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I often am drawn to ancient history. I love history in general, but the ancient type is the stuff that I really love. I love that we don't quite know how things were done, or why great things were built, and that the only sense of them that we can make is that if we divide the length of their walls together that we get pi, or if we chart them against the heavens that we will find a better calendar than the one that we have today, or if we look at an object closely enough we realize that our civilization has only had the ability to make such a thing since the invention of lazar technology ... or not at all ... and we wonder why and how the ancients did such a thing. Plotting myself and my fellows on a map of time is calming to me. The enduring forgetfulness and rediscovery of the ages is like the folds of a linen blanket - each different but nearly a twin to the next one. Solomon was right that there is nothing new under the Sun.

And so I spent my morning and afternoon cleaning my house. Dusting things that will get dusty again. Polishing wood with the knowledge that it will soon be smudged. And yet there is a joy to be had in the repetition anyways, because for a moment the wood is filled with a deep cherry gloss that is a glory to see, and the dust that rises from the tops of things makes a beautiful pattern in the air as it slowly lowers itself back down through the sun beams.

I got my first check today. My first check for the work I have done in over six months. I calculated that it is 1/80 of what I have to earn to pay back my debt. Is the knowledge that I gained in my studies worth it? No, it is not. I could have gained the knowledge in much cheaper ways, but I would not have been able to get a degree for it. It is only the symbol that costs so much. Not the knowledge.

I drove to the wrong destination yesterday, so I missed my interview and rescheduled it for Monday at 3:15, soliciting the correct (I hope!) directions for my next try from the receptionist on the end of the line. But I did find a destination none-the-less, and I drove the streets of downtown L.A. instead. It was exciting just to be there and I marveled at the tallness of the buildings and how the sun glowed on their sides. I peered up through my car windows, straining to see their tops. I wondered what brave and foolish man climbed so high up to create such a thing. Did he think his life was worth the possibility of the creation? And what math could measure the weight the building would have once it was complete? Or how to make such a building sway when the earth shakes below it so that it won't fall? When so many different materials are brought together to form a building, how is it that their essences combine to make it a whole? It's just like our bodies really. And was the purpose of that matter to be made into a building? Or has man misused it?

There was a fight in my class yesterday between Ju and Is. Ju started it for no good reason, and even accidentally hit another boy (giving him a split lip) in the process. But he only makes excuses for himself. That's all these boys really do. They excuse their behavior because they were mad, or they did not mean it, or they were just kidding, or they were hungry, or, or, or, or, or and I wonder how many of us do the exact same thing only we hide it better. Do their excuses sound as lame in their ears as they sound in mine? Is that why these boys do not respect themselves? Because they refuse to own up to their actions? In some ways it is odd to see them so angry because I can remember getting that angry too when I was around their age. I had a horrible temper and it was only when I asked God to take it away from me that I was free of it. I look at these boys and they are in chains, shackled and bound, because of their sins. They don't see anyone coming to rescue them, so they pretend that they are not chained at all because to admit the horror of their bondage would be psychologically overwhelming to them.

And yet people like them have existed for centuries and their struggles in some ways are only echoes of centuries past. I wonder if in ancient times good and evil were easier to see? And if we have only grown too degenerate in recognizing truth through the ages? Like when one eats too much salt and everything else, even the freshest fruit, tastes dull. How long can we lie to ourselves? And what happens when we stop?

Will the scars of our sins leave us horrible to look at forever?And healing alone is so slow in this life and so often incomplete.