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Note: That picture is not suppose to be an accurate representation of NYC.

"I prefer to believe in a god who knew how to dance"

Nietzsche

Things are well. Bouts of anxiety plague me today. They seem to come out of nowhere like disgruntled weather, it shakes the boat of my consciousness and leaves me only a bit seasick and desperately looking for the shoreline. I am constantly looking at the shoreline. Waves of wayward thoughts confuse me, leave me questioning which produce more thoughts, and in turn produce more anxiety. "There is truly nothing new under sun". I got a library card and thoroughly taking advantage of the best socialist structures we have here in the United States: free books! and movies, but more importantly books! Dostoevski! Paulo Freire! Camus! Martin Buber! Tolstoi! Gabriel Garcia Marquez! Walt Whitman! Their words are an intimate company in a land of plentiful seperation. I often say that one can feel the most alone in a city of millions. I see a lot of lonely faces. On the subway, the buses, the streets. In fact, since being here the only faces I have encountered that weren't plagued with confusing and black spots that indicate bad sleeping habits have been the mentally handicapped friends at The Bridge that I will work with at a garden in Harlem. I thought to myself on the walk back to my apartment, what secret do they carry within them to escape the burden of thought? I desire their innocence. I always want that childishness to come back within myself. However, I must be man with child eyes. As tame as a dove but as tenacious as a lion. I considered giving up philosophy for a while, my main example of why is that I started at analyze love and it's features. How futile. I chuckle to myself even thinking about it. I start to analyze what it means to follow the heart and how it plays out and then I realize post-fact that I never did anything, with this thought brought paralysis. What am I attempting to do here? To reconcile, like St. Francis, the sensual with the logic. The feminine emotional response with the masculine analytical mind. Oftentimes I am divided into two unable to find the right avenue to approach this road. Because I personally believe that both journeys are good in themselves. I believe that those who say, "there is no god" are really saying that the american god is false, but not their own god. it is impossible to rid yourself of god. Now, g-d on the other hand is different. g-d is the one who doesn't need justification, who is quiet, observant, and constantly sacrifices himself to everyone all the time.

So, I am not going to analyze love. Love? What a statement I saw a man fall apart over love. It is mystery to us, like I'm a mystery to myself. So, I am going to write a letter to a woman I fell in love with back to Texas and not think about it. I have nothing to lose. I only have my willingness to humiliate myself in front of her. I have my words, even if they are scattered and jagged, they are sincere. I lay at night and observe an old picture of Walt Whitman and think of the eucharist. How incredibly foreign it is to our mind.I look at all the features of his face. His joyful eyes beckoning the world to life. His eyes speak volumes more than his poetry ever did. They breath freedom into the heavy heart. He beckons the world without fear and therefore him and the world join together forever in holy matrimony. I observe all this and feel life. Then I think of eating his flesh, literally eating his flesh and drinking his blood. I don't visualize it in a philosophical sense or a literary sense but a physical eating of Walt Whitman. It helps me understand the early disciples and their faith. I had more to say but I am done for now. I will try to clear up this post later.

As far as relationships, things are progressing here. I will learn a lot from my supervisor John, my roommate Dakota, and all my co-workers who are co-conspirators of love, or just an educational stipend. Not everything can be 100% altruistic conservatives!

Peace in Christ to all who read this,

Christopher Carl Wilkins