Sᴜɴʀɪsᴇ Oᴀᴛʜ

Present. A painting by the love of my dreams. In your possession is a whole bag of gems, more beautiful than anything you ever knew. You want to put them in a place in your life that you would never forget, that will never be taken away. Where do you put them? The foundation of your eternal home. You mix concrete using all the pebbles, sand, and limestone you have on hand. You crush some shells that you had lying around, but had no other use for. You pour the foundation, and then press your gems into this wet creation. Safely embedded, locked in one place. Then you build the rest of your house, with whatever you want. Maybe it is time to fell some trees that are blocking the view of the sun over the sea, of the old port at the mouth of the river. Oh, there was also the lumber from other houses that toppled due to winds blowing across the sands. Soon, you have created a new abode. You put everything you have in this home. This all increases your attachment to the rooms, the walls, the ...

I encourage all my piano students to write. When I give this suggestion, many of them looked confused. (If their parent is in the room, I sometimes catch them checking the time.) It is already an oft-stated fact that writing is learning, so I will not convince you of that here if you have not encountered this idea. Those who do write, whether for others or for themselves, quickly see that it is the best way to audit your inner life. If I am writing in a steady rhythm, it all becomes a sort of musical verse that fits together in a strange and magical way that we cannot express in simple terms. Many young people, especially among the population of students whose parents send them to extracurriculars, lack a strong direction for what they want to do in the future. Often they are learning the piano to beef up their university applications, so are focused mainly on taking exams and joining festivals or competitions. The room for them to explore their own artistic interests (or to even know...

Seeing what I can do with all my ideas is a bit daunting, to be honest! It is not always easy to put myself in one place and make myself open enough with the world to tell it the things I say sincerely. I will try, as that is the only way to continue in this rapidly changing world. I am who I am. Is this not enough? Yesterday, I made a Pika account after seeing a Reddit comment from the creator. I was disappointed to see that this “free” blogging platform supported a maximum of fifty posts on the unpaid plan. But wait, most of my blogs had fewer posts than that! Maybe I could do a daily—er, weekly—writing challenge so that in one year I hit the limit? Wait, or I can just post regularly to a normal blog and stop being weird. Duh. I keep on making challenges for myself that on reflection make no sense. There is so much that shows us what we can do with all of this. There are more ideas than we can ever know. Let us keep on building and seeing what we can make of all this. Putting our not...

Experimented and created. Know this, you know who robs you of sight. Meaningless, said the Preacher. Meaningless. There once was an older girl, a younger woman, who saved me. On her good advice, I quit my job. I gave my notice at summer’s end, and Alain set me free from Génoise et Thé. “You can’t be kept, mon gars .” He patted my shoulder, and we shook hands, a parting between men. Waiting outside, Selene took off her sunglasses and dabbed her eyes. I cleaned my room, fussing over details she fixed sooner and better. The curator was a lovely guest, bringing gifts and Charlotte. We were in bright humor from the change in the season, the shift in the wind. I did well as a host, as a man. I shaved my face, brushed my teeth, wore my shirt, and owned my life. At the Old Port, we sat on a bench. She spoke, and I learned. I asked, she asked further. We leaned into mystery, and tackled the snake, fang and venom, as it was. The questions multiplied, as she said they would. Questions — at the ca...

I always loved hoarding cards. Others had Pokémon— I switched to French keyboard just to type that acute accent—while I started with Neopets then moved on to Magic: the Gathering . (Lifelong customer of Wizards of the Coast.) For a long time, I have used cards as analogies for various systems, especially ones with emergent mechanics. Last year, while playing Slay the Spire , I had the realization that even individuals can be modeled as decks. For some reason, this sparked a bunch of insights that eventually let me find God (Praise Lord Christ!) after years away from my faith. It was a revelatory experience, one that came on the tail of much personal upheaval and spiritual transformation. Some people in my rough theological camp think of Magic and roleplaying games as promoting Satanic witchcraft or Gnostic sorcery. I cannot say I do not see the dark power in these systems. Yet, I also intend on fully enjoying the freedom of a believer (see 1 Corinthians), especially when the popular p...

I have a problem where any tool that is not directly attached to my Google account is doomed to either be forgotten about, or depreciated in ways that I do not appreciate . (Punny as ever, even after a long hiatus from public longform writing.) I figured that I need to start putting my thoughts out there into the world, lest I become too insular with my journaling. So here I am. This will be written as off-the-cuff as possible, so that I can actually get this out there instead of second-guessing it. We are in the age of thinking sand, the dawn of genius silicon. This is a special time to be alive. Let us revel in our words, and think to the future that shall be ours. I have a thing where I like to alternate the styles of my paragraphs to see if there is a way to develop a new rhythm in all the thoughts that I produce. Someone reading this aloud might see how much my writing follows the pathways of an inner monologue. Indeed, I wrote this post in almost one shot without thinking too mu...