The anger of the friend of God, whose art
Of humble mien rose up in crimson hue
To speak against him in his final hour…

Nunc Dimittis

The torch that lights my vigil flickers low
As well my soul might, sixty years alone…


Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all…”
-TS Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

One of the most frustrating aspects of living in our American culture…


Now lies the earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

So much of societal interaction (regardless of the society) is taken up in the establishment of validity…


Wild flight on flight against the fading dawn
The flames’ red wings soar upward duskily.
This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead
That sparkled so the day I saw it first,
And darkened slowly after. I am she
Who loves all beauty — yet I wither it.
“Helen of Troy,” Sara Teasdale

When it first comes to my mind, worship always seems to me a singularly religious concept…


“Why did I dream that sleep o’er-power’d me
In midst of all this heaven?
Why not see, Far off, the shadows of his pinions dark,
And stare them from me? But no, like a spark
That needs must die, although its little beam
Reflects upon a diamond, my sweet dream
Fell into nothing…”
Endymion, John Keats

Last time we probed the inability of hope to deliver for us…