Just Give it Some Time

Quite often I have written of matters of time. It seams time is one thing that has not been on my side. At least not yet. It seams time in and of itself is one of the only constants. The only thing in life that is guaranteed. Each day takes 24 hours, each hour takes 60 minutes, and each minute is slowly yet quickly pushed forward by a universal second. The time that goes by is inevitable. It is the same now as it has ever been. Have you ever sat and listened to a clock tick? The sound is unmistakable. Often times it ticks in our heads without us even realizing it. We tap our feet to a song, or walk in a steady pace. Time is the one thing everyone has in common. There is no language barrier to surpass, there is no foreign element. It is the one thing we can all agree on.

What if it changed? What if for some; time was spent much faster. What if for some; time stood still. Would everything we know fall apart. Would chaos tear apart our world. For those who experienced this would we label them as insane? Or would we call those people, the ones that see time move more slowly. The ones that find it hard to breathe in between each second. The people who finally stop hearing the ticking of the clock. Would we call them in love?

A look into my eyes

A wrinkle in time is all that is left. The piano playing in the background. I wish I knew what it means. The eyes are the only thing that is true. I thought I knew them well, but I fear they have learned to betray me. I study them quietly. A dim gray behind a sea of blue. It is hard to translate speech that has no words. I thought I had it figured out. I thought I knew when and why it rained. And in turn why they reflected the sun so brightly. But now I feel as if the change behind those eyes is as mysterious as the day I first looked at them. Perhaps it is because they know me better then I myself know me. They have seen me when I was a child. They see me now. Nothing I have done has ever escaped their gaze. It must be futile to try and fool them. To try and deceive. I now humbly surrender; to your eyes.

Ready to go Home

Please hear my cry oh Lord. Hear the prayers of an unworthy man. Why did you create us with such passion? I know the answer to my own question yet still it does not keep me from asking. I do not question your passion when I stare at a painting, when I hold a child, or when lovers kiss. But now I do. When the passion is fleeting and it leaves behind suffering it is hard to remember what it used to bring. Lord please take my suffering. I know there is glory in the suffering I just want to be finished. Please if it be your will take it now. Come back tonight and take me home. To a place where no thief can steel, no fire can burn, and no woman can kill. I am so tired of the chain sin has around me. I long for a day when lust no longer controls my mind. Please Lord come back now. Sound your trumpet and lay waste to this Eden that we have so perfectly destroyed.


Please Father take me home.

The People Close To Us Have To Die, How Else Will We Know How Much They Mean To Us?

It was a bright sunny Thursday. The July heat just made me remember how I hated the winter. I found myself sitting in a church with a suit and tie on waiting to bury my Aunt. Death had knocked on my door again and this time it was far to soon.
Funerals are interesting things. People who you have never met come from long and far to pay respect to those who have lost. Funerals are full of hugs, tears, laughs, food, more tears, more hugs and then if God willing; sleep. As I sat in the front row of the church just an arms reach away from the body that carried my Aunts soul I saw love for what it really is. I saw it stripped of all its fancy and its frills. The only time this can happen, truly happen, is in death. I watched closely the face of my now widowered uncle. He had been married to my Aunt for many years. this once hardened mans man, this man that I only new as fierce business man, and independent of soul as I have ever met had completely crumbled. The loss of his wife had broken him into more pieces then he knew he had, and he gave no effort to try to place them back together. Between hugs and acceptance of deepest gratitude and condolences he could only smile. It was a smile that barely raised the corners of his mouth and was paired with as teary eyed as eyes can get without crying. I studied his face for the longest time. At the end of the service a slide show of he and my Aunts life together played across the large video screen. In the background of the slide show an Elvis Presley song softly played. The chorus sang "I can't help falling in love with you." I watched as my uncle mouthed the words over and over with the song as tears flew down his weathered cheeks. It was the first time I had ever seen my uncle cry. As I watched Him an emotion grew within me that I did not expect or plan for. ENVY! This was true love, shown only through loss, only through death, and I wanted it. I wanted to love someone so much that I just couldn't help falling in love with them. That a piece of me goes when they leave and that I am complete when they stay. It seams so rare to find.

I think that the scariest part about it is that my uncle didn't know he had it until the day she died.

Vacation

         Restless, I can't sleep.  I have run away to Texas for a while.  I ran away with the knowledge of that my problems will still be there when I return.  But I don't care.  I am sitting on a porch listening to nature, writing by the shaky light of a candle.  My problems are not here and they can wait.  I did not run in search of clarity for I knew I would not find it.  I did not run in hopes that I would return to changed circumstances for I knew my circumstances would wait for me.  I ran because I needed to run.  I have been at this long enough to know when and how far I need to run.  I do not expect to find some revelation that I have been missing.  What I have expected to find is peace.  I have found what little I can.  I would be lying if I said I wasn't expecting more.  But more hasn't come and that's the way it is.

        One thing I have found is that serenity comes with work, not laziness.  The moments of peace that have come, have come when sweat has been falling from my brow.  The times of rest and relaxation have been the times where I have remembered most what I have run from.  I just hope that in my run home I achieve the wisdom needed to deal with my circumstances.  that is all I really truly want.  Wisdom.  Maybe I'll find wisdom in Texas.  Huh or maybe the wind will blow out my shaking light.

Slow Motion Monday

          It's a slow motion Monday.  Everything is so punctual.  Music has pierced my ears to a depth never before.  The wind that hit me seemed to lift me off the ground.  Just for a second,  but a slow motion second. I feel like God has been walking around with me all day.  I've never seen Him before so every corner I turn my anxiety increases, as I expect to meat Him.  Maybe He's in the wind that lifts me, in the music that carries me, in the imagination that has taken me to my hearts desire.  Today I saw God as I ran along the beach as the sun rose.  The wind pushing me to run farther.  The music numbing the pain of my burning thighs.  Then without warning the wind changed  directions and brought me to a sudden stand still.  For a slow motion second I stood there starring, searching. I can't describe the beauty.  And in a slow motion second it was gone

Writing in Circles

The tears are gone,  I am not really sure why.  They used to come so quickly before.  I don't understand why they have left.  Have I changed?  I can't tell if I like it.  When the tears were here I never felt more alive.  I never felt more different.  I love different.  I hope; I pray that this does not mean I am like everyone else.  I hate everyone else.  What now sets me apart?  Do I have to be set apart?  Yes I do! Is this the final thing that I must give up?  Has my quest for originality become the motive behind all of my actions?  Everything points to an answer of yes.  But is that so bad?  I want to be different is that wrong?  I don't know.  I think that it might be.  I think it is wrong because I want to be different for my own selfish reasons.  I want people to look at me and scratch their heads.  I want when I die for people to cry.  Not Because they are sad, but because they don't know what to say.  The confusion inside them of not knowing how to describe me, I want it to drive them to tears.  I want it to manifest an emotion inside of them that they have never felt and can not explain.  I want them to feel like what it's like to be me for just a little bit.  Now we are back to tears.  Its ironic that tears are what I have defined myself as.  Now that they are gone I feel undefined.  That is a horrible feeling.  So horrible it might make me cry.  Instead I am just laughing .  Sometimes I feel like life is walking in circles.  Circles of selfishness.  That is all I am and all everyone will ever be.  The silver lining, EVERYONE is selfish.  How very unoriginal.  Now I'm crying.  Because once again I am back to the Life Of Vanity. 

Amazing Grace

I don't understand why.  I know that why is the most dangerous of questions because the answer brings to light the motives behind the action.  But I want to know.  I understand the consequence of asking why and I sincerely want to know. 

I know you aren't going to tell me, because many who have asked before have still not been answered, but you had to know that wouldn't keep me from asking.  

Why me?

There is no way I ever deserve it.  I know, I know its undeserved, but I really do not deserve grace.  Amazing doesn't even begin to explain it.  Please take me home soon.  I want to thank you in person.  I want to hug you, I want to place my hands in the holes that were made.  I want to feel the pain that I caused you to bear. I want to lay at your feet because that is what you deserve.  

A Fire Within

I fear my own being is going to be my undoing.  That witch is inside of me is going to cause my own destruction.  It is like a fire that burns within my heart, and if it is not controlled it will consume me.  There in lies my paradox.  Should I learn to control that which is inside of me, or should I give in and perish in the flames that threaten me.  Some days I want desperately to control it, and others I just want to be consumed.  I have found a way to temporarily numb the spread of this fire.  Laughter, friends, games, work, they all distract me from....me.  But like a fool returns to his folly, I return to myself.  The fire rages up inside me more rapid and deadlier then before.  I have awakened a sleeping giant within my soul.  I fear I do not have what it takes to slay this giant.  

Where can I run?   Where can I hide from myself?  Every corner I turn the giant is there.  Every mirror I stare into my greatest enemy stares right back.  Does anyone else experience this?  Is there anyone out there that feels like  I do?  Or am I alone?  I don't think I'll ever really know.  The main emotion manifested by war against oneself is solitary.  Isn't that the point?  

You have no peace with yourself.  Is that not the very definition of being alone?  I know that everyone feels alone.  I don't know what this emotion is.  I have no words for it.  I am not lonely because no one is with me.  I do not mind that kind of aloneness at all.  I feel alone because I am not with me.  How is that possible? Beyond some mental disease I don't believe it is possible to explain not being with yourself.  

Perhaps I am so ..........no that makes no sense.  Perhaps I am loosing my mind.  Perhaps the fire has spread a little further then I have thought. 

 I wish the fire weren't so cold. 

Untitled

This one's about the truth.  The truth of a broken man

The truth about the tears.  The tears that he cries again.

He's walked this road before.  He's walked it alone.  One step after another.  As his scattered pieces are left along the familiar road

Scream. All he wants to do is Scream

Believe.  He wants to believe

This one's about a story. A story of the doubtful man

They say its all a part. A part of a master plan.

He hears the words again. A different mouth yet just as breakable.  Breaking broken pieces.  How many times? 

Take.  Take till there's nothing

Forget. Forget the unforgettable. 

This one's about the Exodus.  The journey of the man.

The hour glass of his journey, Slowly sinking sand.

He never knew he could be consumed.  Consumed by such a cold fire.  He always knew, knew he would be consumed. It was just a matter of how many grains of sand.

Fight. Fight the ones worth fighting

Walk.  Just walk away

Can't, An impossible command

Sleep, equally unattainable

Was it true?              Was it true?

                Where are you?

Stupid is as Stupid does

I have never stared at an empty sheet for so long.  It was as if the white canvas looked back at me and mocked me.  I knew exactly what I wanted to say but for some reason I could not get my hand to move my pen.  I now fight through the silence.  I spill my ink on this pure white canvas.  I now mock it with my written words.  It is something that everyone wants and I really mean everyone.  It is not just a word that I throw around so thoughtlessly as it has been in the past.  I write the word everyone with the knowledge of the gravity that the word brings.  Everyone wants to love and be loved.

I have seen far too many times in my young life men and women do incredibly stupid things for love.  Myself included.  Is it really worth it?  Is love worth the pain?  I am not sure that I will ever know.  For those who do not have it focus every part of their being to find it.  And there is only a select few that have chosen to not seek after it.  These individuals are those that have been so scarred by previous lovers that their opinion on the subject is void due to personal bias against love.  But what opinion on love is not personal?  Either you have been hurt by it so many times that you have given up entirely to try and find it or you have been deprived it for so long that you long after it with everything inside of you. Your heart cries out just wishing, praying, hoping someone will answer.  Why did God create us this way?  Why did He even take the rib from Atom?  Did he know that the pain from taking the rib would not compare to the love he felt from Eve?  Is that the answer to my question?  Perhaps every person, everyone, feels the pain of the part, the rib that is taken from them to form a bond with another.  Some have lost more ribs then others.  For some the scars have not yet healed.  For some it is not worth another stupid act.  It is not worth another rib.  I think I am ready. I am done fighting against the way God has made me.  He is much wiser then I.  He made her for a purpose, and he has given me more then one rib.  I guess he knew that I wouldn't get it right with the first one.