This is a 'celestescope' I drafted after being inspired by the book 'Sun, Moon, and Earth' by Robin Heath put out by Wooden Books. It shows the full moon, celestial position of the sun, predicts tides and eclipses and is a general picture of the natural state of things in our little corner of the universe.

The Sacred and The Profane: The Nature of Religion

In this book, Eliade writes first in an accessible, then in a most respectful style on religion, magic, initiation, mysticism, and the profane. From the outset, though the book's title states it concerns religion, in which the object of study begins with the Divine, and then continues on consequently to man, Eliade rather begins with man and then continues on consequently to God. Man is shown to create himself, his house, his cosmos, and his existential situation precludes the religious right up until a.d. 1950 (the date of this book's first publication). The author wisely points out profane man is a rather unique and new phenomenon in human history. Whether he is describing the initiation rituals of primitive societies, or the construction of a modern abode, Eliade skillfully shows like it or not, we are recreating the cosmos as the gods did before history. Without the slightest hint of a sense of humor, Eliade points out repeatedly that no matter how much modern profane man has attempted to divest Nature of the sacred, he still stubbornly, if unconsciously, sacralizes his environment. Over and over again.

This is a nice little book that provides a glimpse into what we are stubbornly trying to leave behind, to our own obvious detriment.

Easter - a poem

If I could bear your pain, I would
But child, I know I can’t
I would succor you with gall
And cleanse your fetid wounds

I would answer your questions
But the wind howls in your ear
Take away the sleepless nights
And set you floating on a quiet sea

Monsters in forests, the beast slouching East
In need more than you for salvation
An rat infested ivory city
Whose children run naked through the street

Rome is burnt, New Rome, burning
With the fat of innocent babes
But somehow I was born to believe
And you, to know the better

And I can’t answer you, I’m dumb
And you, in your knowledge can only weep
Now your face set against the wind like flint
You, a sphinx with no solution

And my gods are all too human,
But your idols are full of pests
Mechanical rats hidden beneath the thin veneer
Of newly ordained Saints

And I know the cross I bear, believing
Is much less than yours, unbelieving,
And you, nicer than the gods
Cry not for mercy, but Justice

Don’t fret, dear child, the Cosmos
Is geared for the meek to inherit the Earths,
The angels themselves, bowed to you in your making
And the great God made you in fear

You are wonderfully made, dear child
Able to overcome even this,
And transcend all the dirt
That muddies your feet

May your dreams compensate you
With flying birds and winded hills
A soft rolling sea with whitecaps and breakers
Sleep now, my child, now and sleep…

Easter, now has come…