White Privilege, Moral Extortion and the Descendants of Cain

WHITE PRIVILEGE AND MORAL EXTORTION

 

“White privilege” is ironic if not also nonsensical. Its common use today is derogatory in that it criticizes all people with light colored skin. Thus, by definition, it is racist. It demeans people solely based on the color of their skin and not their character. Also, those that use the term vainly, attempt to elevate themselves by criticizing another. The tactic has never worked because, on its face, it’s self-defeating. It claims that non-whites will never have the advantage of whites. Thus, the person using the term is using racism to criticize racism. But, still they persist.

 

As someone neither white nor black, I can boast neutrality and say confidently, that the losers that talk this way, attempt moral extortion. They are gangsters who, without the discipline to work hard, tell shop owners, “Pay us insurance money so you’re not guilty of forcing us to burn your business to the ground.”  

 

The only “hope” of impact such extortioners have is that their targets, who are prevailed upon by fear and not through fair competition, will cave to the terrorist demand.

 

Much is the situation in the U.S. cities currently ravaged by rioters who claim their underachievement is the consequence of others' success. Few are fooled that the riots are somehow about police brutality. It’s really about “class” warfare: the lazy vs. the disciplined. Somehow, the business owner who works 80 hours a week is oppressing, not himself, but the people who refuse to work even 20 hours a week.

 

I am very familiar with this practice, or the pathetic spirit behind it, which would be comical were it not so annoying and malicious, all thanks to its prevalence in the so-called civilized China. We have a special term coined for it. Pengci 碰瓷. Literally, it means 'touch porcelain'— jargon from the antique industry. Some morally challenged shop owners will place poor quality porcelain products in the middle of their store’s aisle-way. The owner intends that when a customer walks past they will easily knock the porcelain to the floor where it will break. The seller will then demand compensation for the customer’s recklessness. (Burned down a shop lately?)

Pengci 碰瓷 is unique to the Beijing dialect. It refers to malicious and illegal behaviors intended for the purpose of blackmail. For example, one may deliberately crash a car and then demand compensation—an incident-faking extortionist, which is a person who stages an incident and pretends to be the victim in order to extort money from the person who is framed as the party at fault. Welcome to Portland, Oregon.

 

Now, many people who are not exposed to such moral corruption are unaware of and shocked by this petty, ugly incompetence. Thus, we have the saying: Ignorance of cunning and evil is a hallmark of purity and nobility.

 

DESCENDANTS OF CAIN

Hitler as Cain (Painting by George Grosz, in Berlin)

Nancy Pelosi, it seems to me, is a descendant of Cain, as are all complainers and the whining wimps who refuse to take responsibility for their actions. It was Cain who accused his brother Abel of being more favorably treated (or privileged), although it was Cain’s disobedience that put Cain out of favor. And it was Cain’s murder of Abel that labeled Cain “under privileged” or cursed for all time. It was not Abel’s obedience that got Cain into trouble. Most, if not all, the claims of police brutality involve criminals, not law-abiding citizens. Although, in a way, we all have the blood of Cain, for Cain came from the same parents as Abel.

 

The temptation to blame anything and anyone other than oneself as the cause of one's misery, perceived or real, is strong in everyone. Therefore, Communism, Marxism and (radical) Feminism successfully exploited this weakness. The oppressed and the oppressor narrative always finds its audience.

 

Such selfishness is convenient. One doesn't have to change oneself with a little self-murder and rebirth. It is painful to admit one's own faults and costly to correct them. But the price of taking the easier and broader road of faulting others, leads surely and very swiftly to destruction. 

If you blame only exogenous factors for your own problems, the less specific, and more ill-defined, vague, broad and abstract these factors are, the more convenient a scapegoat they will be. An individual, however monstrous, would only plausibly be held responsible for certain and a limited number of woes. But, if the culprit is a group of people, the white, or men, or the society, the world — the more sweeping and all encompassing the accusations of who to blame and accuse — then the whole of the group would not be able to defend themselves.

 

If I blame my ex-boyfriend for my singleness, I am only a boring unlucky woman with a point.  If I blame men for my loneliness, I am a bitter cynic with little sense of proportion and probably no lasting friends. If I blame the world and God for my fate, I am (literally) out of my mind.

 

Therefore, I have decided not to blame anyone or anything for the outcome of my life, not even communists, nor my parents, nor the political Chinese culture.  This is a new discovery for me, and I still struggle to practice what I believe. But I am so much happier than before. 

 

Catherine Cookson - A Midlife Blessing

I didn't exactly celebrate my birthday but still I felt blessed because of the recent rekindled passion for reading.

Catherine Cookson. I discovered her a few years ago and have since been fascinated and inspired.

You will know what I mean when you have time to learn more about her life.

Largely thanks to what I have learned about the life of a woman who was born 120 years ago in the poorest region of England, with all the unimaginable sufferings and towering achievements, I have been free of self-pity or loathing or anger against my fate.

Here I want to share my reflections as recorded in my journal.

--- 

On the eve of my 44th year on earth, mellowing in emptiness induced lethargy, I have been given a gift.

I had wondered what I can get myself as a gift that would erase the horrifying humiliation of all the uncelebrated birthdays and those absent gifts. Anything shining luxury would be simply overkilling and might backfire and both my age and this age of the time don’t offer stimulation to the enjoyment of it.

And the nagging shame of my roots and numbing despair of bettering them are the strongest sentiment that I could feel in my numbness. I keep on telling myself I have reached the limits, the transparent but no less impenetrable ceiling. 

Besides, my brain, the strongest part of of my being, is showing signs of rapid decline. Both my body and my mind are fruitless. Whatever dream I had of being a writer is concluded with a final wake-up. And I still have another only half life to live out. What good will be there in store for me? A single childless woman? Clothing? Food? Travel? I am both beyond and beneath these bodily undertakings.

Life is a weary business if not carried out for imperative and inspiring purposes. But lo, here, finally I have been shown a life, conceived in sin and born into paralyzing dysfunction and poverty and stigma, tormented in almost every way imaginable, a psyche, as sensitive as mine if not more, an artist, starved of love, respect and education. 

• A debilitating vascular disease she inherited from a man who never knew about or wanted her. 
• A mother she thought and would rather be her sister, an alcoholic. 
• She never could have children. 
• The only religion she knew gave her more fear than hope, more smear than salvation.  
• She was tormented with rage.

Yet the more I read what Catherine wrote, the more I am amazed at her writing skills – by no means could one tell that this is by a woman of no formal education and born in illegitimacy and absolute poverty over 120 years ago.  Imagine if she had had good and appropriate formal training, what would she have achieved! 

 What more could I say? What excuses do I have for self-pity? Let me list out similarities I found in my life to hers. The order signifies no hierarchy of the attached importance.

1.       Birth into poverty and shame - both felt to be born in the wrong place, wrong family and ran away from it as fast and far as we could
2.       We share the same horoscope sign = Cancer
3.       Lavatory being the safe haven in childhood
4.       Frequent dreams of dirty lavatories and flying in the sky
5.       Largely self-taught – in terms of literature and English, as a Chinese of my generation
6.       Very bad luck with men – but thank God, she got married although at such a late age
7.       Childlessness – although mine is due to singleness and abortion
8.       Early menopause
9.       Middle age mental breakdown – with fear dominating our lives
10.   Struggle with established order – communism and her case – Catholicism
11.   Natural story telling gift and desire – greater in her case but no small in mine
12.   Bundles of emotions we are
13.   And a very similar kind of humor
14.   Both of us love tests and strive for self-improvement
15.   Writing seems the only escape and fulfillment

What did Catherine have that I lack?

1.       She was strong willed and insanely hard-working
2.       She was proud and determined to be successful 
3.       She was truly brave 
4.       She was a naturally gifted painter and piano player – I am going to give myself a piano lesson
5.       She was native English speaker and she had a devoted husband (but I have the internet)

What do I have that Catherine could have wanted?

1.       A mother who doesn’t drink and is sensible and loving albeit weak minded
2.       A very flawed father who is a terrible husband but has favored me and 
3.       I never had to endure hunger or hard labour. In absolute terms I was very well off as a child. 
4.       A body that is strong and healthy in general
5.       An intact faith
6.       A brother with two adorable kids that are as dear to me as I could never have imagined
7.       The Internet through which I can educate myself at will and almost no expense
8.       And a Catherine Cookson as my role model.

---

These thoughts have protected me against despair and desperation, despite another uncelebrated birthday and the prospect of a life condemned to be spent in China.

Let come what may. I am not going to be overpowered.

The Good of the Chinese Virus

Dear Friends, 

As some of you know I am a citizen of and am living in China, your prayers for me and us are envied. 

I'm assuming that you are following the news closely on the spread of the Chinese Virus across the world, esp. in the US and Europe. The surge of death in Italy and steep rise in cases in the US, Germany and Spain.

I am so saddened and angered by the disaster brought upon the free world by the Chinese of which I am not completely guiltless as a citizen of this country (china) and a subject of this regime. I am also beyond contempt of the Chinese people (My countrymen and women) who revel in and actively propagate the sheer fabricated lie about how this virus originated in the U.S.! 

I strongly hope and pray that God will not let the anti-Christ's agent harm his chosen ones and that this pandemic will not cost President Trump his well-deserved Presidency. And this will only serve as the loving rod and protective staff for his flock. God is still on the throne. Nothing happens without his permission and not for the good of those who love him and ultimately his glory.

I anticipate and would embrace a global anti-Chinese and Communism sentiment and movement.  I pray for the breakup of the globalized supply chain that has in the first place nurtured the regime. Even if that means I will not be able to leave this place; it is a price I am willing to pay.  At another time I would have been so beleaguered by that prospect. But I am sure of God's righteousness and his mercy.  Heavens shall declare his righteousness,  "no one can or should escape the verdict passed by himself (his own choices or behaviors)". And I'd rather fall into the hands of the Almighty.

 This is an excerpt from my journal a few days ago.

The hypothesis that the collapse of China, economically and politically, should seal my personal loss, worries me not at all. I would gladly embrace it as a necessary collateral damage or sanctifying sacrifice for the demise of an evil power. 

The above YouTube (and this link) is a Chinese worship song that never fails to speak to me. It is obviously based on Psalm 69 and 27 by King David during his persecution by his enemies that celebrate Jehovah's forgiving love. Encircled in the Arms of His Love in the time of flooding. 

Therefore I can lift up my head and gaze on the beauty of the LORD from now until forever.

I remember the classic story plot of the hero realizing that he is part of the problem ( having a share in the evil) decides to let himself die in order to rid of the problem. 

The Truth That Sets Me Free

"For we have become a spectacle to the world, both to angels and men. "

- 1 Corinthians 4:9 

Dear All,

Now I am weeping.

As someone ruthlessly prized self-deprecation and diligently pursued self-improvement, I didn’t know who I am and what I am and how completely corrupted and deplorably incompetent that person is until now.

Ever since adolescence I vowed to never settle down for anything meaner than true love and uncategorical perfection. I was often painfully and proudly aware that this desire for absolute truth and beauty sets me apart from those around me, be it within my family or at school or later at work. 

But fearing domestic life would destroy love and worse, hinder my development, I took the path of  self-sufficiency that landed me in this literally "no-man’s land" – a childless and marriageless midlife, with no experience of love that requires protection or evidence of perfection which, even if attained, will be lost since I have no children to pass it on.

Like someone who has been keeping digging for a legendary treasure the whole life only to have come to an empty tomb with  worthless trash, I suddenly find my world tumbling down.  The way back is blocked. The way forward is unseen and uncharted.

If only this moment of grace had come two decades earlier when I was young and fearless. Now I am a worn-out middle aged woman, well acquainted with the dangers of the world and deficiencies of myself. I prefer to die and go to heaven to rest from this life’s fruitlessness. I never feared dying as much as living dead. After all, "to die is gain." 

But, this time I have to be cautious for more is at stake than my individual and isolated life and death. Could it be, in an not unlikely but worse scenario, that my remorse is nothing but a virtual signaling façade paraded by the inner coward to excuse myself from the much harder mission of persisting, esp. now that things have been pretty ruined up and looked ever more hopeless?

What if this is part of a test from God, the only one that is true and beautiful, and my capitulation now only serves to reinforce the counterstrategy by the Devil to frustrate God's plan to prepare me for something really good? After all, God knew all along who and what I am, what grotesque follies I am capable and guilty of and still chose to pick me.

I thought of Apostle Paul, who was Saul until the life-altering encounter with the Lord, on the road to Damascus. 

In his blindness, this Hebrew of Hebrews, this Pharisee with an impeccable pedigree and insurmountable zeal, "saw" for the first time without any shadow that all that he had gained was indeed loss and what he valued merely "garbage" and that he was the worst of sinners, persecuting the very Lord he loved and thought he was serving.  How unbearably painful and horrible that revelation must have been? It would have seemed a more merciful treatment had God slained him on the spot.

But, alas, thanks to God that he didn't. Saul became Paul and the Apostle to the Gentiles, who spent the rest of his life, preaching the terrible news of the futility of worldly wisdom and works and the incredible message of faith as the only remedy. 

Two thousand years later, here I am, in the wilderness of my life, stripped of my youth, my social network, my privileged prospect as a successful professional.

Although one might say that I still have a lot more compared with many people about which I am most of the time grateful and sometimes uneasy, that knowledge doesn’t comfort me now that I am deeply and painfully conscious that I am not living up to my potentials and have abused so many of God’s gifts.

I am short of the glory of God’s creation of me.

Compared with what I should be and could have been, I am naked and poor and worthless.

Never have I felt more desperately the necessity of put on the armor of FAITH.

Faith has always been elusive and almost become a myth to me. After all, few have got any as tiny as a mustard seed. 

But now, surprisingly, when I fully realized my own nakedness, and utter poverty in spirit, immediately and almost without any efforts by myself, I sensed the weight of faith.

That God doesn’t give me up and therefore I shouldn’t give God up.

ALL IS LOST

Tonight is a night in which All IS LOST.

Or, so it seems.

Somehow, I wish it was indeed the famous and much feared night.
For when all is lost, in God’s history, follows the flip, the overrule, the triumph.

But the inevitable questions are – have I done enough? Have I done good enough? And, what if I was wrong in the very decision to come?

Am I just too unrealistic and even headstrong to have come to a foreign land without the basic skills needed to find employment here? Have I proven to be a reckless and brainless laughing stock?

After all the efforts, the resources, the hopes I put into it, I tell myself there is time for self-reflection and reformation. But tonight, tonight is not that time.

Walking under the night sky, starless and moonless, I  reassured myself that even if I can't see them, the stars and the moon are above my head all the same, much like my heavenly guardians and my Father who is on the throne.

My heart aches for some response, some affirmation, some reaction to my soundless cry for mercy and help.

I thought, if there was a good time for some direct, divine discourse this would be it.
But God remains silent and all I can hear are my own steps in the empty and vast palace garden that  would please even nymphs.

As the night gets darker and deeper, it was time to go back to where I stay in this lovely city which I must soon leave to go back to where I came from.

I confessed to God that I am reluctant to go back to the place that is supposed to be my home but really never has been.

Like Jacob, on the eve of the passing of ford Jabbok, I, in  newly acquired boldness, told God that I wouldn’t let him go unless he blesses me.

At the end of the conversation, in somewhat greater boldness, I added, ignoring a pang in the place where my heart is supposed to be, “Thine Will, not mine.”

Slowly exiting the compound which I had come to consider as my spiritual sanctuary, I thought of how my brother and his wife are doing their best to help their little daughter to deal with her learning challenges as the six-year-old has recently started school.

Oh, my Father God would have corrected me, helped and given me all the wisdom I need to get a job here, if that’s his will. He wouldn’t have just leave me to my ignorance and abandon me in my struggles. He wouldn’t have let my inadequacies ruin my destiny.

At the thought of that, the hunting, questioning voice inside my brain was silenced.

The house that used to be dwelled in by an unclean ghost is swept clean and reclaimed. But what am I to put into it?

If this job searching mission is aborted, what am I to do tomorrow and the day after tomorrow?

Darkness now completely reigned within the compound. I could hardly see ahead. The palace disappeared. There was nothing but an infinite void before me.

At the midpoint of my life I am forced to face the threat of an all devouring question – THE PURPOSE OF MY LIFE—what I shall do for the rest of the days on earth, which have become such a burden.

BEING is such pain and hardship that without a purpose, a truly meaningful one that could withstand all questions and attacks, it would be literally unbearable.

I told my friend that I feel so lost right now.
Not knowing what I should do? Shall I become an idle and superficial connoisseur for the rest of my life? Falling and floating aimlessly.
What is my relevancy? Does my existence matter?

I am horrified at the emptiness and weightless of that kind of being!
It is much like being reduced to a two-dimensional existence, the final punishment in a tale of science fiction.

That is not only scary but cruel.

In the gathering storm of my chaotic thoughts, I raised up my head and focused on the Lord who once walked on water and calmed the waves.

The God who created me never created anything without purpose and he certainly wouldn’t have wasted the life of his only begotten son on someone only to let her decay in uselessness and irrelevancy.

I am quite useless. But God is not a god of uselessness.

Yes, I find myself in such a dead end, almost entirely through my own faults. I have wasted my youth through ignorance and sins when I didn’t know better. And life is a one-way street.

Having said that, I am not an orphan. I may be alone here and single all my life. But I have a father who knew my days before I ever lived them. All my mistakes and inadequacies are all calculated and processed.

According to natural law (the consequence of breaking it), I am hopeless and rightfully so.
But according to grace, I am anything but hopeless.

At the edge of hope and at the end of time, do I believe that there is nothing ahead of me but sheer void? Or do I believe that there is a God who called me into an abundant life?

A Bleeding Issue of Unrequited Love

Father, I am getting impatient...
But this time, thanks to you, it is with myself!

Why are you heavy hearted? Why are you downcast?
Aren’t you loved by God? Don’t you love him above all others?

Even if the person you are interested in has showed no interest in you. Again. And yes, this is not the first time.
Although trying to laugh it off, you started to weep in your dream...

All the old questions such as if I am too old or not good enough or just too lonely... came back like exploitative relatives, unwelcome yet too familiar to be dismissed.

A good friend concluded you are far from handling this issue of yours.

I conceded. With humility and almost with humor.

Yet, seconds later, this impatience arose in my heart. In the hotness of my anger against my own vulnerability which is becoming ridiculous, I deleted the person's phone number and made a decision to invite my Father to completely cure me of the bleeding of my heart!

Are you not my creator, and the big doctor? Don’t I know that you love me so much that you want me to be whole and complete?
Are you not merciful?
Please start the process of healing me – like what you did for the bleeding woman who pushed against the crowd to get near you and touch the brim of your robe!
She had no connections. She spent all her money on impotent and probably false doctors. She might have had a history with men who gave her the unspeakable problem!

Just try not to imagine the humiliating doctor visits she must have gone through which proved to be more of torments than treatments.

A woman, who had been bleeding for years! How weak she was physically and how diffident spiritually! She had no friends to carry her to you, she had no parents or masters to plead on her behalf…she couldn’t even get a face to face audience, however briefly, but you gave her the courage, the faith and the little strength left of all which she applied to get close to you!

And Jesus was on the way to help someone else. She was not in the plan! She was not the priority. The other person was the beloved daughter of a beloved master of the synagogue. The father was desperate for his dying daughter and the crowds were urging Jesus to treat this as an urgency.
Compared with that, who is this chronic patient of a rather embarrassing sickness? And ceremonially unclean! Imagine the smell…imagine how hard it was for her to try to keep this to herself. (sometimes I suspect that I have the smell of someone lonely and worse suffering from a chronic disease called unrequited love)

Maybe she was too weak to go further or thought herself to be too insignificant to get the full attention of the Lord and maybe she would be considered too selfish trying to delay Jesus in his mission to rescue a young dying child.
Oh, rightly so, this obscure woman, we don’t even know her name.

But she had no doubt about the Lord’s power – “as long as I touch the fringe of his clothes”.
And she was not disappointed this time. The healing was immediate. No one knew but she herself and ...you.

Oh, Jesus, why did you seek her out? Why did you have to know who she is?
Nobody noticed this crawling creature but you sought her out and you gave her all the publicity that she didn't need and most likely tried best to avoid.
But you made her stand up and let her speak out.
At the end of it, you opened your mouth and called her "daughter"!
Oh, here, was a DAUGHTER too! The daughter of the most high, loved by her father who sent her his only begotten son as her savior!
You publicly announced not only her physical wholesomesomeness but that she could from now on have peace.
The touch of the fringe of your garment was enough to cure her bodily illness.
The light of your face gave her assurance of pardon and peace.
In her faith she saw your face.

A woman who suffered 12 years of bleeding and a girl who died at 12 years of age.
God had time and mercy enough for both.
Whichever case I am, there is no reason to worry.
Reset the clock! (as commanded by Marshal Pentecost)
A new era begins!

Fantasy is ultimate REALITY

Last evening I walked to the Nymphenburgschloss known as The Nymph Mountain Palace. The scene there was just breathtakingly beautiful.

Now it is a sunny afternoon here in Munich. 

As the days of my visa validity are numbered and I am facing the unthinkable but all looming probability of having to return to my home country in Asia, empty handed,  a question hovers in my mind, which I don’t dare to articulate because it poses a proposition too painful to deal with, if confirmed.

Basically, was I reading too much into favorable circumstances as God’s blessings, thereby, presuming God’s love for me?

For instance, all the apparent gifts from God before and immediately upon my arrival in Munich, the accommodation I found through the church contact, the drama with the aborted original Russian flight and then blessed transfer to the Lufthansa direct flight and the smooth and almost blissful experiences, encounters with interesting people, trips into the Alps, the food, the forest, etc. etc.

Were they truly God’s blessings or merely coincidences and insignificant good lucks which through the benefit of hindsight proved to be only insignificant pettiness that are overly reacted to by someone too eager and hungry for a new start? Just as I have been many times wrong about the interest or feelings of men towards me. I remembered how a smile, a stare, a sweet message in the end never translated into sincere love. For, after all, the biggest and only purpose of making this trip – finding a job and then love,  is not achieved and seems never more a distant dream. Even the relationship with the host family is soured and almost non-existent.

Then, how is one to interpret God’s will? How am I to be sure that my heart beats in sync with God’s heart?

Then the story of the Patriarch Joseph came to my mind.

He was a favored son of his father. 

When he first had the dream of a multi-colored robe. At that point it seemed that it went so well for him. But God, who gave him the dream, didn’t warn him about the jealous of his half-brothers and full foes. He may have had a gift for dream interpretation but obviously not the basic ability of mind reading. Joseph told his brother, only half brothers but full foes, about the dream.

That dream cost him almost his life. It cost him freedom of over 18 years and connection with his family. He was promoted to be the second to only one in the household of Potiphar. And even the mistress was smitten with him, a foreign slave. But he was young, strong, intelligent, noble-charactered and yes, very handsome. 

All these blessings turned out again to be a curse. The mistress wanted him. If only he could read the mind of a woman, and didn’t not enter her chamber with no one else present.  But God didn’t warn him about that danger either. Nor did he give the Master of house any insight to his own lustful wife. 

Then this handsome, intelligent and innocent young man spent his best years in a dungeon where he mixed with corruptive officials of the Egyptian court, where he was forgotten by everyone completely.

His father thought he was dead for years. His brothers except for one thought so, too. Maybe the mistress who put him there is the only one who remembered from time to time. 

What did he do and think of during those nights and days which were as dark as if not darker than nights.

Did he have any dreams?

Did he regret having told others about his dream? 

Did he regret obeying his mistress and going into her chamber?

Did he regret going with his brother into the wilderness that day? 

Did he regret being favored by his father thus causing his curse by his other sons?

If only his father didn’t have two wives.

Did he miss his mother? Did he curse his own good looks and abilities which excited the lust of the woman whose rejection has? Did he feel tired of his own life? Did he ask God if the dream of his childhood was indeed a mock and curse? A robe of many colors? He was now wearing only the uniform of a prisoner! But God has a plan. A plan that will not be frustrated or delayed by human sins or stupidity, contriving or carelessness. 

If I let the light and only momentary troubles (no matter how heavy and prolonged they feel) negate the previous blessings and obliterate the hope of the coming weight of eternal glory, then, I really do have troubles. ( Basically...I have troubles but I'm not in trouble.)

Now,  I can safely say that the trip to Germany was indeed blessed by God no matter whether I will find a job or not. 

I want to be able to work and start a new life here.God worked on me and is bringing forth a new person.The real work is always about ourselves.Only a new person can enjoy a new life.The new wine must be put in a new wineskin.  

A few more thoughts on the job situation:

I am always fully and painfully aware of the FACTs that I am a middle-aged, single woman, without the necessary language ability, technical skills or any business experience, no connections, not even self-confidence needed for employment here in Germany.

So, what am I doing here?

But if I succeed, it would be such a wonderful testimony of faith and faithfulness, gratefulness and grace, trust and triumph. It is up to God to decide what type of story he wants to write through my story. 

Like in all those great stories I read the hero always faces insane odds against him. The only reason he could hope to overcome these oppositions is that he is the chosen one. He is meant to succeed. Although the success is not to be obtained without much cost and many defeats first.

I used to often secretly marvel at my own naïve dogmatism of following the lessons learned through reading fictions or biographies. I laughed at myself. I thought --- "Oh, poor creature, you always wanted to have an all-wise and patient mentor but with your circumstances deprived of the hope of any, you turned to books, to the fictional world for your enlightenment and guidance."

That’s rather romantic but maybe not very effective. Being romantic and idealistic, I liked myself better for such naivety. There is something so noble, pure and strong and youthful about that naivety. 

Until today, I realized that looking for patterns and inspirations in stories is actually the only and most effective means of figuring out your path forward. We are each and every one of us here to embody a story of our own which in collectivity will form the sub-stories of the STORY.

If the plots my story get thick and dark event to the point of despairing, I shall be excited, since like in all those great stories, it promises the resolution will be so much more exciting and satisfying beyond expectation that I shall be marveled and wouldn’t want to alter a single touch of it. 

And just how reliable these patterns are, if they are real? By that I mean, how applicable are they in individual cases?

The answer is – if they are real, they are real and will “not  dissolve”. 

Amen.

God’s will be done.

Yours,

LATER

I came back again to the Palace, tonight.

And tonight God gave me such a present. 

The moon lit the entire palace. 

I wandered under the moonlight. 

The trees, the flowers the fountains, the statues,  the deers that emerged after people left. 

I stayed late. 

I felt I was literally in the fairy tale, in the elvish land in Lord of the Rings.

I wanted to sing, to dance, to shout out loud praises to God.

Photos can't reflect the magic of it. 

I am sure of His Mercy, Might and Miracle. 

God is awesome.  

The Palace under the moon,Although quiet, speaks so clearly about God's majestyAlthough empty, is so pregnant with beauty and magicAlthough perfectly still, seems barely able to contain itself but wants to leap forward with joy and burst into songs!