Shutdown & Restore

Dear heavenly Father,
At first I didn’t, but now I hear you loud and clear.
As the morning began, I prayed to remove my thoughts of him, he the lie, he who I idolized, he my biggest distraction from You. As the day proceeded, You recycled the hope and satisfaction into audbile words and tangible actions. My mind fluttered around this newfound bloom, but it still encircled around a him-not-You. As the evening settled in, You reasoned again with me through online spoken poetry; You told of the Him I need; You reminded me I am worthy without anyone, and this lifestyle of piracy, of hit-and-run, this mindset I let lead would leave me unclean, ashamed, and faithless. How do You know? Because You are You, and You know me. You know the deepest desires of my heart, the wishes I never dare to ask the stars. Oh, but how I forgot how far greater You are, the Creator You are, and the Healer You are, too. I never thought to ask You to update and clean, to delete the virus, destroy the disease, the obsessing over and submitting to loves so momentary, this always forsaking Your promise to marry. Marry me to someone true, someone that’s You. Lord, as I walk in Your light and grow in my faith, as I refuse the malware that tempts me astray, Lord, I pray, make me clean. Make it vanish, into thin air, without a trackable trace, so that the smile on my face and the story it holds moves mountains of people to grab ahold of their faith and click follow, to follow me following You. Then, perhaps by Your will, as a morning begins, I will praise you for my thoughts of a new him, and as a day proceeds I will ask Your blessings, oh Father, and as an evening settles in, I’ll be with a You-given-him; a little team will reason stronger as three with the love from our One, the true Him.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

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A ‘Vida Loca’

When you think about the meaning of life, wondering and wandering through all the possibilities, has the train of thought to peruse it’s definitions ever crossed your track?

A simple Google search and we soon find that there’s more to life than often defined.

The first explains life as the condition that distinguishes by capacity for reproduction and growth. I wonder about the ego. If we refuse to be wrong and let go, do we then lack the capacity for growth? Like muscles that need stretching, tearing breaking down to build back up again, does our living cramp up and our choosing feel strained? Where is our life when we are without change?

The seconds tells of an aspect of existence, which makes me wonder about “sitting on the fence” between active living and survival, between the past and revival, between dreams and reality, and what is and could be. If  we’re sitting, waiting, wishing, for things to go without say or manifesting our destiny by our choices and creating reality, don’t we have a life either way? Aren’t we questioning morality and determining quality of life?

Plus, with the third description of energy, vigor, and vitality, and with the fourth declaring a biography, isn’t it plain to see that that we should be actively working at our well-written existence?  Is there something better than philosophy?

The fifth and sixth definitions teach of reincarnation and second chances, which makes me wonder about the abilities we have to make incredible advances. If we can re-imagine our creation away from true divination, can you imagine the enhancements we could make on someone’s spiritual circumstances if only we took advantage of the life we hav been given? Isn’t it awing what we can do with what we put our hearts to? What difference would there be if the focus shifted from “me” to “you?”

The seventh compares the inanimate and abstract in the period of existence, validity, and function, which I imagine comes into conjunction with definitions two through four. It’s like having two doors, one that slides open with an automatic sensor and one that says “push”. Behind the latter is inunction and the former an ambush. How tempting is it, really, to not have to try? Why not just take the free ride? How fulfilling it is, truly, to afford effort to serve the latter door’s design.

The eighth defines the latter door’s design with a depiction from a real model rather than from the artist’s mind. I wonder, in our creativity how much do we destroy as we continue to deploy our own agenda in life? Aren’t we then to blame when our wills come unfurled? How much control do we have? Is there a such thing as “meant to be?” Aren’t we all always searching for life’s real meaning to define and direct and put our lives in check of perfection? Don’t we suspect there’s some answer on the correction of ill-happenings like cancer, that takes this life thing that we have away? Don’t we yearn for protection at every rejection of treatment of anything that causes life to decay?

Woe is to our dismay, and yet here we sit and we wonder about the meaning of life, and hardly think once, let alone twice, to define and reflect on the Word.

But hey, that’s life.

 

 

 

Arise

Prune my shrub, my self, I am so overgrown. Give the dying and withered to my roots for new nourishment alone.

Keep my treasured blooms, a natural bouquet for you.

Pour water to my soil, my soul. In time, I’ll bud, I know; These cuts will heal or bare new stems where, afresh, a rose may grow.

Naked

  • (of a person or part of the body) without clothes.
  • (of an object) without the usual covering or protection.
  • (of a tree, plant, or animal) without leaves, hairs, scales, shell, etc.
  • exposed to harm; unprotected or vulnerable.
  • (of something such as feelings or behavior) undisguised; blatant.

{definitions from Google Dictionary}

I want to be vulnerable. See, I ask it of others, and I encourage their truths, but I’m not even sure of my own. I want people to open up and reveal their true selves because I’ve read and I’ve heard from wise speakers that being vulnerable helps. It prevents mid-life crises, and it mends old scars. It prevents vile infections of the depths of our hearts. See, vulnerability is a word that implies some levels of weakness, but like detoxing the body we’ll feel symptoms at first because to have immunity we must give up the falsehood of impunity. All the tar and the toxins and waste in our souls must be dumped out and shed, reprimanded with coals – yes, coals, like the lumps for bad boys and girls on Christmas morning. Did you know that charcoal cleans? It’s a symbol for aborning, yet, so very few people seek this, are willing to sow to reap this cleansing. We want to see others do it and succeed first. We want to make sure that it works. We, yes that’s me too, want to have something to hold above everyone else – before I tell you my secrets I want to be able to extort you.

I’ve decided to change my mind because as humans that something we can do. I want to be a first, to give up my afflictions, make use of my convictions. I invite you to put me up, or down, for your sake – I invite this crucifixion because I’m tired of the restriction of my stubborn pride and my addiction to the contradiction between my inner tears and fears and wears and tears and the outer fiction that is my diction.

I’m not always as brave as I like to say. I don’t adhere to routine because I’m lazy most days. I’m not brazen, nor shy, just wherever in between suits me best. I have talents, but don’t try, and I’ve never studied hard for a test. My all-or-nothing attitude means I give up on a lot because rather than admitting I went too hard, too soon, I convince myself the cause was for naught. Half the time I’m at work, or otherwise spending time that’s not free, I’m on my phone or on Facebook, and find myself scrambling to hide so my boss doesn’t see. I also drink too much coffee, but don’t think that my vulnerabilities are all surface like these.

It took me thirty minutes to find the courage to even share this that you’re seeing because all I could think about is whether or not you people watching would be agreeing. I get caught up in my emotions and wallow in my feelings, and I pity myself for the unpleasant life-dealings that past-me caused me now. I used alcohol and weed to give me everything I need outside of myself, to escape responsibility – no, the guilt of not being responsible, the self-created and given humility. I’ve spat hate in the eyes of my mother, and smothered men with a love only loved by a father. I laid with hypocrisy and judgement like they were my lovers, taunted souls and broken hearts for the sake of my comfort under the covers, then kept and prized all the pieces like ancient potsherd. Through my fear and my pride I’ve perverted, made impure my words, body, thoughts, and actions. I’ve sought out my death by sneaking and lying,  manipulating and prying to have somebody else say what I wanted to be heard. I’ve stolen. I’ve adulterated. I’ve cursed my family’s names more times than I can mention. Continuously I give excuse to my sins because “I have good intentions.”

What’s more though, than even the darkest of my heart, is the light and life I tried to possess and create while I covered my own eyes in the dark. I asked truth to wait, while I picked and prodded around. First with science, I questioned, cause I wanted “proof more sound.” Then through theories I sought, looking in all places for answers and guidance except right where I knew I would find them. I never wanted to call myself a Christian because I didn’t like what a few radical people said and did with that title. I didn’t want people to think that I was one of those people who took the book, the Bible, and shoved it down the throats of anyone who who couldn’t agree because at one point that was me, who couldn’t wholly believe.

So while I write out my truths and before I mention His name – I’m wondering how many of you will turn, now, away. If you haven’t already, then I hope you stay, and I’ll tell you I pray because there’s more on the credibility of vulnerability that I have to say.

The best part for me about my relationship with God is the part that has urged me to share. See, there isn’t a care why you start or where or for what reason, in what season that you choose to share your inner-most thoughts and feelings and opinions on your life-dealings. Just be there. Be here, and know that someone else is, too. Someone wants you. It doesn’t matter how you address Him, though I will say that Jesus, Lord, Father, and Savior are a preference.

If you’re unsure what you think, just dip your toes in and see. Much of what you will read, you already believe. What you’ll read aren’t like fables, like novels and fantasies, they’re truths that ring so true that you’ll grow weak in your knees and they may find the ground and your heart may just seize. It might become hard to breathe as you suddenly see that you aren’t yet the person that you’re meant to be.

You may find yourself wondering how could you please, in all possibilities, some God you can’t see. I’m telling you now, you just have to believe. Everything else comes in time, or so says my expertise.

I tell you from experience that sometimes you have to just start with pretend and sometimes you can’t start until you’ve lost all your friends, until all you have are fiends and you feel like there’s nobody and nothing on which you can truly depend. Sometimes it takes thinking your life is at an end, but I promise you this: the words in the Bible are a helping hand at extend, there to mend and to tend to your broken ways and to wend you new ways so that you may ascend.

While I write forth my efforts to you now, in example and hope that you’re ready, I cannot promise you that my support will always be steady because I have my own baggage, and I still, too often feel that it’s heavy. I’m still learning, like you, to let go and not be afraid; I’m still learning to accept that, for all wrongs, somehow all the debts have been paid. I’m still coming to grips with a God up above, who once became a man to show us the meaning of love. I still can’t fathom, can hardly imagine, most of what is done, but I know and I show with as much vulnerability as I can bare, that when it comes to truth and strength and love, no book and no god can compare.

“Cross my heart

hope to die

stick a needle in my eye.”

 

Bellows

I drove along, I rode

down a road with highest hopes,

and I saw along this highway

the broken chains and shedded clothes.

I thought about my name,

and named a purpose that it held,

and looked up to the sky

upon the starlit wishing well.

“If my name holds more than title,

if it serves to direct my way,

then I hope that there’s a gift

just for my purpose and my aid.

But oh, would that it be inhuman!

Perhaps I could have super abilites!

Surely that would make me better!

Then, I could be this best me.”

Later…

I tiptoed through the entrance,

and sought out a familiar face,

and found in those unfamiliar

a familiarity-traced.

“I wonder what gifts you have!”

: the words that left a foreign mouth.

I walked away, thought of my toughts

and wondered, pondered. How?

And again familiarity came

as one stood before the room,

but this time I was much more sure

that I had either met glory or doom:

“This here is a gift, a tool,

and oh the most valid truth,

and while it literally came from man,

in it of more there’s proof.

For no man would live and die,

and kill and save and form,

a book by a few mere men

unless within it a God was born.”

Sentient Sentiment

Dear you,

Dear yours,

 

No sound will peal until you speak the truth.

No sight will appear until you look for light.

No touch will meet until you hold your own.

No taste will feed until your soul is sated.

No smell will scent until your spirit breathes free.

 

No longer.

Not anymore.

Until then,

You and yours,

Good Sense.

 

 

In Mute

When I tell you why I left

you can believe my words are true.

 

I’ll tell you what I saw

in painted, colored hues.

When I tell you why I went

please understand I had to grow.

I’ll say who called my name

and drew me from my woe.

 

I beg you understand

the callings of my heart.

I beg you understand

why we sometimes must do part.

I long to remind you

of all that is and has been.

And I beg you reconsider:

in each moment, anew can begin.

 

Humble Hamartia

Oh, my dear, how many of your things I could condemn,
how many of your things I could live without,
how many of your things I could let go of,
and have many times before.

Oh, my dear, how little of what you give
could suffice me more than my self,
could stick within my mind,
could tether down my soul,
as ever has before.

But oh, my dear, there is one thing
that I struggle to thrive without,
that I leave still unabsolved,
and have ever before.

My dear, there is one thing
that I cannot suffice myself,
that dwells within my mind,
that is tethered to my soul,
and has always before.

My dear, there is one thing:
made of the smile you try to hide
by tucking down your chin
while the wrinkle by each eye
reveals you.
My dear, it is that look.

Beauty in the Beast

I am an animal.

I learn the tricks and trades,

But quickly revert to habitual instinct,

to my wants I go, astray.

 

I am a human being.

I learn the tricks and trades,

But  I recognize the truth and

I can make a change.

 

The habits and instincts

I convert to honest ways.

I use my will to guide my beast.

I will. I do. I pray.

Glow

I have heard some say

“My soul is dead,

my spirit is gone –

destroyed by the head.”

But if the body endures,

the heart still beats,

then bloods pours and

the soul indeed goes on.

The spirit lives

with ever a chance

’cause while the body grows old,

decays and molds,

the soul will forever dance.

So as a flame within,

as a flame without.

Give to it a good breath.

You’ll feel it build and brighten,

feel it thrash about,

feel it flare,

suddenly alive. You’ll see

and feel through burning eyes –

so suddenly aware.

Friend and foe

will, like, perceive

the strength of body, heart, and mind.

Altogether, your flame,

your spirit, your soul,

will dance again and thrive.