How to Philosophise

Often the philosopher excels at explaining what he does not know, and demanding that the explanation be taken seriously as if he did in fact know it, which later itself actually becomes something worth knowing. What a feat.

On Originality

It is hard to claim an original thought given the horizon of knowable precedents, even when confined to merely examining how one has come to be. But perhaps it is the very synthesis of these experiences, unceasingly composing a state of mind so phenomenologically unique, that enables everyone to say something for which they each have good reason to call their own. Like this.

I Am The Light

I am the light of the living mind

The connected and divided line

I am the bursting blinding light

The star that keeps the moon alive

I am the curious firefly

The candle on a sleepless night

I am the sleepy sun-kissed sky

The morning moment personified

I am the waking dream inside

Imagining what's real and why

I am the man-made satellite

The constellations' guest tonight

I am the light of the living mind

The shifting shadows in the cave of life

I am the wanting watery eyes

Always burning for a brighter sight

Create, Arrive.

Why is it so hard to create? Rather, do we create or recreate? Is it then possible to (re)create without purpose - or is that a necessary contradiction? A song, a stroke, a thought - so wonder the minds of the works of a God who spoke the universe into being.

I visited ABBAS yesterday with a friend, and even encountered the penmanship of others whom I haven't seen in a long time in the visitors' log, to my pleasant surprise. It was immersive. It was a story of a man trying to tell a story. The monochrome displays spoke volumes of soul-drenched history into the dark expanses of the exhibition. The stinging skepticism with which he framed reality compartmentalised his thought as much as the ebony dividers did his photography in the hall.

More significantly for me, his words lingered. "The traveller never arrives." I knew what that meant, somewhat. It was his creative process. But later in the evening, I realised I might say the same thing in a different way. It seems to Abbas, the traveller never arrives because his wanderlust is precisely his destination. In that way, it might make more compositional sense to say that the traveller is always arriving.

Fighting in Futility

We fight futility in futility. That Japan both declares and dissolves the nuclear age in its affliction with radioactive scourge across two centuries. That elite servicemen who in Pakistan so masterfully excised the sovereign terrorist of our age perish without resistance in a helicopter crash. That the very currencies that beckon to the avarice of individuals do only but suck entire populations into the whirlpool of social failure.

It does not ultimately matter if we will have 2000 more university seats. Were not the worst perpetrators of the twentieth and bloodiest century amongst the most educated people on the planet? The issue is not education; the issue is salvation.

"For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God." Rom 8:20-21

Who subjected the creation to futility? It was neither Adam, nor the Devil. Not ultimately. It was God. Because only God can subject it in hope. His purposes are final and unbreakable, and to know them is such preciousness in this age.

Next

Discounting ten days of leave, I have exactly six more months left in service. Much has happened, and just as much has changed.

But the jury is still out on my next stop.

Yet, it's been a rewarding trial. Though I haven't the slightest clue of the verdict, I'm learning to be joyful in precisely that.

Festivity

I don't quite get the name Festival of Praise. It seems to imply that exultation is seasonal. Like mooncake. King David certainly did hold festivals to give praise. But more importantly, he tried harder to sing of an inner, permanent festivity in which the deepest sorrows could only but turn him toward the deepest Joy.

"I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth." Ps 34:1