Behind the Scenes: Blog Stats and a Thank-You

I frequently use the hashtag #readersmakeithappen in my tweets relating to my blog. This blog does happen because of you. I took some screenshots of my stats so you can see one of the things that just make my day: knowing you're out there, reading my posts.

 This week...

Of all time, as of 12.9.11

 

 Most viewed posts this week...

Most viewed of all time as of 12.9.11

My traffic sources

And there you are, dear readers!

If I solely wanted to yammer on, "express myself," and demand someone pay devout attention to and understand me, I can hire a therapist for that. This blog is for you--an invitation to reflect on life under this sun with me, if only for a few minutes out of your busy day. To you who accepted that invitation, you have my gratitude.

Worm Theology

Worm Theology

Mad heresy of

Dead men’s hearsay.

If I be proud—

God bring me down.

I Laid Me Down {draft 3}

to sleep and did not know the wolf to fear.

I lay me down, and sleep comes no more, for

The light that glares within the wolf’s eye is

Too near and never will sleep.

I lay me down and sleep, for nearer still

The shepherd sees me this night and he sees

The wolf, who never will understand nor

Can ever overwhelm this other light

And will come not a step closer.

It was in vain to wake, rise early and

In vain to stay the wolf with darting, watching eyes,

In vain to eat my daily bread in snatches and fear.

I have laid me down

because He gave me, beloved, sleep.

{inspired by Psalm 4:8; 23; 91:5-6; 121:4; 127:2; John 1:5; 10:1-18; and personal experience}

Reel Around the Sun {wee seedling}

“So cold a winter it’s been, friend, and I’ve

Not seen the sun so many dreary months.”

“Away w’ me, good friend! Away, away

For wild a reel around the sun!

We’ll need no drop to drink nor crumb to eat:

The stars are feast enough! A fine good ship

Of ebony made, sails of dragon’s wings

Sewn, helm of trusty-tempered steel. Off, off!

Off we fly, friend, for wild a reel around the sun!”

{inspired by Reel Around the Sun by Bill Whalen. Three very good versions I love are by Twelve Girls Band, The Gardyne Chamber Ensemble, and the original song on the Riverdance album.}

Walt

Whitman ain’t my friend—

Think you’re somethin, doncha,

Sacred proud worm-food.

Hilf mir zu helfen, ach, mein Gott

Today I heard a story sorrowful

In my ears. Hope was hurt beyond the best

Of mortal help. I covered my head just

To give grief some scant privacy. But oh,

But hated shunning sorrow as it looked

For help in my eyes. I can watch, though long

The night, pray my words will keep greedy winds

From scattering you far away and lost

Forever. But your full remedy, sad

And wretched true, is not in me—I've searched

In vain in the long, raging nights. Ach, Gott.

Binding Tides

I feared the sea’s mercurial pull, stayed

Onshore, when I was small. But now

 I find

With some dismay the ocean is in me.

Moons pull and shove me, but beyond the dark

Blue moods I see a Star for me. So, go,

Rage, waves. See if you can blot out that high,

Eternal north star.

Your consolation

Prize? This. A faulty compass, cast aside.

Miranda by John William Waterhouse

 

Miscellanea Item No. 2

I'm of the following opinion.

Sometimes people--friend, acquaintance, or a chance-meet--make mistakes and are very painfully aware of the enormity of the decisions' stupidity or recklessness. And they are sorry for the deed, not just the consequence.

When these people come to me--for advice, to vent, or so on, and whether or not they have done offense to me personally--I hope God gives me the perception to sense that they are indeed sorry. I pray even more for the grace and kindness of my Brother Christ Jesus to see that they have beaten themselves up enough about what they have done and that I will have the ability to take their "club" away from them--they don't need my help heaping up guilt on themselves.

Not everyone who has strayed from the right path needs a thrashing, and if they do, it's very likely not supposed to come from me.

Hugs, tea or coffee, chocolate, silent empathy, or all of the above are maybe better salves for the grieved hearts.

Untitled [draft 1]

My thoughts sparkle today

I don’t know if I shall show them to you

just yet.

they want polishing

a trim or so

here

and there.

But—possess your soul with patience!

You shall see them soon.

I’ll dance them in the sun before your eyes

While we haggle over significance,

Weight,

Worth.

You shall take it with you when all’s said and done,

And I’m as richer and more as before.

You’re taking it shan’t take a smidgeon from me.

I—I draw my wonders from a bag

cut from the same cloth

as Peter Schlemiel's wondrous bag of gold—

Only, I, fortunate favorite 

or not so fortunate,

Did not sell my shadow

for the sack,

As did poor Peter—

The shadows gave me mine for free.

All

All 

A sparrow’s crumb—

Because a crumb to a sparrow

is a feast

but a sparrow’s crumb

is hardly

mentioning.

Well Now. This is a Something.

"How To Self Publish (And Seem Like You're Not)”

I don’t altogether approve of her fudging the facts to her readers nor with her philosophy that “writing is a lot like lying” (italics mine). However, I will say this: that girl has got moxie and talent three ways to Sunday. My hat’s off to her for her spunk. I might even buy her book.

Here is her author blog,  and her other blog is here.

Miscellanea Item No. 1

Friend of mine started a blog. Follow her: she's worth listening to. :) Kuyperian Librarian

Foundations I Art Class Project

Our professor assigned a folio project for our class. The first page requires us to answer the question "What is art?"
We can quote others if we wish, or we can write our own definitions. Here is mine.

Art results from the methods in which the artist may manipulate various materials in diverse styles — via color, form, and other sensorial elements and principles — to evoke specific emotional, intellectual, and/or physical responses from his or her audience,  be it admiration, fear, disgust, wonder, etc.

What do you think? Have I missed something? Or should it be narrowed down somewhat?

The One Wish Granted

My impossible made possible is that I could have a sprawling house large enough to shelter and bring up every unwanted child. All of them. That I could have enough money to educate them in whatever discipline they had a natural talent for – music, math, art, science. That I could keep, love, and mother them until they were old enough to live and thrive on their own.

I’d take them all. No questions asked of you, the parents. No judgment for why you don’t want him, why she doesn’t fit in with your schedule, why they’re mistakes you have to wipe clean, why they’re accidents or ugly mementos.

I’ll take them. You don’t have to see them ever again.

Just don’t kill them, please. Please, don't.