This video was made to support the piece of music, which was a poem set to music, and written for choir and orchestra. Since it was mixed and mastered by computer there was no choir to sing the lyrics. I needed video to render the words. The images help to express the music but are not primary.
Lux Dei means Light of God. This is my imagining of the beginning of creation, before there was life. The music paints a picture of emptiness, then an explosion of energy and the sudden appearance of light–then the stars and the planets.
A Psalm. A Song at the dedication of the temple. Of David.
1 I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up, and did not let my foes rejoice over me. 2 O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me. 3 O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol, restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit.[a] 4 Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones, and give thanks to his holy name. 5 For his anger is but for a moment; his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.
Homesick hungry weary lonely Hearts beleaguered, yet unbowed ‘Still we seek thee ancient beauty Shining prospect glimpsed through cloud. Bright horizon, distant city Where our joy cries out ,”Believe!” Where our hearts are stilled and gentled Love the atmosphere We breathe.
Hearts that long for such a morning Find no ease in emptiness— Ancient beauty sate our yearning Slake our thirst for holiness For with thee the new day dawning Soft and sweet all dread now ceasing Peace and righteousness shall kiss And joy will ring out love’s Great Feast.
It might seem odd to introduce a poem by pointing toward a blog on philosophy, but when the poem and the blog are read the connection will be clear.
I deal in controversy, in discourse that is sometimes freighted with more than disagreement. So I wrote the poem on this page 40 years ago while a graduate student, based on a sharp disagreement I had with a friend. She believed one thing and I believed another, and the two could not both be true.
It seems now that my life deals in this situation even more, only the rhetoric and emotions are are stronger, more caustic even.
What does epistemology have to say about solving disputes?
“As can be seen, there is no single correct response or strategy to take toward actual cases of disagreement. The unsurprising irony is that the epistemology of disagreement has managed to give rise to a whole new set of disagreements.”
And then, after discussing religious disputes, the articles comes to this conclusion:
“disagreement must be dealt with in the ordinary way: I’ll state reasons, provide arguments and pinpoint evidence, and you’ll do the same.”
The line twixt truth and lies is difficult to see- It winds and doubles, blurs the mind, And vanishes unseen. How then as mortals who would hope To know the truth can we Presume to judge on simple lines and clean?
I had a friend who spoke her truth That was no truth to me. Whose lies were these, and where The line to separate between? For just as I, with pain, had grasped My truth, she held to what she knew.
And with our private truths like whips We flailed, to find the root Of discord and of pain. No hope in that: the pain did not Delineate, our differences remained, And Truth lay somewhere, savaged, in between.
We have almost forgotten, this nation of faucets, The nature of water, But it has not forgotten us. Hissing below the surface It streams and bubbles from depths Leaping upward into light Or oozing, trickling, Dripping past our guards.
We have forgotten wells, Those still pools That can only be found by digging, Where silence reigns, And sound and light Are swallowed, Then given back doubled, Echoing, Showing us ourselves.
We have hidden our springs, Sealed them up for profit, Making a commerce of them. But the waters cannot be forgotten. Rich in silence Drawn from the deeps They pour forth in torrents And fountains.
When I think of you I think of waters— A small pool with lilies adrift, Catching the overflow of the world, Or the drops that nestle beaded Among the mosses. A place of ferment Where change is constant, A place of stillness, Of quiet generation, Where I am reflected back at myself And forced to listen— Waters that go down to the depths, Springing out of the bones of the earth Renewed.