Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Remember

*I wrote this awhile back and recently discovered it when I was reading back through my journal. I think I scribbled this out in a couple of minutes.

Don't forget first loves
The God who made you
His Son who saved you
The Spirit living in you.
Though we may despise
the Father for our weakness
and spurn the hand
that continually
pulls us up
from the abyss
and smother the voice
of the living Spirit
because it's too inconvenient
We forget so easily
like fish in a bowl
the lessons taught
until we see the healed scars
and remember once again.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Fear (Confession)

I have a confession.

I do not love well.

I was listening to a sermon by Rob Bell on the Beatitude of blessed are the peacemakers. There were some wonderful truths and insights in that sermon, but one sentiment in particular pierced through the fog and heaviness that has wrapped around my mind like a blanket (or Snuggie) over the past few months. In talking about love he said, "The opposite of love is not hate, it's fear." The man who consistently spews vitriolic and spiteful words towards homosexuals may very well do so from the fear of his own sexuality and the desires he may keep buried deep in the recesses of his heart. We may denounce heretics to quiet the doubts within our own souls. What we fear we want to kill or bury or dismiss.

1 John 4:18 says, "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment The one who fear is not made perfect in love." I love the way the Message version puts this verse; "there is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life - fear of death, fear of judgment - is one not fully formed in love."

"Fear leaves no room for love." I have always been under the impression that I am a loving person; that I love my friends and others well. It is only been recently that I have come to the realization that my motives in much of my interactions with my friends have been ultimately based on fear. Fear of rejection, fear of judgment, fear of abandonment. So I hold back parts of myself. I cling tightly to others for fear they may leave and never return. I make sure I am always around for fear I will be forgotten and dismissed without a second thought. Yet, it is these very actions which places wedges between myself and others. When the false fronts crumble as they inevitably do, there is hurt and anger over misrepresentations. The clinging drives others away. And in the end, the fear turns inward and manifests itself into self-hatred, drowning out the still, small voice of God telling me there is nothing to fear for His love is making me perfect.

So I say this to you my friends; I have not loved you well and I am sorry. I am sorry that I have held back, that I have masked so many parts of myself from you. I am sorry for the fear that if I let go, don't show up or miss out, that I will lose you. Forgive me for not loving you as I should. For fear and love cannot live together. One will drive the other out. I have let fear drive out love for far too long. I am working on letting love drive out the fear, which ironically enough, is a scary endeavor in and of itself. So forgive me and be patient with me because being made perfect in love is a long process.

I think it pretty much takes a lifetime.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Lament of a Vagabond Soul

The pictures in my head
dreams of a vagabond soul
chained to comfort
Visions of gray, metal trees
of smiles and words
wrapped in funny speech.
Drums and children singing
haunt my sleep
but in the waking
songs drown
in drip coffee
drums silenced
by alarm clock banging

I see the dream
in snatches of the day
Glare of computer screens
gives way to crimson
interlaced gold skies.
Echoes of soul song
in headphones
in laughter
to soak in
and hide
for souls scratch easily
and the song becomes
a broken record
of lost chances
regret, decay, decline.

Moving pictures of dreams
of song and dance
and love
play out in sleep
Film reel of dream life
spliced with waking life
by untrained hands
intentions true
that may lead to hell
but purgatory comforts
are only a step above.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Vapor

Tonight I feel as vapor
tremulous shape
swirling almost nothingness
Residing on edges
abysses and ditches
Those lonely places
haunting and haunted
No capture of memory
devices of remembrance
save few
and those poor replicas
Wisps flee from brilliance
of sun, of headlights
roll into near form
disperse faster still
Faint impression
chills and sorrow
dark beauty
Tonight I feel as vapor
In the morn
What will I be?

Sunday, August 30, 2009

The Fight

I sit amongst the remnants of a box, my prison and my own personal war. A container ripped apart with a knife, an axe and finally my bare hands. It was a box of my own making and the work of others, Fashioned in the beginning to keep me safe, to fit myself into the expectations of others. In the end, it became my own personal Shawshank, a way to avoid the slow torture of change. Another device used to deny who I really was to those I thought cared. But it came down to a choice; change and become something more, become my true self. Or let my true self die and live in the hell of being everything to everyone and nothing to no one. I chose change and the agonizing process of extracting myself from my self-made prison.

Now I sit with the remnants of the old. A wooden boxed, scrawled with the words of my poetry, some of it good, some of it just alright. There are the lyrics of songs that have made up my life soundtrack and the description that goes along with four little letters. All the things that I have let define me. Yet, the box still tries to repair itself around me. In new ways, in new shapes, but still the same box. So the fight goes on.

I look around me at those I love and those I just know. Some are still stuck in their self-made coffins. Beautiful coffins, works of art really, designed with art and music and philosophy, but coffins still the same. Some are trying to fight their way out, to change to grow. I look on, wanting to help them defeat the terrorists who want to kill their hearts, but knowing I must put down my axe for this is a battle they must fight on their own. All I can do is shout encouragements and psalms telling them the fight is worth it. Besides, my own demons are not gone, but grouping themselves for the next assault. So I sit and take a rest because the fight for becoming myself is never-ending at least in this life. And the battle goes on.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Psalms of Life

This is life abundant
when the world is fixed.
Oriented
Ordered
Ordained
Laughter is a constant,
connection through water
thicker than blood.
Sea breeze
through open doors.
Whispers of lovers potential
Truthful answers
to redundant questions.
"Life is good."
and meaning it.

This is life in the starving times
when reality changes
one moment to another.
Law of variables rules.
Disorientation
Distress
Disconnection
Distrust
of former bonds.
Sound of slamming doors.
Trapped in freezing rooms.
Agony of love silent.
Truth only spoken
to wet pages in a full journal.
Ironic blessing
that words flow stronger
from broken hearts.

This is life before dawn breaks
in a different world.
True north is reoriented
somewhere new
existence is renewed
reloaded
daresay resurrected.
Gaping wounds close
though raised scars remain.
Grief of love lost
or never found
fades
when new love
or new distraction is found.
Doors that were once closed
open again
with the help of an axe.
Cycle begins again
but with the prayer
that remembrance will prevail
in the amnesia of abundance.

Monday, July 13, 2009

...

I need to write. I need to process, but the words don't flow like they once did.