By the Light of the Moon

Today is April 14, which Hyperion has named International Lift a 40 to your Homies Day. Tomorrow is April 15, known in some circles as International Push a Button Day, and Sunday is April 16, sometimes known as Easter, but even more well-known as International Munchausen Day. Make sure you celebrate all of the days, and leave a comment on mine so Egan will quit making fun of me.


Today is also my fourth time participating in the Carnival of the Mundane. To those who might be visiting because of that, sorry about the mess (we just moved in). For my regulars, you're going to want to take a look at my entry: By the Light of the Moon. It just might get you into heaven one day.


I planned on having two more things this morning, a column on the nature of Jesus (that Lady Jane Scarlett talked me into), and this poem I did a voice recording of, about the cross (and written from the tree's perspective). It was majorly sweet.

Sadly, there was another family hospital visit last night, which pretty much threw out working on a column, and though I recorded the poem six different times, Blogger decided to hate. Oh Blogger, Blogger: why hast thous forsaken me?

[Some might note the incongruity of recording a poem about the cross and my flippant blasphemy, but hey: I gotta be me.]

I still may get the audio issues worked out and post again this weekend. If not, there's always Monkey Barn, and to quell those who were looking forward to a poem, I have a small part of it for you. The poem is called "The Dream of the Rood," and this portion is engraved on teh Ruthwell Cross in the British Isles:

The Ruthwell Cross crucifixion poem

The Ruthwell Cross
God almighty stripped himself,
when he wished to climb the cross
bold before all men.
to bow I dared not,
but had to stand firm

I held high the great King,
heaven's Lord. I dared not bend.
Men mocked us both together.
I was slick with blood
sprung from the man's side.

Christ was on the cross.
But then quick ones came from afar,
nobles, all together. I beheld it all.
I was hard hit with grief; I bowed to warriors' hands.

Wounded with spears,
they laid him, limb-weary.
At his body's head they stood.
There they looked to heaven's Lord.

If you want to read the whole thing, feel free to take a look.

If I don't get back this weekend, have a great time with family, friends, God, or Papa Smurf.

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