May 1, 2009


"Your own religion, after all, says that the devils are fallen angels."
"You are saying precisely the opposite, as far as I can make out- that angels are devils who've risen in the world."
"It comes to the same thing," said Weston

No, Weston, there is a difference. We fall, we diminish. What we have, we lose. That fact underpins so much... Molecules-to-man evolution claims that we can increase, grow into perfection. Even- that man can create heaven on earth. But never has science supported this. Over time, genetic information is lost, not gained. Recessive genes die out. Species go extinct. Royalty who marry their own relatives are sickly.

To survive, we need a bottomless source for information, something outside of ourselves. To be alive, we need infinity.

By ourselves, we have nothing. We're vessels only capable of speaking and sharing what has already been poured into us. The ideas and understanding of this world is finite. (Or, if there's anything about us that's infinite, it's our tendency to stray from right. Perhaps there's an infinite amount of the absence of God.) How easy it is to go around in circles like a broken record, set on play but always covering the same ground. Again and again and again. Dead, empty, meaningless.

Never new, always the same.
I am a sham, an emotionless name
This life is repetition, a foolish game
Originality is an impossible aim.

But God! is infinite. He never ends. He inspires us, he gives us knowledge. No, not knowledge only- wisdom. Truth. Again and again and again we can learn, soak in his word, and it means something every time. It is new. It is original. No, those are silly words when the one I need is right within reach- it is True.

This deadness that I experience, when words mean nothing, reminds me that words are only meaningful when they are guided by the hand of the Author. Just as devils can't rise, or humans can't produce new genetic information, we can't create meaning.

But meaning I need, desperately. It's as if the little amount of truth I have isn't enough to sustain me.

Sure, I sing in praise of truth and ideas
but it feels empty, hollow, stupid.
Nothing matters. I won't come alive
Until there's something more to reach for

My longing for newness is a longing for God. The staleness I feel at the pointlessness of everything is an absence of meaning, an absence of God.

Infinity, come!
I'm in circles
waiting for you
I need an escape
from this

Infinity has come. He is here. And I rejoice.