I'm Back

School's out, I have returned to full time work, and I successfully completed the 4 months of MoTab training school. All this means that I have returned to a less frantic existence. There was about a month in there when it seemed like I was booked solid every day from 6 am through 11 pm. Between writing papers for school and doing homework for choir school and trying to be nice to people at work in between and desperately attempting to make healthy food rather than resorting to burger kings dollar menu every day, I not only haven't had time to write, I haven't had any desire to. Now that I have been recovering for a month I have things to write about again and intend to return to this. I make no promises though, because it seems like its taking me a while even to get this short update posted. Ah well, time will tell. In the meanwhile, please enjoy this poem by John Donne that has become my favorite thing lately.

A HYMN TO CHRIST, AT THE AUTHOR'S LAST
GOING INTO GERMANY.

IN what torn ship so ever I embark,
That ship shall be my emblem of Thy ark ;
What sea soever swallow me, that flood
Shall be to me an emblem of Thy blood ;
Though Thou with clouds of anger do disguise
Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes,
Which, though they turn away sometimes,
They never will despise.

I sacrifice this island unto Thee,
And all whom I love there, and who loved me ;
When I have put our seas 'twixt them and me,
Put thou Thy seas betwixt my sins and Thee.
As the tree's sap doth seek the root below
In winter, in my winter now I go,
Where none but Thee, the eternal root
Of true love, I may know.

Nor Thou nor Thy religion dost control
The amorousness of an harmonious soul ;
But Thou wouldst have that love Thyself ; as Thou
Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now ;
Thou lovest not, till from loving more Thou free
My soul ; Who ever gives, takes liberty ;
Oh, if Thou carest not whom I love,
Alas ! Thou lovest not me.

Seal then this bill of my divorce to all,
On whom those fainter beams of love did fall ;
Marry those loves, which in youth scatter'd be
On fame, wit, hopes—false mistresses—to Thee.
Churches are best for prayer, that have least light ;
To see God only, I go out of sight ;
And to escape stormy days, I choose
An everlasting night.