Mending Wall

Robert Frost, from North of Boston, 1914

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'

In Memoriam - Ode to a Numerical Chamber

September 2004 to September 2007

I devote this entry to the loss of a very faithful gadget, one that's been dependable through rain, hail, snow and dust, through siberian winter to australian summer, to steamy laotian villages in the monsoon, frosty mongolian nights with frozen fingers to the confusion of a barcelona fishmarket, from the great sanctuaries of gothic cathedrals to the open expanse of the pacific on a sail boat.

You have captured moments of joy, mundanity, life, the sacred, the sad; taken comets in glory, mighty constellations, delicate flowers, insects in love, galloping herds of deer, eagles in flight, pods of humpback whales in migration, crackle of great fires. Preserved for time the fickleness of emotions, the journal of travel, marking of births, documented relationships, music and dance and art in motion. Through your humble lenses you have sought to recreate vast deserts, the drama of the wilderness, magic of nacreous clouds, the intimacy of candle light. Friendships, rest, tests and risks. You have been dropped, lost, found, relost and refound; seen some of the best musicians from around the world, taken some astounding cuisine, captured humanity's finest art, and the most fabulous gems in the world. You were a personification of the faithful testifying witness, without bias, without qualms.

Yet now you are silent, alone, misplaced. You reside removed from my influence, lost in the bowels of international flight and schedule. Aloof, your lenses are silent, the apertures no longer obey, the pixels no longer fire. You are gone, faithful scribe. Fare you well. May you one day find your way back, in all mystery...!

You will join my list of stuff to ask God in heaven... along with other missing items/persons that have sometimes kept me awake in the quiet hours. Like whatever happend to my black notebook that I passed around in JC2 or that missing tape recording of the Tolkien poems or that kid on the street in Ulaan Bataar. I believe CS Lewis had some theology/philosophy about such things as you, that somehow you might be restored to me in heaven (even faithful dogs), by virtue that you form an extension of who I might be.

Its been 5 weeks

(jm in post-modern fractured scattered thoughts)

Its been 5 weeks, in 6 cities, thru 7 flights (go figure), 2 conferences,1 gig, and a gadzillion appointments, unexpected and otherwise - an honour. (andrew ong, dawn fung, andrew yu, kh, terence, ck, joel, paul, eva, sueann, lindy cheong, eliza, rudy, sheryl, lennie, audrey, jeff, tammy, judy, vincent, kiong, qy, dawn, jo chia, ps marg, mark yah, yyh, auntie dawn, poi, hsiapin, clement gandon, yixin, sam teo, fang seng, kevin, josh, jacq, merv john, uncle tham, jershillabeletheanna, xl+wj, jyeleanornathan, jhjames, jeanette, bro pat, ives, anna, seow, lam, goon, merv, jinyu, adder, charlene)

Something in that is exhilarating, tiring and fun. But what needs tuning is figuring out what needs relating vs what's nice to dabble. Too many pics, too many faces; i need some space.

to babble, to chill, to process, to hear myself think once again.

An Unexpected Sentiment

Sukkot 2007

Its strange, this coming and going, of meetings and farewells, of being present and absernt all at once. Familiarity interposed with uncertainty; songs of silence, tears of joy, grace that's earned. Friends and strangers all rolled into one continuum. The face of Jesus in all we see, the mind of Christ leading us.

How is it that althought I'm "at home", I feel increasingly less at home? This gnawing feeling of increasing unbelonged-ness points things squarely home to the heart. I grow, we grow, I move, we move on, lives lived. We have all changed. But furthermore, cynicism and crustiness creep inevitably into our hearts and the crevices of our minds. How much is growth, and how much is a numbed heart? Why the longing for belonging, why standing to be understood?

Lives interconnected, intertwined, of unexpected serendipities, chance meetings and divine appointments. What does it mean? Do these things that fall into place have a greater design, a higher wisdom? Do I meet you out of obligation, chance or ordination, and what are the implications for each? What is the process for earning your wings?

There is something in this mirage, something waiting to be learnt. The breeze begins to blow, I know the Spirit's call. And it melts, it melts into his love.

Oh I Want To Know You More
Steve Fry

Just the time I feel that I’ve been caught in the mire of self.
Just the time I feel my mind’s been bought by worldly wealth.
That’s when the breeze begins to blow I know the Spirit’s call.
And all the worldly wanderings just melt into His love.

Oh I want to know You more. Deep within my soul I want to know You.
Oh I want to know You;
To feel Your heart and know Your mind, looking in Your eyes stirs up within me,
Cries that say I want to know You,
Oh I want to know You more, Oh I want to know You more.

When my daily needs ordinarily loses life and song.
My heart begins to bleed: sensitivity to Him is gone.
I’ve run the race but set my pace and face a shattered soul.
But the gentle arms of Jesus warm my hunger to be whole.

Oh I want to know You more. Deep within my soul I want to know You.
Oh I want to know You;
And I would give my final breath, to know You in Your death and resurrection
Cries that say I want to know You,
Oh I want to know You more, Oh I want to know You more.