What does it mean to “die well”? How does one accomplish that feat? Is it even possible to die well? Since this particular question has arisen in my mind only recently, I haven’t had a chance yet to research it properly and find out what the “experts” have to say about it. So, consider this post more as some reflections on dying well rather than any sort of a definitive statement of my opinion. There may very well be a part two at some point in time…
How fleeting is the favor of my Muse,
Who doth desert me at the slightest whim:
What fancy tempts her weak, unfaithful mind?
What pleasure does she seek, so far from home?
Perhaps she seeks out firmer pens of truth;
Perhaps she wearies of this masquerade
In which she hides behind a thousand smiles,
Or writhes and shrinks in her imagined pain.
Dares she to seek the innocence of youth?
Her search unfruitful shall return, and so
She too shall then return to me, impaled
Upon an honest pen, a slinking corpse.
Philip Hilton writes,
Recently, I read a small little book by J. Piper called ‘What’s the Difference?’, which discussed the theoretical ideals for men and women. Piper’s principle distinction between the two sexes is that of leadership. Men are supposed to initiate or lead, while women are supposed to support or nurture (follow, essentially). Both sexes will find their fulfillment in their roles. Women will find the fullfillment of their womanhood in supporting or following; men, in initiating or leading.
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Susan blinked, and the crimson in the snow vanished. She blinked again; it was still gone. She turned and looked down the road; half a metre from the tyre tracks, the man in the blue jacket stood behind Jenny, gripping her by the shoulder.
Here’s a story– if it has a moral or a plot, please enlighten me. It was an exercise in writing for me– and, yes, it is entirely fictional. It is probably only connected to Augustine because it involves pears. Enjoy.
Roger rubbed his hands together, and wiped them on his pants. He looked up at the tree. All of the pears looked good, but he knew that the ones at the top of the tree would taste the best. He grinned. He loved a challenge, and this was one he particularly relished– he knew the neighbor’s pear trees had been unattended for years, and if he was ever going to have one of those pears, this was the year, before that new guy moved into the house. He jumped and grabbed a low hanging branch, scrambling to pull himself up. View Full Post
During the course of my study of human nature unchecked — starting with the Nazis and moving to Stalin and the slave trade and culminating with the Decepticons — I’ve come to a certain conclusion: While it is all right and even noble to sacrifice yourself for someone (see John 15:13), it is never ever acceptable to sacrifice someone else unwilling for a or the “greater good”.
Evgeny Kissin, 38-year-old concert pianist, debuted with the Ulyanovsk Symphony Orchestra at the age of 10. At 13, he gained international recognition for playing and recording both Chopin’s piano concertos with the Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra. He was, reputedly, able to hum a Bach tune along with his sister, who was then playing it on the piano, at the age of 11 months. So much for Wikipedia.
On YouTube, you can look up an interview with Kissin, who relates the instance of receiving a good review from a critic when he was 17, but with this barb at the end of the article – “In general, one gets an impression that, up till now, everything has been easy for Kissin in piano playing – sometimes even too easy. Both plusses and minuses of his art come from that fact. Now we only hear in his playing what comes from his great natural gift. This is, of course, wonderful, but in future, something definitely has to change. What? When? In which way? Everything will depend on that.”
