3-22-10
7:51pm
By the time I reach the far cover of this journal I will have changed. (By the time I reached the end of that sentence I had changed.) Some changes will have been for the better; I will have learned more about myself, strengths and weaknesses, my body, my soul, women, my King, I will have aged another year, I will have become more skilled at various tasks and arts, and so on. I pray that far fewer will have been for the worse, though i know that mistakes will have been made, some for the first time, others the many-thousandth, and still others the last. I will have hurt loved ones and neglected strangers. I will have built barriers where bridges would have proven a better fit. I will have let down a great many, and will have been let down by the same. So much could be said, and with such unwavering certainty, of the effects this world will have had on me and I, in return, on it, for it is a matter of fact that I am inconsistent.
You, on the other hand, are anything but. You simply and terribly Are. Though my eyes will have been taunted, tinted, tainted by many a flashing thing, when they meet Yours they will find them freshly familiar, ancient in the most groundbreaking of ways. I am a choppy sea, and You a raging glass, a mirror in a hurricane. I am at the mercy of the hills and valleys alike, You are the Holy Redistribution, the plains of staggering heights and gaping depths.
I put all hope for a better tomorrow, a stable and worthwhile today, and a redeemed and utilized yesterday in Your broad hands, oh God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, hope of John, life of Paul, muse of Lewis and Weiss, mystery of generations. My awkward frame rests and rejoices on Your edgeless plateau of gracious and generous peace. For You Are.
May it be so.
23 March 2010
21 March 2010
the deed never done right
this was new
he never let conscience or forethought creep in
he stabbed, he wiped his blade, he moved on
wouldn't slow down long enough
for it to sink in
moving quick, eyes darting, nervous
but never brave enough to admit it
i can feign it good enough to get close
and deal the blow
he thought
and he did
almost did
victims were always left maimed
the deed never done right
the dull, clumsy efforts of a novice
but now
he planned it
the angle and location of the blade
the distance to and from
the amount of strength and emotion it would take
yet
still he stumbled and fell
plunging his blade in
to strike an artery
once again he had floundered
just nicking the vein
he never let conscience or forethought creep in
he stabbed, he wiped his blade, he moved on
wouldn't slow down long enough
for it to sink in
moving quick, eyes darting, nervous
but never brave enough to admit it
i can feign it good enough to get close
and deal the blow
he thought
and he did
almost did
victims were always left maimed
the deed never done right
the dull, clumsy efforts of a novice
but now
he planned it
the angle and location of the blade
the distance to and from
the amount of strength and emotion it would take
yet
still he stumbled and fell
plunging his blade in
to strike an artery
once again he had floundered
just nicking the vein
19 March 2010
I used to walk.
I used to walk lazily across your valleys and plains,
all was flat and easy, your beautiful summer broken up with brief blasts
of winter's mischief.
Somehow you've changed. Now you are mountainous.
You are as beautiful still, but now also cold and dangerous.
I tried to climb for old time's sake, but now I lay dying, broken backed, busted.
My breath comes in ragged gasps from a pierced lung,
and I don't know what to do.
all was flat and easy, your beautiful summer broken up with brief blasts
of winter's mischief.
Somehow you've changed. Now you are mountainous.
You are as beautiful still, but now also cold and dangerous.
I tried to climb for old time's sake, but now I lay dying, broken backed, busted.
My breath comes in ragged gasps from a pierced lung,
and I don't know what to do.
18 March 2010
Never Sleep
Have you ever kept your eyes closed and allowed the sensation of a quite room fill your heart?
Breathe in the air, a mixed fragrance of stale body and fresh water flowing in through the cracked window. The blankets making it a bit claustrophobic and yet your feet sticking out of the bottom of your covers just enough to get to breathe and for your mind to be at ease. I could feel the bed head catching drafts of fresh air as it circled my room, and with my eyes closed I can almost see the swirling of air, that had been around me all night long as I slept, or at least for the few hours I actually was able to. The warm air rising and the cool air falling to the ground, fighting dancing overhead.
I opened my eye and could see the gray dull light illuminating almost from the walls, but originating from the dull light outside passing through the white blinds. But as each little breeze caught the shades, the orange of a rising sun sprinkled into the room it seemed like magic, that we get to experience the color, that we get to see those hues.
I went to bed anxious and I woke up anxious, my heart beating fast, or at least it felt like it. As I took my pulse I couldn’t even tell if it was beating at all. I threw off the blankets and sitting on the bed placed my feet on the ground. I could hear the cars passing by a few floors below my apartment; puddles splashing, sand and pebbles crunching. Maybe too some voices off in the distance, or maybe just distant TVs. I kept waking up to that gray light that bleeds in through the drapes. With the orange lines of light stretched across my floor and the sticky gross hot feeling from an anxious sleep. The feeling came from somewhere in my chest. I knew the fuel that feed it was in between my ears, but nothing could stop the flow you’d need to put the fire out. Both working in a synergy I could not control. I took a deep breathe and closed my eyes trying to remember to relax my shoulders and concentrate on the breathing maybe I could just calm myself down with the old tricks my mom taught me, but they hadn’t worked in years and I knew it would be temporary.
I rose and walked to my door, the head ache was horrible, and the pounding of my heart increased, somewhat arrhythmic, but after a few beats back to normal, though the pressure in my head did not subside. I opened the door. The blue light shown from above the sink, forcing me to squint. I stubbed my pinky toe on the door frame and swore under my breathe. As I walked to the bathroom, I couldn’t decide, do I pee with the light on or off, was I awake enough to not pee on the floor, or did I need the light? One of the toughest questions that early in the morning.
As I turned on the water and pulled the metal thing to start the shower, my eyes fell back to the mirror. I had one of those moments, where I could not tell if I looked my age or not, if I thought anything was looking back, or if I thought reflections in mirrors were of any reality at all or just mere color I was able to experience. And then I remembered...
Today was the day. “Oh Crap!” I thought the air missing from my lungs, my eyes bounced around the bathroom. I had totally forgotten, that this was the first day of the biggest adventure I would ever take. The beginning of foreign travels, of mistakes and successes and the making of some of the best friends I would have, yet I didn’t know that yet, and the “Oh crap!” that was from the realization that I hadn’t packed yet. But first I have to back up, first you have to understand how I got there, standing in front of that mirror a bit dehydrated, engulfed in that feeling of great expectation and utter fear.
* * *
Breathe in the air, a mixed fragrance of stale body and fresh water flowing in through the cracked window. The blankets making it a bit claustrophobic and yet your feet sticking out of the bottom of your covers just enough to get to breathe and for your mind to be at ease. I could feel the bed head catching drafts of fresh air as it circled my room, and with my eyes closed I can almost see the swirling of air, that had been around me all night long as I slept, or at least for the few hours I actually was able to. The warm air rising and the cool air falling to the ground, fighting dancing overhead.
I opened my eye and could see the gray dull light illuminating almost from the walls, but originating from the dull light outside passing through the white blinds. But as each little breeze caught the shades, the orange of a rising sun sprinkled into the room it seemed like magic, that we get to experience the color, that we get to see those hues.
I went to bed anxious and I woke up anxious, my heart beating fast, or at least it felt like it. As I took my pulse I couldn’t even tell if it was beating at all. I threw off the blankets and sitting on the bed placed my feet on the ground. I could hear the cars passing by a few floors below my apartment; puddles splashing, sand and pebbles crunching. Maybe too some voices off in the distance, or maybe just distant TVs. I kept waking up to that gray light that bleeds in through the drapes. With the orange lines of light stretched across my floor and the sticky gross hot feeling from an anxious sleep. The feeling came from somewhere in my chest. I knew the fuel that feed it was in between my ears, but nothing could stop the flow you’d need to put the fire out. Both working in a synergy I could not control. I took a deep breathe and closed my eyes trying to remember to relax my shoulders and concentrate on the breathing maybe I could just calm myself down with the old tricks my mom taught me, but they hadn’t worked in years and I knew it would be temporary.
I rose and walked to my door, the head ache was horrible, and the pounding of my heart increased, somewhat arrhythmic, but after a few beats back to normal, though the pressure in my head did not subside. I opened the door. The blue light shown from above the sink, forcing me to squint. I stubbed my pinky toe on the door frame and swore under my breathe. As I walked to the bathroom, I couldn’t decide, do I pee with the light on or off, was I awake enough to not pee on the floor, or did I need the light? One of the toughest questions that early in the morning.
As I turned on the water and pulled the metal thing to start the shower, my eyes fell back to the mirror. I had one of those moments, where I could not tell if I looked my age or not, if I thought anything was looking back, or if I thought reflections in mirrors were of any reality at all or just mere color I was able to experience. And then I remembered...
Today was the day. “Oh Crap!” I thought the air missing from my lungs, my eyes bounced around the bathroom. I had totally forgotten, that this was the first day of the biggest adventure I would ever take. The beginning of foreign travels, of mistakes and successes and the making of some of the best friends I would have, yet I didn’t know that yet, and the “Oh crap!” that was from the realization that I hadn’t packed yet. But first I have to back up, first you have to understand how I got there, standing in front of that mirror a bit dehydrated, engulfed in that feeling of great expectation and utter fear.
* * *
17 March 2010
skin
Skin, a thought.
you are altogether other,
you will not do, but to be you
i've tried on another skin
too slippery, oily, to be in
it slithered, it slack, it slumped
and i gave it back and humped on after another
i found it chaffed
i licked, it molted
but i kept it,
it sprouted
i wrapt it as one does
it grew cankerous and then some fuzz
a stray dog
with too many teeth
and not enough ribs
slobbered and chomped my chaffing skin
and ripped me clean
naked i protested
i set up a committee
and i, er, WE agreed
there must be a skin that could not be knocked or bleed
could be slick and sweet,
with large feet and probing eyes,
made for probing and batting lies
with lips to lock
and chest of barrels
and fists for querrils
and a set jaw for Gerils...
but the Dog came back
and broke up our agenda
bloodied our ears
embodied our fears
till we saw the mutt
drew us in and out
not willing to sit past
boney and bloodied
we walked on owned toes
wiping owned nose
dressing wounds with reality
holding bruises with clarity
(and by we, i mean me)
and we found, feckless and fearful
the sun did not burn us
the gazers did not haunt us
our own, did not roll us out with the empty bottles
we walked in skin
and owned the ones
we found ourselves in
you are altogether other,
you will not do, but to be you
i've tried on another skin
too slippery, oily, to be in
it slithered, it slack, it slumped
and i gave it back and humped on after another
i found it chaffed
i licked, it molted
but i kept it,
it sprouted
i wrapt it as one does
it grew cankerous and then some fuzz
a stray dog
with too many teeth
and not enough ribs
slobbered and chomped my chaffing skin
and ripped me clean
naked i protested
i set up a committee
and i, er, WE agreed
there must be a skin that could not be knocked or bleed
could be slick and sweet,
with large feet and probing eyes,
made for probing and batting lies
with lips to lock
and chest of barrels
and fists for querrils
and a set jaw for Gerils...
but the Dog came back
and broke up our agenda
bloodied our ears
embodied our fears
till we saw the mutt
drew us in and out
not willing to sit past
boney and bloodied
we walked on owned toes
wiping owned nose
dressing wounds with reality
holding bruises with clarity
(and by we, i mean me)
and we found, feckless and fearful
the sun did not burn us
the gazers did not haunt us
our own, did not roll us out with the empty bottles
we walked in skin
and owned the ones
we found ourselves in
16 March 2010
A Bit of Good News
Things are right, especially when they're not, and that's a bit of good news, isn't it? That I can wash my hands in the river of peace, resting on bended knee, even in the depths of August drought?
That I can embrace my jealous lover and be embraced with unmistakable passion in return, even as I hear the echo of the only two feet in the room reaching the only two ears.
That the very same mouth which only yesterday spoke fallacies as fact and fictions as Truth can today produce words as True and bold as the red on a fallen soldier's pierced lapel.
And this not of my own strength or wisdom, this not borne of my own devices or desires, but given unmerited and received ungracefully from a source whose reserves supply races, nations, kings, and beggars alike.
Not an ounce of good am I capable of producing on command, yet fruit grown out of the dead and buried seed presses through my branches and grows too large for my arms to support, for it is meant to fall.
That I can embrace my jealous lover and be embraced with unmistakable passion in return, even as I hear the echo of the only two feet in the room reaching the only two ears.
That the very same mouth which only yesterday spoke fallacies as fact and fictions as Truth can today produce words as True and bold as the red on a fallen soldier's pierced lapel.
And this not of my own strength or wisdom, this not borne of my own devices or desires, but given unmerited and received ungracefully from a source whose reserves supply races, nations, kings, and beggars alike.
Not an ounce of good am I capable of producing on command, yet fruit grown out of the dead and buried seed presses through my branches and grows too large for my arms to support, for it is meant to fall.
15 March 2010
Flattery will get you anything. That's what my friend, Ellen, told me in high school. She had red hair and pouty lips. And she always got her way.
I can't really say we were friends. It was something more than that, and yet, in a lot of ways, something far less.
We started spending time together after my sister moved away for college. That's really what I was looking for. For her to be my sister, a replacement sister. To step into the gap that had been created with Anna living four hours away and no longer in the bedroom next to mine. Someone who gave advice on everything from what sweater I should wear to how to swim in the social waters of high school, who helped me see things from the female perspective, and was just comfortable and safe to be around. She was happy to do these things, but it didn't equate to a sisterly relationship for her. Rather it was the road to intense emotional bonding that would eventually lead to something more. And in truth, that is exactly what it ended up being, not my naive expectation of something neutral.
Soon we were writing each other these intense poetry-laden (often lyrics stolen from angst-y 90's alternative rock) notes. If I read them now I'm sure I would find them laughable, but at the time they ignited a fire in my belly. They brought up these emotions somewhere between lust, curiosity, and fear. I was never quite sure if I should run towards her or get the hell out of there. And that was torment to her, me never committing to anything solid, staying in that ambiguous state.
That was all more then ten years ago now. And yet I still find myself doing the same thing.
Trying to manipulate my friendships and relationships into something that will meet my needs, and be exactly what I think it should be. Trying to suck life, comfort, love from those around me. And Ellen was trying to do the same to me, using flattery to lead me towards a deeper surrender, asking me to give things that weren't mine to give. For a while we used each other, but it was never enough, and it imploded, leaving us bitter and angry. Which lead to more angst-y notes passed in hallways en route to math class.
I take comfort in the words below. Nothing else has ever proven to be true. I know these words to be life giving as I've experienced the slow change of self-pleasing sin habits being burned up, and God breathed truth embedding itself in me.
1 John 3:18-24
My dear children, let's not just talk about love; let's practice real love. This is the only way we'll know we're living truly, living in God's reality. It's also the way to shut down debilitating self-criticism, even when there is something to it. For God is greater than our worried hearts and knows more about us than we do ourselves.
I can't really say we were friends. It was something more than that, and yet, in a lot of ways, something far less.
We started spending time together after my sister moved away for college. That's really what I was looking for. For her to be my sister, a replacement sister. To step into the gap that had been created with Anna living four hours away and no longer in the bedroom next to mine. Someone who gave advice on everything from what sweater I should wear to how to swim in the social waters of high school, who helped me see things from the female perspective, and was just comfortable and safe to be around. She was happy to do these things, but it didn't equate to a sisterly relationship for her. Rather it was the road to intense emotional bonding that would eventually lead to something more. And in truth, that is exactly what it ended up being, not my naive expectation of something neutral.
Soon we were writing each other these intense poetry-laden (often lyrics stolen from angst-y 90's alternative rock) notes. If I read them now I'm sure I would find them laughable, but at the time they ignited a fire in my belly. They brought up these emotions somewhere between lust, curiosity, and fear. I was never quite sure if I should run towards her or get the hell out of there. And that was torment to her, me never committing to anything solid, staying in that ambiguous state.
That was all more then ten years ago now. And yet I still find myself doing the same thing.
Trying to manipulate my friendships and relationships into something that will meet my needs, and be exactly what I think it should be. Trying to suck life, comfort, love from those around me. And Ellen was trying to do the same to me, using flattery to lead me towards a deeper surrender, asking me to give things that weren't mine to give. For a while we used each other, but it was never enough, and it imploded, leaving us bitter and angry. Which lead to more angst-y notes passed in hallways en route to math class.
I take comfort in the words below. Nothing else has ever proven to be true. I know these words to be life giving as I've experienced the slow change of self-pleasing sin habits being burned up, and God breathed truth embedding itself in me.
1 John 3:18-24
My dear children, let's not just talk about love; let's practice real love. This is the only way we'll know we're living truly, living in God's reality. It's also the way to shut down debilitating self-criticism, even when there is something to it. For God is greater than our worried hearts and knows more about us than we do ourselves.
And friends, once that's taken care of and we're no longer accusing or condemning ourselves, we're bold and free before God! We're able to stretch our hands out and receive what we asked for because we're doing what he said, doing what pleases him. Again, this is God's command: to believe in his personally named Son, Jesus Christ. He told us to love each other, in line with the original command. As we keep his commands, we live deeply and surely in him, and he lives in us. And this is how we experience his deep and abiding presence in us: by the Spirit he gave us.
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