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→→→→ vertical line TOPIC: THOMAS MERTON
vertical line Posted on Apr.04.2007 @ 12:25PM EDT by stephen

Last night on PBS there was a 1985 A Film Biography of Thomas Merton – Trappist monk. They asked a fellow monk what Merton had taught him. He replied, “He taught me nothing which is the most important thing I have ever learned.” MU


Go to Latest Reply   Reply to this Topic   Email stephen
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Reply from Woodsman
Apr.04.2007
01:33PM EDT 
Email Woodsman
vertical line That brought a tear to my eye.

Wait a minute! This is not mine! The dog may have sneezed on me! Woof!
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70491
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Reply from -----0
Apr.04.2007
01:49PM EDT 
vertical line he still believes there is something to learn
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70494
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Reply from Woodsman
Apr.04.2007
01:57PM EDT 
Email Woodsman
vertical line He still believes to teach.
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70495
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Reply from Woodsman
Apr.04.2007
05:02PM EDT 
Email Woodsman
vertical line As One believes to reach... hhhhmmmm
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70496
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Reply from ______
Apr.04.2007
05:36PM EDT 
vertical line All theology is a kind of birthday Each one who is born Comes into the world as a question For which old answers Are not sufficient. Birth is question and revelation. The ground of birth is paradise Yet we are born a thousand miles Away from our home. Paradise weeps in us And we wander further away. This is the theology Of our birthdays. Obscure theology On the steps of Cincinnati Station: I am questioned by the cold December Of 1941. One small snowflake Melts on my eyelid like a guess And is forgotten (Across the river my meaning has taken flesh Is warm, cries for care Across the river Heaven is weeping.) Heaven weeps without cause Forever if I do not find The question that seeks me All the gates are shut The monastery is cold But everything here is certain: Fire smoulders however In the center. Fort Thomas Kentucky In a year of war Is like Bethlehem, obscure But not so innocent. And I too am a prisoner In a theology of will While north of me a question Is weeping in the snow Because I am (for the time being) A man without doubts Renouncing the luxury of questions. Wisdom grows like a flower Turns her innocent face In sweet compassion South and west Wondering about the seasons Sun rain and nuns Not knowing. I am stubborn I build ten theories out of stone In a stone wall Eden An unknown flower loves me more I do not know it The fire in the center However is still there And smoulders. Heaven grows to a bird With pretty wings Her flight is like a question Searching the south For somebody Theology is sometimes sickness A broken neck of questions A helpless doubt In an electric bed The birds finds this doubt Broken in the fever And knows: “ You are my glory And I your answer- If you have a question.” To sing is to begin a sentence Like “I want to get well.” “I am not born for nothing And neither are you: Heaven never wept Over nothing.” “And the ground of loneliness Is love. The ground of doubt: Is it truth?” So all theology Is a kind of birthday A way home to where we are Epiphany and Eden Where two lost questions Make one orbit In the middle of nothing. Is this the answer? No one ever got born All by himself: It takes more than one. Every birthday Has its own theology
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70497
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Reply from ______
Apr.04.2007
05:53PM EDT 
vertical line All theology is a kind of birthday Each one who is born Comes into the world as a question For which old answers Are not sufficient. Birth is question and revelation. The ground of birth is paradise Yet we are born a thousand miles Away from our home. Paradise weeps in us And we wander further away. This is the theology Of our birthdays. Obscure theology On the steps of Cincinnati Station: I am questioned by the cold December Of 1941. One small snowflake Melts on my eyelid like a guess And is forgotten (Across the river my meaning has taken flesh Is warm, cries for care Across the river Heaven is weeping.) Heaven weeps without cause Forever if I do not find The question that seeks me All the gates are shut The monastery is cold But everything here is certain: Fire smoulders however In the center. Fort Thomas Kentucky In a year of war Is like Bethlehem, obscure But not so innocent. And I too am a prisoner In a theology of will While north of me a question Is weeping in the snow Because I am (for the time being) A man without doubts Renouncing the luxury of questions. Wisdom grows like a flower Turns her innocent face In sweet compassion South and west Wondering about the seasons Sun rain and nuns Not knowing. I am stubborn I build ten theories out of stone In a stone wall Eden An unknown flower loves me more I do not know it The fire in the center However is still there And smoulders. Heaven grows to a bird With pretty wings Her flight is like a question Searching the south For somebody Theology is sometimes sickness A broken neck of questions A helpless doubt In an electric bed The bird finds this doubt Broken in the fever And knows: “You are my glory And I your answer- If you have a question.” To sing is to begin a sentence Like “I want to get well.” “I am not born for nothing And neither are you: Heaven never wept Over nothing.” “And the ground of loneliness Is love. The ground of doubt: Is it truth?” So all theology Is a kind of birthday A way home to where we are Epiphany and Eden Where two lost questions Make one orbit In the middle of nothing. Is this the answer? No one ever got born All by himself: It takes more than one. Every birthday Has its own theology
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70498
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Reply from ______
Apr.04.2007
05:57PM EDT 
vertical line oh well...
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70499
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Reply from lehish
Apr.04.2007
06:11PM EDT 
Email lehish
vertical line http://www.popularfront.com/snowdays/index.html?id=3814970
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70500
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Reply from ______
Apr.05.2007
07:07AM EDT 
vertical line Untitled All theology is a kind of birthday Each one who is born Comes into the world as a question For which old answers Are not sufficient. Birth is question and revelation. The ground of birth is paradise Yet we are born a thousand miles Away from our home. Paradise weeps in us And we wander further away. This is the theology Of our birthdays. Obscure theology On the steps of Cincinnati Station: I am questioned by the cold December Of 1941. One small snowflake Melts on my eyelid like a guess And is forgotten (Across the river my meaning has taken flesh Is warm, cries for care Across the river Heaven is weeping.) Heaven weeps without cause Forever if I do not find The question that seeks me All the gates are shut The monastery is cold But everything here is certain: Fire smoulders however In the center. Fort Thomas Kentucky In a year of war Is like Bethlehem, obscure But not so innocent. And I too am a prisoner In a theology of will While north of me a question Is weeping in the snow Because I am (for the time being) A man without doubts Renouncing the luxury of questions. Wisdom grows like a flower Turns her innocent face In sweet compassion South and west Wondering about the seasons Sun rain and nuns Not knowing. I am stubborn I build ten theories out of stone In a stone wall Eden An unknown flower loves me more I do not know it The fire in the center However is still there And smoulders. Heaven grows to a bird With pretty wings Her flight is like a question Searching the south For somebody Theology is sometimes sickness A broken neck of questions A helpless doubt In an electric bed The bird finds this doubt Broken in the fever And knows: “You are my glory And I your answer- If you have a question.” To sing is to begin a sentence Like “I want to get well.” “I am not born for nothing And neither are you: Heaven never wept Over nothing.” “And the ground of loneliness Is love. The ground of doubt: Is it truth?” So all theology Is a kind of birthday A way home to where we are Epiphany and Eden Where two lost questions Make one orbit In the middle of nothing. Is this the answer? No one ever got born All by himself: It takes more than one. Every birthday Has its own theology ~Thomas Merton~
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70502
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Reply from ______
Apr.05.2007
07:10AM EDT 
vertical line paras and line breaks were there...now----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- they're gone
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70503
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Reply from ______
Apr.05.2007
07:27AM EDT 
vertical line Untitled

All theology is a kind of birthday
Each one who is born
Comes into the world as a question
For which old answers
Are not sufficient.

Birth is question and revelation.
The ground of birth is paradise
Yet we are born a thousand miles
Away from our home.
Paradise weeps in us
And we wander further away.
This is the theology
Of our birthdays.

Obscure theology
On the steps of Cincinnati Station:
I am questioned by the cold December
Of 1941. One small snowflake
Melts on my eyelid like a guess
And is forgotten
(Across the river my meaning has taken flesh
Is warm, cries for care
Across the river
Heaven is weeping.)

Heaven weeps without cause
Forever if I do not find
The question that seeks me
All the gates are shut
The monastery is cold
But everything here is certain:
Fire smoulders however
In the center.

Fort Thomas Kentucky
In a year of war
Is like Bethlehem, obscure
But not so innocent.
And I too am a prisoner
In a theology of will
While north of me a question
Is weeping in the snow
Because I am (for the time being)
A man without doubts
Renouncing the luxury of questions.

Wisdom grows like a flower
Turns her innocent face
In sweet compassion
South and west
Wondering about the seasons
Sun rain and nuns
Not knowing.

I am stubborn
I build ten theories out of stone
In a stone wall Eden
An unknown flower loves me more
I do not know it
The fire in the center
However is still there
And smoulders.

Heaven grows to a bird
With pretty wings
Her flight is like a question
Searching the south
For somebody

Theology is sometimes sickness
A broken neck of questions
A helpless doubt
In an electric bed

The bird finds this doubt
Broken in the fever
And knows: “ You are my glory
And I your answer-
If you have a question.”

To sing is to begin a sentence
Like “I want to get well.”
“I am not born for nothing
And neither are you:
Heaven never wept
Over nothing.”

“And the ground of loneliness
Is love.
The ground of doubt:
Is it truth?”

So all theology
Is a kind of birthday
A way home to where we are
Epiphany and Eden
Where two lost questions
Make one orbit
In the middle of nothing.
Is this the answer?

No one ever got born
All by himself:
It takes more than one.
Every birthday
Has its own theology

~Thomas Merton~
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70504
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Reply from lehish
Apr.05.2007
07:52AM EDT 
Email lehish
vertical line gassho
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70505
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Reply from lehish
Apr.05.2007
07:54AM EDT 
Email lehish
vertical line thanking posting poeming rustic
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70506
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Reply from lehish
Apr.05.2007
09:50AM EDT 
Email lehish
vertical line thanks stephen
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70508
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Reply from Woodsman
Apr.05.2007
09:55AM EDT 
Email Woodsman
vertical line thanks Thomas
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70509
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Reply from boymonk
Apr.05.2007
12:24PM EDT 
vertical line thanks, Jhonboy.
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70510
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Reply from lehish
Apr.05.2007
01:03PM EDT 
Email lehish
vertical line lol
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70511
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Reply from -----0
Apr.05.2007
01:54PM EDT 
vertical line

every birthday
has its own theology

every theology
has its own technology
of rebirth

vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70512
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Reply from Woodsman
Apr.05.2007
01:59PM EDT 
Email Woodsman
vertical line Bingo! Now what?
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70513
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Reply from 77 zen ror
Apr.05.2007
06:59PM EDT 
Email 77 zen ror
vertical line It's the birth you are given we bring joy to. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70515
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Reply from Woodsman
Apr.05.2007
08:50PM EDT 
Email Woodsman
vertical line thanks
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70517
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Reply from Lynnoh
Apr.06.2007
09:23AM EDT 
Email Lynnoh
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no matter how I thinkof it..seems I can never think of nothing nr can i find anything to put inside of it

is your birthday Woodsman?

vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70521
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Reply from -----0
Apr.06.2007
12:42PM EDT 
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Quote: "Bingo! Now what? "
.........

Oh, nothing. Have a nice day!

vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70523
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Reply from Woodsman
Apr.06.2007
12:54PM EDT 
Email Woodsman
vertical line Whoops, I'm off by ten days. Be as you were.
vertical line Quote & Reply   Post Reply 70524
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