Fallout from Hate

Tears drip from closed eyes that shelter the soul from the sight of tragedy,
a resistance to the ugly side of truth.

The blood stained rubble is the silent witness in the telling of the unbearable events that had unfolded in this fallout of hate.

Jesus is still weeping.

Words, Ideas, and Imagination

  Although words are commonly and repeatedly used to express ideas, I wonder which precedes the other. A radio program I heard over a year ago about this established residence in my mind and occasionally becomes loosened, stirring the enigma like sediment from the bottom of moving water or objects swirled into debris by the wind. I can't recall whether mention was made of the opening sentence in the Holy Bible, but its mystical profundity endures: "In the beginning there was the word and the word was God."  It's a fascinating proposition to say the least, and reaffirms my belief that words should be used as precisely and carefully as possible.

  If words activate ideas, then what about the imagination? Is imagination a gestation of ideas?  If so, my visualization imbues spores diffused in a medium or spermatozoa racing in their trajectory, a whisking not conducive to the formulation of words.  In this frame, are words even necessary?
 Perhaps asking a musician or following lines and brush strokes on a canvas can answer that.

Anton Chekhov

  In reading the opening chapters of Henri Toyat's biography of Anton Chekhov, I am impressed by the love and dedication he held for his family. Anton became the adult in the room, despite his father's religious fervor in administering harsh, disciplinary rituals entrenched in the framework of Russian Orthodoxy without Christianity's loving spirit. It was Antosha's refined sensibilities, reasoning, and living by example that emanated an instilled religion and morality that filled the void and won the admiration of his siblings and mother who would turn to him for problem-solving (mostly money matters). This led to his ascendance as leader of the Chekhov clan, eventually winning his father's approval late in Anton's life. This came about once the merits of his studious pursuit of becoming a medical doctor and his literary proliferation enabling the family to acquire an estate on the outskirts of Moscow. Anton walked the walk he talked, unlike Pavel, his father.