is a tiny wandering imaginary dinosaur which migrated from AOL in October of 2008.

Thinking Lizard

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Rhodingeedaddee is my node blog. See my other blogs and recent posts.


[6-16-2009 Update Insert: Most of what is in this space is now moot. I found out what I was doing wrong and have reinstated Archives and Labels searches. They do work. However, in certain cases you may prefer Labels to Archives. Example: 1976 Today begins in November of 2006 and concludes in December of 2006, but there are other related posts in other months. Note: Labels only shows 20 posts at a time. There are 21 hubs, making 21 (which is for 1976 Today) an older hub.] ********************************* to my online poems and song lyrics using Archives. Use hubs for finding archival locations but do not link through them. Originally an AOL Journal, where the archive system was nothing like the system here, this blog was migrated from there to here in October of 2008. Today (Memorial/Veteran's Day, May 25, 2009) I discovered a glitch when trying to use a Blogger archive. Now, it may be template-related, but I am unable to return to S M or to the dashboard once I am in the Archives. Therefore, I've decided on this approach: a month-by-month post guide. The sw you see in the codes here stood for Salchert's Weblog when I began it in November of 2006. It later became Sprintedon Hollow. AOL provided what were called entry numbers, but they weren't consistent, and they didn't begin at the first cardinal number. That is why the numbers after "sw" came to be part of a post's code. ************** Here then is the month-by-month post guide: *2006* November: 00001 through 00046 - December: 00047 through 00056 -- *2007* January: 00057 through 00137 - February: 00138 through 00241 - March: 00242 through 00295 - April: 00296 through 00356 - May: 00357 through 00437 - June: 00438 through 00527 - July: 00528 though 00550 - August: 00551 through 00610 - September: 00611 through 00625 - October: 00626 through 00657 - November: 00658 through 00729 - December: 00730 through 00762 -- *2008* January: 00763 through 00791 - February: 00792 through 00826 - March: 00827 through 00849 - April: 00850 through 00872 - May: 00873 through 00907 - June: 00908 through 00931 - July: 00932 through 00955 - August: 00956 through 00993 - September 00994 through 01005 - October: 01006 through 01007 - November: 01008 through 01011 - December: 01012 through 01014 -- *2009* January: 01015 through 01021 - February: 01022 through 01028 - March: 01029 through 01033 - April: 01034 through 01036 - May: 01037 through 01044 - ******************************************************* 1976 Today: 2006/11 and 2006/12 -- Rooted Sky 2007: 2007/01/00063rsc -- Postures 2007: 2007/01/sw00137pc -- Sets: 2007/02/sw00215sgc -- Venturings: 2007/03/00216vc -- The Undulant Trees: 2007/03/00266utc -- This Day's Poem: 2007/03/00267tdpc -- Autobio: 2007/04/sw00316ac -- Fond du Lac: 2007/04/00339fdl -- Justan Tamarind: 2007/05/sw00366jtc -- Prayers in December: 2007/05/sw00393pindc -- June 2007: 2007/06/sw00440junec -- Seminary: 2007/07/sw00533semc -- Scatterings: 2008/08/00958sc ** Song Lyrics: 2008/02/sw00797slc ********** 2009-06-02: Have set S M to show 200 posts per page. Unfortunately, you will need to scroll to nearly the bottom of a page to get to the next older/newer page.


Saturday, October 13, 2007


Seminary 3 Written in 1961, this is the third of three elegies on spiritual life. Manuol (A fetid congeries of dung, Of rotted flesh and ash├Ęd bones; A desert waste of shifting sand, Of unrelenting storms and poison pools-- This was the final lot of Manuol When loneliness and devil-deep despair Invaded full upon my pavid state.) O Manuol, O Manuol, Thou unified totality of man, Unparalleled descent your person saw. What grief have I. Who can allay a turbulent Aenean sea Or turn aside a hurricane of hate? No man can lift himself from endless depths. In fiery hells I ponder reasons why; From conflagrations uncontrolled I wail: Release me from this adamantine pit. Extend to me the ladder of Thy light; The darkness of confusion roams about And blist'ring whips of eerie hues accost My dying heart with punishments supreme. O Saviour humble crucified, With tear-filled eyes I gaze Upon the image of Thy wondrous death:-- I gaze upon the crucifix And ponder reasons why No man can lift himself. But He Who is Himself the Light, The Life of every man; Who calls Himself the Son of Man, Alone can lift Himself, and has. All reason fails to grasp the meaning of Your way-- It fails to gather fruit, For what of good is found upon a dying Vine; In vain it comes to reap, For what of value stays in blighted Wheat; In fear it nears the holy tree, For what of worth remains in bloodied wood? Unaided reason mystery evades For fathomless are truths of Love Divine, And yet, a greater part may mankind see; May mankind now believe what wisdom hides: In all illumined verities of Thee, Where reason falters, faith undaunted strides. My faith:--in gratitude I cherish it. Unchallenged spheres of mystic light This ever-present gift can penetrate. But oh this wonder men do marvel at And saints in union unified employ, What qualities of peace engenders this When dark reality deprives a man of joy? (My faith is yet within me. Allow it always to remain, In blessed peace or purging pain.) In purging pain? Excruciating whips of pain, Volcanic gurgitations borne in solitude, Disgusting dregs of nauseating person-love. (So senseless is this martyring of self.) My eyes reveal Thy purity of love. Why idle then am I? Why do I harbor sordid ships Along the waterways of thought And seek in shame within their holds to hide? Return to me the life Redemption bought; Reteach Thy laws, O Saviour humble crucified. That evil pedagogue of thrice Deceiving, caustic fefellations! Begone, Satan! Begone! Do not so torment one desirous to be free. Incarcerate your wretched wrath In crimson ebullitions roiling wild. I shall not plead with thee. O misery, begotten friend, Yet ever churlish foe, Beget yourself another reed to bend. A lonely waste Where wicked bowls of desert sand Engaged by cataclysmic airs Attack the dunes and masticate themselves. As dismal night in silence wanders by, Its presence strengthening the realms of gloom, It spreads a morbid, purple shadow-shade Upon the pools of deadly consequence. To this degree of decadence, O Manuol, To this extent you plummeted the doom. Alone I must accept the blame For causing you such disrespect. O Manuol, O Manuol, If ever I might mold thee new. Impurity upon impurity, And all is self-abusing pride. A million months of melancholy morns Could never equal this degrading fault. In measurements unmeasurable to men This active God-escaping escapade In utter senselessness deprives The total man of that totality itself, Without which oneness, life no meaning has. No longer do I poetize, But speak with straight and forward fact; The poetry existence is relieves The need of weak, artistic act. Yet still the dreary truth prevails: The fort is but a desert dune, The fountain but a venomed pool, And she, the happy maid, in sorrow fled. O silent Virgin, Mary pure, On humbled knee I pray to thee: With malice I have turned my face from God, From God, the spring of all my happiness. In gladness full I drank the waters new That course in endless rivers from the throne, Rejoicing like the harbingers of growth Or bounding as the spritely antelopes; In innocence I lived and loved my King. But now my thirst is quenched on filth and slime, on acrid draughts of worm-infested self. Within this state I kneel before your feet, Revealing here my dastard murderings. Accept my plea for simple chastity; My prayer for grief-expelling grace, Betaking them to Christ, my one desire, That hell may never torture me with fire. Do thou thus intercede for me, your son, Your lonely, wayward prodigal, O silent Virgin, Mary pure. The setting sun a bloody picture paints, A beauty-bound creation, speaking well: In me, the end of day, is Jesus crucified. How then on night, a canvass made for death, Are stroked the horrid nimbus clouds of fear, Concealing all the splatterings of stars. These treasures have I hung upon a crumbled wall, Artistic labours wrought by God and man-- The one, by sorrow deep, is framed; The other, emptiness has claimed. Yet, neither is devoid of timeless worth, Though both disclose the blackest void on earth. And thus, from death And desolation's depths I cry: Where can I go? What can I do?-- So great despairs my path belie. But life from One shall rise anew. Seminary book intro / links to poems ------------------------- Humanity - Brian A. J. Salchert

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