Saturday, July 26, 2014

Credo in Deum (I Believe in God) (Bilingual: English and Spanish)


English Version

Credo in Deum
(I Believe in God)


The mathematician looking at the world, perhaps the Universe, looks at it mathematically, perhaps geometrically. 
Should he look at it any other way, it might surprise him.
A farmer perhaps looks at the world organically, into its nature and the fertilization process, along with its biological, and geographical natural surroundings; as well as the birds and the bees, and the way of the blossom.

The question may be: what is incomplete, and what is not? Is their view without hypocrisy? Or pretense! Is there a better view?

So, does the mathematician rely on what is already in place? 
Yes, of course he does, or there’d be nothing to calculate.
Now for the farmer, must he not also rely on that which is already in place, beautiful, available to work with, and in blossom; so it would seem so?

In other words, without grass already grown, man would never be able to produce it; nor even its pigmentation.

In essence all that is grown, is what was and is available, it was already in place before the farmer got to it; he is just reproducing.

Now for a third thought on this equation. 
This might be called ‘Reason’ if we want to use the word Philosophy, or ‘Theology’ if that word fits, or ‘Logic’ for common-sense, whatever: 
The scientist will never discover anything by physics that is not already there for the finding.
Why? It would work against its nature!
That is to say: what has been already put in place, is in place to be found.

So what they discover has simply been undiscovered until now, ancient history for God.

Poetic Prose
No: 4488/ 7-25-2014



Versión en Español
Creo en Dios


El matemático mira al mundo, tal vez al universo, matemáticamente, o tal vez geométricamente.
Si él lo viera de otra forma, tal vez lo sorprendería.
Un agricultor tal vez mira al mundo orgánicamente, en su naturaleza y el proceso de fertilización, junto con sus biológicos y geográficos entornos naturales; como también a las aves y las abejas, y la forma del florecimiento.

La pregunta podría ser: ¿Qué está incompleto, y qué no lo está? ¿Su interpretación es sin hipocresía? O ¡farsa! ¿Hay una mejor interpretación?

Entonces, ¿el matemático confía en lo que ya está en su sitio?
Sí, por supuesto que lo hace, o no habría nada que calcular.
Ahora por el agricultor, ¿no debería también confiar él en lo que ya está en su sitio, bonito, disponible para trabajar, y en florecimiento? Así parece esto.

En otras palabras, sin el gras aún sin crecer, el hombre nunca sería capaz de producirlo; ni siquiera su pigmentación.

En esencia todo lo crecido, es lo que estaba y está disponible, ya estaba en su sitio antes que el agricultor lo obtuviera; él sólo lo está reproduciendo.

Ahora por un tercer pensamiento en esta ecuación.
Esto podría llamarse “Razón” si queremos usar la palabra Filosofía, o “Teología” si esa palabra encaja, o “Lógica” por sentido común; lo que sea:
Los científicos nunca descubrirán nada por la física que no estuviera ya  allí para descubrirlo.
¿Por qué? ¡Esto funcionaría contra su naturaleza!
Es decir: lo que ya ha sido puesto en su lugar, está en el lugar a ser encontrado.

Así lo que ellos han descubierto ha estado simplemente velado hasta ahora; para Dios es historia antigua.



scientist


Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Sonnet to a: Minnesota’s Wintery Nights


Sonnet to a:
Minnesota’s Wintery Nights

The winter wind of a Minnesota
Night, is deep; a ghostly haunting presence.
The wind upon the icy lakes, sleek but meek.
Walking into the wind takes perseverance!
Thus, a vast and high spirit, one must keep—
Keep, like a vigil, a night watch of life
Lest the hour come and labor make you sleep;
You need a hidden voice to tell you when.

From hour to hour one goes, converts to numbness,
Before the night ends: patient in half stride.
Beware, within winter’s night, man succumbs:
To winter’s burdensome rudiments, tidings—
This is a Minnesota’s winter mystery:
Where night tells not if life, or death is dream.

No: 4481 (7-21-2014)

Sonnet: Dark Flight over the Ukraine


Sonnet:
Dark Flight over the Ukraine

She falls, she falls, so pitiless unbarred. 
The gates of heaven held her uniquely high,
Where crowns of war, made her assassins unbowed!
In whom the kingdoms of Russia Lie!
Their eyes stare evil, and see afar
Their heat cold and bitter, and they war hard.
Out of the heavens, shot down from her walls
Flight MH-17, over the Ukraine, from Malaysia.

Russia alone, the truly unmerciful
Obama playing the dummy riddle—
The world in a state of bewilderment!...
And three hundred dead, families in a rage.
The grieving to assassins, a futile thing!
On the horizon, a new mystery.

No: 4482 (7-21-2014)

Sonnet: The Skull of Putin


Sonnet:
The Skull of Putin

Outside how small, within how strangely thing!
What demon terror has their paths in there?
What chants of Hell and hates linger within?
Thunder and blast, evil like rats, in there!
Here kept is the gleam of Russia’s past.
Here armies are being tailored, yet to be.
The world on its knees, will never last
Yet, a haunting plea in Putin’s decree.

There will be awful judgments, and God’s might,
To those inquests, and Putin will be led—
On a bed of cold worms, Hell biting mites
Into this room artic cold with no light!
The immortal damned, question here, the dead,
As the devil’s foul weight, falls upon his Head!...

No: 4483 (7-21-2014)

Blank Verse for: Man’s Inhumanity to God



Man’s inhumanity towards Elohim,
How we’ve wounded him is no mirage.
Only to glorify the dream one dreams—
To scorch His immortal beauty of earth;
To kill his animals mercilessly;
Yet to drink his wine, then to exile him:
To the far-off stars, near: oblivion!
Thus comes the sorrowful faces of the saints—
The immortal grief of the seraphim:
Too late to find paths memory traces.

No: 4484 (7-21-2014)

Agony of the Priestess Shamhat



(A Blank Verse for the priestess)


Hear her Semitic moans in the halls and Tombs of
Tartarus; whose eyes have seen the moth-bones
Of kings. Whose mouth has drunk their acrid wine:
Once beheld as the fairest star divine.
She is the moist fungus, algae, the scab—
That clings to the eyelids of Enkidu!
Where low the tombs, high Sumerians lie!
Now but vulture shadows with broken wings.
Tell all: hear the great priestess Shamhat cry:
Her skull stone stricken, staring to the sky…!
No rays of the moon to cross her vast night—
The owl and the sphinx and the gross toad:
Indecipherable leave their mockery,
Endure her ceaseless prowl, imaginings, —
Her cry of kingdoms lost and gods dethroned:
Bear her endless moans in Tartarus’ tombs.

No: 4485 (7-22-2014)

Monday, July 21, 2014

Sonnet: War Lust of the Hun

 Sonnet:
War Lust of the Hun




To the Hun, lust of conquest and fame,
With their monstrous armies and blinded rage:
Not much different to this modern age,
Nor for the cities given to future flame;
For a changing world, we find the heart the same.
Thus, we live with a ruthless heritage.
There is no grace in the wars we rage
And to God Almighty, a deathless shame.

Lo! This is man’s perfidy—that he shows,
Gazing up to God, how far his ego strays, —
From the purpose of love and brotherhood—
Deep and deeper into Tartarus he goes:
Long are his paths, yet with no delay,
Now held by Hell’s taut gates, for brute hood.


No: 4480 (7-20-2014)