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Tag: Soul’s Knowledge

Report on Further Investigations of Questions About Imagination

Given, as assumption apriori, the assertions in C. S. Lewis’ short essay “Image and Imagination.” Short recap of Lewis’ essay: Can you imagine something that doesn’t exist? Any examples you want to try out? On first glance, it seems that you can (Fairies?) but actually all you can do is recombine the images of existing things, in new ways. The concept of a fairy, for example, may be  combined from the images of a human being, a bird or insect, and the previous, highly complex image of “magic” – which may… Read more Report on Further Investigations of Questions About Imagination

Beside Still Waters He Restores My Soul

After some correspondance with our dear Father B— last night I’ve realized once again how lightly Christianity treads the tense wire between challenging and effortless. Everyone has sins and failures. My own tend to be of that very obvious sort that everyone notices – which frustrates any subtle designs on my part to hide my faults and make pretense to sanctity I don’t actually possess. In fact I tend to go to the opposite extreme. As I mentioned elsewhere in blogdom, I am the type of person to whom temptation usually… Read more Beside Still Waters He Restores My Soul

Poem II, Song of a Field at Night

Of The City Beautiful, She the long-betrothed to One All-Loved Man – I cannot speak in measure. Her peace is all my pleasure. Lumed in the final solar span I saw her last, in countless tiny jewels clothed. They were the waterdrops she lies amid, for here, within an earthcloud, that man hid her, The Beautiful, his treasure. I think, and shudder, once a day (since the loved man came and went) of dragons, and that six-legged Serpent who swore ago to shred her roasted flesh. How her spires tremble,… Read more Poem II, Song of a Field at Night

Poem I: Harp, Broom, Reliquary

… Naked came I to this room Involuntary Around me stand the harp and broom And reliquary … Passersby perform the Parting Lie Around my window Berries blush their bluest in the shadow Of the bottle-fly Iward some daft light I know not darts between The bulbous glow and foul insectuous sheen … Why I know not nor to Whom Naked came I to this room; Naked fell I to the floor No one bade me Shut The Door