The Cathedral of Quiet Deeds

🗓️ 25-07-08-Tu | 10:14 PST | ☀️  Sunny | 🌡️95° – 68°  | Northridge, CA | 🌔 Waxing gibbous moon is in ♐   | Week 28 | Day 189/365 | 176 Days Remaining
National Day 😊 Raspberry Day


✍🏾 MOOD

Despite some pain in my back I maintain poise.

🧭 THEME

The quiet mastery of stillness in motion.

🗝️ KEYWORD

Patience

✍🏾 RMSDJ

I woke with the sluggish temperament of a phlegmatic bishop—dignified, deliberate, and faintly irritated by a lingering ache in my lower left back. The discomfort wasn’t mysterious; it had, quite evidently, exacted its rage upon me from yesterday’s ill-advised duet with the red resistance band. I had reached too far, pulled too hard, and the muscle had answered in protest. My enthusiasm had become a burden—a fardel I now carried, quite literally, beneath my ribcage.

Instead of stretching again this morning, I opted for stillness. A meditation—an interior nidification—where thoughts fluttered in like swallows and settled into coherence. Supine planks gave me the chance to gently elongate the lower abdominals without inciting further rebellion from my back. I may add these modest poses two or three times a week as a form of measured penitence.

The pool, after nearly two weeks of being sealed off for maintenance, now gleamed like a fresh sheet of parchment. I slipped into its cool embrace, moving deliberately through water that felt both forgiving and invigorating. I avoided any stretching, letting the resistance of the pool suffice. The Jacuzzi, on the other hand, had not yet completed its resurrection. It looked as though it had been visited by Heliogabalus himself—grand in structure but mired in residue, a once-ornate ruin now in need of a draining and a blessing. I would later speak with Fred about its condition; no recon was necessary. He already knew.

After the pool, I rinsed beneath the shower and scrubbed off what chemicals I could. When I returned to my apartment, I discovered the Amazon delivery had arrived—my new ab carver and an additional red exercise rope. The blagert I’d previously purchased from Big 5 had faulty recoil and no paperwork, as if it were the black sheep of a factory line. This new model felt more promising—its smooth glide a quiet nod to competence. I prepared the old one for return. Good riddance to impostors.

Then came a call from Aubrey Divens. His voice, slightly trilled with congestion and fatigue, bore the unmistakable residue of COVID. He explained that he had been in a clinic the day before and was still contending with symptoms. We didn’t speak long, but I offered a few leal words of encouragement, urging him to rest and monitor things carefully. In these times, even minor ailments deserve serious attention.

Afterwards, I turned to my legal obligations—specifically, assembling the exhibits related to last week’s deposition. What I assumed would be an afternoon’s slog revealed itself to be a neat fascicle of documents, each already sorted, labeled, and largely self-explanatory. I was, admittedly, surprised by my own foresight. The task took less than an hour. Perhaps even the law, at times, allows for efficiency.

Around 17:15, I ventured out for a walk, detouring first to Fred’s office to remind him—politely but firmly—that the Jacuzzi needed a thorough cleaning. He nodded with a faint smile. I suspect my tone did not invite debate. I then saw Anna Sanchez, who hadn’t been well of late. She’s gained noticeable weight, which she acknowledged before I even commented. She attributed it to poor sleep and general malaise. I didn’t say it outright, but the word mumpsimus floated through my mind—clinging to old habits in the face of better knowledge. Still, she listened as I suggested she take a COVID test, if only for peace of mind. Her work as a leasing agent exposes her to a daily parade of microbes, personalities, and invisible risks.

Just as I was about to continue walking, my phone rang—Kaiser Permanente. On the other end was Brian, a web support technician who introduced himself with the restrained weariness of a man who had reset too many passwords today. At first, I was irritable. Not at Brian, but at the labyrinth of their digital interface, which seemed engineered more for obfuscation than clarity. A jape of a website. My contempt for it was real. But Brian, to his credit, remained calm. He walked me through the reset, all while I sat on a bench near the tennis courts on Cal State Northridge’s campus.

We discussed the absurdity of the messaging system: why, I asked, should one not be able to simply click on the photo of one’s doctor and send a message directly? Brian agreed. We exchanged ideas. He mentioned his dogs. Back pain. He’s in his mid-thirties. I spoke to him about posture, about The Fasting Life, about Questions of Value, about my lectures at UCLA. I explained how poor design—whether in websites or in life—often arises from failing to ask the most basic questions. Who is this for? What do they need? How can we serve them without confusing them?

By the end of the conversation, I had walked well over 10,000 steps—my highest count in nearly two months. That alone was a quiet triumph. I returned home with renewed energy, listening to a fascinating biography on Elizabeth Taylor, whose life swung between Hollywood sanctum and scandalous spectacle with operatic flair.

The evening concluded with my review of Steven Harrison’s letter from KDP. A soft defense. It read like an apologetic essay written by a man who believes he must speak but doesn’t know what to say. A well-intentioned mumpsimus—trying to defend a position that no longer needs defending. Still, I recognized the effort. One cannot fault a man for offering a rationale, even if it comes wrapped in yesterday’s logic.

And so the day, filled with movement, missteps, and mild revelations, softened into stillness. The burdens I carried—physical, professional, emotional—felt lighter. Some had been sublimated, some simply seen. I closed the evening with the calm of one who knows tomorrow will bring its own forms of clarity, and its own cast of characters.

📖 WORDQUEST

phlegmatic
/ˌflɛɡˈmætɪk/
Calm, unemotional; showing little emotion or reaction.
From Greek phlegmatikos, meaning “inflammation” or “humor.”

🧠 Memory Hook: Imagine a royal guard standing unshaken while kittens dance on his epaulets.

🌍 Literal Sentence: The librarian remained phlegmatic as the fire alarm shrieked through the building.
🔎 She showed no panic, staying calm in crisis.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: He approached heartbreak with a phlegmatic grace, as if sorrow were merely weather.
🔎 Emotion did not rule him — equanimity did.

fardel
/ˈfɑːrdəl/
A burden; a pack or bundle.
From Old French fardel, a small pack.

🧠 Memory Hook: Picture Atlas carrying not the globe but a giant wrapped birthday present.

🌍 Literal Sentence: She slung the fardel over her shoulder and began her trek into the woods.
🔎 The word implies both weight and intention — carried with purpose.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: He bore the fardel of regret like a pilgrim wears his cloak — close, familiar, and unshakable.
🔎 Emotional burdens are often carried silently and long.

fascicle
/ˈfæsɪkəl/
A small bundle, cluster, or installment of a printed work.
From Latin fasciculus, diminutive of fascis, meaning “bundle.”

🧠 Memory Hook: Think of a rose’s petals bound like a miniature book of perfume.

🌍 Literal Sentence: The fascicle of poems arrived quarterly, each installment more luminous than the last.
🔎 A fascicle is a part of a whole — segmental yet intimate.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: Each memory was a fascicle in the grand volume of her grief.
🔎 Memory is bound like pages — revisited and re-felt.

nidification
/ˌnɪdɪfɪˈkeɪʃən/
The act of building a nest.
From Latin nidificare, from nidus meaning “nest.”

🧠 Memory Hook: A robin arranging silk scarves and coins into a velvet-lined teacup.

🌍 Literal Sentence: The bluebirds resumed nidification just before dawn, twigs in beaks like architects.
🔎 It suggests not just construction, but gentle intention.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: Their new home felt like nidification — tender, protective, and sacred.
🔎 We build nests not only of sticks but of hope.

mumpsimus
/ˈmʌmpsɪməs/
A stubborn person who insists on making an error in spite of being shown it is wrong.
From a mispronunciation of Latin sumpsimus in church rituals.

🧠 Memory Hook: A man repeatedly calling a giraffe a “striped horse,” even at the zoo.

🌍 Literal Sentence: Despite clear instructions, he clung to his mumpsimus with the pride of a peacock in boots.
🔎 Willful ignorance often masquerades as tradition.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: Bureaucracy is the cathedral of mumpsimus — holy rituals performed with no meaning left.
🔎 Institutions resist change by worshipping error.

leal
/liːl/
Loyal, faithful, true.
From Old French leal, from Latin legalis (legal).

🧠 Memory Hook: A dog resting beside a worn pair of boots, waiting for his master’s return.

🌍 Literal Sentence: The knight was leal to the end, guarding the castle long after its fall.
🔎 Loyalty that endures beyond reason or reward.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: Her leal heart outlasted betrayal — beating in time with belief, not bitterness.
🔎 True loyalty is not reactive, but rooted.

heliogabalus
/ˌhiːliəˈɡæbələs/
A reference to excessive decadence or eccentricity, derived from the Roman emperor known for his hedonism.
From Latinized Greek Heliogabalos, the sun priest-emperor of Rome.

🧠 Memory Hook: Imagine a Roman emperor throwing rose petals from a gold-plated helicopter onto a feast of candied peacocks.

🌍 Literal Sentence: The banquet mirrored the days of Heliogabalus — silk-clad servers, music on command, and honeyed flamingo tongues.
🔎 A literal descent into the lavish excesses of an emperor’s whims.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: His lifestyle had become a Heliogabalus fantasy — opulent, unmoored, and utterly unsustainable.
🔎 To live as Heliogabalus is to forget the edge of the cliff beneath the velvet carpet.

trilled
/trɪld/
Produced a high-pitched, wavering sound, often from a bird or musical instrument.
From Middle English trillen, to roll or vibrate.

🧠 Memory Hook: A flute and a nightingale having a contest at dawn.

🌍 Literal Sentence: The canary trilled in the morning light, each note a golden echo through the kitchen.
🔎 Trilling captures both sound and spirit — a song in motion.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: Her laughter trilled through the hall, light as spun glass and twice as sharp.
🔎 A trill can be a shimmer in voice — a sparkle on silence.

sublimated
/ˈsʌblɪˌmeɪtɪd/
Transformed from a base instinct into a socially or morally acceptable form.
From Latin sublimare, to raise or elevate.

🧠 Memory Hook: Anger turned into poetry, like fire written in ink.

🌍 Literal Sentence: His rage was sublimated into sculpture, each strike of chisel healing a wound.
🔎 Art often begins where fury is redirected.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: Her desire was sublimated into ambition — she climbed the corporate ladder in heels of longing.
🔎 Sublimation refines passion into purpose.

exact
/ɪɡˈzækt/
To demand and obtain forcibly; to call for with authority.
From Latin exigere, meaning “to drive out or enforce.”

🧠 Memory Hook: A taxman made of stone, knocking on your dreams.

🌍 Literal Sentence: The tyrant exacted tribute from the villagers until their fields lay bare.
🔎 To exact is not to ask — it is to take.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: Life exacts a toll from the faithful — not in coin, but in courage.
🔎 Every calling requires its due, and more.

his rage
/hɪz reɪdʒ/
A phrase denoting the specific, often overwhelming anger of a person — personal and precise.
From Old French raige, madness, from Latin rabia.

🧠 Memory Hook: A volcano in a velvet robe, erupting only when the door closes.

🌍 Literal Sentence: His rage broke the silence like glass dropped in a chapel.
🔎 Rage is most dangerous when carefully dressed.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: His rage was an inheritance — passed down, misunderstood, and too large for any room.
🔎 Some anger comes not from moment but from lineage.

jape
/dʒeɪp/
A joke or prank, often mocking or sardonic.
From Middle English japen, to jest.

🧠 Memory Hook: A clown with a dagger in his smile.

🌍 Literal Sentence: The jape went too far when the costume didn’t come off.
🔎 A jape walks the line between humor and harm.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: Their friendship became a jape — all barbs and no balm.
🔎 Humor can become armor or assault.

blagert
/ˈblæɡərt/
A braggart or loud-mouthed deceiver.
Scots origin, related to blague (bluff or nonsense).

🧠 Memory Hook: A peacock in a leather jacket, selling you bottled moonlight.

🌍 Literal Sentence: The blagert held court at the tavern, tales taller than the steeple.
🔎 A blagert thrives on the echo of his own voice.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: He was the office blagert — flashy on the surface, hollow underneath.
🔎 Not all charisma carries substance.

recon
/ˈriːkɒn/
Short for reconnaissance — the act of gathering preliminary information, often secretly.
From French reconnaître, to recognize.

🧠 Memory Hook: A shadow with binoculars, tiptoeing through the mind.

🌍 Literal Sentence: She went on recon before the interview — knowing every name on the org chart.
🔎 Recon isn’t combat, it’s curiosity with discipline.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: He did recon on her soul, uncovering tenderness beneath defiance.
🔎 True recon reveals more than data — it unveils motive.

contempt
/kənˈtɛmpt/
The feeling that someone or something is beneath consideration, worthless, or deserving scorn.
From Latin contemptus, meaning scorn or disdain.

🧠 Memory Hook: A crown turned upside down in a puddle.

🌍 Literal Sentence: His contempt for the rules was evident in every insolent glance.
🔎 Contempt is not loud — it’s a silent sneer.

🔥 Figurative Sentence: She wore contempt like perfume — subtle but unmistakable.
🔎 Some scorn is cloaked in elegance, but it still burns.

🏛️ APHORISM

John Locke

“The actions of men are the best interpreters of their thoughts.”

🔎 COMMENTARY

Locke reminds us that thought is never merely cerebral — it is kinetic. A man may preach kindness, but the hand that helps the fallen speaks louder. In this view, action is thought clothed in consequence. The true map of belief is not drawn in speeches but in footprints.


❓ QUESTIONS OF VALUE

When did your hands last speak more honestly than your words?

🔎 The body has no rhetoric — only truth in movement.


🛠️ PRINCIPLE IN PRACTICE

In a recent meeting, instead of correcting a colleague’s mistake in front of others, I quietly stayed after to help him understand the error. That small silence said more about my values than any speech on kindness ever could.


🪶 POEM

The Cathedral of Quiet Deeds

In silence, something stirs the stone,
A whispered vow, a breath alone.
No trumpet sounds, no chorus calls,
Just feet that move through sacred halls.

A hand extended, not for show,
A truth that actions always know.
Words may flutter, proud and brief —
But acts? They etch belief from grief.

Let voices falter, boast, or plead —
The soul speaks truest through the deed.



✍🏾 ELEGANT TURN OF PHRASE

He walked like a phlegmatic sermon — quiet, composed, unwavering.

🔥 Illustrative Sentences:

1. Her ambitions were sublimated into discipline — every routine a cathedral of intent.
🔎 Transformed desire can become daily devotion.


2. He bore the fardel of expectation with a leal heart — heavy, but never bitter.
🔎 Loyalty often means carrying burdens willingly.


3. In every trilled laugh, she scattered contempt like chaff — leaving only clarity in her wake.
🔎 Laughter can reveal scorn, or clear it away.



🔎 INTERPRETIVE SUMMARY
Our phrases are not merely spoken — they live, breathe, and act on our behalf.



🏛️ STILLPOINT

The Stoics taught us that character is choice made visible. Epictetus claimed we control not events, but how we respond. So, in response, we build. We endure. We act not to impress, but to express virtue — steadily, repeatedly, faithfully.

🔎 Each act of patience, each refusal to retaliate, is the Stoic’s cathedral. Not made of stone, but of stillness.



🧎🏾‍♂️ REFLECTIONS OF GRATITUDE

I give thanks for quiet strength —
For a spine that straightens through pain,
For words unsaid that guarded peace,
For laughter that softened contempt,
And for the full moon tonight — still, full, and forgiving.
It reminds me that the best light does not shout — it glows.



🪔 AFFIRMATION

I act with grace, not display.
I walk with truth, not tremble.
My strength is not said — it is shown.

Title: Grief Carved into Belief (2025)

Medium:

Digital Charcoal Rendering
Reflecting Randy Sydnor’s application of his unique technique, Mnephonics, this medium blends digital chiaroscuro with visual allegory — transforming emotional resonance into structured memory. The use of warm, earthen tones echoes ancient craft while modern tools enable a symbolic richness that invites profound reflection.

Style of Art:

Symbolist Realism with Surrealist Undertones

Dimensions:

1024 x 1024 pixels (archival print options available in 24″ x 24″ and 30″ x 30″)

Copyright:

Randy Sydnor, The Mnephonist


Description:

Opening Statement – The Central Theme

In Grief Carved into Belief, sorrow does not break — it builds. This arresting work invites the viewer into a sacred moment of transformation, where pain becomes purpose, and quiet resolve chisels meaning from loss. Here, grief is neither buried nor romanticized. It is sculpted.

Medium and Technique – The Artist’s Craft

Rendered in digital charcoal and chalk, this piece harnesses the soft abrasion of stone and shadow, mirroring the tactile labor of memory itself. Through his Mnephonics technique, Sydnor blends symbolic language with cognitive anchoring — the visual equivalent of etymology made flesh. The piece balances a reverence for classical craftsmanship with the disruptive clarity of modern reflection.

Central Figure or Focus – The Visual Heart

At its center, a spectral hand grips a chisel, poised above a block of raw stone. From the surface, the delicate curvature of an angelic wing emerges — feathered, faithful, and wholly unexpected. The hand — subtly transparent — evokes not just the artist or artisan, but the ancestor, the grief-stricken survivor, or the soul at work upon itself.

Supporting Elements – Symbolic Imagery and Details
No face is shown. No eyes look outward. Only presence through gesture. Crumbled stone gathers near the base — not ruin, but residue. The backdrop remains unadorned, dark, echoing a cathedral’s quietude, drawing the eye fully to the act of sublimation. This is not chaos. This is eidetic stillness — the art of remembering with shape.

Philosophical or Artistic Reflection – The Soul of the Piece
The piece speaks in chorus with Marcus Aurelius, who wrote, “What stands in the way becomes the way.” And yet, this artwork dares to soften the Stoic edge with compassion. Grief, the most human of fardels, is not cast off but carved in. The wing, symbolic of transcendence, arises not through denial, but discipline. Echoes of Auguste Rodin mingle with the inner silence of Hildegard’s visions — a meditation forged in line and restraint.

Color and Composition – The Visual Language

Sepia tones wrap the work in warmth, while deep shadows grant it gravitas. The high contrast between the polished wing and the raw stone draws the eye toward emergence — from mass to message, from burden to flight. There is no clutter, no ornamentation. The space breathes. This composition places the burden of meaning precisely where it belongs — in the viewer’s contemplation.

Closing Thought – Invitation to Reflect
What have you carved from your own grief?
Is belief something you declare — or something you etch slowly, over time, into the quiet stone of your days?



© Randolph M. Sydnor
Prints and digital sale o