty god-s-praise grandeur-of-god greatness-of-god honor-of-god hubris humbleness immodesty imperiousness kudos lamblike lionize magnificence magnificence-of-god magnify majesty majesty-of-god marvel meek mild modest obedient opulence pay-tribute-to pomposity pompousness praise-of-god prestige quotes-that-glorify-god rave renown resplendence self-admiration self-adoration self-centeredness self-conceit self-effacing self-exaltation self-extolment self-glorification self-glorifying self-glory self-glory-vs-god-s-glory self-honor self-magnification self-magnifying self-opinion self-praise self-pride self-regard self-satisfaction smugness splendor submissive superiority tractable unassuming unprotesting unresisting vainglory discipline-quotes direction-of-discipline temptation-of-succes temptation-quotes

Of course, if one does not fully trust the promise of God's Kingdom, he will have a hard time taking risks and making sacrifices in this life. A gospel centered around the temporal self - fleeting happiness, earthly success, vain prosperity, things such as these - is the primary ambition of the half-hearted Christian; the one who somewhat believes he is subject to an eternal death; the one who just might believe in men before God, who morbidly fears seeming less than anyone else. The man of this school feels deeply that he has but one life to live, that this must be his only chance, and therefore must have it all in his favor - from glory to comfort to riches - and have it right this instant. He is but hinting that he is overcome because he insists always that he must overcome, that his judgment comes now and by the persons around him. The point is, however, in this sense, that by grace the Christian is indeed free, but only for as long as he wants to be free - the practicality of true freedom: that of God which offers not so much freedom to be like the world as it does freedom from the pressures of having to be like the world. For Divine Law is based solely on love and freedom; whereas secular law, pressure and imitation.

Yesterday i was clever so i took the glory for me. Today HE makes me wise so i give the glory to HIM.

fame pride god beauty self self-respect adoration conceit humility recognition ego self-love worship vanity honor admiration wonder glory nobility blessing phenomenon modesty selfishness wise reputation greatness today humble yesterday elegance grandeur praise popularity arrogance clever celebrate gentle self-importance self-righteous egocentrism narcissism self-worship tame delight acclaim acquiescent applaud biddable bless boast commend compliant conceitedness deferential diffident distinction docile egotism eminence eulogize exaltation exaltation-of-god extol extolment glorify-god glorify-god-in-everything glorify-self-vs-glorify-god glorifying-god glorifying-god-quotes glory-of-god glory-of-life glory-of-man glory-of-me glory-of-one glory-of-self glory-of-self-vs-glory-of-god glory-of-the-world glory-to-god glory-to-self god-s-exaltation god-s-glorification god-s-glory god-s-grandeur god-s-greatness god-s-honor god-s-magnificence god-s-majesty god-s-praise grandeur-of-god greatness-of-god honor-of-god hubris humbleness immodesty imperiousness kudos lamblike lionize magnificence magnificence-of-god magnify majesty majesty-of-god marvel meek mild modest obedient opulence pay-tribute-to pomposity pompousness praise-of-god prestige quotes-that-glorify-god rave renown resplendence self-admiration self-adoration self-centeredness self-conceit self-effacing self-exaltation self-extolment self-glorification self-glorifying self-glory self-glory-vs-god-s-glory self-honor self-magnification self-magnifying self-opinion self-praise self-pride self-regard self-satisfaction smugness splendor submissive superiority tractable unassuming unprotesting unresisting vainglory

Big things in the glory of the world mean nothing. Small things in glory of God mean everything. Truly..., size doesn't matter in this world or in the world to come.

fame pride god beauty self self-respect adoration conceit humility recognition ego self-love worship vanity honor admiration wonder glory nobility blessing phenomenon modesty selfishness reputation greatness humble nothing elegance grandeur praise popularity arrogance celebrate gentle self-importance self-righteous egocentrism narcissism self-worship tame delight everything acclaim acquiescent applaud biddable bless boast commend compliant conceitedness deferential diffident distinction docile egotism eminence eulogize exaltation exaltation-of-god extol extolment glorify-god glorify-god-in-everything glorify-self-vs-glorify-god glorifying-god glorifying-god-quotes glory-of-god glory-of-life glory-of-man glory-of-me glory-of-one glory-of-self glory-of-self-vs-glory-of-god glory-of-the-world glory-to-god glory-to-self god-s-exaltation god-s-glorification god-s-glory god-s-grandeur god-s-greatness god-s-honor god-s-magnificence god-s-majesty god-s-praise grandeur-of-god greatness-of-god honor-of-god hubris humbleness immodesty imperiousness kudos lamblike lionize magnificence magnificence-of-god magnify majesty majesty-of-god marvel meek mild modest obedient opulence pay-tribute-to pomposity pompousness praise-of-god prestige quotes-that-glorify-god rave renown resplendence self-admiration self-adoration self-centeredness self-conceit self-effacing self-exaltation self-extolment self-glorification self-glorifying self-glory self-glory-vs-god-s-glory self-honor self-magnification self-magnifying self-opinion self-praise self-pride self-regard self-satisfaction smugness splendor submissive superiority tractable unassuming unprotesting unresisting vainglory truly small-things this-world big-things size-doesn-t-matter size-matter world-to-come

Sweet wine makes drunk, sour wine (insult) is "tetelestai". Life is not about what we have done and become, but how God to be fully glorified.

life fame pride god beauty self self-respect adoration conceit humility recognition ego self-love worship vanity drunk honor admiration wonder glory nobility blessing phenomenon modesty selfishness reputation greatness humble elegance grandeur praise insult popularity arrogance celebrate gentle self-importance self-righteous egocentrism narcissism self-worship tame delight acclaim acquiescent applaud biddable bless boast commend compliant conceitedness deferential diffident distinction docile egotism eminence eulogize exaltation exaltation-of-god extol extolment glorify-god glorify-god-in-everything glorify-self-vs-glorify-god glorifying-god glorifying-god-quotes glory-of-god glory-of-life glory-of-man glory-of-me glory-of-one glory-of-self glory-of-self-vs-glory-of-god glory-of-the-world glory-to-god glory-to-self god-s-exaltation god-s-glorification god-s-glory god-s-grandeur god-s-greatness god-s-honor god-s-magnificence god-s-majesty god-s-praise grandeur-of-god greatness-of-god honor-of-god hubris humbleness immodesty imperiousness kudos lamblike lionize magnificence magnificence-of-god magnify majesty majesty-of-god marvel meek mild modest obedient opulence pay-tribute-to pomposity pompousness praise-of-god prestige quotes-that-glorify-god rave renown resplendence self-admiration self-adoration self-centeredness self-conceit self-effacing self-exaltation self-extolment self-glorification self-glorifying self-glory self-glory-vs-god-s-glory self-honor self-magnification self-magnifying self-opinion self-praise self-pride self-regard self-satisfaction smugness splendor submissive superiority tractable unassuming unprotesting unresisting vainglory fully-paid it-is-finished last-words-of-jesus saying-of-jesus-on-cross sour-wine sweet-wine tetelestai

Whatever we have in the glory of man is "away". Those are just not enough before we go "home" to the glory of God.

fame pride home god beauty self self-respect adoration conceit humility recognition lost ego self-love worship vanity honor admiration wonder glory nobility blessing phenomenon modesty selfishness reputation greatness humble away enough elegance grandeur praise popularity arrogance celebrate gentle self-importance found self-righteous egocentrism narcissism self-worship sufficient tame delight acclaim acquiescent applaud biddable bless boast commend compliant conceitedness deferential diffident distinction docile egotism eminence eulogize exaltation exaltation-of-god extol extolment glorify-god glorify-god-in-everything glorify-self-vs-glorify-god glorifying-god glorifying-god-quotes glory-of-god glory-of-life glory-of-man glory-of-me glory-of-one glory-of-self glory-of-self-vs-glory-of-god glory-of-the-world glory-to-god glory-to-self god-s-exaltation god-s-glorification god-s-glory god-s-grandeur god-s-greatness god-s-honor god-s-magnificence god-s-majesty god-s-praise grandeur-of-god greatness-of-god honor-of-god hubris humbleness immodesty imperiousness kudos lamblike lionize magnificence magnificence-of-god magnify majesty majesty-of-god marvel meek mild modest obedient opulence pay-tribute-to pomposity pompousness praise-of-god prestige quotes-that-glorify-god rave renown resplendence self-admiration self-adoration self-centeredness self-conceit self-effacing self-exaltation self-extolment self-glorification self-glorifying self-glory self-glory-vs-god-s-glory self-honor self-magnification self-magnifying self-opinion self-praise self-pride self-regard self-satisfaction smugness splendor submissive superiority tractable unassuming unprotesting unresisting vainglory complete not-enough

If we glorify God (not self) in everything we do then everything on earth will glorify God.

fame pride beauty self-respect adoration conceit humility recognition ego self-love worship vanity honor wonder glory nobility phenomenon modesty selfishness reputation greatness humble elegance grandeur praise popularity arrogance celebrate gentle self-importance self-righteous egocentrism narcissism tame delight acclaim acquiescent applaud biddable commend compliant conceitedness deferential diffident distinction docile egotism eminence eulogize exaltation exaltation-of-god extol extolment glorify-god glorify-god-in-everything glorify-self-vs-glorify-god glorifying-god glorifying-god-quotes glory-of-god glory-of-life glory-of-me glory-of-one glory-of-self glory-of-self-vs-glory-of-god glory-to-god glory-to-self god-s-exaltation god-s-glorification god-s-glory god-s-grandeur god-s-greatness god-s-honor god-s-magnificence god-s-majesty god-s-praise grandeur-of-god greatness-of-god honor-of-god hubris humbleness immodesty imperiousness kudos lamblike lionize magnificence magnificence-of-god magnify majesty majesty-of-god marvel meek mild modest obedient opulence pay-tribute-to pomposity pompousness praise-of-god prestige quotes-that-glorify-god rave renown resplendence self-admiration self-adoration self-centeredness self-conceit self-effacing self-exaltation self-extolment self-glorification self-glorifying self-glory self-glory-vs-god-s-glory self-honor self-magnification self-magnifying self-opinion self-praise self-pride self-regard self-satisfaction smugness splendor submissive superiority tractable unassuming unprotesting unresisting vainglory everything-on-earth-glorify-god

A kind of northing is what I wish to accomplish, a single-minded trek towards that place where any shutter left open to the zenith at night will record the wheeling of all the sky’s stars as a pattern of perfect, concentric circles. I seek a reduction, a shedding, a sloughing off. At the seashore you often see a shell, or fragment of a shell, that sharp sands and surf have thinned to a wisp. There is no way you can tell what kind of shell it had been, what creature it had housed; it could have been a whelk or a scallop, a cowrie, limpet, or conch. The animal is long since dissolved, and its blood spread and thinned in the general sea. All you hold in your hand is a cool shred of shell, an inch long, pared so thin that it passes a faint pink light. It is an essence, a smooth condensation of the air, a curve. I long for the North where unimpeded winds would hone me to such a pure slip of bone. But I’ll not go northing this year. I’ll stalk that floating pole and frigid air by waiting here. I wait on bridges; I wait, struck, on forest paths and meadow’s fringes, hilltops and banksides, day in and day out, and I receive a southing as a gift. The North washes down the mountains like a waterfall, like a tidal wave, and pours across the valley; it comes to me. It sweetens the persimmons and numbs the last of the crickets and hornets; it fans the flames of the forest maples, bows the meadow’s seeded grasses and pokes it chilling fingers under the leaf litter, thrusting the springtails and the earthworms deeper into the earth. The sun heaves to the south by day, and at night wild Orion emerges looming like the Specter over Dead Man Mountain. Something is already here, and more is coming.

All at once, something wonderful happened, although at first, it seemed perfectly ordinary. A female goldfinch suddenly hove into view. She lighted weightlessly on the head of a bankside purple thistle and began emptying the seedcase, sowing the air with down. The lighted frame of my window filled. The down rose and spread in all directions, wafting over the dam’s waterfall and wavering between the tulip trunks and into the meadow. It vaulted towards the orchard in a puff; it hovered over the ripening pawpaw fruit and staggered up the steep faced terrace. It jerked, floated, rolled, veered, swayed. The thistle down faltered down toward the cottage and gusted clear to the woods; it rose and entered the shaggy arms of pecans. At last it strayed like snow, blind and sweet, into the pool of the creek upstream, and into the race of the creek over rocks down. It shuddered onto the tips of growing grasses, where it poised, light, still wracked by errant quivers. I was holding my breath. Is this where we live, I thought, in this place in this moment, with the air so light and wild? The same fixity that collapses stars and drives the mantis to devour her mate eased these creatures together before my eyes: the thick adept bill of the goldfinch, and the feathery coded down. How could anything be amiss? If I myself were lighter and frayed, I could ride these small winds, too, taking my chances, for the pleasure of being so purely played. The thistle is part of Adam’s curse. “Cursed is the ground for thy sake, in sorrow shalt thou eat of it; thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee.” A terrible curse: But does the goldfinch eat thorny sorrow with the thistle or do I? If this furling air is fallen, then the fall was happy indeed. If this creekside garden is sorrow, then I seek martyrdom. I was weightless; my bones were taut skins blown with buoyant gas; it seemed that if I inhaled too deeply, my shoulders and head would waft off. Alleluia.

Today is the winter solstice. The planet tilts just so to its star, lists and holds circling in a fixed tension between veering and longing, and spins helpless, exalted, in and out of that fleet blazing touch. Last night Orion vaulted and spread all over the sky, pagan and lunatic, his shoulder and knee on fire, his sword three suns at the ready-for what? I won’t see this year again, not again so innocent; and longing wrapped round my throat like a scarf. “For the Heavenly Father desires that we should see,” says Ruysbroeck, “and that is why He is ever saying to our inmost spirit one deep unfathomable word and nothing else.” But what is the word? Is this mystery or coyness? A cast-iron bell hung from the arch of my rib cage; when I stirred, it rang, or it tolled, a long syllable pulsing ripples up my lungs and down the gritty sap inside my bones, and I couldn’t make it out; I felt the voiced vowel like a sigh or a note but I couldn’t catch the consonant that shaped it into sense.

In the forty minutes I watched the muskrat, he never saw me, smelled me, or heard me at all. When he was in full view of course I never moved except to breathe. My eyes would move, too, following his, but he never noticed. Only once, when he was feeding from the opposite bank about eight feet away did he suddenly rise upright, all alert- and then he immediately resumed foraging. But he never knew I was there.I never knew I was there, either. For that forty minutes last night I was as purely sensitive and mute as a photographic plate; I received impressions, but I did not print out captions. My own self-awareness had disappeared; it seems now almost as though, had I been wired to electrodes, my EEG would have been flat. I have done this sort of thing so often that I have lost self-consciousness about moving slowly and halting suddenly. And I have often noticed that even a few minutes of this self-forgetfulness is tremendously invigorating. I wonder if we do not waste most of our energy just by spending every waking minute saying hello to ourselves. Martin Buber quotes an old Hasid master who said, “When you walk across the field with your mind pure and holy, then from all the stones, and all growing things, and all animals, the sparks of their souls come out and cling to you, and then they are purified and become a holy fire in you.

The color-patches of vision part, shift, and reform as I move through space in time. The present is the object of vision, and what I see before me at any given second is a full field of color patches scattered just so. The configuration will never be repeated. Living is moving; time is a live creek bearing changing lights. As I move, or as the world moves around me, the fullness of what I see shatters. “Last forever!” Who hasn’t prayed that prayer? You were lucky to get it in the first place. The present is a freely given canvas. That it is constantly being ripped apart and washed downstream goes without saying; it is a canvas, nevertheless. But there is more to the present than a series of snapshots. We are not merely sensitized film; we have feelings, a memory for information and an eidetic memory for the imagery of our pasts. Our layered consciousness is a tiered track for an unmatched assortment of concentrically wound reels. Each one plays out for all of life its dazzle and blur of translucent shadow-pictures; each one hums at every moment its own secret melody in its own unique key. We tune in and out. But moments are not lost. Time out of mind is time nevertheless, cumulative, informing the present. From even the deepest slumber you wake with a jolt- older, closer to death, and wiser, grateful for breath. But time is the one thing we have been given, and we have been given to time. Time gives us a whirl. We keep waking from a dream we can’t recall, looking around in surprise, and lapsing back, for years on end. All I want to do is stay awake, keep my head up, prop my eyes open, with toothpicks, with trees.

Xerxes, I read, ‘halted his unwieldy army for days that he might contemplate to his satisfaction’ the beauty of a single sycamore. You are Xerxes in Persia. Your army spreads on a vast and arid peneplain…you call to you all your sad captains, and give the order to halt. You have seen the tree with the lights in it, haven’t you? You must have. Xerxes buffeted on a plain, ambition drained in a puff. Your men are bewildered…there is nothing to catch the eye in this flatness, nothing but a hollow, hammering sky, a waste of sedge in the lee of windblown rocks, a meager ribbon of scrub willow tracing a slumbering watercourse…and that sycamore. You saw it; you will stand rapt and mute, exalted, remembering or not remembering over a period of days to shade your head with your robe. “He had its form wrought upon a medal of gold to help him remember it the rest of his life.” We all ought to have a goldsmith following us around. But it goes without saying, doesn’t it, Xerxes, that no gold medal worn around your neck will bring back the glad hour, keep those lights kindled so long as you live, forever present? Pascal saw it; he grabbed pen and paper and scrawled the one word, and wore it sewn in his shirt the rest of his life. I don’t know what Pascal saw. I saw a cedar. Xerxes saw a sycamore.

And under the cicadas, deeper down that the longest taproot, between and beneath the rounded black rocks and slanting slabs of sandstone in the earth, ground water is creeping. Ground water seeps and slides, across and down, across and down, leaking from here to there, minutely at a rate of a mile a year. What a tug of waters goes on! There are flings and pulls in every direction at every moment. The world is a wild wrestle under the grass; earth shall be moved. What else is going on right this minute while ground water creeps under my feet? The galaxy is careening in a slow, muffled widening. If a million solar systems are born every hour, then surely hundreds burst into being as I shift my weight to the other elbow. The sun’s surface is now exploding; other stars implode and vanish, heavy and black, out of sight. Meteorites are arcing to earth invisibly all day long. On the planet, the winds are blowing: the polar easterlies, the westerlies, the northeast and southeast trades. Somewhere, someone under full sail is becalmed, in the horse latitudes, in the doldrums; in the northland, a trapper is maddened, crazed, by the eerie scent of the chinook, the sweater, a wind that can melt two feet of snow in a day. The pampero blows, and the tramontane, and the Boro, sirocco, levanter, mistral. Lick a finger; feel the now. Spring is seeping north, towards me and away from me, at sixteen miles a day. Along estuary banks of tidal rivers all over the world, snails in black clusters like currants are gliding up and down the stems of reed and sedge, migrating every moment with the dip and swing of tides. Behind me, Tinker Mountain is eroding one thousandth of an inch a year. The sharks I saw are roving up and down the coast. If the sharks cease roving, if they still their twist and rest for a moment, they die. They need new water pushed into their gills; they need dance. Somewhere east of me, on another continent, it is sunset, and starlings in breathtaking bands are winding high in the sky to their evening roost. The mantis egg cases are tied to the mock-orange hedge; within each case, within each egg, cells elongate, narrow, and split; cells bubble and curve inward, align, harden or hollow or stretch. And where are you now?

You are God. You want to make a forest, something to hold the soil, lock up energy, and give off oxygen. Wouldn’t it be simpler just to rough in a slab of chemicals, a green acre of goo? You are a man, a retired railroad worker who makes replicas as a hobby. You decide to make a replica of one tree, the longleaf pine your great-grandfather planted- just a replica- it doesn’t have to work. How are you going to do it? How long do you think you might live, how good is your glue? For one thing, you are going to have to dig a hole and stick your replica trunk halfway to China if you want the thing to stand up. Because you will have to work fairly big; if your replica is too small, you’ll be unable to handle the slender, three-sided needles, affix them in clusters of three in fascicles, and attach those laden fascicles to flexible twigs. The twigs themselves must be covered by “many silvery-white, fringed, long-spreading scales.” Are your pine cones’ scales “thin, flat, rounded at the apex?” When you loose the lashed copper wire trussing the limbs to the trunk, the whole tree collapses like an umbrella. You are a sculptor. You climb a great ladder; you pour grease all over a growing longleaf pine. Next, you build a hollow cylinder around the entire pine…and pour wet plaster over and inside the pine. Now open the walls, split the plaster, saw down the tree, remove it, discard, and your intricate sculpture is ready: this is the shape of part of the air. You are a chloroplast moving in water heaved one hundred feet above ground. Hydrogen, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen in a ring around magnesium…you are evolution; you have only begun to make trees. You are god- are you tired? Finished?

Say you could view a time-lapse film of our planet: what would you see? Transparent images moving through light, “an infinite storm of beauty.”The beginning is swaddled in mists, blasted by random blinding flashes. Lava pours and cools; seas boil and flood. Clouds materialize and shift; now you can see the earth’s face through only random patches of clarity. The land shudders and splits, like pack ice rent by a widening lead. Mountains burst up, jutting and dull and soften before your eyes, clothed in forests like felt. The ice rolls up, grinding green land under water forever; the ice rolls back. Forests erupt and disappear like fairy rings. The ice rolls up-mountains are mowed into lakes, land rises wet from the sea like a surfacing whale- the ice rolls back.A blue-green streaks the highest ridges, a yellow-green spreads from the south like a wave up a strand. A red dye seems to leak from the north down the ridges and into the valleys, seeping south; a white follows the red, then yellow-green washes north, then red spreads again, then white, over and over, making patterns of color too swift and intricate to follow. Slow the film. You see dust storms, locusts, floods, in dizzying flash frames. Zero in on a well-watered shore and see smoke from fires drifting. Stone cities rise, spread, and then crumble, like patches of alpine blossoms that flourish for a day an inch above the permafrost, that iced earth no root can suck, and wither in a hour. New cities appear, and rivers sift silt onto their rooftops; more cities emerge and spread in lobes like lichen on rock. The great human figures of history, those intricate, spirited tissues that roamed the earth’s surface, are a wavering blur whose split second in the light was too brief an exposure to yield any images. The great herds of caribou pour into the valleys and trickle back, and pour, a brown fluid. Slow it down more, come closer still. A dot appears, like a flesh-flake. It swells like a balloon; it moves, circles, slows, and vanishes. This is your life.

Last year I had a very unusual experience. I was awake, with my eyes closed, when I had a dream. It was a small dream about time. I was dead, I guess, in deep blank space high up above many white stars. My own consciousness had been disclosed to me, and I was happy. Then I saw far below me a long, curved band of color. As I came closer, I saw that it stretched endlessly in either direction, and I understood that I was seeing all the time of the planet where I had lived. It looked like a woman’s tweed scarf; the longer I studied any one spot, the more dots of color I saw. There was no end to the deepness and variety of dots. At length I started to look for my time, but, although more and more specks of color and deeper and more intricate textures appeared in the fabric, I couldn’t find my time, or any time at all that I recognized as being near my time. I couldn’t make out so much as a pyramid. Yet as I looked at the band of time, all the individual people, I understood with special clarity, were living at that very moment with great emotion, in intricate, detail, in their individual times and places, and they were dying and being replaced by ever more people, one by one, like stitches in which wholly worlds of feeling and energy were wrapped in a never-ending cloth. I remembered suddenly the color and texture of our life as we knew it- these things had been utterly forgotten- and I thought as I searched for it on the limitless band, “that was a good time then, a good time to be living.” And I began to remember our time. I recalled green fields with carrots growing, one by one, in slender rows. Men and women in bright vests and scarves came and pulled the carrots out of the soil and carried them in baskets to shaded kitchens, where they scrubbed them with yellow brushes under running water. I saw white-faced cattle lowing and wading in creeks. I saw May apples in forests, erupting through leaf-strewn paths. Cells on the root hairs of sycamores split and divided, and apples grew spotted and striped in the fall. Mountains kept their cool caves and squirrels raced home to their nests through sunlight and shade. I remembered the ocean, and I seemed to be in the ocean myself, swimming over orange crabs that looked like coral, or off the deep Atlantic banks where whitefish school. Or again I saw the tops of poplars, and the whole sky brushed with clouds in pallid streaks, under which wild ducks flew with outstretched necks, and called, one by one, and flew on. All these things I saw. Scenes grew in depth and sunlit detail before my eyes, and were replaced by ever more scenes, as I remember the life of my time with increasing feeling. At last I saw the earth as a globe in space, and I recalled the ocean’s shape and the form of continents, saying to myself with surprise as I looked at the planet, “yes, that’s how it was then, that part there was called France.” I was filled with the deep affection of nostalgia- and then I opened my eyes. We all ought to be able to conjure up sights like these at will, so that we can keep in mind the scope of texture’s motion in time.

I am sitting here, you are sitting there. Say even that you are sitting across the kitchen table from me right now. Our eyes meet; a consciousness snaps back and forth. What we know, at least for starters, is: here we- so incontrovertibly- are. This is our life, these are our lighted seasons, and then we die. In the meantime, in between time, we can see. The scales are fallen from our eyes, the cataracts are cut away, and we can work at making sense of the color-patches we see in an effort to discover where we so incontrovertibly are. I am as passionately interested in where I am as is a lone sailor sans sextant in a ketch on an open ocean. I have at the moment a situation which allows me to devote considerable hunks of time to seeing what I can see, and trying to piece it together. I’ve learned the name of some color-patches, but not the meanings. I’ve read books; I’ve gathered statistics feverishly: the average temperature of our planet is 57 degrees F…The average size of all living animals, including man, is almost that of a housefly. The earth is mostly granite, which is mostly oxygen…In these Appalachians we have found a coal bed with 120 seams, meaning 120 forests that just happened to fall into water…I would like to see it all, to understand it, but I must start somewhere, so I try to deal with the giant water bug in Tinker Creek and the flight of three hundred redwings from an Osage orange and let those who dare worry about the birthrate and population explosion among solar systems. So I think about the valley. And it occurs to me more and more that everything I have seen is wholly gratuitous. The giant water bug’s predations, the frog’s croak, the tree with the lights in it are not in any real sense necessary per se to the world or its creator. Nor am I. The creation in the first place, being itself, is the only necessity for which I would die, and I shall. The point about that being, as I know it here and see it, is that as I think about it, it accumulates in my mind as an extravagance of minutiae. The sheer fringe and network of detail assumes primary importance. That there are so many details seems to be the most important and visible fact about creation. If you can’t see the forest for the trees, then look at the trees; when you’ve looked at enough trees, you’ve seen a forest, you’ve got it. If the world is gratuitous, then the fringe of a goldfish’s fin is a million times more so. The first question- the one crucial one- of the creation of the universe and the existence of something as a sign and an affront to nothing is a blank one…The old Kabbalistic phrase is “the Mystery of the Splintering of the Vessels.” The words refer to the shrinking or imprisonment of essences within the various husk-covered forms of emanation or time. The Vessels splintered and solar systems spun; ciliated rotifers whirled in still water, and newts laid tracks in the silt-bottomed creek. Not only did the Vessels splinter; they splintered exceeding fine. Intricacy then is the subject, the intricacy of the created world.

It's through the cross that we reach the resurrection. We should be absolutely sure of this truth, and we should keep this cross hidden and not place it on the shoulders of others. It is our cross we have to carry. It is the one God has given us to go through into His resurrection. This is the one we should keep hidden.But there are crosses and crosses, some of our own making. These we should immediately discard. Some permitted by God for our sanctification. These we can share for they are also for the sanctification of others. True, we can help to carry other people's crosses and they can help to carry our crosses, but the operative word is "hidden."The Lord said, "So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honoured by men," and "When you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to men that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." (Mt 6:16-18)Our very hiddenness becomes a light if we do not complain, if we carry our cross manfully, ready to help in the carrying of other people's crosses. Then we become a light to our neighbour's feet because we become an icon of Christ—shining!

We have lived by the assumption that what was good for us would be good for the world. And this has been based on the even flimsier assumption that we could know with any certainty what was good even for us. We have fulfilled the danger of this by making our personal pride and greed the standard of our behavior toward the world - to the incalculable disadvantage of the world and every living thing in it. And now, perhaps very close to too late, our great error has become clear. It is not only our own creativity - our own capacity for life - that is stifled by our arrogant assumption; the creation itself is stifled.We have been wrong. We must change our lives, so that it will be possible to live by the contrary assumption that what is good for the world will be good for us. And that requires that we make the effort to know the world and to learn what is good for it. We must learn to cooperate in its processes, and to yield to its limits. But even more important, we must learn to acknowledge that the creation is full of mystery; we will never entirely understand it. We must abandon arrogance and stand in awe. We must recover the sense of the majesty of creation, and the ability to be worshipful in its presence. For I do not doubt that it is only on the condition of humility and reverence before the world that our species will be able to remain in it. (pg. 20, "A Native Hill")

The consequence model, the logical one, the amoral one, the one which refuses any divine intervention, is a problem really for just the (hypothetical) logician. You see, towards God I would rather be grateful for Heaven (which I do not deserve) than angry about Hell (which I do deserve). By this the logician within must choose either atheism or theism, but he cannot possibly through good reason choose anti-theism. For his friend in this case is not at all mathematical law: the law in that 'this equation, this path will consequently direct me to a specific point'; over the alternative and the one he denies, 'God will send me wherever and do it strictly for his own sovereign amusement.' The consequence model, the former, seeks the absence of God, which orders he cannot save one from one's inevitable consequences; hence the angry anti-theist within, 'the logical one', the one who wants to be master of his own fate, can only contradict himself - I do not think it wise to be angry at math.

Prayer of an Anonymous Abbess:Lord, thou knowest better than myself that I am growing older and will soon be old. Keep me from becoming too talkative, and especially from the unfortunate habit of thinking that I must say something on every subject and at every opportunity.Release me from the idea that I must straighten out other peoples' affairs. With my immense treasure of experience and wisdom, it seems a pity not to let everybody partake of it. But thou knowest, Lord, that in the end I will need a few friends.Keep me from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point.Grant me the patience to listen to the complaints of others; help me to endure them with charity. But seal my lips on my own aches and pains -- they increase with the increasing years and my inclination to recount them is also increasing.I will not ask thee for improved memory, only for a little more humility and less self-assurance when my own memory doesn't agree with that of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be wrong.Keep me reasonably gentle. I do not have the ambition to become a saint -- it is so hard to live with some of them -- but a harsh old person is one of the devil's masterpieces.Make me sympathetic without being sentimental, helpful but not bossy. Let me discover merits where I had not expected them, and talents in people whom I had not thought to possess any. And, Lord, give me the grace to tell them so.Amen

Stay Humble. Often anger comes from our own ego and pride. We don't get our own way and so we get angry. But remember, it's not all about you. :) There are other people on the planet that have wants and needs to. :) If what you want conflicts with what others want, sometime you will have to let them have what they want. Everyone is not here to meet your needs alone. They need to take care of themselves sometimes too. Sometimes anger is an ego trip. It's when we think everyone should cater to our needs and do things our own way. Our pride makes us start to think that it's our way or the highway. But you are not God. No one but God is God. :) You cannot run the universe and you are not perfect. These are all good things to remind ourselves of all the time. Paul says in Romans 12, "Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment." Often times anger comes when we have a high opinion of ourselves and the way we think things SHOULD be done. But no one of is perfect. None of us has a perfect way of doing things. We need to allow for differences in other people and different opinions on things. It is never we are right and everyone else is wrong. We need to admit that sometimes we might be wrong too. Amen. So always remember to stay humble and not think of yourself as being perfect or better than you are. If you are able to see that you too make mistakes all the time, then you will have more grace for other people, and you will then become angry less. Amen.

If you have to walk along a dark mountain path, don’t you prefer to have a flashlight to shine on the path ahead? I would suggest that it is possible to have that flashlight in life all the time. What does a flashlight give us? Light.That is, a flashlight sheds light. It is like the faculty of attention—if we turn our full attention to something, we learn more about that thing. We are seeing it with more light. Our attention is our ‘flashlight.’ So it’s all about how much and how fun an attention we consciously bring to life. This quality of attention doesn’t make us hesitant, or slow to decide, particularly—just as the flashlight doesn’t make us hang back on the trail. So, how do we get to the better quality of attention? With attention! That is, we turn our attention on our attention; we start by trying to see how we don’t pay attention. We sort of keep that light on ourselves. ‘Know thyself’ has been an honored ancient teaching, and it’s still a cornerstone of the world’s greatest philosophies. If you watch yourself honestly, in a detached way—not guilt-tripping yourself when you screw up—you gradually learn where it was that you were just blundering along, reacting sort of mechanically, and being asleep even as you were in your waking day. Another way to make this happen is by returning your whole attention to the present—to what’s happening now, in this moment, and this moment, and on—within yourself and around you.

Mary was proud of her husband, not merely because he was a musician, but because he was a blacksmith. For, with the true taste of a right woman, she honored the manhood that could do hard work. The day will come, and may I do something to help it hither, when the youth of our country will recognize that, taken in itself, it is a more manly, and therefore in the old true sense a more _gentle_ thing, to follow a good handicraft, if it make the hands black as a coal, than to spend the day in keeping books, and making up accounts, though therein the hands should remain white--or red, as the case may be. Not but that, from a higher point of view still, all work, set by God, and done divinely, is of equal honor; but, where there is a choice, I would gladly see boy of mine choose rather to be a blacksmith, or a watchmaker, or a bookbinder, than a clerk. Production, making, is a higher thing in the scale of reality, than any mere transmission, such as buying and selling. It is, besides, easier to do honest work than to buy and sell honestly. The more honor, of course, to those who are honest under the greater difficulty! But the man who knows how needful the prayer, "Lead us not into temptation," knows that he must not be tempted into temptation even by the glory of duty under difficulty. In humility we must choose the easiest, as we must hold our faces unflinchingly to the hardest, even to the seeming impossible, when it is given us to do.