Today is Friday. I have spent much of this week blogging about things that make my head hurt. Some of it has been here. Some has been at other sites. So, in celebration of the day, and the current lack of cornfuzzlement, I offer to you these brief passage of literary foolery.
From Troll, A Love Story:
If the Lord willn't grant my will,and this...
And lets me be alone,
Then grant me thou my will,
Old man behind the hill,
Old man behind the stone!
"Ive no idea what kind of food to give a changeling," she told her husband. "It won't eat anything I put in front of it."Troll is an odd little book, but I very much enjoyed reading it. It is a modern fairie tale...very cool.
"Well, that's no surprise, is it?" he said. "Haven't you heard? Trolls don't eat anything but frogs and mice."
"But surely you're not going to ask me to go fishing in the pond for frogs?"
"Of course not. Best let it die of hunger."
From A Pilgrim's Journey, The Autobiography of Ignatius of Loyola:
His condition grew much worse; he was unable to eat and, in addition, he had the usual signs indicating the approach of death. On St. John's feast the physicians, not expecting him to pull through, advised him to make his confession. He received the sacraments, and on the vigil of the feast of Saints Peter and Paul the physicians informed him that if he did not feel better by midnight, he could count himself a dead man. Now, the sick man was devoted to Saint Peter, and our Lord thus desired that his recovery begin that very midnight. His improvement progressed so well that after a few days he was pronounced to be out of danger of death.I love stories of the earliest instances of CPE gone haywire...and yet the Spirit moves none the less. Heh. Finally, here is some stuff by Michel Quoist. He's a French poet and religious writer. I think he writes some of the best prayers around. I only wish I could read the original French and not the translation.
The SubwayY'all have a great day. I'll be Trish's sub at the church again. Copying. Copying. Copying. Posted by tripp at July 16, 2004 06:52 AMThe last one squeezes in.
The door rolls shut.
The subway rumbles off.
I can't move;
I am no longer an individual but a crowd,
A crowd that moves in one piece like jellied soup in its can.A nameless and indifferent crowd, probably far from you, Lord.
I am one with the crowd, and I see what it is sometimes hard for me to rise higher.
This crowd is heavy - leaden soles on my feet, my slow feet - a crowd too large for this overburdened skiff.
Yet, Lord, I have no right to overburden these people; they are my brothers,
And I cannot save myself alone.Lord, since you wish it, I shall head for heaven "in the subway."