Raymond Fonsèque

It's always interesting to see how my desk changes from day to day, week to week. Just now I was captured by its own dynamic movement (dynamischen Hinbewegung). In a matter of minutes, the classic texts and current scholarship of moral theology were evacuated to make way for a new set of books: hydrology, charts of maximum sustainable yeilds for Hawai'i aquifers, scales for water price adjustment, figures for tourism, and above all, accounts of Native Hawaiian water rights and its place in pre-contact Hawaiian society. Stradding these two worlds feels a bit awkward right now, but it's gotta be gone.

I am not pleased with the progress of my thesis. I hope to finish 30 pages by next week Monday on material that I am not conversant on. We'll see how that goes. After that it'll be back to moral theology and finalizing my own translations of Aquinas and Scotus from Latin. After that, I will have to have my translations of Pinckaers' "Le sources de la morale chretienne" approved. It is a seminal work which encorporates moral theology, especially the virtues, with spirituality. I will propose a three-staged program of moral development which runs in parallel with, and in some cases contributes to, the great mystical tradition of spiritual growth as described in distinct stages, terminating with the illuminative stage.

On top of that, I have not finished my SOP. I actually texted one of my former professors in Honolulu. I told him that I was having an incredible bout of academic self-doubt. He actually called me not too long ago but I was preparing for my class coming up at 2. It feels good to have solid connections with people from the past. I am sure that he'll be most helpful in helping me lift out those things which make me unique as a scholar. I can't do that alone. For all I know I am as generic as some other twentysomething guy from off the street.

I still can't wait to get home. I am listening to "Koke'e" recorded by Maunalua. Growing up I absolutely detested this song. It is trite. It talks about climbing to the top of Koke'e and seeing the mist which encircles everything. It's a fast song but it seems to want to portray some sense of beauty about Koke'e. And so? Yeah, I've hiked to the top. Probably over 1,500 times. Yeah, I've see the mist. I've tasted it, too. For these reasons I thought the song was dragging out an otherwise powerful but mundane experience that is a part of everyday life. But now that I am not there to climb to Koke'e, to smell the ferns, to taste the sweet dewy fog, and feel the coolness of its airs, I can't help but smile when I hear this song. It isn't like actually being there. I think of it more as an appetizer of the day when I go to Kaua'i for the twilight of my life, and as the song says, "never more to say goodbye."