Ode to a Nightingale

Benedict Cumberbatch reads "Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats. Read along here. 

Plaintive, haunting. Hear the longing of the listener and the troubled, mixed emotions evoked by the nightingale's song.  >> What are you longing for, deeply?

cleaning

I had a deep conversation with my soul friend Jonathan today–one of those ones where necessary things are said and it hurts deep but it hurts good. It gave me the stuff I need to hear and made me face the stuff I need to hear myself say. I'm so grateful for that ministry. 

"And the Sun of Righteousness will arise with healing in His wings." (Malachi 4:2)

And I have to avoid the impulse to hide from a light that's too bright.

the sunbeams wash my feet clean

the best marriage advice

The best marriage advice I ever got was long before I was ever married. 

An elder from my church could see that I really, really, really liked this Joshua Bennett kid. So he said, 

"Make a list of all his faults. 

I mean, every single one."

Really? Does that sound like a good idea for building a strong relationship?

"Then go down that list, one item at a time.

Choose to accept each of those faults. If you come to one that you can't accept, then don't marry him. But if you make it through the list, then marry him and enjoy it. ... Later, when you're married and he has the same faults and they're driving you up a wall, you can preserve your sanity by knowing that you've already accepted that about him and it's okay." 

This sounded really strange to me, but it was immensely helpful. 

The same things that bugged me about Joshua before we got married are the same flaws that he still has to this day; apparently saying your vows does not instantly perfect a person. But I've chosen to accept and love and support him---so I can get on to really enjoying him :)

Eight years into this marriage and I'm happier than ever---not because I married a perfect man (he's really great! but he's not perfect), but because I chose to accept the man I married. 

Good advice, Stan. Thanks. 

a modern terror of ancient suffering

>> a poem by Ernesto Cardenal, an interpretation of the biblical Psalm 22, of David, from Cardenal's "Salmos de este momento en el mundo" (click here to hear this piece read). An English translation follows.
 

image by Armin Lotfi

SALMO 21 (22)

Dios mío Dios mío ¿por qué me has abandonado? 
Soy una caricatura de hombre
el desprecio del pueblo 
Se burlan de mí en todos los periódicos
Me rodean los tanques blindados 
estoy apuntado por las ametralladoras 
y cercado de alambradas
las alambradas electrizadas
Todo el día me pasan lista 
Me tatuaron un número
Me han fotografiado entre las alambradas
y se pueden contar como en una radiografía todos mis huesos
Me han quitado toda identificación
Me han llevado desnudo a la cámara de gas 
y se repartieron mis ropas y mis zapatos 
Grito pidiendo morfina y nadie me oye
grito con la camisa de fuerza
grito toda la noche en el asilo de enfermos mentales 
en la sala de enfermos incurables
en el ala de enfermos contagiosos 
en el asilo de ancianos
agonizo bañado de sudor en la clínica del psiquiatra 
me ahogo en la cámara de oxígeno
lloro en la estación de policía
en el patio del presidio 
en la cámara de torturas
en el orfelinato
estoy contaminado de radioactividad
y nadie se me acerca para no contagiarse
Pero yo podré hablar de ti a mis hermanos 
Te ensalzaré en la reunión de nuestro pueblo 
Resonarán mis himnos en medio de un gran pueblo 
Los pobres tendrán un banquete
Nuestro pueblo celebrará una gran fiesta 
El pueblo nuevo que va a nacer.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

PSALM 21 (22) 

My God my God, why have you abandoned me?
I am a caricature of a person
despised by the people
They sneer at me in all the newspapers
Tanks surround me
machine guns take aim at me
barbed wire, loaded with electricity, imprisons me
Every day I am being called up
I am tattooed with a number
They photographed me behind the gates
and my bones can be counted like on an X-ray
All identification has been removed from me
Naked they pushed me into the gas chamber
and my clothes and shoes they have shared among themselves
I cry for morphine and no one hears me
I cry with the straitjacket
I cry every night in the mental hospital
in the ward for incurable patients
in the quarantine wing
in the asylum of the elderly
I agonize, covered in sweat, in the psychiatric clinic
I suffocate with the oxygen tank
I cry at the police station
in the prison courtyard
in the torture chamber
in the orphanage
I am contaminated with radioactivity
and no one comes near me, for fear of infection
But I will speak of you to my brothers
You I will praise at our public meetings
My hymns will be sung in large crowds
The poor will hold a banquet
Our people -- the people yet to be born -- 
will rejoice in a great feast.

I like this poem mainly for 2 reasons

1. Through its contemporization it gives me deeper insight into the sufferings of David and of Christ; it makes me to feel a modern terror of ancient suffering.

2. It draws a line, thick and intolerable, between the suffering Christ and the oppressed and forgotten of today.

It 100% succeeds as a poem.