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I came across this through a Facebook friend, and before I comment too much, I would like to see other people’s thoughts.

http://www.tangle.com/view_video?viewkey=cd1bcb78815ab6ac20b4&utm_source=newsletter0804&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=weeklytopvideos

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Yes, I clicked on a link that took me to a site claiming an indisputable proof for “intelligent design” — one that can’t be “solved” based on the argument

DNA is a Code + Codes require authors = Life was created consciously, not by natural process

It took my brain cells less than 0.2 seconds to solve the riddle and refute the argument as utterly fallacious.  Maybe it’s because I’m not an atheist?  Or is it because the argument is based in mal-formed semantics about the term “code” misunderstood as an a priori reality versus an applied concept with a definition more limited than its reality?

Honestly, I wont even waste typing the link to their website, and I curbed the urge to post on their forum, since I doubt it wouldn’t go over their heads and be the one accused of semantic manipulation.  But if anyone wants to go the 0.2 seconds in the ring with me on this, I’ll gladly explain the error is as simple detail as possible.

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It never amazes me how deep the roots are of our personal values.  But unlike those who would rather be totally self-deterministic in some false sense of empowerment for its own sake, I would rather embrace them as consistent personality strengths and weaknesses I can make the best of.

Why bring this up?  I asked my Dad the other day what kind of advice Grandpa gave him over the years.  There were two things that came to mind: “If you can’t do it right, don’t do it at all” and “Do the hardest part of anything first.”

It was amusing (but no surprise) that I recall attempting to instill these tidbits (the former in particular) in Christina.  I don’t know if it took … time will tell.  But I can see why I insist on doing things right, not just adequately.  Sometimes I take it too far and need to be gentle with myself, but other times it means that when I can’t do something what I think is a truly good job, it’s still far better than the other guy would have done it.

And I can live with that.  Thanks Dad.  Thanks Grandpa.

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I just read an alumni newsletter article – or rather tried to read it in its entirety — about the new statue of Saint Marguerite D’Youville at my Alma Mater.  It’s a long-winded litany of interpretive assumptions about the artist’s intentions linked to vague ideals, right down to the significance of how far apart the saint’s feet are in light of historical and metaphysical perspectives.  Their wording suggests the were even guessing (not knowing) why there was a key lying on the ground embedded in the pedestal.  They may have well been talking about a tree and why God made one branch longer than the other.  Yeah, this article was all fun from an academic standpoint, an admittedly well-done exercise in written oratory, and apropos as filler for a newsletter.

But what of the statue in the real world that others passing by would see for themselves, unaided by such commentary?

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Ben Maryniak, author and historian, was given a service at his grave-site last weekend at Forest Lawn Cemetery (near President Fillmore’s plot).  A small regiment of Union soldiers has a three-gun salute (louder than I expected), there were period musicians, “Taps” bugled, and women in hooped dresses.  Even a re-enactor of Lincoln showed, as well as re-enactors from the Confederate side of things — he was the man behind the whole Civil War Round Table for the area.

He re-enacted as a Union chaplain (an actual person also buried at that cemetery), and co-authored two books on the subject.  I’ve read the first one a while back and didn’t get to the second yet.  But I always sensed he felt inside he should have been a “man of the cloth” and in his own way, I reckon he was.

Another man I wish I could have known better.  Rest in Peace, friend.

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http://vimeo.com/4825838

I finally got to this.  I wish the people I love could have known him.  He can be seen on video at http://weblogs.hollanddoc.nl/magikdood/2009/03/28/moge-de-zon-je-paraplu-zijn/.

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I just did some baseboard priming where the fishtank will end up being.  Funny really … I was thinking I had to go back to Home Depot to buy some painter’s tape, but after I started without it, I remembered I don’t need it — I’ve got some degree of kung-fu in house painting, after all.  I don’t even need to wear painting clothes … though having them on is more forgiving if I need to wipe off something, and it makes my wife less nervous about ruining good clothes.

So why do I blog about such things and not others?  I neglected a few relatively less “trivial” things, such as the death of a friend, but then again, I’m setting up a video eulogy for that.

Anyway, the last several days seem to have brought out a list of people — some of whom I hardly know — talking to me about deep spiritual questions.  I’m learningthat there are many people like me out there who are … isolated, I suppose the term would be … with no one to really talk to about such things.  More hints of my calling I hope to achieve coming up shortly.

And that’s something I should probably have blogged about already …

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We rented The Golden Compassthe other night, as we heard it was good.  We also wanted to see what all the anti-theistic controversy was all about.  Sorry, just didn’t see it.  The Magisterium logo sort of had a stylized cross in it, though, and it was very much about monopolizing ‘popular truth’ reminiscent of the middle ages conflict between church and science.  Hardly some anti-Christian film, though, and a pretty good watch.

Shyamalan’s The Happening on the other hand … just wasn’t happening.

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I’ve finally taken the time to get back to my journal here, as today I walked from our old home to our new home. We officially moved two weeks ago, but now we are settled in for the most part. Merry dropped me off at Fisher Park, I surveyed the land, and Koala in backpack (along with some water, a Gideon Bible, and a copy of “The Long Journey Home“), I twirled my prayer wheel for the nearly two hour journey.

I met Merry walking Ladybug, and we crossed the threshold as if for the first time. We had our first sit-down dinner together — chicken (my favourite) — right after I put up the PaKua over the door. We never did have a house blessing or smudging, as the house seemed to welcome us, eager to be lived in. We may do so anyway, but not to exorcise past memories or lingerings. Roman came over and I ended the day by setting up my scripture stand in my office and taking a sponge bath, as the shower isn’t fixed yet.

A lot has happened over the last month or two, and getting the house and moving in is a story for another time. perhaps soon.

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I actually have a list of the most beautiful songs ever written, which includes Greensleeves, Pie Jesu, Chuaigh Me ‘na Rosann, and Shalom Aleichem.

Here is a truly moving version of the last one … http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfdUG5ht4Xk.

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I decided to join a group on Facebook.com today: “We’re not Crazy, We’re just Catholic”

Using Buddy Jesus as their icon, their main page starts with reasons why people think we’re crazy, including …

• Whenever anyone in Star Wars saga says “May the Force Be With You”, we get the urge to say “And Also With You”
• Pope Benedict XVI scares you. Badly.
• “Offer it up!” = “Quit bitching!”
• We actually get all the jokes in Dogma.
• We really like statues. A lot.

If you’re on Facebook, look me up!  I really need to add some pics, though.

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Today I rescheduled my Tai Chi class to be able to go to a BNI meeting in Dunkirk / Fredonia.  Half-asleep at the wheel and in the dark, I used the EZ-Pass lane by mistake and now have to wait for a violation notice to resolve it.  However, it was a good meeting and I got to stop at St. Hedwig’s Cemetery as well as drive by a few nostalgic spots.  I even had pleasant conversations with the grounds-keeper and an engineer hired by the city to evaluate the sea wall near Wright Park.

Then I went to the “Red Mass” as an associate of the WNYPA.  I had never been to one before, and it was a simple mass with the Bishop and many other celebrants including Msgr. Slubecky.  It was a shorter mass than expected, but I’m glad I was nearly a half hour “early” as it started at Noon instead of the 12:30 notice I received.

The annoying thing is that I was going to save a couple bucks by parking far away (a $3 lot), then decided to put $2 in a meter (2 hours worth), somewhat equally far away.  On the way walking, I checked the time and realized that if the mass was long I would risk getting a ticket, again based on my thinking mass was half past.  Sensing it was one of those days, I wrote off the 8 quarters (which I could have used I’m sure) and went to the cheap lot anyway.  In retrospect, I could have parked at the Cathedral for about the same total cost.

At first I thought it was God’s way of telling me I needed exercise, but then realized it was more the Spirit’s way of reminding me that I’m not in control of life and shouldn’t pretend otherwise.  Why else would I be smacked around so much trying to assert my best judgment onto the universe around me?  I’m currently doing a Novena and that is always a lesson that comes up … it’s hard for me to let go and let God, so to speak.  I depend on planning and intellect and leave God’s influence out of my plan without realizing it, then get frustrated with things are clearly out of my control even when I should know better.

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My daughter will be playing a stripper-or-something-or-other as one of the lead players in Godspell this Fall.  I think I liked it better when she was a nun in Sound of Music, but it’s a step up from being a horse in Man of La Mancha, I suppose.

I didn’t know what to do for my usual 1/2 page ad in the program, which combines my business with a personal note.  Here is one of the ideas I DIDN’T go with:

Subtitles considered: “If Jesus had a website … we would build it” and “We sponsor anything!”  My wife loved it, but it just seemed a bit too irreverent, even for someone like me who knows God has a sense of humor.

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http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid463869411/bclid463916082/bctid416343938

I watched the whole video and was impressed.  He was very artful in being open-minded about different sides of issues, showed philosophical insight into ethics and theology in a pluralistic society, and regardless of his personal stances has shown himself to be worthy of intellectual respect.  You can even tell that he differentiates between the partisan stereotypes and their noble individual and collective intentions.  And that in my opinion makes him the opposite of most politicians, especially those who blatantly drive rhetoric before content to placate yet have no interest in honest persuasion or dialogue.

I’m seriously thinking of registering Democrat just to vote for him in the primary.

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Today I went tanking down in Ohio.  It was a typical Samadhi isolation tank and I spent an hour in it.  The only way I could describe floating in Epsom salt water would be … well … floating in Epsom salt water.  I think everyone should try it once and see if they like it, but I wont be buying my own anytime soon..

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Our organist and choirmaster, Jean Touhy, got a rewarding job offer to work at a church in Chicago.  Since 2001, she worked with Merry and I as part of the “small group choir” we called The Schola Cantorum.  Our last singing mass was 10am on Sunday, and we had a last get-together party at Kurt’s house (a tenor) two weeks ago.

The music ministry is up in the air right now, but we will likely miss the likes of Gumpelzhaimer, Tallis, Proulx, and Gregorian Chant.  At least I got a few recordings of it using my camera.  I always wanted my Dad to hear how we sounded.  When I can filter out the video and make some MP3s, I may post them here.

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I grew up with a statue of the Infant of Prague on my nightstand, which when we moved to where we live now was placed on my daughter’s nightstand.  It was a little worn these last few years … a nick here, a chip there, and the loosely placed crown (on top the moulded crown that was part of the stature itself) made from palm leaves is missing in action, though maybe in a box or drawer somewhere.

But yesterday, while I slept in my daughter’s room (which I do sometimes, with her being at her mom’s and our bedroom too hot to comfortably sleep for my taste), I heard a crash.  In the morning I found it mostly intact, but with a chunk slit off of the crown.  The cross on top was mostly gone, and fingers were missing.

I decided to bury it that evening near where Merry keeps her flower pots and tomato plant next to the building, near the fire pit and bench.  It seemed discomforting to Merry to bury it, and yet she agreed it was the most approriate thing to do.

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I got a call today from an old friend, who asked me to talk to their daughter.  She wanted to know how to “find herself” and I was the person who came to mind to answer such a thing.  It caught me off guard at first, and I floundered around about superficial personality assessments and values inventories, but her question was deep-seated.  The matter was spiritual.  She wanted the real thing. 

So I gave it to her.  The question of who is asking.  Personae as separate from self.  The limitations of the senses, language, and thought.  Empiricism, Conceptualization, Mysticism.  Meditation and being.  Perfection through action without trying.  The density of the soul.  The finger pointing to the moon.  The reflection of self even after the mirror of perception is put away.  We talked about many things in a short span.  And she understood it.

I was her age when I discovered such things — she just turned 13 — and I’ve shared pieces of my path with a few people over the years.  But it was MY path, suitable for an introvert.  The way to God through knowledge.  And so it leaves me wonder if I wrote a book on “the talk” what kind of reception and scale of readership it would have.  It is not possible to write anything original on the subject — the truth is everywhere imaginable and in every language and epoch — but perhaps its time for a fresh messenger.  What could it hurt?

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Reading all the confrontational (read “nasty”) posts on a news group I frequent, I became aware of a strange feeling when meditating upon the people there.  Some of these people could be described by bystanders as they describe each other: dysfunctional, hateful, mentally challenged, and the list goes on.  They can be mean, polite, vengeful, arrogant, questioning, hurt, frustrated, thoughtful, closed-minded — a wide array of human experience.

But I cherish each one of them for who they are.  No I don’t want to hang out with all but a couple of them, and don’t trust a few not to do me harm if it suits them and they have the chance.  But I have a strange sense of Love for them as God Loves, evil words and baggage and all — even the ones who disrespect me personally.  But what I find most interesting about real compassion is that it is NOT pity.  That’s just another judgment and the opposite of compassion.  It’s a mechanism to justify condescension outward and/or inward.  It’s about acceptance.  Not APPROVAL mind you, but seeing people are just where they are.

I still will make judgment calls about how to deal with them based on what I believe about them — That is wise discernment, not judgment.  And keeping such compassion separates one from the karma of such relationships: Involvement without attachment to one’s perceptions of others’ identities, words, and actions.