OK, I don't know how to describe where I am sending you except that it is a bit addictive. The person who created this cite has provided a space to play with sound. In essence, it is a square of music that plays itself. You determine the notes by selecting different blocks. Give it a try:
"Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." Isaiah 43:19
Friday, April 15, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Some End of the Term Humo(u)r
OK, now that most of your papers have been written, I thought you would like to laugh at others (or even yourselves; or is that ourselves or maybe others?). Here is a little help in how not to make spelling mistakes. Enjoy!
10 Words You Need to Stop Misspelling (by The Oatmeal)
10 Words You Need to Stop Misspelling (by The Oatmeal)
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Music, Always Music...
Here is a favorite poem of mine. I think O'Saidhail does a good job of exploring the relationship between music and spirituality. Do you see/sense the Holy Spirit in the poem?
Music, always music. And when the violins tumble
a thief has entered me.
Come and gone.
A sneaking anarchy
leaving spoors of memories I never had.
Incognito. Whimpers through crevices and pores,
quick bowings of a violin,
furious pizzicato
of what hasn’t been
whinnies and hops beyond a future I imagine.
My vigilance breaks down. Rupture of being.
This syncopation. Offbeat,
out of phase
with myself, I vibrate.
What’s this breathlessness I can’t catch up with?
That flight of thirds mincing up a treble
clef. Lines of joy.
Matrix of frontiers.
EVERY GOOD BOY
DESERVES FAVOUR. Silences are spelling FACE.
Endless glory of some muteness that eludes me.
Approach of another face,
tremolo of forsakenness
naked and homeless.
How can I fold and suckle all its orphanhood?
Music, always music. Neighbor, are you the face
of that thief breaking in,
Hollowing me out?
A tumbling violin
breathes its cries in me.
I’m womb and mother.
a thief has entered me.
Come and gone.
A sneaking anarchy
leaving spoors of memories I never had.
Incognito. Whimpers through crevices and pores,
quick bowings of a violin,
furious pizzicato
of what hasn’t been
whinnies and hops beyond a future I imagine.
My vigilance breaks down. Rupture of being.
This syncopation. Offbeat,
out of phase
with myself, I vibrate.
What’s this breathlessness I can’t catch up with?
That flight of thirds mincing up a treble
clef. Lines of joy.
Matrix of frontiers.
EVERY GOOD BOY
DESERVES FAVOUR. Silences are spelling FACE.
Endless glory of some muteness that eludes me.
Approach of another face,
tremolo of forsakenness
naked and homeless.
How can I fold and suckle all its orphanhood?
Music, always music. Neighbor, are you the face
of that thief breaking in,
Hollowing me out?
A tumbling violin
breathes its cries in me.
I’m womb and mother.
“Music,” by Micheal O’Siadhail, from A Fragile City
Monday, March 28, 2011
Why Creativity?
Matt and I were having a conversation the other day about why creativity is important. In some ways, it is the question of why have a class on creativity and spiritual formation. What difference does a creative life make for anyone? Is creativity a luxury? Is it necessary? Is it simply a lovely idea for those privileged few?
So, Matt sent this video to spark my imagination. (Thanks for the video!) I think it gets somewhere near where we want to go. Freedom to create. Freedom to be. But also freedom to be disciplined and work hard.
Let me know what you think... What is the creative life?
So, Matt sent this video to spark my imagination. (Thanks for the video!) I think it gets somewhere near where we want to go. Freedom to create. Freedom to be. But also freedom to be disciplined and work hard.
Let me know what you think... What is the creative life?
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
A Quote
After class today, I started to think about Kathleen Norris, so here is a quote for you all:
“We want life to have meaning, we want fulfillment, healing and even ecstasy, but the human paradox is that we find these things by starting where we are, not where we wish we were. We must look for blessings to come from unlikely, everyday places—out of Galilee, as it were—and not in spectacular events, such as the coming of a comet. Although artists and poets have not been notoriously reverent in the twentieth century…the aesthetic sensibility is attuned to the sacramental possibility in all things.”
Kathleen Norris, The Quotidian Mysteries
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