Solitude

By Lord Byron

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude, 'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.

But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel and to possess,
And roam alone, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued;
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

A beautiful poem, a memorable poem. One that comes to mind from time to time. I pasted it on my last blog too.

Which one are you?

I should be (and am) studying for my last exam that's in less than two hours. But I like this. It was from our lecture on why doctors are predisposed to mental illness and substance abuse. Apparently we have dependent, obsessive personalities.


Found the images online, they're of the same thing. First one looks prettier but you can't read the text.

Med students

Are, in general, marks and exam focussed. Even very reasonable classmates can be fired up and argumentative towards the lecturers at the test review lectures. Indeed, the questions are ambiguous, and there is really not only one single correct answer. But especially in health practice, how important is it to argue about the specific use of words in an exam questioning? Or how important is it, that you recieve an extra mark in your midsemester test, when it's worth like 5% of your total grade. In the end, exams are just a tool, or motivation factor, for us to think through and attempt to grasp these topics.

Last week at "uni". A little sad, and can't believe I won't be returning to this campus to study with this group of classmates. I'm always reluctant to face changes, but this time I feel it's more or less time to move on.

In the name of love

It's amazing how love can be twisted. It's amazing how twisted lust is.

In the name of love, David, the man after God's own heart, committed his greatest sin. He found Bathsheba beautiful, slept with her, and she became pregnant. David tried to cover what he had done by calling Bathsheba's husband back from war, and suggesting he should go home to lie with his wife. When that plan failed, David purposely sent him to the frontline of the battle, so that he would be killed. Then he took Bathsheba and married her. (2 Samuel chapter 11)

David's son Amnon fell in love with his beautiful half sister Tamar. He became "frustrated to the point of illness" that "she was a virgin, and it seemed impossible for him to do anything to her." He pretended to be ill and tricked her to come to him, then grabbed her against her will and slept with her. He then hated her with intense hatred, he hated her more than he had loved her. (2 Samuel chapter 13)

It takes a long and gradual process to see love for what it should be. The world suggests love is about an uncontrollable passion, a thirsting desire and overwhelming emotion. Do we admire a love so great that it will scheme and kill for love without consideration for anyone else? What about a boy and girl who love at first site and can't help but physically express their passion for each other? Unconsciously, are we pleased to see the married woman run away and be reunited with her childhood love? Are these not the heros and heroines we admire in movies, TV dramas and novels? Are these not the lives of our Shakespearean characters Romeo and Juliet, Othello and Desdemona?

In the name of love we sin and accept sin. But feelings and passions should be under the guidance of unselfishness, perserverance, self control and ultimately, holiness. Is that not what distinguishes love and lust?

Travel

Places do not lose their identity, however far one travels. It is the heart that begins to erode over time. - Joanne Harris (Chocolat)

Places begin to blur into each other. Perhaps that's the brain's way of organising memories, by attaching them to those that are already present.

The novelty factor is not there, if you've seen something similar already.

- The houses built on hills, same in Launceston, same in Hobart, same in Auckland and Christchurch.

- A cloud descended below a mountaintop, the same in Japan, the same on the drive away from Picton.

- Bare trees that look like bones without flesh, on the wild roadsides of South Island. The same grim yet beautiful scene in Wilson's prom.

- A lookout from high above, breathtaking the first time, then all the same thereafter. From high above each city: Auckland, Wellington, Sydney, Melbourne, Shanghai, New York... become indistinguishable.

Moving rapidly through each site, you can only appreciate the place's aesthetic value. But a holiday is not about seeing places; rather, slowing down and doing something you don't usually do, take a break, have a walk, enjoy the company of those you're with, sleep in a comfortable hotel room and enjoy the local cuisine. That's my very lazy idea of a great, slow holiday. After all if it's by sight alone, just turn on your TV or flip through a travel booklet.

How difficult to satisfy and ungrateful we are! And having lived with my family day in day out for the last 10 days, I wanted nothing better than to sit back and enjoy a bit of quiet and time to organise what I need to do for uni. But now, I wish for nothing more than to be surrounded with people, because it's awfully quiet, awfully lonely.

Christmas and more

Christmas 2008

It's fascinating how Christmas can be a time when we find it easiest to forget about God.

In buying presents, going to boxing day sales, visiting houses with elaborate and colourful lighting and decorations, attending gatherings, and even taking part in church activities, your mind is filled; there is no longer space for what is unseen, no opportunity to reflect, no time to quieten down and acknowledge God as God.

Our Christmas play this year was, in many ways, flawed and cheesy. Nevertheless, it was an important reminder to us all that Christmas is to celebrate the arrival of Jesus and the work he was about to begin on Earth. The day is not simply a tradition, a festival, a day off work, present giving and card writing time, or family time (although these are all good things to have). And most definitely, Santa, reindeers, elves and snow angels are not the focus of Christmas (although these in themselves are harmless too).

Counting blessings

At church we have an annual thanksgiving night at the end of each year. Indeed if you think hard enough, there are indeed many blessings to thank God for. I won't list them here. But to summarise, the best blessings for the year were hope and joy, whatever the circumstances. This was the song that reminded me of my blessings:

1) Day by day, and with each passing moment,
Strength I find to meet my trials here;
Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment,
I've no cause for worry or for fear.

He, whose heart is kind beyond all measure,
Gives unto each day what He deems best,
Lovingly its part of pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with peace and rest.

2) Every day the Lord Himself is near me,
With a special mercy for each hour;
All my cares He fain would bear and cheer me,
He whose name is Counsellor and Pow'r.

The protection of His child and treasure
Is a charge that on Himself He laid;
"As thy days, thy strength shall be in measure,"
This the pledge to me He made.

3) Help me then, in every tribulation,
So to trust Thy promises, O Lord,
That I lose not faith's sweet consolation,
Offered me within Thy holy Word.

Help me, Lord, when toil and trouble meeting,
E'er to take, as from a father's hand,
One by one, the days, the moments fleeting,
Till with Christ the Lord I stand.

Love: two choices

If you had two choices, would you rather:

1. A passionate, all consuming love like Heathcliff's; dramatic, with times of sweetness, times of bitterness and haunting pain.

OR

2. A selfless, good and constant love, like that of Mr Linton.

Wuthering Heights was one of those books that would sit on my bookshelf for years. I would attempt to read it from time to time, but never made it past the first page. But actually, it was a fascinating and engrossing story. Classics are classics for a reason.

On a side note, why are novels considered academic, and a more wholesome form of entertainment than say, movies and magazines? In the days before television, were these books, full of scandals and drama, not equivalent to today's soap operas?