north-american possums! work fatigue grouses; singaporean; ex-poet and writer; former convent girl; converted, convicted and painfully quiet; bibliophilic; skyscrapers; weather-talk; dining alone on sashimi; your life with Jesus; banging heads with problems; looking from afar; loving my xiongmao; peanuts & anchovies; battlestar galatica; novella dreams and paranoai: holding onto you.

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Friday, December 09, 2005

Stepping into the national library feels like i'm stepping into church. Even more so. Never do i hear a squeal or screech from unruly, uninspired, unamused children. Sometimes it happens in church but in this sanctuary of humanism, its sheer magnificence of superstructure and modern glass/metal finishings inspires awe and reverence. Of course, the noise level is much greatly reduced by carpeting as well. On the seventh floor, the children's rapt attention is now focused on the excellent view and few words are spoken, and that's only when they are leaving the place and mum takes out her handphone to make arrangements. This is almost too good to be true.

It is also almost terrifying how alive i feel right now. Just last night, nita johnson was sharing about the sleepiness of the singapore church. How we have been lulled by our toys and earthly pursuits, transformed into mere pagaentry and superficiality: becoming incapable of hearing or bearing the burden of God for our nation. Has all our efforts and self-transformation been mistaken for the creation of life? Is this "high" that I'm experiencing now blinding me to the eternal and weighty presence of the reality of God?

I don't think "blindness" cuts close to what I am feeling now in contrast to what I know and believe in. This artificial life, energy and exuberance that vitalises human endeavours is irresistably persuasive, manifesting itself with such a presence that one cannot deny the effect it creates.

Perhaps i am talking rot here. But this transaction of feelings and loyalty between an inanimate object such as this building and a person like me is too real for comfort. The "dirt", pain and hopeful expectation of true salvation cannot come close to this; so diametrically opposed to this perhaps not form but spirit.

posted by happyhannon at 3:00 PM