And if all of heaven came down
crashing the night through
resplendent resound
Would it matter much at all
or whisper too faint a call?
to see angels dance around
detached but heavenbound
void of pain and fear
free of struggle and toil
absent death and spear
Is that Then even the point at all?
Or another long moment
clung to creation's breast
still shaking from the fall?
Read MoreI woke to realize I'd died
and yet, I'm still walking
my mouth decayed, tried
and still, talking
a sort of incoherent wandering,
words of babble-speak
quietly I sat, dead, yet somehow, lingering
it was the whole of me that sprung leak
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brushed in place, clothed a hue of fire
a world away
all of its own
autonomy awaits discovery - an invitation to explore
the moment, the day slows just so,
man's hour forlorn
as knowledge fades with light
man crashing on another age's shore.
the sky answers reverberating maybe the most ancient profundity of all: silence, of all around and more.
silently the sky witnesses the madmen who descend upon mortals like mice, social units they are,
entombed as cultural shadows scurrying around for enamored permanence.
c'est la vie, mon cheri,
an Amen of the truest
spied in the sky over the moon evidences in a child's lullaby and a whispered fairytale, too.
and we rush into the noise again
forgetting who we are -
statues formed too soon, misshapen;
lost altogther in the sound.
Gazing at the world only at one particular angle is quite troublesome for many reasons, but of most concern, there lies damaging trouble in our attempts to press the world into our expectations. When we expect the world – more specifically for the Christian – when we expect those different from us to believe what we believe and place value in our beliefs, we impose upon others, not love, but an instructive value system incongruent to theirs. And for that matter, I don’t believe this was Jesus’ intent.
When we place positions before people, we concede to being members of an organization rather than collected pieces of a Whole scandalously knitted together, embedded in eternity by the only One who could, who would, without ever fully knowing why except His owned desire. And when we guard our banalities more than the faith we profess, we pull faith out of the air to exist in our ordinariness. For what is faith in the absence of love, but unremarkable behavior ordinary to and at home within the walls of our selves? After all faith will one day fade, as will the beliefs associated with it, but not love. Love transcends. Love is the language which bridges our worlds and leads us home. Love bled an announcement to all who would hear, “you can come.”
Read Moreimage: A Dream Within A Dream
I am who I am deep – within
concealed beneath words owned and phrases borrowed:
positions . . .
fears . . .
there I am fully
incontestably identified.
all else of me, mere projections:
fables . . .
stories . . .
from outside they stare,
empty more by all illuminations
radiating as real.
yet – deep, there buried
alive, I exist
materializing into the I of me
alone in the hush of heartbeats.
whole yet halved,
conquered in days gone;
illogicalities at my best,
a liar all the rest.
the I of me within: truer than name itself,
purer than tone, deaf
for the me deeply put must truly come
then and there to supplant projections
and live forever.
Life is change. No two days are the same. Though we find and settle into patterns through routine and habits and circles drawn – doing much of our lives the same – life ages in days passing without our permission. The yard grows and needs attention; seasons fade into longer and shorter days; the kids mature and need direction and an ever-developing parental understanding; you, yourself age and need caring. The whole of life’s activity gives evidence to change blossoming all about, all without your permission. Life does what it does and what it will do and as much as we subscribe to the frail belief that we are in any sort of control, the more life is missed. And the more life misses an unchanging you.
My life now couldn’t be more different than my life five years ago. I understand this in several ways. As way of an example, just a couple of nights ago, stooped down beside one of our daughter’s bed, she reminded me so. Approaching the end of another school year – the countdown now in half day measures – she will soon leave behind another year lived: the good, bad and the ugliness of some difficult moments not able to quickly be recalled.
Read Moreto all behind, now deep beneath the surface
I am, due to you, now dead in your soil
birthed blooms despite night’s dark
and the lies whispered in difficulty
languaged solace
yet somehow these days align in Beauty
:::::::
Another year into life steeped in my fair share of darkened valleys and blind curves, as well as joyous heights when celebration rises without thought or prompt. For all of it, each and every day, I am thankful, as they are gifts given in breaths uninterruptedly pulled in, heartbeats pulsing life strong through my aging veins and eyes that see God’s goodness dancing all around.
I am here right where I am and should be. That is a miracle.
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