Dream Journal: Entry 1

I’m in a raft, floating.

I find myself, soon, fighting.

I don’t know who started it

Me or them.

Children start fighting me.

It gets more violent.

They draw knives and box cutters,

And letter openers.

I can feel the razors cut.

I fight.

I find myself losing.

Soon I enlist the help of my nethinim.

They—the nethinim—turn into pigs

Dressed in the wrong gender’s clothing.

Pigs are symbols of prosperity.

Pain is a symbol of danger.

Children represent the next generation.

A log flume—quite extravagant,

Brightly colored;— very interesting

How it splits. It turns into less like a log flume

Built into a tunnel into a laboratory or school like

Environment.

My uncle calls me an idiot.

Pigs symbolize prosperity; at least, filth.

My nethinim turning into pigs, might be my latent fear of success.

The children turning them into pigs, might be my latent fear

Of no one understanding my stories

Or making them mean something different than what they are intended to mean.

The Peter Pan thing has been bothering me recently,

For some reason… that maybe I don’t believe people would

Interpret my stories correctly.

Maybe they would make them filthy, cross dressing pigs;

I have been fantasizing about an Anime concept of turning

Great Anime Characters into Nethanim… it has been entertained a lot.

Yet, the danger arises of people misunderstanding the purpose of

The Nethanim, not as actual warriors

But kind of like they would view Goku

Or Saitama, kind of like that

Which is not what a Nethanim is intended for.

They are intended to be metaphors to overcome.

Overcome what? The bombardment of bad ideas

We inevitably must figure out.

Generally, they fight a lot of Nietzsche.

I am afraid of people using them,

Maybe, inapproriately

And double that, the people making them

Just another fantasy creature.

The Nethinim is the one singing the song.

They are singing the song in order to align

Their thoughts right. I have resistance

Saying it’s for Christ…

Though, I want it to be.

I think, generally speaking,

The Nethinim are there to overcome

Nihilism, drive away our demons

Drive away our evil thoughts,

But they turn into pigs;

Not just pigs, but like flesh demons

Or pigs. I think that maybe

Offering them to the public

Would be a hard step

Because the public would misuse them

And I’m fighting an intellectual battle,

And perhaps I have chosen something personal for me.

I don’t know if a Nethinim should be used

As a fantasy creature, like a Vampire or Warewolf.

I think the metaphysical nature of them

Prohibits their use as a simple creature like a Hobbit.

They are guardians of the mind,

Not guardians of the flesh.

I’m afraid of, perhaps

Creating a real world object

When I mean to only create a mental object

One to purify the thought processes.

And I might be afraid if they are misused,

The device will function wrong

And drive the mind into more demons

Not less.

As in I fear the delusitory nature of the Nethanim

To override the metaphorical significance of what they mean.

As, their nature is to wrestle with the truth.

It’s not necessarily about Christ…

I know that sounds weird coming from a Christian

But they are not merely Christian objects.

They can’t be, because there are strifes in all religions

Which the Nethinim, it doesn’t seem, can help.

It might be fear of them becoming a religious object

Or sacred, rather than to just function as they appear to be meant for

Which is a mental guardian against the real world

Ideas that we ultimately must face as intellectuals.

Nethinim cannot be mere characters.

They are simply the mind’s device

Into the realm of the subconscious battles

To draw out the demonic influences—

Namely, the shadows in our dreams

Which have no corporeal existence—

Those latent fears of the Shadow Self

Overcoming the conscious.

They are there to battle

And perhaps I have a fear of them becoming

Profaned for their being misunderstood

By the inherent refusal of the children

We’re bringing up in schools

To accept a meaning…

Rather they are prone to invent a meaning

When the meaning is clear,

Or they turn to meanings that are less difficult

To a story of “Who is stronger.”

It’s been my rumination that a Nethinim is stronger

Because they do not do battle with the ink

On an anime, they do battle with the mind’s interpretation of the anime

And if they are not used for this, they are inherently not being used correctly

Therefore, the beauty of the Nethanim could be turned into foul swine.

I find angst when I’m lying to myself,

And peace when I interpret the dream correctly.

As a final note, I’m probably afraid of losing my mind.

I see my family is angry at me for chasing after this dream

And I am beginning to believe myself an idiot

Because I don’t believe the metaphors can be understood.

Because I’m being called an idiot

For—as a personal note—striving for the best

In my product. My uncle came to dinner

Ate some of my scalloped potatoes,

Which were good—the whole batch was eaten.

But I was displeased with them.

Why this story is attached to my Uncle saying I’m an idiot…

I can only say it’s not that I think he believes my cooking is good

In other words, my writing. There is temptation to say that

But the emotional significance of the metaphor is that

He believes I’m an idiot, probably for my treatment of the subject

Being that I pursue my craft to an incomprehensible

Level; I go beyond what is right there before him—

What I latently knew he was satisfied with

And I go into a realm of taking what is already gourmet

To a level beyond it.

This might be the reason why Goku appears in my dreams a lot;

Often going Super Saiyan out to the god level now…

Which is fiercely negative in my mind.

I might believe I’m going to far with my craft

Into a realm of “godhood” which is not right for man.

Let it be clear, I’m not calling myself a god.

I believe I’m simply questioning the practice

Of going beyond what was already gourmet.

Being called an idiot for it—

With my Uncle’s bluntness—

Is probably the reason why I have started writing

Nature poetry with simple metaphors today.

Plagiarism Defined

My stories are mine.

They are no one else’s.

Brittos fights Medea;

And he fights Thor.

He fights the Grea.

These battles are not mine.

For a hundred battles

I hope Brittos has with Medea

Thor and the Grea.

In Haiku,

Iambic Pentameter,

Tetrameter,

Trisyllables,

Hexameter,

Free Verse

Blank Verse,

Trochees

Spondees

Villanelles,

Canzones,

What distinguishes my work

When the story is borrowed from someone else?

Wordings, feet

Themes, morals,

Ideas, notions, metaphors

Similes, idiosyncrasies,

Nuanced meanings,

Diction,

An Ethos,

Schemas,

Scholarship and Research,

My own life story.

For truth,

What distinguishes my writing

Is my spin on the story.

The Fifth Angel’s Trumpet

What makes it mine?

Capitol City

Freelander Civilization

Marc and Erin

The histories,

The civilizations,

The words,

The speech,

The colloquial

The themes,

The elements.

Plagiarism is when you take

Some of this

And then add your own.

When you take Freelander Civilization

And make it so I can’t eat.

When you take Brittos

And make his story inferior

Just so you can make a dime.

My story of Brittos is mine.

Brittos is not mine.

Medea is not mine.

Nuclear War, Underground Cities

Zombie Apocalypses

Utilitarianism, World Wars

Russian and Chinese conflicts

These are not mine.

These are simply archetypes.

These are stories latent in the cloud

Of Platonic Forms;

Why Plato despised them,

Yet they are his best proof.

But, at the end of the day

Plagiarism is when you make it so

An author cannot eat

Because you took what was his

And made it better.

When you took what was his

And made it more appealing.

When you took what was his

And made it your own.

Plagiarism is when you will

Throw an author in the prison of poverty

Without giving him the credit he deserves

Because someone else had better timing.

Medea sounds like “Media”.

Therefore, a metaphor about it is not mine.

But, what is mine are my words;

And to take from them, or add to them

Would be like putting The Book of Enoch

Into the Bible. It is without a doubt

Abhorrent because it is not God’s story,

The book of Enoch.

We have a council at Nicaea

To determine what goes into our God’s story

And believe these divinely inspired prophets

Sat and determined what was to be in there.

What is not in there, it doesn’t belong.

As much as you don’t take a story

And call it God’s Holy Divine writ

You don’t take what is another Author’s

And claim it is yours.

It does not mean you can’t write a psalm.

It does not mean you can’t write a tall tale.

It does not mean you cannot write 100 tall tales.

Because John Henry can only be done so many ways;

Paul Bunyan can be made a metaphor

For the Preacher’s Man famous for cutting down trees;—

This is something people can come to on their own.

But when you see my work

And meddle with it,

And make it your own—

I don’t mean borrow from some of its ideas;

Heaven knows that’s the craft of writing:

The Fifth Angel’s Trumpet borrowed from Starship Troopers

It borrowed from my High School Econ and Government class

It borrowed from my history class

It borrowed from conspiracy theories

It borrowed from science class

It borrowed from child’s play

It borrowed from a lot of elements—

But it is none of these things.

My child’s play did not develop a civilization.

My science class did not invent a skiff.

My history class did not have three additional World Wars.

My Economy and Government class Did not lay down the foundation of Freelander Civilization;

Alex Jones did not invent conspiracy theories,

Starship Troopers was not a movie chronicling a civilization.

With Brittos,

It was all elements latent in the air.

Television, lusts for the good life, nightmares

Monarchies, Britto founding England,

Greas personifying the sea,

Idolatry, the Hortus Conclusus

Desiring love,

Overcoming the world’s desire

For a humble existence…

Not much is beyond the scope of what is common archetype

Or the prevailing truths seen…

They guide the hand of this author

Therefore it is the words, the style

The meters, the rhymes.

The feet, the Iambs, the trochees,

The Third Rhymes, the punching sixth lines

The actual wordings. Those are mine.

I cannot claim ownership of the story

Though it is slightly original.

Brittos fights the Sea,

But being the founder of Great Brittain

What else would Brittos fight?

The Grea has no description in Bulfinch’s Mythology

Just a slight notion that it is a personification of the Sea:

What do I do? The founder of Britain must fight the sea.

And fight he does, but the sea is within…

And the Mighty Men of David

Slay 100 men with spear.

What is external in the Old Covenant

Is internal in the New.

The external life in the Old Covenant

Is the internal life in the new.

I cannot claim ownership over that.

It is there, and if I did I’d be a tyrant.

I cannot claim the Nethanim are mine

Because the Nethanim are bards

Who tell tales of mighty victories.

In the story they are warriors

In real life they are the bard.

I cannot claim ownership over that

Because it is there to be discovered

In the prevailing truth.

I sat in church, and saw a conference

On the Mighty Men;

I saw it for a few days

I left, and I had to make sense of it.

I did: It’s called Metafiction

And I cannot copyright that.

But, nobody should let me starve

By saying they wrote it first

Or better; I need to eat

And these stories I came to on my own

Because they are there to be discovered.

I suppose one cannot copyright an archetype.

They can only copyright their story.

And that is what a plagiarist does.

He copyrights another’s story.

Therefore, let this byzantine definition stand:

You cannot copyright a story of another person.

But you cannot copyright an archetype that belongs to everyone.

And with my recent poetry, it is all archetype.

Therefore, I own my words, and those are what I own.

You cannot copyright the truth and claim it only belongs to you.

Jesus Christ is Come in the Flesh

There are three proofs for God

Christians, which you will use in the world

To prove your God.

No more science or worldly explanations

Lest you destroy yourselves.

This is a prophecy

One of very few I have written:

The first is Miracles.

Christians, they exist.

A car flips, five people ride it

And all survive.

With my very arm

I move the car,

And it falls.

Healing exists in a spiritual prayer.

So does blessing encourage,

And encouragement brings people to do what is right.

So does a curse alight to turn a man away from sin.

The second proof is that people can communicate.

It is undeniable.

People understand one another

If they are listening to one another.

With an ear, they can understand

One another to the most minutia.

They can precisely coordinate

They can build precision

They can communicate ideas.

If this were not so,

Then we could never prove truth.

But, we can prove truth

Because we can reason with one another.

The third proof of God is that there is good and evil.

There is a behavior you would prefer

All people treat you.

There is a behavior you should have

Toward all others.

You should not kill

You should not steal

You should not have sex before marriage.

It is known to every child that this is the case

And each one groans when they see any diversion from these truths.

For, they understand what is right

Until their hearts are intent on evil.

And evil drives them to insanity

It drives them to destructive habits

It drives them to isolation and regret

And shame and constant heartache.

This is observable.

So with goodness, does it clear the conscience.

And the fact that we have a conscience

And it needs cleared,

And only one God offers to clear it;

All others say to pay the full penalty of sin;

That is the ultimate proof of Christ.

That there is good.

That there is evil.

The contrary is easily mooted

Because we observe both.

The Davadic Archetype

I happened upon Peter Pan while trying to convince a group of youths that it has an objective meaning. And while reading Peter Pan's sequels, I came across something very strange. There was mention of a "David", who was, as the author put it, a Moralist. And of course David and he were always making stories, and perpetually having this exchange of ideas... What was funny was that it could have come out of one of my stories. I've come independently to the "David" theme in my writing, and it's interesting to me that someone else has, too.

So... why do two completely different authors, two authors from different centuries, even, come to the same, prevailing idea? That there is this person named "David" who has a share in our work. And of course, this Author resisted David--- they were his stories, not David's. Who is David? Why do two people come to this very same archetype, latent deep in the subconscious mind?

I had deleted two essays, and I mean to put them both here. There was another phenomena that was quite similar. After reading Seamus Heaney's version of Beowulf, I had written my own version of Beowulf. And, I did what the 9th century author did, I infused Pagan Mythology with Christian Mythology, and then read four cantos of Paradise Lost, and saw, almost eerily, we both we writing the same tradition. His were shape shifting Demons, mine were shape shifting elves using alien technology---both were demonic entities, which, in both, must actually be fought.

So, this is two times the state of fact came, that I was independently coming upon things that other authors have touched upon at different times, in different ways... David being one of them, and of course Paradise Lost's mythology, which lined up perfectly with mine.

So, I believe this is proof of communication. Which, proves that ideas---I'm not sure why this had to be proved, but apparently it does need proved---actually occur beyond that of the most visceral levels. The fact that I could write something like Hail Britannica, come upon this Davidic Archetype, create Elves---and this is all after reading works of literature like Bulfinch's Mythology, Wordsworth, Beowulf, Edith Hamilton's Mythology, Plato, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, a lot of the Bible, literature like Jane Austen or Leo Tolstoy, etc. etc. etc. I came upon independently two ideas independently reached by other authors.

So... there's other things going on here, too, but the real issue is that when I confronted a bunch of young women on Peter Pan's meaning---expressly stated at the first few lines of the novel even---they became disgruntled. They denied that there could be a meaning, and they believed that it was all theory. Right... but how am I communicating ideas I've never entertained independently of having entertained the ideas in their purest form? Simply put, how am I writing about the same things as authors I've never actually read? And that's a question, that no matter what it proves communication. Even the most absurd theory would have to admit there is some kind of communication happening, on a level deeper than the rudimentary one we often associate communication with.

And, foremost, why David? It's interesting that David even comes up in Barrie's writing, and in my own fixed beliefs I had believed there was someone named "David" writing my work. And I realized, at the most rudimentary level, there was. David, in Christian Theology---because you can't use Mythology here---is the Messiah Conqueror. He is the coming Christ. He is the Shepherd. And in Ecclesiastes, it has something here to even say: "The words of the wise are as goads, and as nails fastened by the masters of assemblies, which are given from one shepherd."

So, what it proves is wisdom... universal ideas latent in the human psyche even. Jung would call them Archetypes, I'd call it wisdom. Universal ideas prevalent in writing, and David---when you've gotten to be a storyteller---might just be the Gatekeeper of the stories. You write for Christ. And of course, the author here might be resisting that call, which he says "David is a Moralist". He gives a story, which involves a creative memory---and here I begin to outline, that the story written by Barrie here, the Peter Pan sequel, is not canonical to the actual myth of Peter Pan. It's rather, schizophrenic in its delivery, and maybe the reason why is because it didn't get approved by the gatekeeper, David. Maybe when someone builds a life in stories, they begin to see---if it's truly wisdom---a pattern that must be followed, otherwise the story fails and otherwise looks ridiculous. And often I've found this many times.

And we come to the Romantic Poets, often calling themselves prophets, who wrote in styles we'd assume were period. But, I'm writing in this style without having learned it. I don't know how I'm doing it... I really don't actually. I had thought maybe I was plagiarizing, but I had never read anything like Paradise Lost to plagiarize. I did have a dream, once, of Hail Britannica, and it frightened me because I didn't understand what the dream meant. And I had dealt with obscure dreams---which lent to some of my stories---and it's often a wonder to me how this can be the case. Because I don't really recall any kind of reason to have these dreams---there is one obscure memory, and a prayer only to Jesus attached to it---but other than that, there is no reason for me to doubt the dreams' authenticity. So... it's scary to me how this works. But, somehow my stories are communicated to me. And I believe they are given by One Shepherd. If they are truly wise. And that gatekeeper is David, whom we should give the glory to, as in Christ Jesus, Messiah who comes to Conquer. And there is a latent angst in me... it's strange. I don't believe the stories are mine... I believe they are David's. I believe Barrie's stories are also David's, because they are wise. And I think when we rebel against David---or Christ---we tend to lose the authentic ownership of our craft. We begin to question them--- which is often what writers do at some point. I remember Ray Bradbury in an interview saying that he questioned his own words and wordings---maybe because he, in a sense, was trying to wrestle with the ownership of them. Bradbury became a Christian---or rather, always was despite some protest---and I think the ownership of these stories belongs to Christ, like all other things. If we are to be successful, we have to offer the story to Christ, or really anything for that matter.

And the fact that people are coming to these notions independently of me, suggests something rather odd and haunting. That is there are prevailing ideas outside of us, and forces outside of our own comprehension.

Barrie, J. M.. Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. Project Guttenberg. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/26998/26998-h/26998-h.htm. 2/13/22. Web.

The Man in Black

There was a man in black

Who sung of Gabriel’s Trumpet;—

A prophet he was, who sung sad odes

Of those about to die.

Some elves peeped through the walls

Spying the songs he’d sing.

He sung his sad odes

But the elves, having power over time

Went back and sung them

First.

Then Albion’s Queen saw this thing;—

When times are tricked,

She investigates the matter.

She found the man innocent,

And therefore, let him sing his sad odes.

For, none could understand his odes

When the elves sung them.

They needed the man in black

To understand.

Idea Theft: It’s Called Art

A thought crossed my mind today about Plagiarism.

Suppose a Russian author stole my best book.

Then, he gave it to Reddit.Com to eviscerate.

Then the trolls eviscerated it,

Making it incomprehensibly different

To my masterwork.

Would he have really stolen my idea

If it’s totally different?

Sure, there might be zombies

Underground tunnels and people living inside of Subway stations

But, truthfully, nothing is the same.

Is it truly plagiarism

Or is it high art?

Michelangelo sculpted sculptures

Of the Greek molds and casts

Making reproductions at first

Which were in similitude with their

Original art.

With a novel, you cannot do this.

Rather, elements or ideas get borrowed from one author

To another, and then get shared

Passing down ideas from one person to the next.

It’s a lot like sculpting.

Yet, I have a hunch someone scalped my one manuscript

And wrote a few famous novels.

I’ve looked at them,

Seeing them all over the place.

They are not my stories.

Just some of my ideas

Which I ought not own.

Surely, I write myths about Robin Hood

And Beowulf, stories which are shared.

I write stories about Iranian myths

I’ve never seen my words in print.

It’s always someone else’s story

Which borrowed my ideas

To make theirs.

How they get it?

Who knows… but it’s not my story.

Where we confront problems

Is when I cannot publish my story

Because of them.

When I cannot have my words in print

And be read, because they plagiarized me.

All I care about are my words,

And my stories.

I copy Robin Hood and Medea

I copy some elements of Vampires and Werewolfs.

And I make my own stories with them.

It’s called High Art…

My story is not in Russia,

It is not in their Subway Stations,

It has really nothing to do with a famous author

I was enlightened to today.

My story is not in a Maze,

My story is not about men shrinking

To have lots of money…

Though each of these

Have borrowed something of mine…

Should it be copyrighted?

Maybe they came about independently

Because maybe archetypes exist.

Maybe notions produce art.

Or, maybe someone copied my manuscripts

And went to Reddit.com

And changed them.

Regardless, it’s not my story.

I’m flattered someone would make their own

So long as it’s not Capitol City

Or my Freelander Civilization;

So long as the themes are not American

And the love story is about Marc and Erin.

Surely, I don’t care about a wood carved bear

Because my story has nothing to do with a maze,

Though it is a metaphor about hell.

I did think about shrinking men who wanted to enrich themselves

With shrinking, namely, that’s why they have Galaxy Rings

In Fairyland.

But, it’s not my story.

Stories need shared,

And that’s why I love Japan

With tons of Gundam Animes

All by different producers.

Just, the guy who made Gundams should make some money

On it too. That’s all I’m saying;

People ought to read a work if it’s quality.

But, they don’t. And a Copyright system

Isn’t going to fix that.

Really, human corruption has been around for a long time

And intellectual property is airy.

An invention of a log splitter,

If the man who was the genius behind it

Didn’t get paid,

But some other thief did

I call that corruption.

If both men got paid,

But one made a Ford

And the other a Chevy,

And the other a Honda

And the other a KIA

I call that capitalism.

So long as men can eat from their labors

Which they do under the sun.

Just don’t steal my Ethos

And we’ll be fine.

Don’t steal my Pathos

And we’ll be fine.

Don’t steal my Logos

And we’ll be fine.

Let Kairos be damned

It’s Because of him

I’m poor.

A True and False Prophet

There was a prophet whom everyone said was crazy.

Every prediction he said, so said the people

He had gotten wrong.

He even once said that the heavens would pour down fire

If the peoples did not repent of their actions.

Haughtily, the world looked,

And no fire rained from the heavens.

There was another prophet whom everyone said was in his right mind.

Every prediction he said, so said the peoples

He got right.

He even said that fire ought to fall down from the sky

For it would be good for the peoples if it did rain fire.

Haughtily, the world looked

And then desired with their whole hearts for fire to rain down from the heavens

Like Sodom’s Brimstone

For they enlarged their stubborn hearts as if they were gods.

The first prophet was visited by brethren

Of the Church of Christ, to spy whether he was mad

Or truly a prophet. They saw him

And not much greatness was perceived in him

For every proclamation he made was wrong.

Yet, when he spake, the children of God trembled

For fear of God’s wrath.

The second prophet was visited by the same brethren

Of the Church of Christ, to spy whether he were a prophet

For they neither considered him mad, nor a false prophet.

They saw much greatness in him

Enough to bring down fire from the heavens.

Every prediction he made came true.

Yet, when he spake, the children of God became haughty of heart

Desiring in their hearts to become gods.

Which prophet, do you suppose

Had done the will of God?

The one who spoke, and all men trembled

Though not one word of his came true?

Or the prophet whom everyone adored

Because he could tell fortunes,

And make their hearts haughty because of mammon?

Yet, Christ said this: “I give this generation only the sign of Jonah,”

Whom Jonah set three days in the belly of a whale

Before going to Nineveh because he considered he’d be made a fool

When his words would not come true.

And surely, his words did not come true

Because God was merciful to Nineveh.

Woe to that people whose prophet’s words come true

If the prophet’s words are to turn the peoples off of the narrow path.

For the peoples adore great spectacles, but cannot tolerate a poor man

Whom the whole world despises because of the inconvenience of what he says.

Yet, blessed be that prophet who speaks a word,

And it does not come true

If it is spoken to warn the peoples of bitter trials ahead.

For a prophet ought not seek destruction,

But rather to preserve the life of his peoples.

And a prophet’s fear

Is to gladly be made a fool for his prophecy.

It’s All Lies and Changes;

Don’t listen to anything you see in the Media.

It is all lies, it all changes.

It’s an attack. They are publishing lies about the president.

I read the Mueller Report at the Book Store

And the conclusion has clearly changed!

Stop believing anything you see or hear.

The Modern Monkey King

He held no real title.

He turned over a new leaf.

He went from being the most evil

To a righteous son at least.

Now I perceive the tale

And realize something true:

The Hero is now the villain

While the Villain has turned good.

The Titular Prince—

I am quite impressed with

How the Gospel is here so shown—

Not that a sermon can be preached on it

But it shows how bad men can really grow.

For the Prince had taken his warships

And so destroyed many moons;

While the hero, that good man

Had defeated him to prove.

The prince had stolen many lives

Many trillions, it is true.

But, the good man’s good

Turned him to here prove

His strength in battles crude.

His goodness had corrupted him

For evil he nare understood.

Thus, his pure heart nearly destroyed him

And his whole entire troop.

The prince, with family, with lover and child

Saw this righteous man so careless

Gambit his whole world for vile

Tests against a stronger foe.

For the righteous man

With no sin, had only wanted to test

His strength in battle; in battle lust

He went to beat his many foe.

Yet the prince, who tasted great evil—

Now slowly turned to good—

Knew that this was wasteful,

For at war’s outbreak would

The righteous man now see

He wanted to test his strength of army

But nearly plunged his nation to the sea.

Finally, the good man,

Believing himself pure

Turned himself to a Baalim

So truthfully sure

Of his own good deeds.

The wicked man, who tasted evil

Knew how wicked he

Our hero became.

A titular prince is just a pauper,

So he spent it with his family.

Thus is the message

Of the gospel of hope.

Great good which never knew evil

Will in the darkness grope.

For a heart that does not wise

Know that they are bad

Will in the end be callous

And also be God’s foe.

Save Your Servant Israel

LORD, to where do I turn?

Do I turn to the north?

Will my help come from there?

Do I turn to the south?

Do I turn to the king?

Do I turn to the earth?

What is underneath the earth?

From where does my help come?

Idols do not set before my eyes

I have heard your voice

Idols do not set before my eyes

And I, LORD, I am a listener ready to listen

I am a sheep ready to be set down

In the pasture.

Where does my help come?

Surely all other gods are wolves

Ready to steal

And destroy.

Surely all other gods deceive

And surely they say, “Do some little bit of evil

“So that your will comes to pass.

“Love your life so much

“That you will do this little evil

“And your desire shall surely shine forth like the morning star.”

Yet, LORD, if there is error in my heart

If in my way are stumbling-blocks

Surely You shall remove them.

Why do I, LORD, why do I excel above other men?

Am I something which men look to and say

“This man is my example.”

Surely not, LORD, for You are the example

You are the path set before our feet.

If all else follow after vain idols

I shall surely stay steadfast in Your love.

For where does my heart lean?

If there is a company against me

I shall call upon you early

I shall, before the war

Constantly speak into your ear.

Who are the men who trouble the meek?

Who are those who cause trouble for your servant Israel?

Surely they shall be set forth ablaze

And shall burn for eternity in hell.

Yet, I, I shall listen and wait upon You.

For my salvation is like a wellspring

And my heart a steadfast servant.

Though the company does not believe my words

Though they say, “He lies, there is nothing good in him,”

Though they wait for my feet to stumble

And though they make a diligent watch for sin

LORD return upon their own heads their mischief.

For dreams they accuse Your servant

While they walk forth in slander and murder all the day long.

How long shall the wicked prosper?

Surely you shall not let your servant see decay.