Today is fingers across the chalkboard
digging into my skin
mind falling asleep with that annoying
buzzing sensation
like limp appendage
it is brokenness
I want to scream.
buildings with no windows
doors that lock behind them
locked into a 4'x6' cube
like a prison cell for the mind
but cushioned by
practical
common
insanity
That loathsome fear of
innocuity
Paralyzes
And I beat my head against proverbial white walls
eyes bash against computer screens
webbed in networked connections and
virtual folder space where
nothing exists
but bytes of data
eating
eating
eating
at creativity.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
i only wanted you awake enough
to notice me in bed with you
and love me
you wanted this 3 hours ago
when it was still midnight...
.. and gave in without complaining
when I was too engrossed.
Now sleeping - the selfishness of this urge astounds me...
as I battle with losing resistance the need to nudge you out of slumber
to - hey ! pay attention to me
That you fought and won without uttering
a single word of
remorse
or rancor
with a grace and love
that humbles me.
(but doesn't quell the hunger)
to notice me in bed with you
and love me
you wanted this 3 hours ago
when it was still midnight...
.. and gave in without complaining
when I was too engrossed.
Now sleeping - the selfishness of this urge astounds me...
as I battle with losing resistance the need to nudge you out of slumber
to - hey ! pay attention to me
That you fought and won without uttering
a single word of
remorse
or rancor
with a grace and love
that humbles me.
(but doesn't quell the hunger)
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Burrowing After God
I need to remember why I started this...
I thought to myself ferociously - almost violently
it was for myself - not because I wanted to... not because this was some stupid hobby
but because I needed it.
Not because I wanted to - not because I wanted attention for it - not because I cared what people thought or even gave a damn if they noticed... but because I needed it.
i NEED this
and digging with new vigor - with bare hands sunk in deep earth - the grime getting under fingernails and in hair as I ripped through the soft sod that sifted back into place no sooner did I lift it.
desperate.
I burrowed in and burrowed through the dark mess, digging deeper and deeper like a dog digging a hole for no reason - up to elbows, up to my shoulders, up to my neck - the desperation also deepening.
It was here somewhere - this intangible something - this indescribable treasure... something in the midst of the earth would spring forth new and brilliant and I would dig through to the other side until I finally hit sky.
Determined.
It could go on for days - for months - for years - this digging - a whole lifetime that stretched ahead with the dark sod shifting shifting and the despair grew upon me...
I need to remember why I'm doing this...
but the meaning seem to grow less - I've forgotten it - I thought with empty tears streaming down my face. I've forgotten why I was doing this.
in the deep black hole now walled around me - sat and momentarily cried - tears tracking down the dirt and grime - turning into rivers and collecting like a pool on my collarbone.
Somewhere - somewhere - I was searching for God.
Really - was this what it meant to be human?
To know that the treasure lay just inches away - you could hear the heartbeat from the surrounding walls - and yet to never reach it - no matter how hard you dug - it was just as close... and just as far away as your own heartbeat.
Just as indescribable as your own pulse.
Just as present and as precious and as ignored and as inseparable as your own life.
And yet I had to try...
It's not like there weren't glimpses of something - those incredibly painfully sweet unexpected encounters with It - with Him - that fell in moments of tears - of anguish - in the midst of the route everyday digging - in utter boredom - or in moments of joy - there was no creating them - no pre-empting them or constructing them or manufacturing them - they just happened... whether digging or not... and they could be stretched into hours - or maybe just seconds - and maybe go years before coming again - and they had nothing to do with anything -
They just happened.
the digging I couldn't explain - it was just the doing... just the doing something - anything --- the movement - the somewhat directed, somewhat blind reaction to life - it just had to be done. It was unstoppable and moments like this...
this sense of inexhaustible frustration -
they were unfixable.
And in the midst of them I rebelled and couldn't stand people trying to fix them.
Here's a rope - here's a ladder - cheer up - buck up - there's something deeper that's wrong - let's get to the bottom of this - I'm here for you - I'll read Scripture for you - I'll pray for you - I'm there for you - let's work through this...
... and I just can't.
... it just was what life WAS... or in the very least - at the moment - it just IS - maybe not for everyone - but for me... this digging... it just was what life was...
And I needed to remember why I was doing this... I was doing it because...
because...
I needed it.
That was it. That was all there was to it...
i just need to not give up.
I couldn't... because it's not like I had a choice.
Digging was my existence.
it's just the way it is.
it just. Is.
I thought to myself ferociously - almost violently
it was for myself - not because I wanted to... not because this was some stupid hobby
but because I needed it.
Not because I wanted to - not because I wanted attention for it - not because I cared what people thought or even gave a damn if they noticed... but because I needed it.
i NEED this
and digging with new vigor - with bare hands sunk in deep earth - the grime getting under fingernails and in hair as I ripped through the soft sod that sifted back into place no sooner did I lift it.
desperate.
I burrowed in and burrowed through the dark mess, digging deeper and deeper like a dog digging a hole for no reason - up to elbows, up to my shoulders, up to my neck - the desperation also deepening.
It was here somewhere - this intangible something - this indescribable treasure... something in the midst of the earth would spring forth new and brilliant and I would dig through to the other side until I finally hit sky.
Determined.
It could go on for days - for months - for years - this digging - a whole lifetime that stretched ahead with the dark sod shifting shifting and the despair grew upon me...
I need to remember why I'm doing this...
but the meaning seem to grow less - I've forgotten it - I thought with empty tears streaming down my face. I've forgotten why I was doing this.
in the deep black hole now walled around me - sat and momentarily cried - tears tracking down the dirt and grime - turning into rivers and collecting like a pool on my collarbone.
Somewhere - somewhere - I was searching for God.
Really - was this what it meant to be human?
To know that the treasure lay just inches away - you could hear the heartbeat from the surrounding walls - and yet to never reach it - no matter how hard you dug - it was just as close... and just as far away as your own heartbeat.
Just as indescribable as your own pulse.
Just as present and as precious and as ignored and as inseparable as your own life.
And yet I had to try...
It's not like there weren't glimpses of something - those incredibly painfully sweet unexpected encounters with It - with Him - that fell in moments of tears - of anguish - in the midst of the route everyday digging - in utter boredom - or in moments of joy - there was no creating them - no pre-empting them or constructing them or manufacturing them - they just happened... whether digging or not... and they could be stretched into hours - or maybe just seconds - and maybe go years before coming again - and they had nothing to do with anything -
They just happened.
the digging I couldn't explain - it was just the doing... just the doing something - anything --- the movement - the somewhat directed, somewhat blind reaction to life - it just had to be done. It was unstoppable and moments like this...
this sense of inexhaustible frustration -
they were unfixable.
And in the midst of them I rebelled and couldn't stand people trying to fix them.
Here's a rope - here's a ladder - cheer up - buck up - there's something deeper that's wrong - let's get to the bottom of this - I'm here for you - I'll read Scripture for you - I'll pray for you - I'm there for you - let's work through this...
... and I just can't.
... it just was what life WAS... or in the very least - at the moment - it just IS - maybe not for everyone - but for me... this digging... it just was what life was...
And I needed to remember why I was doing this... I was doing it because...
because...
I needed it.
That was it. That was all there was to it...
i just need to not give up.
I couldn't... because it's not like I had a choice.
Digging was my existence.
it's just the way it is.
it just. Is.
Belly of the Beast
the earth -- swallowed whole --
rested uneasy in the belly of the beast today
spats of lightening flecked as
rumblings echoed off curved walls
phantom wisps, steaming, roil and lift
fomenting smokey clouds that
growled and roared and paced
overhead
waiting to break
with poignant rip as energy flies forth from fired lips
devours more of the universe
in one bite and one grip
...
and,
with weeping voice-
Laments.
rested uneasy in the belly of the beast today
spats of lightening flecked as
rumblings echoed off curved walls
phantom wisps, steaming, roil and lift
fomenting smokey clouds that
growled and roared and paced
overhead
waiting to break
with poignant rip as energy flies forth from fired lips
devours more of the universe
in one bite and one grip
...
and,
with weeping voice-
Laments.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Inside The Window
I woke up this morning to the delicious wail of train tracks as they screeched and cried their way in and through the lush mountains of Virginia.
There is something magical about waking up on second floors when it seems your bed is amongst tree limbs on these lazy summer Southern afternoon morns. The air wafts in, heavy and full from the outside hazy shade that begs and lulls you to stay in bed and watch as time slips by.
I stretch, luxuriantly exultant in the feel of cool sheets against bare skin and subside again into watching and listening the world revolve outside my window.
Outside cars pass, the train continues to cry until it has spent itself into the distance. Birds call across to one another in whistles and chirps and far off someone does something useful like mowing a lawn...
But from inside the window I stay suspended and adrift... hanging by a thin thread of serenity and calm - soaking in the moment so that when time and life pull my limbs from homeostasis stillness and into action I can write it down - with some vague recollection of the eternality of what peace feels like when you wake from sleeping with no agenda and only a window to time.
There is something magical about waking up on second floors when it seems your bed is amongst tree limbs on these lazy summer Southern afternoon morns. The air wafts in, heavy and full from the outside hazy shade that begs and lulls you to stay in bed and watch as time slips by.
I stretch, luxuriantly exultant in the feel of cool sheets against bare skin and subside again into watching and listening the world revolve outside my window.
Outside cars pass, the train continues to cry until it has spent itself into the distance. Birds call across to one another in whistles and chirps and far off someone does something useful like mowing a lawn...
But from inside the window I stay suspended and adrift... hanging by a thin thread of serenity and calm - soaking in the moment so that when time and life pull my limbs from homeostasis stillness and into action I can write it down - with some vague recollection of the eternality of what peace feels like when you wake from sleeping with no agenda and only a window to time.
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