tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48444492960879558522024-03-05T14:25:36.048-08:00rosen knighthoodthis is my act of adorationUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-25812082280266484172011-04-29T10:07:00.001-07:002011-04-29T10:07:09.759-07:00moving!!This blog is being discontinued. I've not really been able to keep going with it, huh...<br />
<br />
but all of my artwork/drabbles/poetryfails will be directed to <a href="http://truthordeath.tumblr.com">THE ALEPH</a>. Hope to see you there!!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-87121361521022818842011-02-28T15:45:00.000-08:002011-02-28T15:45:15.778-08:00A Land of Eyes - I<center><table width=80%><tr><td><center>I</center><br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>The same day that she realized that she was losing her sight, Aida stormed into the river in a fit of mindless rage.<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>She was grasping a young stick in her hand as she scattered the flies that hovered lazily over the surface. She struck at them over and over again until the sapling snapped. She snarled and screamed and swung until Ephraim jumped into the water and took her by the arms.<br />
<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>“Stop, Aida. You’re scaring the adults,” he said firmly to calm her. Aida looked through the window of her dripping hair, towards the blurry shore where all the men and women were standing like dark wraiths in the scorching sun, batting at the flies with speckled hands while blinking their sightless, milky eyes. Then, she lifted her head to the sky to expose the hot tears that further distorted her vision. When they fell from her face and melted into the water, all she could see were the tiny spheres of light.<br />
<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>“It’s pretty,” she said, despite herself, and began to cry. Ephraim consoled her by silently stroking the back of her hand as he helped her climb onto the bank.<br />
<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>The people knew that the blindness came from the river. It was the river that fed and watered the villagers, washed their clothes and provided relief. It was the river that sluggishly slumped along the banks of lion’s-hair grass and slowed into a stagnancy as the land became flat. <br />
<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>Since she had been very young, Aida had been told that she would go blind. That the insects that bred in the greenish waters would crawl into her skin and grow and grow until they finally reached her eyes and ate them. When that happened, she would finally be an adult. The children would sing and weave the pale Mound flowers into her ashy-black hair while she touched all of their faces to memorize with her hands what her eyes could no longer see. She would owe them her life, because her whole livelihood and locomotion would depend completely on their temporal eyes. <br />
<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>That was the inevitable and hateful truth of the village.<br />
</td></tr></table></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-47158072945856034482011-02-24T23:26:00.000-08:002011-02-24T23:31:58.663-08:00mi piel // my skin<center><table width=50%><tr><td>a veces me cansa este cuerpo<br />
de estos ojos y estas manos<br />
de esta jaula de carne y pensamientos <br />
<br />
si pudiera hacerlo <br />
pelaría todo <br />
tal vez, podría llevarme otro <br />
<br />
para un día solitario <br />
caminaría tus pasos <br />
sentiría tus creencias <br />
tocaría tus latidos <br />
<br />
cuando me cansa este cuerpo <br />
no me mientas <br />
me permite ver <br />
como se siente <br />
al ser otra persona<br />
<br />
///<br />
<br />
sometimes I grow tired of this body<br />
of these eyes and these hands<br />
of this cage of flesh and thoughts<br />
<br />
if I could do it<br />
I would peel everything off<br />
perhaps, I could put on another<br />
<br />
for one solitary day<br />
I would walk your steps<br />
I would feel your beliefs<br />
I would touch your heartbeat<br />
<br />
when I grow tired of this body<br />
don't lie to me<br />
let me see<br />
what it feels like<br />
to be another person<br />
<br />
</tr><br />
<br />
</td></table></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-77242925030730477202011-02-23T00:23:00.000-08:002011-02-23T00:25:17.459-08:00I Remember<center><table width=50%><tr><td>[Found in my old journal... dated Thursday, June 4th, 2009. I'm not this emo anymore, guys.]<br />
<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>Oh, poor heart! Why must you pain me so? Why must you write again that same story when there is one that is being written by more shapely a Heart?<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>Oh sad lady! Can you not understand? You poor old woman. The things you have forgotten. Where has the light in your eyes gone? I can no longer see the beauty of the trees. Where is the beauty in the Song?<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>I want to lay in Your lap and hear you tell me that I belong here. I want to hear You tell me the Story of the beauty of the trees and listen to the Your Song once again. I want to weep under the shelter of Your hands over my head and remember the times You wept for me first.<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>And I want to be ashamed there, at all of the shattered wood and blood I held in my hand. I want to hear You say that's enough.<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>and You say it again and again.<br />
<font color=white>. . . .</font>it's enough.<br />
</tr><br />
</td></table></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-15384917087871103652011-02-02T09:38:00.000-08:002011-02-07T23:19:39.519-08:00The ChristHe laughs.<br />
it is so human<br />
and so much like God<br />
to laugh<br />
it is a lonely thing<br />
to be merely human.<br />
<br />
He loves the starlight<br />
and the cool <br />
of the pines<br />
and the love<br />
of a child<br />
and He feels the mortality<br />
of such things<br />
<br />
I think Him sad<br />
He who feels the trembling<br />
of hearts<br />
I see Him lonely<br />
and young, against the starlight<br />
<br />
He, incarnate<br />
young and ancient<br />
like the night air<br />
like a word<br />
hands like a stream<br />
of petals and thorns<br />
of wine and water<br />
like the branches of some great Tree<br />
in the Garden's heart<br />
that had not been seen<br />
since the day<br />
of Man's exhileUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-75639846249915850752011-01-24T16:18:00.000-08:002011-01-24T16:27:08.702-08:00twelve gates<center><table width=500><tbody>
<tr> <td><a href="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/twelvegates_smaller.jpg" rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/twelvegates_th.jpg" /></a></td> <td><sub></sub><br />
<center><sub><i>No longer will there be any curse. <br />
<br />
The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, <br />
and his servants will serve him. <br />
They will see his face, <br />
and his name will be on their foreheads.<br />
<br />
<br />
revelations xxii:iii-iv</i><br />
</center></td></tr>
</table></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-17313910785332536782011-01-22T18:30:00.001-08:002011-03-15T06:15:12.118-07:00the field workerTell me of Your Kingdom<br />
that i may dare to dream<br />
oh, of the stories you tell<br />
of the gleaming wall<br />
the brilliance<br />
the light<br />
<br />
tell me of the City <br />
that has no need of the sun<br />
tell me of a people dressed like ivory<br />
and of the throne in a sea<br />
<br />
As i sleep, stay near<br />
and tell me of these pretty things<br />
that i may dream<br />
too<br />
<br />
Oh, that i would swallow these words<br />
that i would become them<br />
that i would hear Your voice <br />
and like a trance let them move me<br />
destroy and<br />
remake me.<br />
For they are such beautiful<br />
and terrible words<br />
for one such as i<br />
<br />
And yet<br />
<br />
and yet <br />
<br />
and yet…<br />
<br />
You sing them to me again<br />
Like rain that streams down my insides<br />
and the names that echo in my head<br />
sound like Your voice<br />
<br />
as i lay down to die again<br />
I am resigned to die here<br />
when i wake up between Your hands<br />
i will cease to be<br />
the sameUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-49669935281057373582010-12-01T23:32:00.000-08:002011-01-24T16:28:24.665-08:00fire sermon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dwYw7kl-ZCon2phV3pRlMBhEkSdkc3b0sgpZ3KwOfhkz-pmJ05C_vo9vfWZNVSjnBZkuUa73Cy2cq6uJQPGo-16krI8MBxxq3E0FTIXC6tKvfRKeYUURPglmME49NGYXlbwaTPd2iOE/s1600/firesermon_u.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dwYw7kl-ZCon2phV3pRlMBhEkSdkc3b0sgpZ3KwOfhkz-pmJ05C_vo9vfWZNVSjnBZkuUa73Cy2cq6uJQPGo-16krI8MBxxq3E0FTIXC6tKvfRKeYUURPglmME49NGYXlbwaTPd2iOE/s320/firesermon_u.png" width="320" /></a><i>I once met a man who died.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>With one look of His eyes, I think that I love Him.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"What does it mean to live?" I ask Him when He tells me that He is going to die.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"To walk the path of God," He says.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"And the meaning of Death?" I ask.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"To live forever."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I laugh at him.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>But He smiles for me, and I feel ashamed. [And I feel happy]</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"How should I live?"</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"You must kill the you that is killing yourself. But that is the you that will kill me."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>And with that look in his eyes, I know I hate Him.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"I don't know you," I say.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"Then you will die." And I see that He is sad. "But this is why I must die."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"But you don't know me." He looks at me quietly, and I realized that it was a lie.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"I'll come to see you again," He says [as He is about to die]. "And then you'll really live."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>It feels so wrong. And yet I know it's so right.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>But my heart is hard, and I turn away as the sparks fly up.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>But I know when I see Him again</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>things will be different.</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-84698731393478152582010-10-22T22:50:00.000-07:002011-01-24T16:29:08.543-08:00Thank You!!!<center><a href="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/thanks2.jpg" rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/gratitude_th.jpg"></a></center><br />
<br />
Thankfulness is one of the best feelings in the world. It's those moments when I realize it's beyond me....<br />
<br />
"You pick me up, You say I look like you." <br />
<br />
thank You!!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-83241152738835665692010-08-07T21:44:00.000-07:002011-01-24T16:28:04.002-08:00unhidden city<center><a href="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/light.jpg" rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/light_thumb.jpg"></a><br />
<br />
<font size=2><br />
"I'll take you to your next life."</font></center><br />
<br />
In light of OCR approaching, I thought it pertinent~ To continue my trend of vague (but (kind of?) Biblical<sup>1</sup>) symbolism. <br />
<br />
Sometimes I don't realize that in order to be light to a dark world, I have to be really noticeable to the point that it's painful. It's scary, because there's no way I can be timid and still be effective. So can someone like me be brave enough to live outside from under the bowl, or will I still embrace the darkness of my own heart?<br />
<br />
<b><center><br />
[shameless advertisement]</b></center><br />
This picture is also available in the Everything Awesome 4.8 artbook, among other works of mine that you won't see except unless you hold a copy in your hands!!! 100% of the proceeds go to a good cause, AND you can see the works inspired by God-motivated artists, both local and international (:<br />
<br />
<center><a href="http://eabook.comuf.com/" target=_blank><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/banner-MD.gif"></a></center><br />
<br />
<small><sup>1</sup> matthew v:xiv-xvi</small>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-75082386415910692912010-04-17T21:35:00.000-07:002010-06-22T20:44:03.558-07:00the God of big and little things<center><table width=500><tr><td><br />
<br />
<a href="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/bread.png" rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/breadthumb.jpg"></a></td><td width=5></td><td><br />
for some reason, the smell of whole wheat bread reminds me of communion.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
little reminders... dream of grand and simple things (:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</table></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-70464208143028189022010-03-10T01:20:00.000-08:002011-01-24T16:29:15.120-08:00reconciliation<center><table width="75%"><tr><td><br />
<br />
<center>If I was your love<br />
I would want only you<br />
I'd lay at this altar<br />
Give all I am, all that is true<br />
<br />
For love I have scaled the face<br />
Of these kingdom walls<br />
So let down your hair<br />
Let our kiss make fools of them all<br />
<br />
And this old scarlet letter won't<br />
Keep me from holding you<br />
And there is nothing you can do<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Scarlet || Jars of Clay</center></td><td><div align="right"><a href="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/bride.jpg" rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/rec_thumb.jpg"></a></div></td></table><br />
After the priest has had the woman stand before the LORD, <br />
he shall loosen her hair and place in her hands the reminder <br />
offering, the grain offering for jealousy, while he himself <br />
holds the bitter water that brings a curse.<br />
Numbers 5:18<br />
<br />
Because Jesus lives forever, he has a permanent priesthood. <br />
Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to <br />
God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them. <br />
Hebrews 7:23-25</center><br />
<br />
It's like a fairytale, isn't it?<br />
it's so wonderful, it almost can't come from this world.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-34958028534993779532010-02-22T14:18:00.000-08:002010-04-08T22:35:34.758-07:00apathy<center><a href="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/apathy.jpg" rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/apathy_th.jpg"></a></center><br />
<br />
it's so human... a frustrating sort of contradiction; it's alarming, and yet sometimes I feel so petrified that I don't feel anything. <br />
<br />
I remember talking, long ago, to a mentor about the issue of apathy, marveling at how cold it felt, and yet how awful the numbness is. As she was praying for me, she spoke of an image that's haunted me since. That I was sitting in the dark, watching as the candle in front of me slowly dies, and yet I can't do anything but watch it drown in all the wax.<br />
<br />
But thank God for catastrophes. Because pain is better than emptiness.<br />
<br />
Because God knows my name is Israel too.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-63235741730035663272010-01-13T07:43:00.000-08:002011-01-24T16:29:21.648-08:00resolutions<table><tr> <td><a href="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/worldsdesire.jpg" rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/worldsdesire_th.jpg"></a></td> <td><sub><center><i>'O weary, weary is the world<br />
but here, the world's desire.<br />
but here, the world's desire.'<br />
-A Christmas Song by G.K. Chesterton</center></sub></i><br />
<br />
this was actually a picture for christmas, but I found that it was appropriate for the start of this semester.<br />
<br />
it's easy to act as if the first advent was started and ended long ago. But in reality, it first started this age of expectation.<br />
<br />
if I always remembered, I think I would live in a different way. <br />
<br />
</td> </tr>
</table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-13187643948714854042009-12-07T21:16:00.000-08:002010-04-08T22:36:04.256-07:00invisible<div align="center"><a href="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/rosen2copy.jpg" rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/rosenthumb.jpg"></a></div><br />
it has already started<br />
the conquest of your heart<br />
<br />
all too often i forget.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-15864169571275100862009-10-25T20:41:00.000-07:002010-04-08T22:36:08.875-07:00wait for meACCESS 23.10.09<br />
<br />
whether you exist or not<br />
I'll be waiting<br />
<br />
but more importantly<br />
I'm afraid You will have to be patient with me.<br />
it'll be a while.<br />
<br />
<div align='center'><a href='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/wait.jpg' rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/wait-thumb.jpg' border='2' bordercolor='#000000'></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4844449296087955852.post-71954675274220059432009-10-21T19:00:00.000-07:002010-04-08T22:36:15.384-07:00beginnings<div align="center"><a href="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/majesty-1.png" rel="lytebox[artwork]"><img src="http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g245/eolianstar/blog/majesty.png" border="2" bordercolor="#000000"></a></br></div>a blog of sketches, drabbles, expressions.<br />
<br />
inspired by words, prayers, songs... life.<br />
comments disabled because <s>I get too self-conscious</s> it's not about me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com