JonAquino2

Sidney

2010-09-26T17:57:00.002-07:00

Eating by yourself is a hopeless thing
I like hopeful things
Like taking the bus to Sidney and watching the waves
But not when it's dark

T.S. Eliot on Dante

2010-08-15T20:09:00.002-07:00

“The poet does not aim to excite—that is not even a test of his success—but to set something down; the state of the reader is merely that reader's particular mode of perceiving what the poet has caught in words. Dante, more than any other poet, has succeeded in dealing with his philosophy, not as a theory (in the modern and not the Greek sense of that word) or as his own comment or reflection, but in terms of something perceived. When most of our modern poets confine themselves to what they had perceived, they produce for us, usually, only odds and ends of still life and stage properties; but that does not imply so much that the method of Dante is obsolete, as that our vision is perhaps comparatively restricted.”

—T.S. Eliot, The Sacred Wood

Finished the Iliad

2010-04-15T15:25:00.003-07:00

After several months, I have now finished reading that great Homeric epic, The Iliad. It is a beautiful story - beautiful in that it movingly portrays human character in the extreme situation of war. In the last chapter, we see the panoply of human emotions: the frenzy of the games held after the victory of battle, the longing for sweet sleep after a long day, the insatiable grief and self-torment of a man mourning his best friend. It is good to see that humanity at its core has not changed much since Ancient Greece. In this great epic, we see a reflection of ourselves, as through an ancient mirror.

Two thoughts

2010-03-07T10:43:00.003-08:00

This morning, I had two interesting thoughts.

The first pertains to a remark I heard by a coworker 13 years ago. “If heaven is real,” she said, “I don’t want to go there. It would be boring.” This morning, I had a thought that, given that God is omnipotent, the possibilities for heaven are limitless. Specifically, one could conceive that each room in the kingdom of heaven might be its own universe, with its own space, its own galaxies, its own planets, its own flora and fauna. Maybe not exactly like that, but that’s one possibility that shows what an amazing and interesting place it will be. No, Sarah, heaven will not be boring.

The second thought was about the idea of multiple universes that is currently fashionable. If there are other universes, can one universe visit the inhabitants of another universe? Probably not, which is sad. But, perhaps we will see each other in the kingdom of heaven? That is another reason why heaven will not be boring.

Preparation

2009-10-05T10:00:00.002-07:00

Today I take up as my life's mission the following phrase from The Imitation of Christ, Book II, Chapter 1:

To prepare a worthy dwelling for Christ in my heart.

This philosophy is applicable to any state in life. We take whatever comes our way, and use it to prepare our hearts as a dwelling for Christ. If there is trouble in the family, or at work, or in friendship, we treat it as a sharing in the suffering of Christ. When we see others better off than us, we do not envy them, having forsaken the riches of the world, to prepare our hearts for Christ. If we are ill and confined to a bed for the remainder of our years, we use the time profitably in prayer, to prepare our hearts to receive Christ. In this way we attain peace in times of prosperity and in times of affliction.

Find prolonged moments of silence, in order to review your own lives

2009-03-14T16:39:00.000-07:00

Pope Benedict XVI: "Dear brothers and sisters, I urge you to find in this Lenten Season prolonged moments of silence, possibly in retreat, in order to review your own lives in the light of the loving plan of the heavenly Father."

Angelus: Second Sunday of Lent, 8 March

Bishop Richard Gagnon's homily

2009-03-02T23:34:00.001-08:00

(1st Sunday of Lent, St. Andrew's Cathedral, Victoria BC)

Rainbow as announcement of God's mercy: Even if man falls into sin, God
will not destroy the earth. Christ fulfills this covenant.

Harrowing of Hell: purgatory. Another sign of mercy.

Baptism more than ritual: a sacrament of mercy, through which we are
saved. Also a gift of holiness, as it unites us to God. Also, a task to
live in a way befitting this gift.

Temptation is especially strong in times of holiness, such as the Lenten
season. We must persevere.

Father Benoit's advice in the confessional

2009-02-28T18:20:00.001-08:00

Realize the love and forgiveness of Christ.

Spread the joy of Christ.

Confession

2009-01-17T20:19:00.001-08:00

Went to Confession today, and Father Benoit ended with, "God bless you,
and be happy." Will do!

Instiki 0.10.2 Export Markup patch

2009-01-13T22:07:00.003-08:00

If anyone is using Instiki 0.10.2 and wants the Export Markup (Textile) link to work, make the following changes to the source code:

/app/controllers/application.rb
Insert "options[:stream] = false" at line 66:


    options[:type] ||= (FILE_TYPES[File.extname(file)] || 'application/octet-stream')
    options[:stream] = false
    super(file, options)

/app/controllers/wiki_controller.rb
Insert "require 'zip/zip'" at line 4:


require 'parsedate'
require 'zip/zip'

class WikiController < ApplicationController

How does one live well?

2009-01-01T20:15:00.002-08:00

How does one live well?
Or what makes a day well lived?
Is it to eat well, drink well, and be glad?
To pray in a silent room?
To build sandcastles beneath blue skies?
To create?

How does one live well if one were shut up in a cell with no food?
No materials, no books, no light
Just hunger, and thoughts, and pain,
philosophy, religion, contemplation,
emotion, meditation, and confusion?

What makes a day well lived?
Or is it better to consider a week?
Or a month, or a year, or a lifetime?
Is it better not to consider it at all,
but to live haphazardly, from one inclination to the next,
going by feel, gut, recollection,
remonstrance, rebuke, appetite?

On what can we ground our living?
On what motto, creed, or ideal?
Shall poetry lead us, or some ancient script,
a philosopher from Greece or Rome,
a symphony, a painting, an epitaph?
Shall we lose ourselves in language or in study,
in literature, physics, studying the cosmos?
Will we find our salvation in the order and reason of mathematics?

How does one live well?
Or what makes a day well lived?
Is it to eat well, drink well, and be glad?
To pray in a silent room?
To build sandcastles beneath blue skies?
To create?

Obedience Is Freedom

2008-12-21T13:20:00.003-08:00

The rules of religion are, paradoxically, a source of freedom. Without rules and traditions, every day would be similar to the others. I would be working as hard and as late on Sunday as I do on the other days. Day blurs into day, and week into week.

But when authority tells me that I not only shouldn't work on Sunday but that I must not, that this day is to be devoted to study and prayer and family, that this or that day is to celebrate this saint or that doctrine, then I am free to do these things. When I am commanded to go to church on a holy day of obligation, then I am freed up to go to church even in the middle of a hectic workday. Life has so many pressing commitments that a command from authority is needed to open up spaces for prayer and celebration. In this way, obedience (to the church) is freedom (from the world).

It is also freedom from self. Were I to be deprived of the guidance of Scripture and church teachings, deprived of the traditions of holy days and of the Mass - in short, if I were to have no guidance as to how to spend my time or choose my actions - what would life be like? Surely it would be a constant, frenetic chasing of one pleasure after another, never satisfied, always empty and exhausted. But with the constraints and wisdom of an ancient faith, and the spiritual nourishment of Holy Mass each Sunday, life becomes ordered, resilient, festive, joyful, whole.

Perfectionism

2008-12-13T19:29:00.002-08:00

Like most people, I have high standards for my work and, in some things, certain ways of doing things that I consider to be the Best Way. But in a team, I must accept that other people may have ideas that are equally valid, or ideas that may be deficient in some respects but good enough. But of course, if someone is veering off course, or doing shoddy work, or could benefit from a sugestion, I'll offer my advice.

There is a balance between perfection and good enough, and between strictness and tolerance - between consistency and flexibility, dogmatism and freedom. And they are not necessarily mutually exclusive - one enhances the other, or close observance of one makes the other acceptable. Obviously if things are going too far one way or the other, one must pull back.

So it's a matter of good judgement - making the right call at the right time. I tend toward the strict side of things, and I need to be conscious of when to let up, of when it is more appropriate to be flexible.

"many look forward to a genuine and total emancipation of humanity wrought solely by human effort"

2008-11-30T21:06:00.001-08:00

"Thinking they have found serenity in an interpretation of reality everywhere proposed these days, many look forward to a genuine and total emancipation of humanity wrought solely by human effort; they are convinced that the future rule of man over the earth will satisfy every desire of his heart. Nor are there lacking men who despair of any meaning to life and praise the boldness of those who think that human existence is devoid of any inherent significance and strive to confer a total meaning on it by their own ingenuity alone."

- Pope Paul VI, Gaudium et Spes

On Western Modern Culture

2008-11-11T21:38:00.000-08:00

"Again and again we encounter the signs of an alternative civilization
to that built on Christ as "cornerstone" - a civilization which, even if
not explicitly atheist, is at least positivistic and agnostic, since it
is built upon the principle of thinking and acting as if God did not
exist. This approach can easily be recognized in the modern so-called
scientific, or rather scientistic, mentality, and it can be recognized
in literature, especially the mass media. To live as if God did not
exist means to live outside the parameters of good and evil, outside the
context of values derived from God. It is claimed that man himself can
decide what is good or bad. And this program is widely promoted in all
sorts of ways."

- Pope John Paul II, "Memory and Identity"

High

2008-11-02T19:47:00.002-08:00

Today, feeling in high spirits. Read some poetry. Felt inspired. Built something. There definitely seems to be a cycle between highs and lows. Curiously, both are times when poetry is read easily: during the highs, one can revel in the playfulness of the poets; during the lows, one seeks solace in the searchings of the poets. And strangely, at either end I wouldn't have it any other way: I love the confidence and creativity that accompanies the highs; I love the brutal honesty and reality and ability-to-perceive-the-world-as-it-is of the lows.

But for today, I'm carried through the day by good feelings.

2008-07-13T23:44:00.001-07:00

Promise to myself: endeavour to get enough sleep each night. It is a
simple practice that yields great benefits; failure to do so results in
unneeded misery.

The Four Last Things

2008-05-12T09:30:00.001-07:00

"He who meditates on the Four Last Things, namely, death, judgment, and
the eternity of hell and paradise, will not fall into sin."

- St. Alphonsus de Liguori, The Rule of Life, I.2, circa 1767

"Worldly people call illnesses misfortunes, but the saints call them visitations of God and favors."

2008-05-04T12:15:00.001-07:00

Worldly people call illnesses misfortunes, but the saints call them visitations of God and favors. When we are ill we ought certainly to take remedies in order to be cured, but we should always be resigned to whatever God disposes.

– St. Alphonsus De Liguori

Question of Emphasis

2008-04-13T22:02:00.002-07:00

Sunday 10:07pm. It's often a question of emphasis, shading. Weight this aspect of life slightly more, or that. And choosing which wisdom to consume. Eventually it all settles down, an equilibrium of judgement, homeostatic philosophy. Stage lights on, and you act.

Lift, light

2008-02-24T14:05:00.002-08:00

Lift, light, rise, spring, burst
I am nothing, I die.

Lift, glow, arise, renew, reveal
I am nothing, I die.

Sky, fir, cone, phase, flight
I am nothing, I die.

Wheat, wist, leaf, tone, meal
I am nothing, I die.

May the Lord grant us a restful night,
and a peaceful death.

Today I took a break from work

2008-02-03T16:13:00.000-08:00

Today I took a break from work, after an intense week. Today is the Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time on the Church calendar. I want to treat Sunday differently from the other days, focused on God. This is his day, and ours as well – a day to rest.

I went to mass this morning at St. Andrew's Cathedral. Afterwards, I took my mother out to lunch at Subway, where we enjoyed foot-long toasted Subway Clubs. Back at home, I listened to some talks given by the Pope. Took a half-hour nap. Sang a hymn, and prayed part of the Liturgy of the Hours for the Fourth Sunday. And now it's 4:20pm.

So far, the day has been a rejuvenating change from the norm.

"From this follows the obligation of the cessation from work and labor on Sundays

2008-01-31T23:28:00.000-08:00

"From this follows the obligation of the cessation from work and labor on Sundays and certain holy days. The rest from labor is not to be understood as mere giving way to idleness; much less must it be an occasion for spending money and for vicious indulgence, as many would have it to be; but it should be rest from labor, hallowed by religion."

– Leo XIII, Rerum Novarum, 41

"We look to you for our stable hope"

2008-01-23T22:08:00.000-08:00

"We look to you for our stable hope in a constantly changing world."

– Psalm-Prayer, Wednesday, Week II, Liturgy of the Hours

The truth is to be found not within

2008-01-21T21:52:00.001-08:00

The truth is to be found not within. Nor in the past, nor in literature, nor in art. Not in childhood, not in knowledge, not in dreams. Nor the body, the mind, the heart. The time is short. The truth is found where it has always been found in every age.

Thomas Dubay quote

2007-09-24T12:16:00.001-07:00

"The more we are at the beck and call of others, the more we sacrifice
ourselves for their sakes, the more we are conformed to the Splendor of
the Father who chose to live among us as our ransom and our servant."
- Thomas Dubay

C.S. Lewis quote

2007-08-22T09:25:00.001-07:00

Found this insightful quote in C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity:

"That is why the Christian is in a different position from other people
who are trying to be good. They hope, by being good, to please God if
there is one; or - if they think there is not - at least they hope to
deserve approval from good men. But the Christian thinks any good he
does comes from the Christ-life inside him. He does not think God will
love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He
loves us..."

Scattered

2007-08-05T20:15:00.001-07:00

Scattered thoughts, and a cool breeze to cool the perspiring neck. Cacophony of branches and roots; tangle of stalks and grasses. Leaning backwards, leaning in, seeking the cool shade. The bee flits from dry leaf to dry leaf, finding no relief.

Weary mind, weary soul, smell of burning wood. And little popping sounds about, and slow-walking people, and resonant bass notes from a faraway drum. Strong, pungent air, smell of stiff stalks, scent of wheat. Smell of sky and leaf, of cloud and twig, birdsong and thunder.

Wild song of a dying bird, ecstatic in its dying. Wild gaze of a hunter sighting his prey, heart arrhythmically pounding, the gaze that sees not, the mind from which reason is absent, the animal impulse that will not be sated. Against the sun, the skin of the neck

Burns.

Traveller

2007-08-04T23:27:00.001-07:00

For the weary traveller, there are few things better than sitting in a massive, airy room with a view of the open sky. The crowd tries to make a din, but the noise is subsumed by the empty space, resulting in a quiet peace. Here you observe spent mothers, arms draped over the backs of their chairs, watching over their children. And men wearing hats, talking into their hands, talking of synchronicity.

Time. We're running out of time! Peer up, into the sky, through the water and into the sunlight. Weary limbs fall. Weary couples struggle to sit down, tripping on their luggage, dipping fish into mayonnaise while reading books. Strangers sit down together, make an uncomfortable silence, push a cup of coffee on a table of granite and wood.

The joyful businesswoman is frozen in a state of running, and the dreamer looks up at the clouds, aware of the silence, aware of the buzzing, and seeing conversations flowing soundlessly: words, words, transient words, floating into nothingness. Talk, talk, constant chatter, noise disappearing into the vacuous ephemeral, information quantized into bits, a beautiful woman in a rush to wait, stares, gestures, glances,

Waits.

Dusk

2007-07-31T21:09:00.001-07:00

Dusk, when the air is thick, and families turn off their car alarms and step inside, readying themselves for the journey home. The evening hour, hour of police sirens and horns, hour of the gradient sky, mauve into turquoise into aquamarine. Dusk: one pinprick star in a pastel, muted universe, one lonely lamp on an aluminum foil balcony, round and round the sleepy turnabout they go.

Sometimes one needs to look away

2007-07-31T21:08:00.003-07:00

Sometimes one needs to look away from the digital devices, away from the strobing, pulsating L.E.D.s and L.C.D.s, peer through the air into real streets and real trees, listen to real sounds and real cricket noises.

From the bars on this last evening of the weekend come yells, screams, and cheers, the cries of freedom railing against the dawn of Monday.

Nobody looks up. Nobody peers into the sky, except for the cosmologists, and even they have stopped looking. Nobody looks for the stars, for there are no stars to be seen, and the moon is obscured by the trees.

A crack in the sidewalk, a fissure, a gulf, darting of the eyes, words whispered in a foreign tongue, the buzzing of a moped, the smooth gliding of airplane lights across the night sky - these all say, Be safe,

Be safe.

Sun

2007-07-31T21:08:00.001-07:00

This is one of those days when the sun is shining and families sit contentedly enjoying their meals quietly together. Old men loll to their tables, speaking in hoarse voices; students cross the street in brown corduroys. And running - always running - running with sideburns, speaking of pork chops, walking slowly and gesturing and gazing.

The Mercedes of Palo Alto are especially fine, and thoughts come easy to those at ease. With the sunlight comes a shimmery happiness, an ecstatic goosepimple upon the back, the rush of mathematic, out come the sunglasses, a raised eyebrow, a nod of the head,

Food.

Flu and fever

2007-07-31T21:05:00.001-07:00

I am sitting at a table in a diner called The Creamery in Palo Alto, California, waiting for my order of scrambled eggs with toast and hash browns. I'm trying to take it easy today, as I came down with the flu yesterday. I'm battling it with a combination of Cold-FX and Extra-Strength Tylenol.

Being sick is a miserable way to be. To all who are healthy: cherish your healthiness! Revel in it, exult in it! Remember it, for it will not always be in your possession.

I simply had to go outside. Staying in my hotel room was getting to be toxic. I believe this is what is called "cabin fever." I pity those who are confined in prisons. Having no change in scenery is a kind of visual toxicity, an imagistic stagnation. It leads to madness in those with weak wills.

An hour to kill before bedtime

2007-07-23T22:47:00.001-07:00

I am at present sitting at a bus stop on Hamilton Ave and Ramona St in Palo Alto, California, a thousand miles from home, at 10:10 PM on July 22, 2007. There's an hour to kill before bedtime, so I thought I'd write. Behind me, three young men and a young woman speak Chinese. They laugh at something in the shop window of University Art Center. Another group passes behind me, talking of "maybe just traveling, something like that." The same hopes, the same needs, the same amusements, a thousand miles from home.

There is something great about writing, in public or private. It is a kind of listening, to your thoughts, to voices around you, to the sounds of machines and of nature. It's a listening with your eyes and with your gut, a probing into the why of things. More voices behind me. "I'm numbing the pain." "Yeah, asshole." "You messed up."

Here you see headlights, and people holding hands, vague talk, a bit of singing, the stench of rotting fruit, a plastic cap kicked in the darkness, someone whistling C# D C, then all of a sudden, silence.

A day well lived

2007-07-21T10:34:00.001-07:00

I want to try living each day as a separate project. Because each day is its own independent universe, with a beginning and an end, and a constellation of appointments and goals and plans complete and incomplete. Isolated by sleep, each 24-hour block of time is its own separate entity, its own array of conflict and harmony.

And so I want to live each day as a separate project, a polished gem, a production performance from curtain rise to curtain call - beginning the day with the morning routine, then living the day, pushing forward through it with strength and mental acuity, or bearing the weight of suffering or loss with equanimity - then ending the day with the evening routine, with no loose ends, finishing the day with the dignity of a day well lived.

Each day an independent performance piece, brilliantly executed or experienced - those would be days well lived.

Spacetime and the Muse

2007-07-18T14:02:00.001-07:00

I have a free day today, and so I'm heading downtown to get some new images into my brain. The net offers a limitless array of ideas and images, but sometimes it's nice to go into reality for inspiration and for ideas to bring back. So I dropped into spacetime and am on a bus to downtown Victoria.

I need ideas in the sci-fi vein, so I'll start with Curious Comics on Johnson St. I might take a detour into Chapter's, or check when Transformers is playing at the Odeon. I've heard it said that inspiration is for amateurs, but it certainly helps and I'll take whatever the Muse deigns to shower upon me.

String

2007-07-15T14:12:00.003-07:00

Sit, on a block, in the damp air, under a nuclear sky. And ask: Why do they do it like that? Why do they do it at all? It walks toward you, it kneels at your feet, out of reach, it sits behind you. Then rain falls, and it slinks away. Rain on the forehead, rain on the back; rain on the shoulder, on the knee, on the fingers.

The wanderer needs to walk and the walk needs a wanderer. Limbs that quiver refuse to move. Animals stoop at the feeding bowls. And the roses pay no heed.

The porcelain bowl rings as it's dragged. Why do we look, why do we ask, why do we write, why do we be - why do we sit and stand and do nothing? The rain starts up again.

Sky, wind, and weakness. Time and age; speed and slowness. Phases, rotations, purring noises and little ants. Contentment, fragility, and weakness. Movement becomes motion and motion becomes motionless. And above all is the waiting, solitude, sentience, judgement, birth.

What I am carrying about my person

2007-07-15T14:12:00.001-07:00

- Eyeglasses
- Watch - Timex Rush Indiglo

Left Pocket:
- PDA: Dell Axim X30, with case serving as wallet, containing cards and bus tickets
- Book: Kreeft's "Prayer for Beginners"
- Keys: home, work 1, work 2, luggage, car, room, filing cabinet

Right Pocket:
- cell phone with earbud
- Moleskine notebook, ruled
- fountain pen: Lamy Safari, 1.1mm

Proof that one has time to do both blogging and journaling

2007-07-13T10:41:00.001-07:00

Alas, I miss blogging on this personal blog. However, my writing energies have been directed toward my private journal - my little notebook that I have on my desk. Handwriting is a unique experience, but so is blogging, in which the world is your audience. I'm torn.

It reminds me of the speed of light. I'm reading in Greene's "The Elegant Universe" that everything travels at the speed of light - not through space (x, y, z), but through spacetime (x, y, z, t). We don't notice it because most of our speed is applied to the t-axis (time). I was intrigued to learn that this explains why time slows down for things that move faster - when you apply more of your speed along the x-, y-, and z-axes, less of it goes to the t-axis (because your overall speed is constant - the speed of light).

In the case of journaling vs. blogging, we have a different set of axes: journaling, blogging, and time (j, b, t). It is plausible that, again, we move at a constant speed - that of light. Of course most of this speed is diverted toward time, but sometimes we divert a portion of it to journaling, or to blogging. This explains why when we are journaling or blogging intensely, we appear to outside observers to be living at a slower pace. And, because of relativity, these outside observers appear, to us, to be slow.

j² + b² + t² = c². Time for journaling takes away from time from blogging, and vice versa. But because c is so huge (3×10⁸m/s), there is time enough to do both. Q.E.D. █

Curb-walking

2007-06-02T22:45:00.000-07:00

If you walk on the edge of the curb on an agreeable night, you will find the going easy at first. Place one foot in front of the other on the yellow paint. But after a while the path becomes dimmer, the way less easy. You might fall off, but likely you will press on, one foot and then the other on the peeling paint. When the street lamps are behind you, your shadow will obscure the way, or a branch may cross your path. You might fall off, or you might push the branch aside and continue walking along the curb. Placing one foot in front of the other, you may lose your balance, and recover. And if you have made it this far, you might notice the curb turning and then, of course, you must hop off and head toward home.

It's funny, this life

2007-05-26T22:14:00.000-07:00

It's funny, this life
Interests run in cycles
Morning sun, evening stars
A world in a raindrop
A world in one word

Weariness and pain
Clash with the impulse to produce
Weariness wins in the end
Should we not savor this minute, this sensation, this space,
While sensations and spaces can yet be savoured?

Angst, and awe
The tearing up of old calendars
Old phonebooks, old greeting cards
Only the weary mind, the mind deprived of sleep,
Can see unhindered by thought

Poetry and Clarity

2007-05-26T21:16:00.000-07:00

I am in one of my rare, delectable, melancholy, poetic frames of mind. I am physically weary - spent the day walking around looking at kick scooters (like Razors and Xootrs), then scooting about. I am not sure how much convenience I gained in choosing one, as it weighs 10 pounds and leaves me perspiring when I carry it about. But O, the sweet downhills.

Then I immersed myself in a DVD: the anime Metropolis. Reminded me a bit of the romance of youth, which is always sweet; and also, the ending was slightly tart, slightly bitter. Fortunately I had a bag of Tostitos and a jar of salsa con queso to console me.

There are times when a person needs poetry to make sense of things. It comes in cycles - for weeks, you can't bear to open a book of poetry, and then one evening, when perhaps you are tired, you read the words of a poet and you need those words at that moment. Things remain obscure, but - for a moment at least - you know what clarity is. And then the artist steps back into the shadows.

What kind of person do I want to be when I'm 40?

2007-05-19T07:46:00.001-07:00

Out for an evening walk. The question I'll be pondering is, what kind of person do I want to be when I'm 40 - this will be in ten years. I expect to grow as much over the next ten years as much as I have in the past ten: in knowlege, steadily increasing; in the arts, more productive; in daily activity, more specialized and efficient. In religion, my image of God is changing from a stern one to a compassionate one. And I am tending toward fewer close friends and more acquaintances, and more intense family relationships.

And what of character - what kind do I wish to have at the age of 40? Contemplative, joyful, and with a sense of my place in history, culture, and the arts. Ready to meet death bravely; not to rage against the dying of the light, but to watch its slow fade in silence and reverence.

Small anxieties

2007-05-14T13:49:00.001-07:00

Mother's Day, St. Andrew's Cathedral. Funny how a day can be spoiled by small worries. I'd like to enjoy this time with my mother at church, and to focus on the mass, but alas I have nagging anxieties - a software bug I discovered leaving the house, and thoughts about other things I need to take care of when I get home.

But I shall not worry about what I cannot change right now. "Consider the lilies. They neither sow nor spin. Yet even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

Exhausted

2007-05-13T00:12:00.001-07:00

I am so exhausted - so exhausted that I can barely write. I have plumbed the depths of code I had never seen. I have explored where function calls led; I have traced urlencodings and urldecodings. I have rammed my skull against the clanging bars of logic and reason. And I have emerged with scars. Such is the work of a computer programmer.

Feeling happy

2007-05-07T12:03:00.001-07:00

It is Sunday again, and again I am at St. Andrew's Cathedral with my mother. The organist is playing a wistful piece, with a touch of melancholy but ending on a note of hope. Today I feel glad, with a smile on my face. Perhaps it is because I am warm and well fed. Maybe it is because the week's work is done. Or maybe it's just this weekly time with my mother - how wonderful it is to spend this time with her each week.

It's hard to sit still in awareness when there are so many pleasant thoughts to think

2007-04-30T00:26:00.005-07:00

It's hard to sit still in awareness when there are so many pleasant thoughts to think, or fires that need putting out, or work that needs doing. But when the work is done, and the fires are out, there are still wonderful thoughts to ponder: new ideas, new personal projects, remembrances of past projects done well, or a word well said.

But there is value in setting aside even pleasant thoughts, and just be-ing in the moment, being aware of where you are at this very second. You notice the room you are in, and how old you are, and you remember times in this room when you were younger. Or you notice the weather outside, the sounds of the room, the temperature; you might recall times in the past when you've felt as you do now, or the complete opposite. It's funny how we spend 95% of our time in the near future or near past, and very little in the present.

Weekly Artistic Experience: Royal BC Museum

2007-04-30T00:26:00.003-07:00

This week's artistic experience was another trip to the Royal BC Museum. I examined First Nations ceremonial spoons, dishes for oils, and shaman's rattles. I viewed suits and dresses from the first half of the 20th century, as well as gramaphones, tin toy cars, and cast-iron tricycles. And all this in two rooms. I will definitely need to come back.

Tree Rings

2007-04-30T00:26:00.001-07:00

Sun, wind, solstice, tincture,
Excuse me, do you guys, yeah yeah yeah, that's alright,
Found art, found sound, symbiote, frond,
Sentience rippled in a pond.

Smoke-filled, sand-filled, bone-filled beak
Walkers on the seashore, on the sandstone, on the sidewalk,
Crèpe, crushed velvet, abyssinian jade,
Medicine rattling in the shade.

And to my right there sits
A woman with the scent of hyacinths
Tapping fingers, tapping fingers.

To my left, reflection and sunlight,
Raven and the Sea-Bear
Every new year a ring on the tree.

Jon's Poetry Podcast

2007-04-30T00:22:00.000-07:00

Here I read ancient poetry from the New Penguin Book of English Verse: http://odeo.com/channel/402763/view

Weekly Artistic Experience: Our Town

2007-04-22T14:15:00.001-07:00

I am en route to this week's artistic experience, which is the Pulitzer-winning play "Our Town", at Langham Court Theatre. I do not know how exactly to appreciate a play - so I will do my best by treating it critically as I would a poem: watching for analogy, identifying plot and theme, symbolism and the significance of lighting. Or perhaps this is too left-brained and it would be better to just soak it in and let it lead my emotions. Or maybe a bit of both.

* * *

The curtain has closed to a rousing ovation. In the final act, one of the characters, who died while giving birth, is given a chance to re-live one day. She chooses her twelfth birthday, but is agonized to find that her mother cannot hear her. Her mother and father are bustling about, but the family never takes a few moments to *be* with one another. Deeply upset, she leaves life early and returns to her grave.

Is this not strikingly similar to our own age? We spend morning til evening bustling about, yet rarely do we take even a few minutes to be present to one another, to enjoy each other's presence.

Wilder's aim with this play was "to find a value above all price for the smallest events of our daily lives." With the poignant final act, he succeeds beautifully.

Universe, metaverse, and innaverse

2007-04-22T14:15:00.000-07:00

I have heard it said that there is a second universe, which Neil Stephenson has christened the "metaverse", being our online digital identities. But there is, I think, a third universe which I will call the innaverse - our private inner thoughts, our inner life, our imaginations. In the metaverse, you have your blog; in the innaverse, your private journal.

In fact there are 6 billion innaverses at present: 6 billion imaginations, 6 billion private thoughts, 6 billion consciousnesses. You are present in some of them; in most of them you do not exist. Some people long dead in the universe are currently alive in several innaverses, though only for a few seconds or minutes. People, ideas, and things are constantly appearing and disappearing from innaverses. Ideas do not exist in the physical universe; they exist only in the innaverse (and more recently, the metaverse).

Also, innaverses are disconnected. With a few controversial exceptions, the innaverse of one person is inaccesible to another. And as people are born and people die, their innaverses appear and disappear with them.

Me in Spiral Form

2007-04-18T22:32:00.000-07:00

Transforming insults and epithets into the qualities they attack

2007-04-18T21:16:00.000-07:00

One of the exercises in Vein of Gold is to take "damning and daunting words" spoken to us in the past and transform them into hidden strengths.

Here are some such words spoken to me in the past, and the hidden strength underlying each.

"Go, Jon, go!" (sarcastically, during floor hockey)
=> showmanship

"I'm going to call the cops" (our neighbour, on seeing my brother and I make a fort in the bushes)
=> imagination

"Instead of spending all that money on books, ..."
=> knowledge

"If you want to listen to music, go to the Royal Theatre, not there."
=> open-mindedness

"Ghetto. Just buy a Kinesis. My work one, at least, was a deductible business expense."
=> resourcefulness

"your suggestions are confusing. don't attempt to sound clever - the Fowlers names are crystal clear, and your names are opaque."
=> clear naming and clear thinking

"Hmmm... Not only is it web-enabled, it's also fucking ugly. Congratulations, moron."
=> vision

"Next time, don't contact the client without going through me"
=> efficiency

"That's too much."
=> generosity

"Please change the lines back."
=> aesthetic sense

"You are reading a book on interacting but apparently not applying it, resenting any computer stuff you do for a sick friend."
=> self-knowledge

"I am puzzled how some visitors influenced you to act so weird."
=> effervescence

"Don't apply Physics to God..."
=> ability to transplant concepts

Jesus with dark reddish hair

2007-04-16T13:58:00.001-07:00

At this evening's communion service, Sister Judi asked us to imagine ourselves in a place where we were beloved. I thought of my brother and myself as children, nestling in our parents' arms during the afternoon family nap.

Sister Judi then asked us to imagine Jesus to be present. In my imagination he had dark reddish hair and a dark reddish beard, and was floating up near the ceiling, looking at us.

But most important was his smile: a friendly, warm grin. He did not wear the stern expression of Michaelangelo's God, nor were his eyes strict or severe. This rather scruffy, shaggy Jesus looking at us was beaming and plainly friendly - like the picture of the "laughing Jesus". And probably a healthier image of Jesus than the cold, stern one that Hollywood gives us.

If this be truly what thou art,
I love thee, Lord, with all my heart.

Weekly Artistic Experience: The Queen

2007-04-14T22:59:00.003-07:00

For this week's artistic experience, I watched the movie "The Queen" at the Roxy Cinema in Victoria. How fascinating it was to see the human and often humorous personality underlying that demeanour "quiet and dignified".

Notes on Video 1 from Marshall Rosenberg's Nonviolent Communication

2007-04-14T22:59:00.001-07:00

Notes on Video 1 from Marshall Rosenberg's Nonviolent Communication:

* The two focuses of this kind of communication are: What's alive in you right now, and What would make life wonderful for you right now? Or more succinctly: feelings and needs

* All people ever say are Please and Thankyou: what would make life wonderful for them, and gratitude for it

* Self-empathy: observing our own feelings and needs, before continuing with the conversation. And "giraffe mourning": regretting past actions, but without criticism or judgement.

* Take your time, take your time: reorient yourself, rather than assume the default pre-programmed way of looking at things

Time runs runs runs

2007-04-14T10:23:00.001-07:00

The clock. Must keep my eye on the clock. Time runs runs runs and I am so busy and I must do this errand and complete that task but

Meaning. Making meaning. Creating meaning. That would be a life well lived, a life not regretted. To see how my meaning intersected with the meaning of others and the meaning of all things, all places, all times. I could live with that.

Time is to be lived, and not to be anxiously clung to, nor wasted.

Three things I like to think about

2007-04-12T23:33:00.000-07:00

Three things I like to think about:

* My brother opening the box containing the new laptop I ordered for him
* The four points of my mission statement
* The possibility of God actually being "nice" - a possibility offered in the book Good Goats by the Linns

Three aspects of the way I like to do things:

* proper
* proven
* impressive

This week's artistic experience: a visit to the school

2007-04-09T12:07:00.001-07:00

I am heading to Vancouver for this week's artistic experience, which is a visit to my old school, the University of British Columbia, for the first time in 5 years. The 90-minute ferry ride is part of the experience: today the sky is a pale gray, the waters without color, and the islands obscured by a light mist. It is a typically drizzly day in British Columbia, and we pray for sunlight.

* * *

My journey begins at the Totem Park dormitory where I lived 10 years ago. Unfortunately I cannot enjoy a meal in the cafeteria because they do not take credit card or debit card. So I will need to press on with an empty stomach. I am reminded at least of the hunger pangs of my student days. The cafeteria retains its yellow and red banners of stripes and arrows.

At Ritsumeikan House, where I lived for a couple of years, some of the paving blocks have become dislodged. I see the old ping-pong table in the lounge. I'm reminded of after-school bible studies.

Much has changed. The Civil Engineering / Mechanical Engineering (CEME) building seems to have been replaced by a modern glass-and-steel structure. I will miss the old rusted iron of CEME.

Now walking along Main Mall - the oak-lined road I walked daily to my classes for five years.

And then I sense the smell of new construction - the smell of wood and cement, the exciting scent of iron cable and concrete, the familiar smell of a new springtime.

I tried to visit the beloved Main Library,"The Stacks", intending to pull from a musty shelf some aged tome. But alas, no aged tomes could be found - the crumbling Library was being demolished to make way for a new parking lot.

Finally I found one building with an unlocked door: the Buchanan building, of the Faculty of Arts. I now sit in one of the cramped desks, with a tiny foot-square surface on which to write. The stepped lecture theatre is edged with cross-hatched steel.

My last stop: St. Mark's Chapel, where began my return to Catholicism. But when I arrived, I could not find it. Two new apartment buildings occupied its place. Saddened, I walked past them and discovered rows of new duplexes, and condominiums. I peered into half-finished garages and imagined the happiness of their wealthy future occupants and their children. But alas, poor St. Mark's - your newly built chapel was short lived, your fledgling and aging staff unable to withstand the bureaucracy. But I was mistaken.

I was mistaken, for as I turned the corner of the last duplex, as I filed past the brand new Lincoln parked in front of it, I saw amid the construction debris the beloved sign "ST. MARK'S COLLEGE", and below it, in construction orange, "DO NOT DAMAGE SIGN". St. Mark's had been preserved; on the northeast corner of the campus, it still stood. I opened the large doors of the chapel, entered, and sat. It is here that I type this message, and here I end.

A question that has been troubling me: How should we relate to God?

2007-04-09T12:07:00.000-07:00

Easter Sunday
Holy Rosary Cathedral
Vancouver, British Columbia

A question that has been troubling me: How should we relate to God? How should we view God? As a sheep to its shepherd? As a chick to its mother hen? As the prodigal to the compassionate father?

Or as a subject to a member of royalty? A handmaiden to her mistress? A slave to the owner? A worshipper to a deity?

What is the proper posture or stance before God? Do we address God as friend to friend, or as servant to master? As athlete to judge? As one accused to one's lawyer (or to the judge)? As an unproductive tree to its hopeful gardener (or to its frustrated landowner)? As a grafted branch to the main vine? As a trembling mortal before one who punishes? As a scattered seedling to its sower?

God has been represented by these various metaphors. I suppose they must be taken together to get the complete picture. Based on these images, it is clear that God is not one's buddy. God is one's superior, and can be angry, sad, and compassionate: angry about the pain we cause, grieved about the pain we suffer, joyful when we remember God, compassionate when we feel remorse.

Good Friday

2007-04-06T15:35:00.001-07:00

I am sitting in pew 3 on the far left of St. Andrew's Cathedral in Victoria, British Columbia. My mother is on my left, reading a missalette. I'm fully armed with geekery - PDA in my wallet, moleskine and Uniball Vision in my left secret pocket, a book in my right, Canon camera affixed to my belt, and a Swiss Army knife. The Good Friday mass begins in 10 minutes.

I'm a bit hungry, having skipped breakfast. I read somewhere that a reliable way to know the level of cleanliness of a restaurant is to assess the state of the washrooms.

The entire church is now approaching a large cross in single file; each person kisses the cross or touches it and kneels.

* * *

I must confess that my brain hasn't yet synchronized with the significance of this day. It is more than a commemoration of the death of one individual. People die each day; people undergo torture each day, in various parts of the world. I suppose the significant difference is *who* was tortured, who was killed. Yes, that's it - brain resynchronized.

I suppose it would be analogous to me visiting the place where the neighbourhood cat eats and sleeps, sitting in the bushes beside it, sleeping on the same mound of soil on which it sleeps, under starlight and heavy rains, without change of cloak or the amenities of a bath, sharing in its meals of bloodied rodents and puddle water,and finally expiring in the open air. For one to come down to such a base state shows extreme dedication to the creature.

I need more time outside

2007-04-05T22:45:00.001-07:00

I think I need more time outside, even just a little. Recess, like we had in school.Walking outside this afternoon, I am definitely reminded of schooldays. It must be the images, sounds, and scents of spring.

Palm Sunday

2007-04-01T23:30:00.001-07:00

Homily of Bishop Richard Gagnon
St. Andrew's Cathedral
Palm Sunday, 11:39am
Victoria, British Columbia

"taking the form of a slave"
crucifixion theme: obedience
ob audire = to listen
obedience to God's will, even without full understanding

His Grace walks around the altar, incensing it

I visualized this, and here's what I saw.

2007-04-01T00:34:00.001-07:00

This morning's exercise in "The Cup of Our Life" was to "Open the door of your heart. Go inside and be with God." I visualized this, and here's what I saw: My heart is like an old wooden house, painted red of course, and it has a door. It's a 30-year old dwelling - ivy vines are strewn about its walls. When I pull open its door (with some force), it's dark inside. It's a small room actually, with a simple wooden bench and a pleasant musty smell. All there is to do is to sit, leaving the door open of course to let some light in. You simply sit, and contemplate, and ponder; then you stand up, close the door behind you, and be on your way.

I took a taxi downtown in a frantic rush

2007-04-01T00:34:00.000-07:00

I took a taxi downtown in a frantic rush, hoping to make the 8pm start time of a concert by Ora Cogan. But when I arrive, the bartender informs me that it begins two hours later. Rats! And only recently was I lamenting how little time there was in a day - alas, here I am, several dollars and two hours short. And I have not even read my feeds for the day. Panic sets in.

Or not. Perhaps I shall use these two hours to read my "Letters of E.B. White" conveniently stowed in my knapsack. Or wander about Cook Street, a part of town I rarely visit.

* * *

OK, I'm now in the performance area of Logan's Pub, a welcome change from the biting cold Canadian air outside. On the stage is an acoustic guitar, a small orange speaker at which is pointed a microphone, and a viola case containing its instrument. The room is dark, and I can't make out my E.B. White without straining my eyes, though I suppose I could use my PDA for illumination. Pulsating accelerating music emanates from the multitudinous amplifiers around the room. There are conversations to the left of me, conversations behind me, conversations far away.

The stage is decorated with rainbow Christmas lights and a backdrop of black cloth.Flashes of light to the left of me - laughing women are taking photographs.

There are four main spotlights. Two microphones, one a quarter-foot above the other, stand at the edge of the stage.

* * *

It was either this concert or the symphony - I thought this would be more fun (though the Rite of Spring would have been an experience).

* * *

It is late for me (10pm) and the concert promises to be long. I steel myself for the experience. I will ned to stand up periodically.

* * *

Opening act. En francais. Blue guitar. Drone. Pentatonic vocals. Capo. New strings. Percussive taps - ripple / fingertips; close to the bridge; syncopation; Joan Baez; suspended chords; back of the voice; scoops; evocative, provocative lyrics, spelled;.

Song "for people from the west coast" - partly en francais - rapid - alternating bass/treble strings; banjolike - staying on a dissonant note; artificial echo; "I am a sea anemone I am a sea anemone" - fade and down.

Syncopation; open tuning? Syncophony; unison; chorale; high frets; pulsating - using the natural pitches of the three bass strings. Folk; blues. Ends with "It's sharp and it's beautiful; it's sharp and it's broken too." Major notes on a minor chord.

* * *

Anni Rossi and Ron Hunt. A buffoonish piece. Rossi has a virtuostic, smooth voice with a drawl - jumping from melody to harmony. Refrain "Stand by your man."

Rossi is into experimental music and pop; I think she's playing with the comedic genre. The guitar background she plays is with the pick at the centre of the guitar, with buffoonic bending.

Anni picks up her viola. She speaks hesitatingly and quietly, but sings forcibly. She plucks chords on her viola - double-stops. Floor must be amplified - her stomping is quite sharp. Music stops abruptly, as is her signature.

Back of the violin comes loose - she asks for "tape".

Violent bowing (and singing at the same time), overpressure; harmonics; underpressure; hitting viola with bow; pizzicato; random interruptions of amplified scratching; random punctuating shrieks and shrills.

Guitar position, arpeggiated, quoting "round here" but with the melody bent out of shape; hitting strings with wood of bow; strumming in both directions; Lisa-Loeb-like stream-of-consciousness; interesting rotary bow motion - organ-grinder-like harmonics bowing at front and back of fretboard.

Syncopated jambalaya piece - some interesting double-handed percussion in the standard violist position. Occasional catty shrills.

A cough.

Bass and chord, bending up. A percussively spoken "interstate". Bridge: plucked arpeggios (5/4?). Legato. Speaksinging (vocalizations).

Tuning.

Long, drawn-out strokes, harmonics. Pace picks up a bit. Heavily plucked march. "In an anticipation".

Ends with her trademark song, "To be a beekeeper in the Himalayas". With stomping!

Ora Cogan takes the stage. A melancholy song, "Where's my lover now." Open chords, bit of a gypsy scale / pentatonic.

7th chords and unusual melodic wending - avoiding the diatonicity. C F Bb. Quaver in the voice.

Daisy - 7ths, 9ths, 11ths, trills, lilts, and some neat exotic chords.

Another signature song. "Nobody's going to steel the stars from your sky." A laid back disposition. Two-string drone with dissonant walking bass.

Duet with Cogan and Rossi. Rossi adds some harmonies. It's an ambient piece with

New song now, mandolin-like - from high-fretted notes. Rossi plucks the viola like a bass - draws out drones. Syncopation, and a riff.

Final song. Ora on the violin; Anni on vocals. Gypsy melody, with a bit of a Frankensteinish turn to it. It's her "Motherless Child" song, backed by her galloping pizzicato.

Encore. 12-bar.

The term "God" is a bit generic

2007-03-30T09:33:00.001-07:00

The term "God" is a bit generic and evokes little emotion in me. But as I worked through the meditations in Joyce Rupp's book this morning, the term "Eternal Parent" sprung to mind. Now this is an evocative image for me - the one who, just before my life began, said, "OK, live"; the one who watched over me during my childhood, was present as I discovered my likes and dislikes, watched my interests deepening, my path becoming more certain. This "Eternal Parent" watches over me still, though I am rarely conscious of it these days.

I suppose "Heavenly Father" is an equivalent term, but I hear it so often that it doesn't carry as much of an emotional punch.

Interpretive dance

2007-03-28T09:46:00.001-07:00

Trying out interpretive dance as prayer sometimes, for variety. Now I don't know anything about dance, and even less about interpretive dance. And I was careful to lock my door and close the curtains before I tried this today. And the only music was that in my mind. But despite my clumsiness, it was an interesting art form and form of prayer that I've never explored: the kinetic and kinesthetic.

TODO: See a performance of *real* interpretive dance.

Replacing the last two points of my Mission Statement

2007-03-26T20:17:00.000-07:00

I'm adjusting my Mission Statement again today. It used to have four statements, and now will have three. I always thought four was one too many. Three's a good number, a small quantity of information to keep in the mind.

Edit thusly:

KEEP: Engineering beautiful software.
KEEP: Cherishing my family.
DELETE: The corporal and spiritual works of mercy.
DELETE: Being conscious of my human journey.
ADD: Brewing spiritual coffee.

Alas, the new addition is annoyingly imprecise. But I cannot think of anything more precise at present, so "Brewing spiritual coffee" it is.

Some things I would like

2007-03-25T23:50:00.003-07:00

- more time to read my books
- new amazing free software
- inspiration for new amazing free software to create
- a light-coloured jacket (for safety)
- renewed interest in spiritual things
- books / articles on improving myself (organization, time management, programming, social, psychological, etc.)
- visiting my university and high school
- rss alerts for significant people from my past
- toys and books from my childhood
-

The time is short.

2007-03-25T23:50:00.001-07:00

The time is short. As it dwindles away, it accelerates. As it sees the finish line, it begins to sprint; though we plead with it to slow down, to enjoy the landscape, it does not hear us - its head is down, it is running now. And we, borne on its shoulders, can only resign ourselves to the increasing speed of our carrier; we crane our necks to enjoy the scenery around us, but it is becoming a blur, streaks of color, with intensity gently fading, and the tolling of the bell in the distance ahead of us.

What awaits us at the end? A wreath of laurels, or the embrace of friends?

I am currently sitting in the upper balcony

2007-03-21T13:18:00.000-07:00

I am currently sitting in the upper balcony of St. Andrew's Cathedral in Victoria, front bench on the right. Mom is beside me saying her rosary. The tower bell begins its ringing ten minutes before mass. Taped to the railing is a notice that "Recently, a child threw a toy over the balcony railing." The bell has stopped ringing.

To my right I see the top of a 4-metre-high stained glass window. It is a sea of green and gold - a backdrop of grass green, lime green, forest green; a cross of pale gold and iridescent gold.

* * *

For my "Artist's Date" [Vein of Gold], I visited the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria for the first time in 20 years. The first exhibit had baroque paintings; the second had modern works (horror embroidery, if you can imagine that); the third had paintings combining Christian themes and Japanese style; the fourth, paintings by our province's best known artist, Emily Carr. Only four rooms of material; nevertheless, I was tired at the end of it. But I'm glad to have gone - I came away with ideas for my own art and work.

A partial indulgence is granted to the faithful who use Sacred Scripture for spiritual reading

2007-03-13T01:40:00.000-07:00

A partial indulgence is granted to the faithful who use Sacred Scripture for spiritual reading with the veneration due the word of God. A plenary indulgence is granted if the reading continues for at least one half hour.

– Enchiridion Indulgentiarum

Suppose I had the opportunity to take a 2-week vacation. How would I spend it?

2007-03-11T23:23:00.000-07:00

Suppose I had the opportunity to take a 2-week vacation. How would I spend it?

I would almost certainly spend most of it reading. I have some fantastic books that need finishing: The Italic Guide to Beautiful Handwriting, JavaScript: The Definitive Guide, The Little Schemer, Rapid Development, CSS Mastery, Object Modelling, Refactoring to Patterns, PHP Cookbook, Vein of Gold.

And of course my nightly hour of reading my various RSS feeds: popular websites of the day, the HTTP 1.1 spec, the Rule of St. Benedict, Lifehacker and TechCrunch, the USCCB document on the Eucharist, links from the CSS Handbook, etc.

Walks with my mother, and some meals at restaurants.

But the whole day cannot be spent reading. What of the remaining hours? Something introspective, some spiritual refreshment, but engaging, not boring - but what? Writing perhaps? Reading poetry? Visiting old classmates, or writing them, or visiting the places of my youth, reviewing old photographs, reviewing what I've written, ...

When I consider that in 50 years I will no longer be here

2007-03-11T23:22:00.000-07:00

When I consider that in 50 years I will no longer be here, that I will likely be absent in the year 2050, I'm saddened. This marvelous thing, the Internet, will continue to grow and develop without me; I will not be present to see its marvelous developments over the next 100 - 200 years and beyond. The programming of computers - by turns, taxing struggle and exhilarating experience - the expertise which I am building daily - gone.

Yet all is not sad - we will be in a different place. I hope to enjoy the vision of my Creator; may I practice being in his presence, even in this place.

Personal post-mortems

2007-03-10T11:26:00.000-08:00

In software engineering and other disciplines, a "post-mortem" is conducted after various milestones - that is, a meeting to review what worked, what didn't work, and what action to take to improve for next time.

This Sunday, in addition to catching up on my various books, I plan to take an hour out to conduct a post-mortem of my last year: what worked, what didn't work, and what action to take to improve for the year ahead. That will be a Sunday well spent.

Starting the hour-long walk home from the Cursillo meeting

2007-03-07T21:11:00.000-08:00

Starting the hour-long walk home from the Cursillo meeting at St. Joseph's church (my first in two years). I'm tapping into my PDA as I walk along the highway - must be careful.

In this evening's reflection, we each chose a cup or mug, and reflected on how one's life is like such a vessel - filled and emptied, some whole, one of them broken at the handle.

I chose a miniature, misshapen milk jug. It pours itself out in service of others, and is refilled by its master. But my milk jug is too full. Filled to the brim, it is never poured. If the milk in it sours, it must be emptied, scourged, and washed. Perhaps then will it be fit for use again.

Reading aloud a few pages of poetry

2007-03-05T13:49:00.001-08:00

Reading aloud a few pages of poetry seems to be a reliable way to shift my mind into a contemplative mode, ideal for prayer.

I like the New Penguin Book of English Verse - especially its novel arrangement of poems by date rather than by author. It's a time machine.

Sunday, 2 PM. A third of the day has elapsed.

2007-03-05T13:49:00.000-08:00

Sunday, 2 PM. A third of the day has elapsed. I sit in the living room, pondering how I will spend it. The edges of my eyeglasses and of my PDA sparkle with sunlight. My foot presses against the cold grill of the in-floor radiator.

May today be for remembering. Not for enjoying necessarily, nor for planning, nor for doing. But for remembering: childhood and youth, where I've come from, where I've been, who I am, what I love, creed, country, and God.

I am sitting outside the Subway restaurant

2007-02-28T01:49:00.000-08:00

I am sitting outside the Subway restaurant on University Avenue in Palo Alto. Subway's great virtue is its economy: for a mere $3 you get a meal filling and wholesome.

Current disposition is relaxed, somewhat fatigued from a couple of late nights. I will be checking into work periodically today to see if new tasks appear in my queue; otherwise I will endeavour to relax this Sunday. A whole day unscheduled! I am unaccustomed to this luxury. How is such a day lived well?

Perhaps it will be a day of readings of scripture, meditations on life past and present, and future. Maybe some great idea will seize me - those are rare. Or perhaps it is enough to be grateful for the current minute, in which I am - thank God - healthy and in need of nothing.

But what will the future bring?

It is night in Palo Alto.

2007-02-27T20:38:00.000-08:00

It is night in Palo Alto. I'm looking outside the open window of a room on the 3rd floor of the Cardinal Hotel. At the bus shelter outside, a man in city-worker garb draws shovel and broom together to loosen the material that has collected around the base of the garbage can. The light on his headband glows blue; the taillights on his white Chevrolet flash yellow. Two cyclists amble past, with flashing red lights. Vocalizations emanate from the truck radio.

Across from my room is an art-supplies store. The third floor has a sign: "Space Available, 650-857-0116, Alhouse - Deaton". The third floor has 12 windows; two of them are lit.

I am sitting on a step at the back of an abandoned building in Palo Alto.

2007-02-11T17:47:00.001-08:00

I am sitting on a step at the back of an abandoned building in Palo Alto. The sun shines, the sky is blue, but all I can think of is this malaise which has afflicted me for the past week. Body ache, throat ache, headache - it reduces the pleasure of living. Writing about it seems to help.

Today, for me, is a rare pause in the busy-ness of living. The cool air sweeps over my painful temples. Today reminds me of university days - sunny weather, freedom from serious responsibility. Those days are long past.

For the first time in several days, I listen to my environment. The crinkle of an aircraft engine fades to silence. Amazonian bird noises twitter in the foliage. A painful cough escapes me; pressure builds in my brow. I hear scraping door and tableware noises in the neighbouring lot. And the rise and fall of a police siren, and the pneumatic rise of the ventilation system of the Wells Fargo building.

25 minutes before the Latin mass at St. Thomas Aquinas church in Palo Alto.

An obese squirrel clambers up a fence and peeks over it. The strange pressure builds in my sinuses again. The sunlight dims, then surges. Another airplane crosses the sky, on the same path as the first. The blustery Wells Fargo ventilator flusters the foliage. Three brown beer bottles and two green ones sit on a window sill - this does remind me of university days. Those days are long past.

17 minutes before the Latin mass at St. Thomas Aquinas church in Palo Alto.

I move from the shade into the sunlight. I sit cross-legged on the parking-lot pavement. Sitting in the sunlight with a cool breeze - how pleasant! Tapping the pavement with my PDA stylus makes pleasant metallic noises.

7 minutes before the Latin mass at St. Thomas Aquinas church in Palo Alto.

Commovisti Domine terram, et conturbasti eam - Thou hast moved the earth, O Lord, and hast troubled it.

The four steps of lectio divina

2007-02-11T17:47:00.000-08:00

Useful summary of the four steps of lectio divina (prayerful reading of scripture):

"Seek in reading and you will find in meditating; knock in mental prayer and it will be opened to you by contemplation."

- Guigo the Carthusian, Scala Paradisi: PL 40, 998, quoted in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2654

In the early morning of my life

2007-01-29T09:36:00.001-08:00

In the early morning of my life, every day was a bright, new adventure. The golden sun shone upon new experiences and new inventions.

By mid-morning I'd noticed the fog. But the sun continued to shine on new thoughts and new strengths.

Noon I did not notice. The fog was thick; all was a blur. Day blurred into day, week into week. Years shuffled past, unheeded.

Now, in the mid-afternoon of my life, the landscape is stark, lighted by a wintry sun. A distant hammering is the sign of single-minded industry. Days run by, but calmly. Pleasant, mindless routine.

What shall the night bring? What storms, what floods? A night of fire or a night of peace?

For three or four weeks I have neglected my evening reflective walk

2007-01-29T09:36:00.000-08:00

For three or four weeks I have neglected my evening reflective walk, so I will take one now, PDA in hand, at 11 PM on a Sunday night. May God protect me from danger.

A dozen stars are visible - year-old light from stars in our galaxy. My mind cannot comprehend this, so I think no more of it and begin my walk.

A faint charcoal aroma is in the air. The night is chilly, so I draw my hood.

Do I know myself? My thoughts have been exclusively on my work and my books. What of my human journey - where am I and where am I going? I am in Victoria, British Columbia, the city of my youth. Where is life taking me? I alternate my numb hands in my pockets.

Who is Love, and where does Love reside? What is youth, and whither has it gone? It has not snowed, yet the pebbly sidewalk has a slippery coating; it sparkles as I walk past.

In California, the air is not so cold as here.

Pretending to be big when I am little, pretending to live as I have lived not, pretending to speak as I have not spoken. Pretending to be great when I am small; to be grand, when I am simple; to be holy, when I am profane. In my littleness and smallness I cry out: God, deliver me from my pretense.

Why I am a Catholic

2007-01-22T22:13:00.000-08:00

Why am I a Catholic? Several reasons:
- An ancient worldview
- Plausible, reasonable
- The religion of my ancestors
- Comprehensive; answers the question of the meaning of life (love of God and of neighbour)
- Completes the mental, emotional, and physical dimensions of life with the spiritual
- Tradition, ritual. A counterpoint to technology and the efficiency of the machine.

"May God...forgive you both in this life and the next...

2007-01-20T00:04:00.000-08:00

From the Byzantine Liturgy:

"May God...forgive you both in this life and the next and enable you to appear before his awe-inspiring tribunal without condemnation..."

[Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1481]

This evening I attended a seminar on evangelization

2007-01-19T10:18:00.000-08:00

This evening I attended a seminar on evangelization at St. Andrew's Cathedral. I will not be doing the homework, nor the exercises in the workbook. Mainly I was there to fish for ideas: ideas for how to talk about my beliefs with others.

Mine will be a different path - not conversing with half-strangers in person over coffee, but writing - letters or writings on the web. The rule of thumb is: if it's awkward, then something is wrong. Holding up the pearls of theology to the light should be like discussing fine wine with someone, and equally as enjoyable: indulging in tradition, and respectful of taste.

And - I'd forgotten - prayer, to lay the groundwork, to soften the heart.

I wish to live a life dignified and honourable

2007-01-15T09:30:00.001-08:00

I wish to live a life dignified and honourable, high-minded, mature, a life of fortitude in the face of personal or physical pain. To grow wiser with age, and respectful of the wisdom of the young. Conscious of the finitude of life, seeking the wisdom of God, valuing Love above all things. May I hold fast to these ideals in the years of famine.

The Rich Young Ruler and the Eye of the Needle

2007-01-15T09:30:00.000-08:00

Answer to a question I have been struggling with for twelve years: Given what Jesus said in Luke 18:22, does this not mean that the rich are barred from entering heaven?

"To sum up: it is possible to be rich, and married, and held in honour by all men, and yet keep the Commandments and to enter heaven. Christ's advice is, if we would make sure of everlasting life and desire to conform ourselves perfectly to the Divine will, that we should sell our possessions and give the proceeds to others who are in need, that we should live a life of chastity for the Gospel's sake, and, finally, should not seek honours or commands, but place ourselves under obedience."
- Evangelical Counsels, Catholic Encyclopedia

So one way is fine, but the other is better.

Reading the Catechism lead me to this answer. As I continue reading, I look forward to more insights like this one.

2007-01-13T20:34:00.000-08:00

Woke up at noon after staying up late writing an impassioned blog post on refactoring. I'd like to use Saturdays for reading the books of my profession, and Sundays for reading the books of my religion.

The sidewalks of Victoria are made treacherous by invisible ice.

Tomorrow I am meeting with Mathieu Balez - a fellow technologist visiting from Montreal. He wrote a piece on YubNub for the online magazine Maisonneuve, back in the early days.

Two software lessons learned

2007-01-04T09:28:00.000-08:00

1. When you make a change, tell somebody about it. Don't just make the change willy-nilly without telling anyone ("While I'm here, I might as well fix this..."). IM your manager, send a note to the mailing list, or file a bug so QA is aware. Someone may raise an objection you hadn't considered.

2. Never throw an exception without a message (throw new Exception()) - put some message inside. Even if the stack trace is logged. Otherwise it can be harder for someone else to debug.

The three-quarter moon is a piercing lamp

2006-12-30T23:26:00.000-08:00

The three-quarter moon is a piercing lamp
Its auburn-edged halo cutting the cloud-mottled night sky
Islands of night space open the cloud seas
A fine silver mist turns the air into a dream
As a cat brushes my leg with a gleam.

In the evening, the fires begin
A searing blue flame bursts from the flue of the forearms
Pupils dilate, brain shuts down,
Thoughts cease, heart drums,
To appease the god of the drumming.

There is a lonely road with treed silhouettes
There is a busy road where cars pirouette
There is a narrow road, where sweat and cries
Bring sustenance to the careful soul.

Verse sketch: Fire in the veins

2006-12-27T17:19:00.000-08:00

Fire in the veins
Fire in the heart
Pounding in the throat
Shaking in the hands
An iciness, a burning from the backs of my hands.

Contrast with the open life
The life of the open door
Of full command of the soul militant
Of rational discourse and understanding
Laughter, simplicity, artless joy.

Father Barron responds

2006-12-26T10:25:00.000-08:00

-----Original Message-----
From: Barron, Fr. Bob [mailto:rbarron@usml.edu]
Sent: Tuesday, December 26, 2006 7:31 AM
To: 'Jonathan Aquino'
Subject: RE: On your article on evangelization, "Have You Heard the News?"

Dear Jon,

Thanks for your note and for taking the time to read my article.

In answer to your dilemma, I would say this: the resurrection of Jesus, in itself, is nothing but Good News, since it is the manifestation of our redemption. You're quite right in suggesting that this redemption has to be appropriated through our decisions and actions. If this is not done, we face judgement.

But I wouldn't allow that fact-however important-to dampen my enthusiasm for the resurrection message. In itself, that is nothing but Gospel (Good News). Paul certainly believed in judgment, but didn't hesitate for a moment to proclaim the resurrection to everyone he met.

Peace,

Fr. Bob Barron

Letter to Father Barron

2006-12-24T10:41:00.000-08:00

-----Original Message-----
From: Jonathan Aquino [mailto:jonathan.aquino@gmail.com]
Sent: Sunday, December 24, 2006 10:41 AM
To: 'rbarron@usml.edu'
Subject: On your article on evangelization, "Have You Heard the News?"

Dear Father Barron,

One of your articles ended with the words, "how can you not want to grab everyone you meet by the lapels and tell them about the resurrection?" What prevents me from enthusiastically sharing the good news of the resurrection is the potential "bad news" of the uncertainty of the Last Judgment and the possibility of damnation. How I would love to shout to the world, "Eternal life! Eternal life!" - unfortunately I must add, "but only if you pass the Last Judgment". Suddenly the good news does not seem so sparkling, now that it has this uncertain string attached.

I'm curious how you handle the Last Judgment in your evangelization - is it best left out of good-news preaching? i.e. is it a detail that for most Catholics is best not worried about too much?

Jon

Through a glass darkly

2006-12-23T20:00:00.000-08:00

Through a glass darkly
The world is obscured
Oaks blurred, the shapes of sedans
Bulbous, blocky blobs of matte blue.
Through this striated, oil-streaked glass
Dawn illumines a pointillated world.

Rectangular, human creations
And the dark greens and light greens of nature
White paint, black paint, and red
Blue, ochre, aquamarine
A world recognizable and iridescent
Tenuous, gristled, quiescent.

Verse sketch: Wind speaks

2006-12-23T18:19:00.003-08:00

Wind speaks
He shrills, raises the trees,
Mumbles, flatters.

Gale answers from afar
Hisses weightily, harrumphs,
Gathers, retreats.

I stand in the blackness, leaning against the red house.
Observing the wind complain, the gale answer.
I stand in a protective jacket, enveloped against the elements
Heart beating palpable against a ruddy winter sky.

The night sky is purple

2006-12-23T18:19:00.002-08:00

The night sky is purple
The erect evergreens are wispy fronds
The maple, a dendritic explosion
Scattering its detritus and ambidexter structure.

This night, the vacuous quiet
The absence of breeze, of local sound
The sound of thought, an expanse
Satisfied, satiated, ingratiated largesse.

And so I take my first steps
Into the friendly cold, into the expansive air
Walk, ponder the wandering, imposing tome
Of existence.

This finger, this gesture, this stance
The inward embarassment electric
Syncophant asynchronous symmetric
It would have been better to ignore it.

The poetic programmer

2006-12-23T18:19:00.001-08:00

Some computer programmers write books; others write poems.

Some computer programmers are engineers; others are mathematicians.

Java and Smalltalk - two forms of grandeur - the overwhelming power and complexity of engineering; the terse elegance and beauty of mathematical formulae.

Two styles, two philosophies - my heart is with the latter.