Christians and Pagans

29 12 2010

Men go to God when they are sore bestead,
Pray to him for succour, for his peace, for bread,
For mercy for them sick, sinning, or dead;
All men do so, Christian and unbelieving.

Men go to God when he is sore bestead,
Find him poor and scorned, without shelter or bread,
Whelmed under weight of the wicked, the weak, the dead;
Christians stand by God in his hour of grieving.

God goes to every man when sore bestead,
Feeds body and spirit with his bread;
For Christians, pagan alike he hangs dead,
And both alike forgiving.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “Christians and Pagans”


Journey of Life

28 12 2010

In the morning of life, a young man goes forth as though mounted, because he is carried on the shoulders of his parents. By midday their support has vanished, and he must walk for himself.  In the evening of life, he can hold up his head only because he is supported by the memory of what once he was.

Gene Wolf, Soldier of Arete

I Love

4 12 2010

A mad Russian spoke to me from beyond the grave this evening. This is what he had to say:

Love flowers

and flowers

and then withers and shrinks

But with me

anatomy has gone mad:

nothing but heart

roaring everywhere

the cage of the chest cracks under the strain

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky

Walking Prayer

2 12 2010

I wanted to cry tonight, so I went for a walk. I did not cry. After getting almost angry enough about not crying to shed a tear I prayed this prayer:


Okay I get it, you’re not going to give me what I’m asking for tonight, you’re going to give me what I need. Well I’m telling you that what I need right now is a bottle of root beer, so what say you do that little stirring of the Spirit thing you’re so fond of and prompt someone living in one of these houses I’m walking past to offer me a blessed root beer.

And then I can go inside and weep all over this gentle stranger’s couch.

And if you’re feeling really generous tonight, you could make the stranger a beautiful woman who wants to cuddle (and maybe fool around a little bit).


I wish I could tell you this was all a joke.

It isn’t.

I’m afraid my sanity may never return.