A Mental Battle

Three forty in the morning.

I have insomnia tonight from the Snapple teas I drank. But they also gave me the motivation to do some housework. The new reading glasses arrived in yesterday’s mail. I suppose they’re functional enough. Meanwhile the old ones broke. Blogging is not very rewarding right now in terms of getting likes from followers, but it doesn’t mean they’re not reading every post. Obtaining likes can become an addiction for some people. So, I will just keep posting stuff for my own benefit… 

It sucks to be up in the middle of the night, when no one else is awake and it’s dark outside. I know a few people who operate on the assumption that “money makes the world go round.” Their worldview is strictly materialistic, and they see nothing wrong with this. The only power they know of is the dollar sign. Something called to my mind the spiritualism of 19th Century novelists like Dostoevsky, and their mental battle against materialism rising in their culture. How important is it for people to acknowledge some kind of spiritual life? How blind are the ones who don’t? “Read it to be wise, believe it to be safe, and practice it to be holy.” Sometimes the wonder goes completely out of my life, and then I know there’s trouble. Karamazov is a brilliant book, so I think I’ll go back and revisit the opening sections. Or, I can keep struggling with Victor Hugo… Another thought is that the university I went to was really geared towards materialism, with some exceptions. This was the indoctrination I received. But you can always get another indoctrination. 

Dog Star

The night transfigures me, my cattle dog,

And fearing not to jot down sorry verse,

The words could be a blessing or a curse,

I enter anyway a kind of log.

The day was long with nothing more to do

Than eat or sleep away the sunny hours

Forgetting quite how everything that sours

Must also hold the key to enter through

A gate to starry dreamland, Milky Way

Light years ago but just arriving now

The farthest sapphire pinprick tells us how

The universe was made dividing day

From nighttime. Silly cattle dog, you munch

Your kibbles, never quizzical enough

To raise your eyes above the earthly rough

And ponder the Creator’s dazzled hunch.