Vienguard

The Mountaineer

2012-01-25T00:26:00.002-05:00

There's a hill before my feet that stretches up and and trickles down
And every step I try to make takes me over and around;
I've been circling this slope for what must be several years
On my left a cliff falls far while on the right it rises sheer.
This path is less a path than a place where winter coughed
And made an interruption in the blasted wall of rock;
Trees cling here stubbornly as the stone thrusts them all away,
I dare not look for help there as the wind descends to play.
Trees crash and rocks fall and the mountainside, it moves;
Lights flash and I gasp as the land itself behooves
To shake me off or tear me down, or perhaps it's just the trees,
And I but happened to be there when the earth warred with the leaves.
In the end my grip is naught though strong it might have been
Had there been anything on this hill to wedge within my hand;
So down I went and when I woke I discovered to my dismay
That though the dream had taken night I walked the mountain by day.

Advancing

2011-08-22T01:11:00.000-04:00

There's a whisper in the fallen eaves
While by the wayside someone grieves;
There's a high keening in the air
But all who hear are unaware
Of just what crawls beneath the earth
And who felt the deepening dearth
Of understanding beneath the skin,
Behind the eyes the wars begin;
They're all fought on nameless fronts
From sightless eyes and needless wants,
For crystal clear the past descends
And future floats on foggy winds
While present bound we all remain
And wonder why our tears reclaim
Our eyes in sheets of salt so thick
As if they wished a wall of brick
Would spring before our vision far
All revelation hence to mar
Before we stumble forward to see
Just what our path is like to be.

All's Fair In Love and War

2011-06-27T20:09:00.003-04:00

I hate that statement. Now hate is a very strong emotion for such a statement, and it comes from the overthinking I do. You see, Love and War are two words that encompass a wide range of emotions, actions, reasons, and events, and so by some definitions they happen everywhere, all the time, to one extent or another. Thus the idea of things being "fair" when done under their umbrella seems to be just a very cheap way of justifying the means to whatever end.

But I am not writing about this statement, nor about Love or War in and of themselves. I wish to follow some stray thoughts about being in love with life, and being at war with life. In the end it probably comes down to pessimism and optimism, but I would prefer to follow this trail of thoughts down into the gulch and back up, rather than jump the gorge in a single leap. Life is more interesting that way, it seems.

Allow me to clarify that when I say life, I do not say the world. As a Christian, I most certainly am at war with the world, and I have been commanded not to love the things of this world, as I am not of the world, etc, etc. In this context the world refers to the realm of sin. God is not saying you can't love your new puppy, or the sunset, or the taste of watermelon. He created those things! But that is a blog for another time. Here, I am talking about life, as in, living on this planet, going about our daily activities. It is not my intention to argue anything, but rather explore the phenomenon that seems to exist, in that Christians can be both in love with life, and at war with life. Perhaps one is better than the other. Perhaps both can exist simultaneously.

If I were to place myself under one of these ideas, I would have to say that I am at war with life. I strain against it every day. I am a malcontent. I am not at war in spite of the fact that I am a Christian, I am at war because I am a Christian. Had I nothing better in site than life itself, I would have no reason to push against it, but because I catch glimpses of what could be and will be in the perfect life awaiting me when this one is long gone, I struggle here. Sometimes I am in love with life, for brief moments, but the overall tone of my life is one at war.

Now, there is evidence that I have seen with my own eyes of Christians who are the opposite of this. They are in love with life. They are filled with joy. Certainly at moments they must be at war, but the overall tone here is love. They look for and see the beauty in everything and are excited by it. They are often content. I look at these people and wonder why I cannot be more like them? The Bible says we are to be filled with joy and content. These people seem to be at peace, while I am stuck in the midst of battle.

I had always assumed the latter was better, but I had no way of getting there myself. After further thought I begin to think a mixture would be the better way. After all, I do not look at life with the intent of dissension or violence. My war is the striving to survive while I wait for what is better. But still, I find myself thinking, joy in waiting is more Biblical. What a wretch I am.

Eventually I condensed these thoughts down into two points of view. The person in love with life approaches in love. An optimist. The person at war approaches in war. A pessimist. But even this seemed wrong to me. Yes, I am definitely the person at war, but I do not consider myself a pessimist. My friends count me as the optimist! But I do not look at life in love. I look at it through calculating eyes, weighing and measuring everything in order to find its exact value. If something is not worth wailing about, I take the optimistic approach, but I do not do it out of love. I do it because a strategy says there is benefit in doing it this way. I am not trying to conquer life, or any such nonsense. Merely survive it. Guerrilla warfare.

I apologize for the disjointed rendering of these thoughts. I regret that I cannot speak more on the subject of being in love with life. I have little experience there. Perhaps someone who knows themselves to come from that direction will answer these thoughts with some of their own. I would be very interested in reading them.

Which is better? Is one better? And how do we get there? Go away and think! I must go look to my weapons, for the life around me appears to be mutating. And we don't want that now do we?

While the World Slept, the Sky Split Open

2011-06-26T00:01:00.003-04:00

I took my contacts out over the sink and didn't bother to turn the hallway light on because light or no, I could not see. My room was the next door, and the floor was clear. But my room was not dark. Night had fallen many hours ago and the window blinds still stood open, unnoticed. I saw flashing lights. They lit up the room.

There had been storms that day. Was it... I felt for my glasses and put them on, peering through the window. Lightning burst across the sky, some here, some there, only a few seconds of darkness to break the brilliance. I rushed back through the dark house to the front door and flew out to the porch, mouth hanging open in eager expectation. What met me was a stunning silence. There was no thunder, only the play of lights in the sky. Occasionally there were streaks, the rest of the time the light was hidden behind clouds that dispersed it over my entire field of vision for a brief moment. I attempted to capture a few bursts in photos, then sat down to simply enjoy it.

It was 1 AM.

I should have been asleep by now, but the night was mesmerizing. As I sat I became aware of sounds: the light breeze stirring the wind chimes, a chorus of crickets in the grass down below, the last wheels of a train clicking by in the distance, a single cow lowing. Though I strained my ears for thunder I heard nothing, and still the lightning danced, and never seemed to tire. The clouds changed as I mapped them. The wind blew them east, but the lightning remained steady. Two storms, it seemed, one to the left and one to the right. Occasionally a many streaked bolt would jump into the dark space between the two.

I thought of the beauty of the sky and was sad for a moment. Most people were asleep by now, or locked safely in their houses behind curtained windows. They were missing this brilliant fireworks display. Certainly they had seen sunsets and sunrises and majestic thunderclouds in all their slow, steady pace, but had they seen this? The lightning came and went only for a moment, but there was moment after moment after moment! Most people value the beauty of the night sky in stars, and count a cloudy night a waste. But would this display be half so brilliant at noon?! Here in the darkness the clouds gave the bolts a landscape to run over. The sky housed ever-changing mountains that gave the light something to hide behind and spill over.

And then the beauty combined. I had thought I could have only the lightning or the stars, but here suddenly was both! The wind had blown the last wisps of cloud from one half of the sky and countless stars replaced them, far too many to be seen over this populated area. But though the clouds moved, the lightning remained steady, and the presence of both overwhelmed me. My camera had had a difficult enough time with lightning; it could not capture stars. I felt sad again, for all the sleeping people in the houses around me, clueless to what was happening outside. I could not capture it for them. They were missing it. But in the midst of my sadness I realized something else, and the realization chased everything else from my mind.

Even as God made the sun shine in the day, and burst in the morning and fade blazing in the evening, and even as He made all the clouds of the blue sky tower and curl over that wide canvas, even as He made the stars a trillion bright, He also made these nights. Though only one or even no one would witness it, He made the lightning storm come forth. We humans tend to put our effort into what shows, but He saved this powerful, flashing, ever-changing masterpiece for the hidden hour! How blessed are we to have a God who delights in beauty, whether seen at midday or hidden in the dark of night! I felt a great sense of gratitude, as if I had been given a backstage pass to a concert of my favorite musician, or been granted access to watch an author pen a best-selling novel. Somehow, I was here, privileged to see this display. Glad was I to have been awake so long that night. I had a box seat alone with God for His masterpiece of a production. And the storm still went on. I departed long before it was over, because I felt peace.

Our God never sleeps.

Something Else

2011-06-04T00:54:00.001-04:00

Ever winding withering, and thoughts that fade to gray,
Dreams that sprang before the sun but slowly crept away,
Houses built inside our heads of memories in stone
That shatter when they reach the top and find they are alone,
Footsteps wind around the paths that lead us far abroad,
Flowers bend and shake their heads between the wailing nods,
Crisper clouds that gather here are cracking as we speak,
They'll fall to earth so fast and dear, upon the waves that reek,
Deserts groan while they elapse the time that there hangs thick
The walls are built of solitude and laid with stone and brick,
The smallest breath of weakest life might send them tumbling down,
For how are they to stand alive at the first of all the sounds?

Going Back, Briefly

2011-03-19T16:05:00.000-04:00

The idea of home is a funny thing. For me, having lived in so many different places, home has become a very transient term. Wherever I plan on sleeping that night is "home," whether it be my house, my parents' house, a hotel room, or just a tent. I have often confused friends by saying "home" and meaning the temporary place where we were staying that weekend. I have not been one to indulge nostalgia, and I tend to be of the mind that says "look ahead, not behind." Once you have left a place you have left it, and it is gone. You aren't going back, so there is no reason to look back. Of course, this is not true all the time. There are places that my family has returned to frequently, certain relatives houses or vacation spots. But I have never lived in any of those places as a permanent (or semi-permanent) resident. They too have been places of transition and when a particular stay is over there is little reason to look back.

Currently I am staying in one of these places: a house on the beach that my grandparents own. We are only here for a few days, and I enjoy the time I have here until the time comes to leave. When I do leave there will be no farewell, for it is a familiar place that seems to travel with me, and one I will always return to eventually. Despite this familiarity, however, it is never quite home as some would term home. I think that many people's idea of home could more accurately be described as a feeling of origin. Their home is what produced them, insofar as someone may be a product of a place. During my brief life I have passed so many places into the deep storage in the back of my mind that no geographical position of origin remained in my conscious thought. I have never felt homesick for a particular location. I have missed places, certainly, but only as one misses the warmth of summer in January, or as one misses a pet they had to leave behind for a time while they went on vacation. I have very rarely been stirred to leave my present surroundings by any memory of a dwelling from my past. My motion has been launched by prospects, by looking forward rather than any incentive that came from looking behind.

A curious thing happens to me then, when I return to the old places. This occurs only rarely, and it must be a product of my unconscious where all of the memories of those times are stored only to be dredged up when I draw near their locals. I have no draw to these places, no inner urging to return to them even if I am on their borders, but the moment I cross that border, something strange happens. A sense of home, long forgotten, suddenly surfaces. I know, suddenly, that I belonged here once, even if I do not any more. It's as if I can see ghosts of myself moving along in old habits, but I am so far removed from them that I cannot feel anything for them except a strange wonderment. When I leave that place I feel no misgivings, no longing to stay or tears at the thought of going, and once I am away from it I forget it quickly. But while I am there I love it.

Perhaps a description of such a place would help me explain this to you. By driving a for bit over hour inland from this beach house you may come into the heart of the Lowcountry. South Carolina has three regions recognized by the inhabitants, mainly the Upstate and the Lowcountry and to a smaller extent the regions between the two, sometimes known as the sand hills. I have had the privilege of living in all three. The Upstate is up from the rest in the sense that it is in the north of South Carolina and also that it is a little bit higher in altitude than the rest. Here there are hills and forests of varying trees and the land moves a bit more as it goes up to reach the mountains. The sand hills are the transition space between the two and contain a bit of each in the terrain of the Upstate and the flora of the Lowcountry to some extent. The Lowcountry is the southern part of the state; it is mostly flat and stretches to include much of the coast. It is the Lowcountry of South Carolina that I would consider my location of most basic origin.

I do not say this because I was born there; I was born in a very different part of South Carolina. But the Lowcountry is where I had my first memories, particularly that place a bit over an hour inland from the coast here. This place does not have much to recommend it to outsiders. Here the roads are straight and flat. They are bordered by trees or fields. If there are trees then they are usually pine, standing straight and tall and planted in straight lines. If you can see over the underbrush then you can sometimes see straight through an entire stand of them. If there are fields then they are planted with corn or cotton, or perhaps other grains. Here and there you will see a house. Every road is like this. The interstate is far away and where it does cut through this area it is shielded from the distance of this place by more tall stands of pine trees, and there is not way to get from it them without going down the road for a ways. Not all of the trees here are pine, of course. Every now and then you might spot a live oak all hung with spanish moss whose seed found a way inland from the coast, and very occasionally a palmetto or two. Cypress trees grow in the lower areas where water leaks.

The roads to not lead much of anywhere, but they do not lead nowhere. There are small towns scattered about, tiny places with half the buildings boarded up and the rest simply living their quiet unchanging lives as they have since they were built. Some towns are no more than a few buildings at an intersection, or a place where the railroad passes by. If you stop and exit your vehicle you will find that the grass does not grow up and out of so much as over the ground, overlapping itself in little many-bladed tendrils until it has covered a sufficient amount of sand to turn it a very dusty gray-green. Here you could go barefoot in the summer if you didn't mind the prickliness of the grass and could manage to avoid the countless fire-ant hills. Sandspurs grow well in this region, though they grow in greater numbers near the coast. Things move slowly here. This place is not the sleepy laziness of the "country" as it is the timelessness of a place far removed from anything. It is the place I inexplicably love whenever I return to it, however briefly.

This area is not without its charms of course. In the spring wisteria drapes the trees and azaleas bloom in people's yards. The roads might be traveled for miles without going anywhere, which in my eyes is a wonderful thing. The fields are open and wide, the stands of pine trees are large, and for a moment you might wonder if this land does not go on forever. But eventually you will drive out of it, you will reach the sand hills or the coast and you will begin to wonder if the place exists at all. I was there, once, and I was comforted by the thought that it was once home. I cherished it and I loved it, but now that I am gone I do not miss it much. Even as I write this I begin to forget it. But that place does exist and should I go back there again I will instantly feel the same. I can forget it for a time, but never completely. It follows me too. Why else would the sight of a pine cone bring such joy? But it is not necessary joy. It comes and it goes, sitting only in the corners of my eyes while they fasten on the places I have never been, the roads I have never taken. The places of the past are well forgotten, not lost, but set out of sight until they are needed.

For Those Who Would Not Know Me

2011-02-16T19:26:00.001-05:00

I would write of that which I cannot see.

I would express the fears within me, the groans that wrack my physical frame, though the pain exists on some other plane. I would express the noises that haunt me through night and day, but the cacophony of the world around me is too great! If I walk through life with my head down you must not feel concern, nor need to comfort, for my torment does not spring from that which may be comforted. It comes from a dark area, where all is in shadow until it may be revealed by the light at the end of days. Until then it is a void, meaningless, a shapeless beast that I must love and despise and never find, for though I seek it endlessly I cannot lay a finger there! Where does this bottomless portal lead, where is its end? I cannot even find its beginning.

I would write like this forever, but I know that it is wearisome to read of nothing and so far nothing is all I have written. It is easy to describe a thing, but how does one write of an empty space? How does one describe a shadow save that it is without detail and mirrors that which forms it? That is it, then, the thing I seek. It is elusive and shifts from time to time, and though I chased it forever I fear I would never catch it. Such a chase is exhausting. Could I pour my entire self into the hole perhaps I would finally find rest, but as I live my resources are chained to other things as well. There are people to be smiled at, paths to be trod, and time to keep. Emotions must be constantly pampered to as each occasion requires I feel sympathy, grief, joy, excitement, wonder, interest, concern. All of this energy could be spent in pursuit of the shadow, but instead I must spend it on what amounts to dust to me, because I am told that is right. And as the two worlds stretch farther apart they also draw closer together and my mind becomes more muddled.

Certain things in one begin to mirror the other, and I reach out desperately and cling to them as if they are what is real and solid and therefore all that may be held onto. Yet at these times I am most distraught, for as the other world draws near I begin to think that I might see things, feelings become more intense, and I am so close, so near to understanding that I pour energy eagerly in that direction, flailing inside my head, so to speak. But for all my efforts I can never fully grasp it, and so I return to this life exhausted, with my resources completely drained, though there may be no visible reason for my weariness. At these times I want nothing more than nothing, for if I had nothing then when I collapse in the grass and stare at the sky for hours, nothing would be lost. But life insists on thrusting much into my arms, so I have no choice but to keep walking, to go here and there and divvy out what is left of me in measured amounts, a rationing of emotion that requires my attention even as my thoughts wander back to what was lost.

And just what was lost? you ask. Just what are the questions that need answering, the questions that are searched for? I cannot tell you that, for they are a part of the shadow. I have uncovered a few of the questions over the years, but no answers yet. I have still not found my footing in this other plane and I fear that I will not do so until the end. So if you see me walking with my head down, or with a dazed look in my eyes, if I speak to you in distraction, do not worry yourself over me. I am afflicted, yes, but this affliction will last for the duration of my life here and only at the end will there be release. How often does this happen? you ask. I could not tell you. Some days not at all, while other days I am consumed, usually without warning, though with experience I may see it better. So do not be concerned, for there is nothing your concern may accomplish. This is my unknown fate, and were it any less of an emptiness there would be less of me.

Anomaly

2010-12-27T14:17:00.001-05:00

If a tree grew from the rock, strained its fibers to the sky,
If it pushed leaves from branches thin, just so it could cry,
If it shoved out so hard its bark rent and blood dripped from the cracks,
Just so the branches' silhouette would make the sunset last;

If the sea thrashed its back, and tore itself apart,
If it threw itself hard upon unrelenting rocks,
If it crashed again and turned itself all white,
Just so all its scars could reflect the waning light;

And if the sun stepped off the edge of the burning sky,
If if fell through darkening clouds that edged their way awry,
If it sought to drown itself, to do so every day,
Just to check the night and let its colors play;

If all of these things happened, all this grief and death and pain,
And if it was on purpose, and none but self to blame,
What is the treasure great, that's making all these screams
Turn Beauty from the ashes, and Love from formless dreams?

Fear

2010-12-15T14:44:00.000-05:00

It comes out of the dark and faces the wind,
Pushes it back with a decaying grin
It melts all the trees and freezes the stone,
Sinks all the oceans with a melodic moan
Its shape is a circle, its weight is the world,
All of its memories have yet to unfold
Wild, it is free, and tramples the rest,
They'll all cry out in witless distress
Formless, countless, reckless it rides,
Issuing in on the backs of the tides
Nothing can stop it, save emptiness bare
And everything too, it can't go near there,
But in between, it goes to and fro
And seeks the innards of the whole world to know.

The Leaf

2010-10-23T04:00:00.001-04:00

I was a leaf that fell off a tree,
And I'm sure I hit the ground,
But it wasn't long before the wind
Picked me up and whirled me around.

I flew over some water and raced from a cliff,
Soared swift, and brushed past a stone,
I whispered through fur and feather alike,
And each place I thought I was home.

But the wind was coaxing and beckoned to me,
I wouldn't remain there for long:
One touch of it's hand to my wandering eyes,
And once again I'd be gone.

Irresistible, that charming breeze,
So far on it I flew,
I forgot the ground completely,
And what proper leaves should do.

Proper leaves rain from the trees
And carpet earth in color,
But though I fell I didn't plummet
And I watched them all grow duller.

In vain I searched for one like me
Who just couldn't reach the earth,
One who also felt the wind
And embraced senseless rebirth.

I was a leaf that fell off a tree,
And would never hit the ground,
Now I'm not sure what I am,
A bird, by breezes bound.

This One, I Would Label A Nightmare

2010-10-12T12:01:00.003-04:00

It began innocently enough. I remember the school, and the houses, and children playing as two friends of mine taught the little girls gymnastics in the grass. It was warm, summertime, or early fall, and one could almost smell the charcoal fires. But night was soon over and I went inside when I heard my mother call. In here! she said, and told me my sister had something she wanted me to see. I followed the voices and came into the room my sister and I shared, the one with two beds and two dressers, and two windows in the same wall that looked out on our back yard through six small panes each.

"See! There." She said, and I looked and saw the moon. It was enormous and hanging low in the sky, barely clearing the tops of the black pines and shining white and silver against the purple sky. It wasn't a full moon, for there were pieces missing, as if the wisps of cloud had turned to acid and began to eat it away, but it was still the most beautiful thing I had seen all night. I gasped with pleasure and reached for my camera, desperate to capture the image. I snapped photo after photo as my sister urged me to hurry, for the sun was coming up right behind it. I watched through my lens in frustration as the sky grew paler and the misty clouds turned into flames, and still was not satisfied with the image. The trees would be in the way, or the panes in the windows, and I could not get a clear shot. Vaguely I was aware that my sister had gone, and my mother with her, and still I stood immobilized as the light rose over the horizon and the trees and the whole sky went white.

When I came to I was lying on the floor beneath the windows and felt the odd sensation of movement. I stood up, took note that three of my very good friends had come with me into the room and were now looking around in confusion. "Where are we?" one of them asked, and I went to the window to look. Sure enough, we were high above the ground, floating along at a brisk pace over a valley of rolling green hills. Springing up out of the grass were large boulders, spread out like bales of hay and covered in deep grooves that made strange designs. Beyond this, mountains rose tall, and though the place was very familiar, I was certain I had never been here before. Perhaps I had climbed the other side of those mountains, but I had never been to this valley.

I turned to my friends and, with a great sense of smugness that I should get to quote the phrase, said, "We're not in Kansas anymore." They chuckled at that along with me and came to look out the window for themselves, and then we all sat to wait the flight out. It ended soon enough without so much as a shudder, and one of the guys suggested we go find somebody with a phone. This was, of course, a good idea, and upon emerging from the house our steps quickened even further, for the house had landed not far from the northern slopes of the mountains and up on the side were buildings. But as we got closer I felt my feet slowing. The cluster of buildings on the hill was looking more and more like a ghost town than an actual settlement, and a sense of foreboding covered the whole place. The one road was gravel and mud, and the buildings were made of faded clapboard that was blackened in some places, as if it had been burned. The only two buildings that showed any life at all were an old fuel station with broken windows and what appeared to be a souvenir store. The boys went to the station and began questioning the attendant, a withered old man who's sole answer seemed to be to point down the road. Us girls went up some stairs and down the long porch to the door of the souvenir shop and went inside to find the owner. She turned out to be a middle aged woman who seemed as loathe to talk as the gas station attendant, but my friend was at least able to get her to start explaining why she didn't have a phone while I looked around at the various beach-themed clothing and trinkets. I was glad when we left.

We met the boys again and the four of us continued down the road, leaving the buildings behind and heading for a stand of trees that seemed to start the forest. Here we found more life, for there were many people roaming around, all men of the rough sort. They seemed to revolve around one taller man in the center. I don't remember exactly what he looked like, only that he had a significant beard and appeared to be some sort of modern-day pirate. The fact that we could not get past him was a silent knowledge between us all, and as he started toward us, I felt a crackle in my fingertips. I lifted my hands slowly and watched in fascination as the ball of energy formed between my palms. One slight twitch and I sent it soaring over to meet him, and sparks flew when it impacted. This made him visibly angry and also started the two boys into action. They advanced, but it only took a few more balls of energy before he fell, and as he fell, the rest of the men vanished with him. The boys lowered their weapons and turned to continue on down the road, but a cry from my other friend caused them to turn again.

What we saw was horrible. From the destruction of the angry man rose a creature. It was tall, very tall, and built like a badly formed lion, but it stood on its hind legs. Its arms were like a gorillas and hung low past its knees, and its face was so twisted that it might have been upside down one moment and right side up the next. The surface of it shifted, and I could not tell if it was skin or scales. The whole thing was pale and sickly, but it moved with strength and purpose. The boys called for the girl behind me to run; she was not a fighter. I stood routed to the spot as they lifted their weapons again and moved in on the thing, and I felt the crackle in my fingertips again. Again and again I poured the fire into the creature as they attacked it, but nothing seemed to slow it. Then it turned and its eyes fastened on me.

The boys watched it come at me, but they did not move, whether by choice or not I did not know. My heart leapt into my throat as it reached me and grabbed me, but I managed one more blow to it. It gurgled and fell to the ground, taking me with it in a vice-like grip. I did scream them, for it was crushing me. I could feel it encircling my torso and cracking each rib, slowly. I cried out in pain and panic, yelled my friend's names at the top of my lungs, begging them for help, but the circle only drew tighter and tighter. I could not understand why I was not dead. The pain in my side only grew, and as my screams brought no answers they eventually dissolved into tears.

For ten days I lay there, and the pain did not cease.

Then at last the grip was loosened, and I was able to pull myself out of the creature's grip. It was dead, and had been so for some time, but death had only made its grasp stronger until now. I struggled to my feet and looked around at the empty land. My friends were gone. I could feel that all the ribs on my right side were broken, and lifting my shirt a little I found an angry bruise running lengthwise. Clutching my side, I went slowly back to the buildings that stood up the hill. The attendant at the fuel station said that he had not heard anything, but that my friends had left me a note. I took it and read that they had gone back down into the valley and gone right, that there was a church or something down there that was safe and had a phone. Civilization, in other words. A chill went through me at this and the pain was like a knife, though far less than the pain in my side. I had tried to convince myself that they had gone on because they thought I was dead, but they would not have left a note if that had been the case. They knew I was alive, and they had left me. They had not even waited. But I had nothing to do but go on.

I staggered down the hill and back into the valley, following the faint track that we must have missed on the way up. I walked for hours, unsure how, and eventually the grass turned to mud and I found myself in a swamp. My feet could go no more and I fell, but looking up I thought I saw lights on the other side, pale in the evening air. With a small cry I gripped the mud in my fingers and began pulling myself along. In the back of my mind I wondered what this was doing to my already shattered ribs, and also thought that I was ruining the turquoise shirt I was wearing. As I struggled along I began to pass birds, tall cranes that stood in the shallow water and looked down on me with expressionless eyes. One might have cared more than the others, and as I looked up I thought that its silhouette against the orange sky where the sun was setting would be a beautiful photograph, but I had not the time, the will, or the energy. I continued on, pulling myself through the shallows and the mud. I became conscious of the camera in my hand, and concern for it filled me, because it was not waterproof and it was getting wet. I had to reach the lights and find something to dry it with.

At last the swamp turned to tile. Just as I knew it had to be the end, hands reached down and pulled me up and into a clean place. I gasped as the pain in my side shot through me, and there were my friends, in fresh clothes and safe, but I could not be glad to see them. Someone brought me a blanket and I carefully dried the camera off first, then wrapped the cloth around myself. I tried to tell them that my ribs were broken, but no one would listen; after the blanket there were no more signs of care. People milled around me and spoke softly, but all I was aware of after a while was the fading orange light and the searing pain in my side. I stumbled over to lean against a wall alone and look out the window at the fading valley.

Then, as the sun slipped down behind the mountains and all the world went dark, I woke up.

A Dream Over the Chasm

2010-09-27T23:13:00.002-04:00

It was so strange, that shifting glance,
A head spinning, stomach turning,
And the dry falls went far, far below...
And in between, nothing but spinning blades,
to hurry me along where the rocks could not,
and spraying red. I checked my hands, but they
had all their own blood. Knees vanished in
pulpy mess and I leaned over, far, far over...
The mists couldn't hide the bottom and
they couldn't hide the sky. It stretched,
I stretched, but I can't reach. I can't ever reach.
But I think I see you standing there.
Over there, on the cliff, high above where I float,
But a world stretches between us, and I can't reach.
You look like you're turning away, far, far away...
I'm fine. I'll fall or I'll fly, you'll be here, or gone,
But I'll sleep in peace and wake with a smile,
because for one small moment, before
the wind tore me away, you were near.

Zephyr

2010-09-27T00:12:00.003-04:00

Every breath, in and out, a trembling hope
A wearisome wish, a dream's endless scope,
To float through the world on the breath of the wind,
The breath that lives not to wish or begin,
The one that swings wildly and whispers away
Every wish for the time that would rush through the days;
If I could float there and be held aloft
Through the clouds and spires, understand what my lot
May consist of, well then, you know what I'd be:
The fairest of winds you never did see.

At the End of the Day...

2010-09-16T19:02:00.003-04:00

I rose at 7:30 this morning to throw some stuff in a backpack and rush to get to class by 8. The line for eggs in the cafeteria was too long, so I didn't have those for breakfast. It was gray and cloudy today, and it drizzled some. I sat and listened to lectures for hours, spent two hours closeted away in my studio, and another in the library writing a paper. I didn't get back to the house until 6:30, and I have yet to eat supper.

Why am I so happy?

Well! I'll tell you why!

1. I have paint under my fingernails. And painting is just glorious! There's nothing quite so relaxing! Especially when you add music, then you enter a completely separate world. On my playlist today were Coldplay and Steel Train, among others. Music + art = very nearly heaven.

2. I had sausage links for breakfast. Sausage links are tasty.

3. I recently ordered some spectacular books online. Arriving soon in the mail: Radical by David Platt, Wild at Heart and Captivating by John Eldredge, Crazy Love by Francis Chan, and The Domino Pattern by Timothy Zahn. Two I've partially read, three I've never touched. The first four are non-fiction and I've heard amazing things about all of them. The last one is fiction, the fourth in a series I've been reading. It just came out in paperback, and when I realized that, I threw my hands in the air, screamed in excitement, and ordered it. None of these books have come yet, but they're on their way... Eeeep!

4. I recently discovered a new band called Amoriste. Their sound is quite wonderful. New music is AWESOME!!!! Once again, I throw my hands in the air and scream. Check them out: http://www.amoriste.com/

5. I walked barefoot in freshly cut grass this afternoon. Have you ever done that? If you haven't, go. Right now.

6. I sat on a stone bench a bit after that and just listened to my iPod and felt the wind. A storm was coming in and storm-blown wind has an amazing freshness to it. There's anticipation and calm, all mixed up in one and whoosh! Here comes the thunder!

7. As I sat on that bench, one of my friends came by bearing glorious conversation of Europe and a wedding invitation. (No, they didn't have anything to do with each other. Yet.) We sat there under the coming storm and talked up dreams so much that I expected them to come to life before my eyes. I tell you, on the day when a cruise on the Mediterranean and a backpacking trip through Europe appear before my eyes, I will throw my hands in the air and scream.

8. While I wrote my paper, I drank sprite out of a glass bottle. A green glass bottle. Mmmm, fizzy.

9. Raindrops are kisses from above, and many kissed my face as I walked home.

10. My brother is totally awesome and I had a totally awesome conversation with him on the phone. It was totally awesome.

And that, dear friends, is why I'm so happy.

And guess what! The day's not over yet!

P.S. New Owl City music vid is coming out tomorrow! Told you the day wasn't over! Woot!

Only Crazy People Talk To Themselves

2010-09-08T15:20:00.003-04:00

Hello, friend, it's time we met
And made our differences clear.
Perhaps then we'll come to terms
With the grievances of years.

I'll start outside for that us where
We seem to clash the most.
You gladly drive all friends away
While I'm a willing host.

A long sigh of relief you breathe
Whenever you're alone,
But if I'm alone the walls close in
And make a mockery of home.

You look on life of loneliness
With eagerness and peace,
While dread fills me at the thought
Should solitude never cease.

Friend, please allow me answer,
Know this, I'm not alone.
Though burdened am I with your cries,
To God's own side I'm sewn.

And also you do hold me back
From all I might discover.
The endless world that calls me
Hence, I may never uncover.

You would leave your family, friends,
And go forth to see the world,
But change gnaws at me and in my heart
The leaves of tears unfold.

For you it's easy to say farewell,
While goodbyes grate at my ears.
I'd love to freeze these times in place
While that's your greatest fear.

Well then allow my heartless self
To turn your thoughts inside.
When you look into your future
You must feel so alive.

When I look there I do indeed
See solitude and rain,
But also I see loving arms
And comfort through the pain.

How can you paint the future such,
When you know what I saw:
That we must simply accept the pain
And soldier through it all.

My suffering has made me strong
But I dare not cling to hope.
I'll take each day as it comes swift
And bend under life's great load.

See there you're quite mistaken,
For no bending is required.
If you'd straighten up you'd notice
The colors of sunrise!

Can't you see them endless run!
The mountaintops alight!
But you'd rather stand upon the beach,
Bathed in starshine bright.

And there is nothing wrong with that
Nor I suppose, your way,
Except that you won't leave me be
And take your leave today.

I do not know why we are bound
To stay in this same space,
But somehow we must reconcile
If we're to run this race.

But how, for we are opposite!
Which shall bear the eyes?
To whom shall we give the tongue,
The ears, to you or I?

All I know is that we can't
Have this struggle last a day.
It drinks up all our energy--
But we have naught to say!

We cannot exist together
And yet it seems we must.
You'll have to learn to love me
If I'm to gain your trust.

I do love you, and that is why
I can't tear myself away.
We're bound together for all time,
It seems the only way.

Well I'm glad we had this talk,
And in our differences delved.
But now we must end this discourse, for
Only crazy people talk to themselves.

The Children of the Optimist and the Pessimist

2010-09-06T17:51:00.001-04:00

There are those who hope and those who wish, and then there are those who know
How the world really works, and where all our hopes go.
But even those who say they know cannot have all the facts.
The feelings that confine us will slowly bring them back.

And that's when all the castles in the sky will fall.
That's when we'll hold our hands against the gaping maw.
That's when all the troubles of our petty lives will cease.
That's when we'll all break free, and find eternal peace.

It will not be the ones who hope, nor the ones who know,
Who guide us through the darking sky to where the feelings go.
It won't be those who saw the light, or those who cry in the dark.
It'll be the ones who look on love and fail to find a spark.

They're the ones who wander through the world so dark and grim,
They're the ones who look on love and find it's future dim,
They're the ones who feel the pain and cast it aside as well,
They're the ones who walk the world but never, ever fell.

They look down into that gulf where rest the certain souls;
The ones who laughed and sang aloud "steady as she goes!"
The ones who cried so far and long, no comfort could derive,
The ones who think they know it all, or at least think they're alive.

The others look down on them, then slowly turned away,
Certainty is not for them, who search the endless ways,
For them there is no tunnel dark, nor light at tunnel's end,
All they see are fleeting skies and veils with crashing rends.

They are the ones not understood by those who expect much.
Comprehension finds them not who look through despair's touch.
Neither are they fathomed by those who would know all,
For all that touches them is a wish to finally, fatally, fall.

Jealous are they of certainty, who wander day and night!
For even if their end is pain, it might still end in light.
They know it does no good to wish, for wishes must all die,
But they know that without wishes, only clouds will fill the sky.

Hope has fled before their eyes and despair they cast aside,
They face what's left with uncertainty as their only fleeting guide.
What will happen will just happen, and yes, it may be good,
But should the harsh times rise around, then they'll be understood.

Fighters then shall rise up, for passivity will pass,
But its time will come again, for both have times to last.
And so it is with those who live the lives of two,
Who know that they do not know all but don't know what to do.

We'll wander fast and wander far, and search for the place to leap
A cliff's edge, a roadside curb, a doorway where someone weeps.
Will it end there? We cannot know. The road might still go on,
But should it wind around our hearts, just know that we have gone.

The Tragedy of Love

2010-08-07T00:11:00.002-04:00

It was something we despised,
To show the world of glancing eyes,
How much it meant, when all we saw
Was the opening of a maw.
The gaping jaws and drowning gullet
Filled our vision, then a bullet
Whipped past hair and skinned a cheek,
Rushed to find the opening bleak,
And crash! The waves assailed our ears,
For we looked on all we feared:
The world that would to swallow whole
Our lives, our feelings, all our souls
Lay shattered on the broken waste;
The single shot had flown with grace
And all that we thought fair and true
Was laid to ruin, we never knew
What really lay behind the throat,
Past the teeth and shining coat
Of glamour scraped to paper-thin,
Beat and harried by the wind.

We only wept for what we'd lost,
It tore our eyes to think we'd cost
The world to lose it's wonders great,
We wailed to see it's crumbling state
For what had once filled all our hearts
Was gone; it tore itself apart
And we fell trembling in the dark,
Souls awash with black tear-marks,
All was emptied to our cores,
The love that filled us was no more
And we cried an endless scream
For death had taken all our dreams.
And what pain could now be worse?
Love had failed, so it we cursed
That which left us, that which fled,
That which stabbed us 'til we bled...

But then something rose to wounded eyes,
Something passed through tears and blinds,
Something pierced the darkness grim
And stabbed our bleeding hearts again!
We cried out, the pain was real,
More than anything we could feel
The roar rose up on stricken wings,
It was the end of everything.
But underneath the pain it spread,
A peace that vanished all the dead,
A hope that washed the darkness out,
A knowledge that erased the doubt.
From the bullet it rose high:
A light that spread and filled the sky,
A dream that filled our hearts anew,
And suddenly the grief was through!

Hearts splintered, ashes spread,
Dagger split through death's dark head,
Love rushed in like doomsday fire
Holding us on the shrieking pyre,
And through the haze of ash and pain,
A voice called out our single names,
And as our flesh burned fully off
We stood in awe of all we'd lost.
The anguish we were let to bear
Was all to mend the frightening tear,
That rent that caused our hearts to ache,
To bend and fold and finally break.
But anguish higher brought us down,
For without pain, no love is found,
And without love, all is a waste,
A dead land burning without grace.

And so the bullet killed the world,
Agony around us curled,
Love's first kiss was grief untold
A blaze that seared hearts' bitter cold.
We lay there in a quivering heap,
Stunned where those two rivers meet,
But from our sorrow we slowly rose,
And He who raised us surely knows,
Just why we had to lose it all
To hear the endless wailing call
That beckons us through fire and rain,
Storms that only end in pain,
To find the only honest One,
Who knows all pain and still has won.
When He smiles, His smile is sad,
For He too has lost all that He had,
And we will smile, for we have found
That in it lies a strength that's bound
In all the shards of shattered hearts,
In every splintered blood-tipped dart.
One day soon we shall be free,
Pain will vanish on glassy sea,
Until then we will scream long
And rejoice for the singing of Love's song.

Who Are You?

2010-08-06T23:28:00.000-04:00

Who are you?
How do I know you?
Your name is familiar,
Your face is a memory,
But I don't think I know you.

Who are you?
Where did you come from?
I know your steps,
I follow your feet,
But I don't think I know you.

Who are you?
What is your mind?
I hear your thoughts,
I share your wonders,
But I don't think I know you.

Who are you?
Are you me?
You wander my heart,
You search for my soul,
But I don't think you know me.

Ghost

2010-04-02T00:39:00.003-04:00

If you are reading this, if you are here,
If you can see me, if you are near,
If your head turns, so your eyes meet mine,
If you're beside me, most of the time,

Then know you're a wonderful, wonderful ghost,
A mess of the things that I've missed the most,
A whisper of everything I wish I could say,
A target to yell at on the darkest of days,

You're a constant companion, an unending friend,
A rock that moves not with the tides or the winds,
A tree whose roots follow me deep in the ground,
A bird who flies with me, who's always around,

Who laughs when I laugh and screams when I cry,
Who carries my load when I take to the skies,
Who slaps me when slapping needs to be had,
Who holds me the tightest when things look too bad,

If you are reading this, if you are here,
Please know I am hoping, I am banishing fear,
For one day you'll be so much more than a thought,
You'll be the one with me when all else is not.

Wilderness Rumbles

2010-03-31T01:08:00.000-04:00

Wilderness rumbles and the tea kettle falls,
Blackness spreads everywhere, sympathy calls,
Last rites and head counts, visions of waste,
Spiraling canters and dancers with grace,

Endless parades of unending delight,
Figures of smoke on a bright summer's night,
Kitchens and cauldrons and rosebuds in hair,
Laughter and diving through warm summer air,

Catching the sea in cup of fine twine,
Whispering secrets of measures in time,
Tagging them all in a dream of distress,
Falling through ashes, ascend ocean's crest.

Islands

2010-02-07T23:43:00.001-05:00

I'll tear this island down and then I'll swim forever,
Until I happen on another shore.
I'll collapse there from exhaustion beneath the waving palms
And think on what it's like to be alone.

Sometimes I'm on my back in the sand
Watching clouds parade above me
This is life in Neverland.
Sometimes I'll sit up to see where water meets the sky
And wonder that my life's not passing by.

From the beach it's only cliffs and waterfalls
Nice to look at, but when you jump they vanish in the wind
It's in my sleep I rage across the landscape, tearing it to shreds
And sink this island far beneath the waves.

Sometimes I'm on my back in the sand
Watching clouds parade above me
This is life in Neverland.
Sometimes I'll sit up to see where water meets the sky
And wonder that my life's not passing by.

Somewhere there's an island where another person lives
I may find it if I swim far enough.
But all I ever find is another empty beach.
I wash ashore and lay there once again.

Solitude pursues me like the water down the cliffs
Separation seeps between my toes
What if I just sank to depths so dark and deep and endless...
But when I wake I'm washed to shore
When I wake I'm washed to shore!

Sometimes I'm on my back in the sand
Watching clouds parade above me
This is life in Neverland.
Sometimes I'll sit up to see where water meets the sky
And wonder that my life's not passing by.

The Sun and the Moon

2009-11-19T19:15:00.001-05:00

That was the night the moon stayed new
I cried for I did not know what to do.
The moon laughed at me as if to say
Baby, you could always have your way.

I'll shine for you if you shine for me,
That's the way it's got to be,
So shine your light and make it bright,
This doesn't have to be a fight;
You shine for me, I'll shine for you
That's it, that's all you have to do.

I tried to shine, but all my tears
Made colors burst upon the years.
High above the grey clouds' dew
The moon stayed on and on, always new.

I could not see you, no one could;
If I could shine you know I would.
Please come back to light of day,
But all the moon would always say

I'll shine for you if you shine for me,
That's the way it's got to be,
So shine your light and make it bright,
This doesn't have to be a fight,;
You shine for me, I'll shine for you,
That's it, that's all you have to do.'

Night grew darker, stars stayed on,
The empty hole was very, very wrong.
But the moon plays no more games with me,
The darkness swallowed everything.

Sometimes I still think sometimes,
Would I have saved him if I shined?
Or would the moon be ever ever new...
I really did all that I knew to do...

I'd have shined for you if you'd shined for me,
That wasn't how it had to be,
If you'd been shining through my tears
Then maybe I'd have shined for all these years.
But it seems for now you must stay always new,
I'll shine for you, if you'll shine for me too.

The End

2009-11-03T10:36:00.001-05:00

It seems I'm coming to the end
of sketchbooks and diaries,
and if I'm to continue
new words must be bought,
new symphonies sought,
new images wrought
on nothing but air,
air, and shapes of wind,
its whispered choruses,
haunting words.
But to write on the wind
one must fly with the wind,
leave all edges behind.
If I'm to continue,
it seems I must
jump.

No Use

2009-10-21T01:00:00.001-04:00

No use, no use,
They whispered shrill,
The voices mock me,
Haunt my will,

Laugh at towers
I build in the sky,
Remind me they won't
Last, so say goodbye.

What use is the building
If it will only be burned,
What use are the seasons,
Unless they are turned,

The in-between times
That one lonely day
That is the time
When the buildings may stay.

But to build on that day
Is an iffy thing,
For the wind comes in swiftly
But hope flies on wings.

No use, no use,
Am I just to float?
Reserve all my energy
For swimming the moats

Of all my castles
That float in the sky
Then crash to the ground
They will always die.

Who kills them?
You do. You watch them burn.
Your hand strikes flame
And your eyes don't return.

But they are my dreams!
Are they sure they are yours?
Or is your whole life
Mysteries to unfold.

Shall I never dream then?
No, you have no excuse.
Just know when you do
It's no use, no use.

Volare

2009-10-12T14:49:00.003-04:00

The sky looked open and the sky looked grand,
So I stood on the cliff and held out my hand
And a little bird came and chirped in my ear;
I begged it for wings and a flight without fear.
It chirped once again and I laughed at the sun,
Stepped off the cliff and floated down to a run;
The pathways were clear and I sped my stride up,
Who wouldn't dash for that glorious cup?
I ran to win life, neither looked left nor right,
Figures sped by me to be swallowed in light,
But then I saw one by the side of the road;
His eyes and his smile stopped me still, so I froze.
He stretched out his hand and I took it in mine;
Our fingers fit perfectly, as if by design,
But then he tugged one way and I looked to the sky,
And he took his own road while I jumped to fly,
For what, thought I, are handholds and eyes
When the air is calling to watch the sunrise!
A few more hands have I held since then,
But none of them stuck as I flew on the wind.
But once day I flew so fast and so far
That I found myself floating among distant stars.
They sang to me shrill, a silvery tune
Of darkness and light that surpassed the moon.
Their goal was to shine and reach the beyond,
To share from a distance the light of their song.
The greater the darkness they shrouded 'selves in,
The brighter their light and more distant their kin.
I looked all around and saw nothing for miles,
No laughter or tears and no uncertain smiles.
Only darkness lay cracked with the silvery light,
And though it was lovely I prepared to take flight.
Away from the stars I flew back to the sky,
Lit on the road and tried hard not to cry;
Someone came then and laid hold of my hand,
It didn't fit right, I did not understand.
His eyes said he did and he held my hand tight;
I asked him if he knew the stars' light.
I was one once, was his honest reply,
But I did not stay long, for I thought I would die.
I begged him then, to not let me go back,
The stars shone so brightly but something they lacked...
So he held me tight and spoke in my ear,
Sang words of love that were lovely to hear;
See here's the ground, love, now plant your feet,
Dance with me, sing with me, feel my heart beat.
But though I danced gladly and gazed in his eyes
The beat was not that of the wings in the skies,
And that's when a tear found it's way from my eye,
Though I did love him, I felt I must fly.
I knew I was drifting, oh don't let me go.
Hold me here close, say you love me so.
But then my tune changed and I pushed him away,
I have to be free, don't you see, I can't stay.
Let me go fly in the sky with the stars,
Let me stay here on the land where you are.
I tore my hand away and flew free
and then it was only clear sky I could see.
I yearned for the stars and their fire alight;
I yearned for the love in his eyes shining bright;
I wished I could stay but I wanted to go,
What are my desires, even I do not know.

Sadness, Sadness

2009-10-09T00:30:00.001-04:00

Sadness, sadness,
grief and gladness;
all these can boil together and make
mud.

I Wrote This Poem To Kill Some Time

2009-09-24T20:08:00.001-04:00

I have an hour to murder.
How should I do it?
I could use a knife, or a fork, or a spoon,
And I could use them to dig a big hole
To bury it in once it's dead,
But the thing about murdering time is,
If you're going to set your mind to do it,
And do it with a vengeance,
It will take much of your own time,
And it will steal it, and it will destroy it,
And you will be left with absolutely nothing
But a large, empty hole.

A Very Odd Fish

2009-09-23T00:40:00.001-04:00

I confound myself, I'm a very odd fish,
In that I do want I want and not what I wish,
And even when I wish and want the same thing,
It hooks my mouth tight and hangs me from string.
Don't listen to me, I don't know where I am,
Swimming the lake or hopping on land.
Are my scales shiny? Am I a good catch?
Will I be worth as much if my meat's not intact?
For the grill's hot and ready and coals are aflame,
You strip off my outsides along with my name,
But bare bones on fire aren't worth a whole lot,
You could throw me back but my carcass would rot,
So I'll sit here and ask what was it I did?
I may swim in circles but the worm told the fib.
You weren't even hungry, I could tell from your boat.
It was stained with grilled cheese and bananas afloat,
But I'm not a monkey, though I look to the trees,
And I'm no giraffe, though I look to the leaves,
And the sky soars on past them, but here I must lie,
Forced to watch idly as the clouds pass me by...
I know that I said I wanted out of this pond,
But the hook wasn't right and this air feels all wrong.
So braise me and broil me and fry me and bake,
There's really no telling how long it will take,
For as much as you try to make a succulent dish,
I feel I must warn you, I'm a very odd fish.

An Attempt to Give Something Away

2009-09-22T00:51:00.001-04:00

"I will listen to what God will say;
surely the Lord will declare peace
to His people, His godly ones,
and not let them go back to foolish ways.
His salvation is very near those who fear Him,
so that glory may dwell in our land.

Faithful love and truth will join together;
righteousness and peace will embrace.
Truth will spring up from the earth,
and righteousness will look down from heaven."

Psalm 85:8-11

I'm going to try to communicate my thoughts on this.

Right now my brain is still in shock mode, trying to put everything in order. This is an attempt to do that, as well as to share an amazing verse.

I read this last night. Unfortunately it was too late then to write down my thoughts, and it's probably too late to be doing so now. My brain apparently does not go into writing mode until after midnight.

This verse struck me like only words from God can. I read it first cursorily, since I had to be getting to sleep. It sounded like any other Psalm, but then I read it again, and again, and again. Every other Psalm I had been reading recently was all about how God's wrath would be visited on the evil, and woe to those people! But now the songs are moving in a different direction, and while it is still one of power, it is more of beauty.

"I will listen to what God will say..."

I've been praying a lot recently about what I should do. There are so many decisions to be made right now, from which activity should I drop from my too-busy schedule, to what should next summer? I pray these things and I pray them often, as I know I should, but then what do I do? I go my way, about my busy day, and leave the questions hanging in the sky, hoping the wind will take them where they need to go. Maybe they get to God, in fact, I'm almost sure they do. The Bible says He hears us. Good. But as far as the wind bringing His answers back to me... It seems I have managed to convince myself over the years that it's really hard to hear what God has to say to me. Some people hear Him easily, I just don't. Have I convinced myself of this so thoroughly that I've stopped even trying to listen? I don't even bother to think beyond the prayer, I've even gone so far as to not expect any sort of quiet sign at all? I pray the questions because I know I should, but beyond that... well. That could use some fixing. Note to self: Ask, then listen, and keep listening. Because...

...God WILL say...something. It says it, in that verse right up there. I will listen to what He will say. What could it be? The Lord speaking to me? Answering me? Writing this is driving home just how foreign that concept is to me. I'm still looking at this passage and blinking while trying to close my gaping jaw. Could it be that even now He's smiling amusedly down at me and saying, see? I do speak to you...

"...surely the Lord will declare peace to His people, His godly ones..."

Ah, peace. Even now in this comfortable, air-conditioned room with all of my precious belongings about me, I'm thinking back to the hardships of this summer and looking at a time when I was at peace. Even if I was not at peace (and there were definitely those times) I could see it, shining, just a little ways away. Now in this place of convenience and ease I feel crushed. I'm amazed my ribs have not crumbled to dust under the weight of all of the worthy activity that rushes to and fro here in the real world. My head spins so fast I have no time to even look up at the sky or enjoy the wind scattering light through the leaves on the trees before they fall, and I especially have no time to look for the chinks in all this debris to find that faint glimmer that signifies rest for the soul, if not for the body.

Peace of mind. It's not what the world thinks it is, declares a poster in my room. God will declare peace... perhaps I should listen for that declaration. Perhaps I should set aside some of these chunks of rubble and quit trying to dig myself out for a change and just look to the One who's right beside me. Perhaps there's no perhaps about it.

Ah, peace.

"...and not let them go back to foolish ways."

My ways are so foolish! How many times today did I want beat myself silly or slit my own throat? How many times did I throttle myself inside my head and scream to me that I was doing it wrong! Idiot! Why couldn't you have just...why didn't you...why did you... I know these answers, but the voice in my head will not stop asking them, and I dare not silence it, for if I silenced it, I would have no reminders of just what it is I'm trying to avoid. Ouch...more debris. This looks like rebar, heading straight for my head, my heart, my hands, my eyes. Maybe I need a shield. Maybe the One standing next to me is holding one out. Maybe I need to turn and take it from Him. What if it's too heavy? Well, He's standing right there. What if He doesn't help? Maybe you should just stop asking questions and hoist that thing above your head, trusting that He'll do what needs to be done to get it there. Maybe there's no maybe about it. Maybe you're right.

"His salvation is very near those who fear Him..."

Don't worry! He is right here, begging to save you! He loves you! He has always loved you, He will always love you, and He has never stopped loving you! He wants to be near you and have you turn into His arms! Don't you want that too?

Well, yes. Yes I do.

"...so that glory may dwell in our land."

Here we come to a wonderful part. This is something that God opened my eyes to these past few months, and it's something I think He will keep reminding me of all my life. Everything is for His glory. Everything thing I do here, everything step I take on this campus and off of it, every small word I say to every person in passing... everything is for Him and His glory. We turn to Him so that His glory may spread. Can you see it spilling out all around? Though it may blind you, it is the most beautiful thing in all Creation! It makes people stop and look, even though they may not know what they are seeing. It makes them wonder what is happening here. What could be so amazing to cause such joy! And then it is our job to cry look! and point to the heavens and shout Jesus' name for all to hear. Glory dwells in this land. Look! See Him there, and there?

Here's what that land looks like.

"Faithful love and truth will join together...

...righteousness and peace will embrace...

...truth will spring up from the earth...

...and righteousness will look down from heaven..."

Can you see the light spilling out from behind all this rubble? Can you see that the debris no longer even matters, because nothing can withstand the light of His glory? It's far too beautiful for the mind's eye to comprehend. All that I can understand is that somewhere deep inside, the light is slowly beginning to creep through the dark empty spaces and whisper to me, be still and know...

I will finish with some song lyrics that lodged themselves in my head earlier today. They simply said that the way to handle that strange thing called love is to give it all away. This may seem unrelated to all of that above, but it helped me to sort of drive all of that into a channel. I'm often frustrated by the fact that once I'm done "being still" what do I do next? Take all the love, all the light, all the joy, and all the peace that God has given me and give it all away. After all, there's no need to ever worry about running out. A friend the other day scolded me (putting it lightly) for giving him too much praise for something instead of giving to God, the rightful recipient. The instance reminded me yet again of where our ultimate focus is to be.

I cried out the other day to God to help me, as I felt overwhelmed. He answered me, and here's how I interpret His answer. Look upon the world in turmoil, see how it assails you. Then turn your face to God and open up your arms to receive all of His blessings, His love, His joy, His peace... Spread these to others, spread them far and wide, and then when all you are left with is the shimmering residue from such things, commonly known as glory, turn around and throw it high, straight back to Him.

Whatever you get, the thing to do is give it all away.

A Word of Reassurance (To He I Have Not Met)

2009-09-20T16:29:00.000-04:00

As I walk beyond the wall
Or cry myself to sleep,
As I moan my lonesome state,
And shudder lest I weep,
As I press the window sill
Between my fingers white,
And stare upon the wasted moon
Yet shudder from it's sight,
It gives me hope to think that you
Might suffer much the same,
To think that neither you nor I
Have so much as a name.
In my mind a space is blank
Where will reside a face;
I cannot even sketch one there
That time will not erase.
But somewhere you are chasing air
Pursuing naught but dust,
I have not come within your scope
So you may win my trust.
Though we may sit back to back
On each side of a tree,
We'd know it not 'til night had passed
And allowed us both to see.
For now the bark is rough and thick
And roots spread all around,
Shadows swirl and catch my eyes
As leaves fall to the ground.
Someday there will come the day
When I peer 'round the tree,
And find your sparkling, laughing eyes
Gazing back at me,
But until then I must content
Myself with wish and dream
And know that you are crying too
For the ending of this scream.
You must take heart, for I am here,
Though you don't know me yet,
And even now I love you,
Though our eyes have never met.
Our mutual Friend will guide us
Until the time is right,
And when the mood is finally set
He will let us see the light.

Mirror

2009-09-01T11:31:00.001-04:00

I caught myself in a mirror today,
And I stood and watched myself carefully
to be sure I didn't escape,
But after a while, my eyes wandered
and my feet wandered
And I lost myself and the mirror.

Love I (Patient)

2009-08-27T16:18:00.001-04:00

She stands by the bench
In the sun, in the rain
While her heels get all wet
And her hair flares to flame,
And the world around her
Burns to the ground,
But she will not move
'Til her bus comes around.
Though strangers pass by
With umbrellas aloft,
She refuses to walk
From the flooded bus stop;
Though the lightening strikes close
And the thunder rolls down,
She will not move
'Til her bus comes around.
Though the air turns to ice
And the world turns to gray,
Not once in her wait
Does she bend or she sway,
For she knows the Driver,
His clock's the one wound,
And it's on His time
That her bus comes around.

About Crying

2009-08-24T19:40:00.000-04:00

I'm getting up the strength to cry:
My lungs constrict and try to fly
Up my throat and out my mouth,
And wind their way toward the south
To buy some salt to mix with fears
And water to become my tears,
That hope to force their way outside
And pass beyond my squinting eyes
To see what has me all astir
And find what was the tempting lure
That drew them from their hiding place
To fall in rivers down my face,
But just as I prepare to waste
Emotion on my hopeless case
I slam into a hard brick wall,
A door that's tightly shut and barred,
And stand there stunned for just a bit
Unwilling to up and call it quits,
Because I want to sit and cry
And mourn for all the time gone by,
But part of me is glad I can't,
I will not cry, I said I shan't--
There're better things to laugh about
There're things that make me jump and shout,
And shouting is more fun than crying,
Laughter even feels like flying,
And who among us doesn't fly
When tears of laughter fill our eyes?

Double Meanings

2009-06-05T16:08:00.000-04:00

Wind chills and icy splashes
Eyes that meet and smile that passes,
Water crashing on rocky shores,
Leaves that drip to drown you more.

Green that shoots through muddy soil,
Skin that stings from sweat and toil,
Clouds that block the sky and sun,
Feet that have long yet to run.

Mist that gently kisses face,
Waves that help to win the race,
Breeze that whispers He is near,
There is no reason now to fear.

Daisies

2009-06-03T18:37:00.001-04:00

The first daisy was alone,
Standing tall and upright beneath the tree,
Petals spread proudly to make me see
God gave a flower to me.

The second one was a flash,
Went by on the road with only a glance,
One among many, it called me to dance,
God gave that flower to me.

The third I found crushed,
Broken petals among mud, sticks, and stones,
Stained like the bruise on a shattered bone,
God gave this flower to me.

With every daisy,
Every flower I saw,
Every petal and stem that stood above all,
I knew God was thinking of me.

Seashore Song

2009-05-01T12:06:00.001-04:00

Fallen hopes and scattered dreams
Across the sand like diamonds seem.
The tide will carry them away,
The moon by night, the sun by day,
The wind will brush against the sky
And push the clouds to weep and cry
So tears may rain upon the shore,
They'll fall until there are no more.
Then stars will sweep the storm aside,
The sea will thrash and come alive
And waves will pound the coast around
To mimic thunder's absent sound,
And I will lift my hands and sing
To join the herons on their wing,
To light the ocean all afire,
To meet the sky and take it high'r.
I'll ride the wind above the waves
On roads it built and ways it paves,
I'll pass the stars and groaning thunder,
I'll tear the lightning all asunder.
Then finally I'll come to rest
Upon the ocean's heaving chest
And there I'll breathe the salt air in.
The next part of my life begins.

Summer's Question

2009-04-27T14:15:00.001-04:00

When the days are long
And the sun is high
And the leaves come back
And the air is dry,

When the shadows stretch
And cover the grass
And the flowers bloom
Because winter is past,

When the sky is clear
And the breeze blows free
And water shimmers
As it falls past me,

When I should look up
And laugh to the sky,
That's when I'm asking
If it's okay to cry.

The Crying Place

2009-04-24T23:02:00.005-04:00

Everyone has that someone who they run to,
Except me.
I have the crying space.
It's between two trees
And in the night that's deepened by their shadows
I walk from one tree to the next
Lean against the bark like it's a shoulder
And wish for a place to scream.
I know of one
One where no one else would be
But it's far away,
For now I just have the crying space.
So just for now I cry
I open up the gates and let the trees see myself
Because trees cannot judge
And in between them is a safe place,
Shrouded in the dark
And it's to them I run for a shoulder,
Only for them I'll let down the false wall.
Everyone has that someone who they run to,
Except me.

Tears and Laughter

2009-04-24T23:02:00.004-04:00

Warm trickles from my heart,
Leaking down my lungs,
Filling up the empty spaces,
Pooling behind my eyes,
A cool breeze pushes it back,
Anchors feet against a tree,
Green, finally, with a new hope,
Spreading dark shadows everywhere.

There's a reason tears come with laughter
And the breeze tears leaves away.
There's a reason the sun shines often
But still not everyday.

Today my laughter echoed
Against the wall behind your eyes;
It came back and embraced me
No comfort there I find.
Alone I stood beneath the tree
And wondered if my scream
Had found a way through shade-filled leaves
And arrived at it's place in the sky.

There's a reason tears come with laughter
And the breeze tears leaves away.
There's a reason the sun shines often
But still not everyday.

Warmth inside, both good and bad:
Emotion or endless bleeding.
A cool wind speaks of ice,
Green may serve to signal life
Or block out light and feeling.
Standing in the shade or sun;
I think I'm in both
Laughter.

There's a reason tears love laughter
And the breeze blows clouds astray
To cover up the sun a while
And let the darkness play.

Drowning

2009-04-21T22:14:00.001-04:00

Fallen beams and scattered light
Form the shadows I must fight
Until the ocean rushes in
And drowns me 'fore the fight begins,
Crashing sea and waving foam,
Crunching bones and throaty moan,
Spinning rays and lively laugh,
Water bears me down it's path,
Spinning to the darkness deep,
Tearing tears from eyes that weep,
Grasping hand and fingers stiff,
Up from water, then a lift
And sunlight blinds my stinging eyes,
Farther up I seem to rise
'Til I float among the stars,
And farther, to the farthest far;
Salty brine is peeled away,
I pass on through curtain gray
And see the endless reach for me,
For though I ceased, still yet I be.

Of Dreams

2009-04-20T19:40:00.001-04:00

It seems that in every dream I have I am running. Sometimes the running takes the form of constantly checking the rearview mirror in whatever car I am riding in, sometimes it happens in that I am hiding somewhere dark, hoping not to be found. Sometimes it takes place under trees, in city alleys, on mountaintops, in valleys, by the sea, over rocks, or through grass. Sometimes I have allies, sometimes no one is in sight. Sometimes I escape, other times I am found and that is when I fight. But always I am running, an eternal fugitive in my sleep.

Is this some psychological sign that I am running from something here in the real world? If so, then I cannot tell you what it is, for it must be buried deep. In life I do my best to run toward things, not away from them. But always in my dreams something lurks just behind me.

I am standing on sand on a seaside shore, enjoying the wind in my hair and knowing that I have to leave soon, because something is coming. My eyes are uneasy, they're searching the sky for a sign of what is wrong, but even as the wind picks up I hear a voice calling my name. It sounds like my mom, which doesn't make any sense, since she's not here. But there she is, in the space underneath the beach house, by the boat. My brother and sister are there to. This was probably what felt wrong, since this trip is just me and my friends. I pass through the tunnel-like shelter to stand in the empty parking space, look out toward the marsh and then to my right.

I gasp. The moon is hanging low in the sky over the condos, bigger than I have ever seen it before. It is shining yellow, golden, spilling light onto the dark island. I call to my friends and my family to come see, and they run out onto the porch and the pavement. Their gasps echo mine. The sight is surreal and indescribably beautiful. I just want to stand here and stare at it. But then the feeling clenches my chest again and I notice something odd. Golden light is not the only thing up there. As everyone else murmurs in appreciation of the beauty, I watch with wide eyes as a faint green glow begins to slowly converge and collapse into the shining orb.

And then the moon explodes.

There are more gasps from everyone, except me. My mind is still trying to comprehend the information my eyes sent it. Fireworks seem to fill the sky and a strange, muted roar pushes its way behind the running, screaming people. I struggle to collect my thoughts, to bring them together into some form of order that I may understand. One pushes the others aside and springs to the front, propelled by the distant roaring... The moon controls the tides. We are on an island. The moon is gone. What does that mean? I don't know. I don't have any idea of the physics involved, or what the sea will do. I only know that the distant roar continues and we must get inland.

I turn and run toward the stairs and my friends on the porch, screaming for them to get their stuff and get in the car. We have to go, we have to get out of here. Flaming meteors, falling everywhere. Bags being thrown in the car, people scrambling through doors and over seats to get in... I slam my door shut but the roar still fills my ears. An engine comes to life and the road stretches out before us to the condos and the empty space above them where the moon had just hung...

My eyes open.

None of this has happened. I'm lying on my bed in my dorm room, we still have weeks until spring break. All is okay. But still, weeks later, as we stood on the beach at midnight watching the sea reflect silver light, I hesitated to call attention to the moon's beauty for fear all would end. But then a quiet voice whispered to my heart and I remembered that the moon had some roles to play yet, and it couldn't vanish now. And indeed, it stayed, and still shines through my window and lights the dreams I have today.

Another Dream

2009-04-12T23:04:00.004-04:00

It was dark, and the stars were out. The scent of the ocean mingled with the smell of smoke. The orange glow sprinkled shingles and wooden steps, testifying to the presence of a fire somewhere nearby. I was picking my way up and around the stairs, finding little tiny objects that were of great value to me. They were like dimes in that they were small and shiny and were worth ten cents each, and yet they were like diamonds in that they were cut and faceted and sent tiny bits of light scattering everywhere. I was picking them up by the dozen, putting them in a bag that was slung across my chest.

"Watcha doin'?"

I glanced up, startled, but it was only one of my friends, grinning at me from where he was squatting a few steps up. I looked back down at the tiny things.

"Pickin' these up."

"Why?"

I shrugged. He grinned.

"Don't stay out too late. I think the fire's getting closer."

I straightened and looked toward the orange glow. If I listened very hard I could almost imagine screams.

"It'll be out by morning. It always is."

"You say that. But one day..."

I looked at him. He shook his head.

"You have class tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Get some sleep."

"I will."

He stood up and left. I kept poking around the stairs, inside and out, and the little corners on the landing and the different floors. The orange glow was very faint by the time I left.

***

I walked into the class in a good mood. There were only a few of us: myself, the girl with the long face and longer hair, the short girl with the dark pixi cut, some others sitting further back...and him. This guy was new. Dark jeans, dark print T-shirt, dark blazer, dark hair, dark eyes that laughed. Easy smile. Easily liked. Very easily liked. His desk was beside mine and I was perfectly fine with it. I'm not really sure what the lesson was on that day. I didn't take any notes, too busy doodling swirls and patterns and keeping myself from drawing that face. He smiled at me two seconds longer than he smiled at anyone else as we left the classroom. Sunshine streaming in under the roof, the trees in the breeze on the other side of the railing...nothing. Not compared to that smile.

Yes, another stupid girl with a stupid instant crush.

Once he was out of sight I was able to quickly pull my brain back into gear. Lunch with friends, laughing despite the gray walls and gray tables and utilitarian metal chairs. We had never figured out why they would make the classrooms a lot like glorified gazebos and yet manage a cafeteria with small windows and blank walls. I leaned over my food, grinning at yet another ridiculous story while I rubbed my shoulder muscles that always seemed to be tense for no reason at all. Suddenly a hand brushed mine aside and began rubbing right where the muscles hurt the most. I looked up--

It was him.

Not the guy from class, not from last night, the other one. The one I hadn't had an instant crush on, the one who had somehow gained access so far into my head that I had eventually been unable to dislodge him. It was an unfortunate occurrence since he had never shown more than a passing interest. When our eyes met he glanced away, over to the guy across the table who was talking. His hand left my shoulder at that moment too, resting on the back of my chair.

"Thanks," I said, not sure what else to do.

He glanced down. "Feel better?"

"Yeah."

He didn't answer; his attention left again as a seat came open a little way down the table and he left to snag it. I maintained a normal face as I continued picking at my food, letting out my confusion and frustration in a mental scream. Then I felt eyes on me and realized she was staring at me, eyebrows raised, trying to get my attention. I made a face and shrugged, and she grinned. Telepathic conversation: Something going on? How should I know?

And then he was suddenly there, the new guy from class. Sitting in the chair beside me, asking me what I was doing tonight. I was replying mechanically, nothing, I don't know. My brain was too muddled for this at the moment. Maybe he was flirting, I wasn't sure. Whatever the case, the room suddenly zoomed into focus again, all focused on the guy who sat down on my other side. His arm went around my waist and he said something to the other guy, who stood up and walked away.

It was at that point that I decided I had had enough of this.

The day went on without any other unusual occurrences.

Until I talked to the older one. He said the dark one was here, nearby, somewhere. That was what the fires had been. He had come after people in the dark, and they had been so desperate for light that they had resorted to fire. The fires got out of control. The dark one got away. He was headed somewhere, he said, he has a specific goal. Has anyone seen him, I asked. One person. A description.

I froze, my eyes unfocused as I remembered earlier today. The guy in class. In the cafeteria, asking me what I was doing tonight. The eyes that drew me in.

"Hey."

It was the other guy, my-guy-who-was-not-my-guy. I didn't stop to think. My eyes were just darting around, looking in the dark corners and trying not to remember that just last night I had been wandering around in the dark by myself. Trying not to remember that night was coming on fast right now...

"We have to get out of here."

I grabbed his hand and ran, and to my surprise he followed, unresisting.

From then on my memory is a blur. I remember different rooms, a technical room, a living room, a room with a computer in it. Rough carpet, walls with no windows, him handing me a pillow as people milled around, trying to decide what to do. The dark one was here, and he was searching for someone. The night was endless. One by one, the buildings and the room became unsafe. Electricity went out, leaving us with flashlights. We did our best to conserve them. Light was the only thing that could hurt the dark one, the only thing he feared. We went deeper and deeper behind locked doors. I'm not sure how we ended up in the cave, but we did. The deepest basement level. People were huddling together on the floor, trying to shine the flashlights in all directions. I shone my on the walls, the dark, jagged, wet walls. The beam fell on him, my friend. He was looking down at the floor with a tired look on his face. All this time, he had been there encouraging me, protecting me. I was grateful, and now he was tired and I just wanted to go up to him and do something, or say something...something that would make him feel better. But I didn't. I'm not sure why. Despite the fact that I cared, I let my light move on.

It hit a darker patch and I stopped. There were tunnels leading out of this subterranean room. Slowly, very slowly and hesitantly I moved toward the space, filling it up with the beam of my flashlight. It was twisty and small, and very, very dark. I stopped. The black seemed to press on me, and I resisted the urge to scream, instead backpedaling as fast as I before turning and running. My head told me that this could be the escape route we needed, but my eyes only saw the black and conjured up images of the dark one lurking in the next shadow over, just waiting to grab me...

Something grabbed my arm. This time I let out a little yelp before I realized it was just him. His eyes were on the passage behind me and he shone his light down it just as I had. His hand left my arm.

"Be careful, it's very dark."

He may have nodded, he may not have, I couldn't tell. Either way, he moved into the tunnel and his light vanished behind the rocks.

I woke up.

The morning disorientation...peeling eyes open only to shut them again, refusing to believe that I had left my dream world and come to reality in this little top bunk bed with the skinny pillow. Thoughts began to organize themselves and I realized that he was gone. He had gone down the dark tunnel! And what had I told him? Be careful? I need to get back there and scream for him to turn around, to come back to the light! The dark one could get him in that tunnel...

Then more and more thoughts came rushing in with the onslaught of day. This was a dream to analyze. So I analyzed it. I am a person of illustrations and allegories, so I came up with explanations for the dream that gave me those, and explanations that didn't. Even as I sit here typing this I come up with more. Why? What meaning? What for? What to do? That a dream could generate so much thought is truly maddening. But to give the world my reasonings is not the purpose of this writing. The purpose is to relay a vivid dream, and so I have.

Sleep well.

What To Steal

2009-04-05T00:25:00.001-04:00

Let's not take anything that hurts;
It will burn, it will claim
That all the good that ever came
From the bad was just a story
We made up to calm ourselves.

Let's not take anything that screams;
It will cry, it will crawl
Into the crevices that swallow all
The frightening dreams that keep us
Up, without the peace of sleep.

Let's not take anything that laughs;
It will jump, it will dance,
It will speak of sweet romance
That exists under the stars
Until the day sweeps it away.

Let's not take anything that sings;
It will sigh, it will say
That the sunny days have gone away
To find the storm and thunder clouds
And make their chorus heard.

Let's not take anything that is;
It will be, it will live
For all the days we have to give
And more, fostering the rest of all
The things we tried to lose.

The Quiet Ache

2009-03-24T15:07:00.000-04:00

This is usually the time of day I start to think about it,
About how silly it is to spend so much thought
On such a small and unimportant thing.
That's what my PR department tells me,
So that's what I publish on my face,
"Ow!" and a wince
Like there's a splinter in my finger
Or a scratch from a tree branch that I just brushed in passing.
I glance at it like it's a bruised toe that I stubbed on a rock:
"It doesn't hurt that much, I'll be okay."
And I forgive the rock and continue on
Because it didn't mean me any harm,
That's what I tell myself.

But if it was a splinter I would have pulled it out,
And if it was a scratch a band-aid would have fixed it,
And if it was a bruise it would have faded away,
But none of these happened, because all the brave faces
Were stories I made up, just like everybody else.
We hide the wounds that no one else can see,
But are sure to make sure the whole world knows we're hiding something
Because if we share the pain a little
Maybe there will be less of it left with us.

If it was a sharp pain I could numb it,
A crying anguish, I could scream,
Or a burning hurt, I could out-wait it,
But it's not. It's the quiet ache that's not limited to blood.
Not unimportant, so important
That God chooses to let it stay
To teach me trust, to send my prayer another's way,
Or for some other reason.
All that's left for me to do is accept,
Accept the quiet ache and hold it close,
And treasure it for what it represents.

To Write My Life

2009-02-17T01:15:00.000-05:00

If life were a book, perhaps it could be full of plot twists.
There could be high moments and those requiring of tears,
Hours and days that spun into years,
Hopes and dreams and all manner of fears,
And dark shadows that fall into mists.

If I wrote life in the pages of a book, perhaps there could be laughter.
There could be so much laughter that people cry,
There might be battles, so people would die,
And in every dark alley you'd find a spy,
Running from the morning after.

If the pages kept turning, perhaps you'd find something missing.
I can write of ships and serpents slick,
Of sunset plains and waters quick,
And heroes fair and villains sick,
But on this page vacuum is hissing.

I would write in this book of what I may fathom, and this does not fall therein.
I think it a just course of action, then
To discard such thoughts beyond my ken,
And take my mind back where it's been,
To not contemplate anything new err I begin.

These pages would read of lying and truth, of loyalty without disdain,
Of faults and virtues, honest and wise,
Brights trees on a mountain, bathed in sunrise,
Stars scattered in black, the ending of skies,
But nothing of love and it's pain.

My book would be grand, adventures endless and exciting too,
But no love to muddle the turning of pages,
No love to send the men into rages,
No love to last to the end of the ages,
Nothing I cannot subdue.

This book would carry my life, and therefore my mind.
It would contain only the sure things,
Directed by Time's Bell's rings,
And my raspy voice as it sings
Of all I wish to find.

Thank goodness, then that it's not being written.
At least, not written by me,
It is composed by He
The One who wrote the birthsong and eulogy,
He writes me and I am smitten.

Love is His province, He understands all.
I must simply stand back,
Let Him take the crack
To put my life on the track
That takes it past the pall.

If I wrote life as a book, perhaps it would be satisfactory in my eyes,
But He writes the book,
He included that look,
That caught me and took,
All my fear away, and opened the skies.

The next chapter leads somewhere else, I know not where.
He guides it with a sure hand,
One that marks the sand
In different ways than I had planned,
Yet somehow still answered my prayer.

No love for me if I write my life, and convince myself it is right.
But should He write this masterpiece,
The flow of love might never cease,
I will have my unearned peace,
And join Him in His light.

A Note to the Curious

2009-01-12T19:20:00.001-05:00

I dislike secrets. I dislike them so much that I have very few of my own and none that I can think of right now. But now as I look around at the world and everyone else, I begin to think that perhaps secrets are not quite so bad as I thought and I would do better to keep my mouth shut about certain things. Many secrets hurt people, but there are some secrets that only hurt those who hold them. It may burn their hands, so they scatter it among their friends, only to realize later that the pieces are more volatile separated. Some secrets appear to grow cooler when they are not shared, yet some quiet action is taken by the holder, while others burn so hot that there is nothing to do but bury them deep under icy water. That route may still cause the holder pain, but if they are the right kind of secret then all those surrounding the holder would be spared. Any of these may backfire, however. Would life perhaps be better if there were no secrets to keep and nothing to tell? But that would be living in a vacuum.

Almost worse than seeing a secret hurt someone is knowing that the pieces will explode and send tendrils of flame out towards the others. Knowing that had the secret been kept inside, only the one heart would be burned as its wall kept the destruction shielded from everyone else. Knowing that the past is the past and collateral damage is inevitable, yet desperately searching for a way to minimize it. And then also felt is the fear, helplessness, and rage of the secret-holder, for there is no way to stop the trend--there will always be secrets.

So to the curious, you won't hear it from me. I cannot tell you what to keep hidden and what to reveal. That is left to your own discretion. All I can do is wrestle with my own and apologize if I am not able to chain the maelstrom. If you see me and my eyes are heavy and my smile does not reach them, stay your curiosity and just know that I'm trying to spare others from the storms and the battles inside me.

The Heart of the Matter

2009-01-09T14:31:00.001-05:00

When your heart's in your throat
There's not much to do
But choke it up, let it out,
Spread it everywhere,
All over the highway.
Then maybe you can put it in order,
Shine a light in the cracks,
Pull out the hidden things
That even you didn't know were there.
But there's not much time for this;
Your to do list is two columns long
And every time you cross something out
Two more lines get added,
So you scoop up your heart off the pavement,
Shove it back in your messenger bag,
Then when you get a chance
You can swallow it again
But it'll stick jumbled up in your throat.
It's not how it should be;
The pieces aren't fitting;
There's a piece of the puzzle
That's insistently missing
And it worries your insides
Along with the gravel that came
Up off the road with the rest.

Incomplete

2009-01-07T23:33:00.001-05:00

Oh to write a poem,
To let one's feelings out,
A way to chain emotions,
Put them in a cage for all to see
But fling a veil over the bars
So they might look close and strain their eyes
For only those who know the secret of the veil,
Only those may peer through and see.
Though the artist of these emotions
And the poem that cages them stands by,
Ringing her hands as she scans the field of spectators,
She finds him not.
The air beside her remains unfilled,
A breeze through empty space that
Teases the edge of the veil;
Her hand shoots out and presses down
The words that wind around the secret,
If the wind lifts them up the bars will melt as well
And leave the topic plain, unhidden, revealed.
Eyes unfocus over the crowd,
Avoiding all those focused on her
For only one pair matters
But as of yet they have not met hers.
Tight jaw and stiffened lips,
Empty air where empty air should not be,
And whisper wind through the veil and the bars
To the heart of the matter
That's hidden from all
By the poem.

Walking In the Rain

2009-01-06T01:32:00.000-05:00

She stood there like a ghost,
Looked up the wavery coast
And just imagined.
Rivers of light fled on,
They didn't hear her song
Like she imagined.
Stars lay on the asphalt,
Swirled in rings of cobalt,
So she imagined.
Thunder roared beneath her,
Over the cliff below her
That she imagined.
All around her vanished,
Fantasy was banished
As she imagined.
Streaks of light were there,
Diamonds in rainy air,
Not imagined.

2009

2009-01-01T01:10:00.001-05:00

I don't want to make resolutions cause I know I'll just fail
I don't want to cheer and shout cause I'll wake the sleeping up
I don't want to go to sleep because I might miss the silent night
I don't want to sit here awake in the silence.

Could this be the year?
For what?
For anything, anything at all.
What will I remember it for?
For firsts and lasts
Smiles and tears
Waking moments and endless dreams of a star-filled sky
But I mustn't dream too loudly, or I'll waking the sleeping up
In a few hours I'll see sunlight
If I'm willing to step past my front door
But the wind's blowing just as hard as last year.

How much longer will it be, I wonder?
How long will He make us wait?
As long as we need the time, I suppose
As long as our purposes take us
The old year didn't die, the new year doesn't live
That's our job, the job for me at least
To live and tread softly, or else I'll wake the sleeping up
And we can't have that, for that means angry words and glaring eyes
Red eyes, torn from their recent nightmares.

No, better to let them sleep
They prefer their dreams to this I'm sure
And even if they don't, this way I live in peace
I'm not shouted at, not disappointed in
Nobody even knows I'm here, for I walk softly and wake no one
I could scream and cheer for the new year
But I don't, cause I'll wake the sleeping up
And even though I don't like silence
It's better than shouting.

Could this be the year?
For what?
I don't know, taking a chance, perhaps
A tentative step outside this box
An actual word instead of a whisper
A step instead of a hesitant tip-toe
A time to actually move
Maybe, perhaps, possibly
This could be the year I'll wake the sleeping up.

Christmas Day

2008-12-25T17:50:00.001-05:00

Sunlight spills through the trees and over the lake. It reflects the sky and turns it into a more wonderful world, a mirage world, and the water is the window through which we are allowed to look for a brief time and an unsteady glance. A field stretches up to the scuppernong vines and the trees beyond, speckled with the same golden light. A football flies through the air and lands in my brother's hands. Another pass misses the intended receiver and is caught by the magnolia tree instead. My boot slips into a patch of mud and I remove it quickly, wiping it off on the grass. Inside the house there is much laughter and leftover food, more of the former than the latter. A room downstairs sits empty, the ground under the tree bare. It's privilege was removed to a different room this year; it saw no smiling faces or shredded wrapping paper. The other room bears the evidence, shifted chairs and dust from new puzzle pieces, and a stray piece of tissue or ribbon here and there. Now the house is silent, most of the family has left and rest are resting, content with life and its quiet joy. I look around at the dying light outside, listen to the magazine's rustling. The lights of the trees on the docks of the lake are coming on and sending colors shooting down it's surface. There were not as many presents this year, but there was more family. There was sunshine and God's presence and the promise of a future. All in all, the best Christmas I remember, ever. Praise and glory to Him.

An Unbiased Opinion

2008-12-17T15:48:00.001-05:00

I sat on the leather sofa in the living room, feet tucked under a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate in my hands and pondered how to communicate my thoughts to the world. They swirled in my head half unseen, like fish deep under water. Every now and then I would catch a glimpse, but before I could pin down more than a vague sentence, they were gone. "Deep thoughts," you could say. So that's why they're always so elusive.

The subject which I was pondering the communication of was in fact none other than communication. It's like a precious gemstone: beautiful, valuable, yet with so many facets. Like the gemstone it also has the ability to produce strife, if used wrongly. So often there is one way to view the stone, one facet to look through that will take our eyes to the very heart of the matter, the absolute truth of the mystery. But we are rarely shown that one facet. People decide on a facet to view the mystery from, and then they show it to me. They believe this, they are certain, and so I receive many certain opinions, all seen through different eyes. Whether it be a global issue, or the different angles of two of my friends, I am bombarded by countless differing opinions. They come at me through the media, through movies and books and music, through different cultures, through people I trust and don't trust, through the door, through the window, through my eyes, my ears, into my mind. There my mind must sort through them, wonder which ones are edited and how much they are altered. Which ones should be followed and which ones should be avoided, which should be framed and hung on the wall or put on the shelf for later or taken outside and buried?

My mind cannot make these decisions based on how each bit of information compares to another, for all of the information is suspect. None of it can be gauged based on how ardently the source believes it. Some of the sorting can be based on the source, for the only way it may be framed is if I trust the source. That is where the real decision making must reside. Who do I trust? I have made several choices over my life pertaining to this question, but even now some of them are coming into question. Thus a new dimension is added. I may trust one person on this issue, but not this one. The one being I trust and rely on completely is God. That is a decision I have made and renewed multiple times. I trust my parents on the majority of issues. I trust many of my friends on some of the issues. I usually trust the media on none.

This is best illustrated in an issue such as the recent US Presidential Election. I was bombarded with different views from every side. My parents said one thing, my relatives said another, and my friends said a third thing, a fourth thing, and a fifth thing. How was I to know the truth? Oh simple, people told me, go dig up the facts yourself. But still the fact grated on me that other people had prepared all of the these "facts." They were designed to take me in. Could I trust them? Many called themselves unbiased, but there is no such thing as an unbiased opinion. I must put my trust in something, so I chose God, and the Bible. But even that does not solve all of my problems. Nowhere in the Bible does it tell you who to vote for in 2008, or 2012, or 2016. The Bible itself is greatly open to interpretation. Do we read it from this view or that one? What does this verse mean? Should we take it literally or figuratively? What translation and version should we use? Who's interpretation should we trust? Once more life asks us to make these decisions.

It is my opinion that there is no such thing as an unbiased opinion, and that the very phrase is an oxymoron. Our minds must sift through the biases and make choices, based on whatever we decide is trustworthy. My hot chocolate is cold, my laptop's battery is dying, and my feet are falling asleep. I look out the window and conclude that I must come to my own decisions about who I will trust, and not rely on others to choose for me. Once I have those decisions made, it is a new puzzle of what to do with the results. But that is an entirely other problem. Like I said, my hot chocolate is cold.

At the Core

2008-12-11T20:22:00.001-05:00

We often forget ourselves as we grow up.

I hit a point around my senior year of high school/freshman year of college when it became necessary to define myself, so I embarked on a quest to discover who I was. Exactly what made me? Was it my friends opinions of me, or was it my opinions of myself. In the end all of my wondering and overanalyzing left me with questions: Am I just trying to fit myself into a pattern that I drew for myself? Is the real me really what other people are seeing? So I embarked on a second quest, one to negate the first and return myself to the core of me, the center of my being. That quest led to freedom of self. No longer was I worried about what other people would think of me if I just acted the way I was. There are still occasions when I pull the mask out, of course. I avoid conflict like the plague, so often I will remain silent rather than vocally disagree with someone. This means that most people don't know what many of my convictions are, and if they do know them, they have discovered them through my lifestyle and not through any debate. I think it may be because of this that people sometimes form opinions of me that are mostly correct, but slightly erroneous, so then I proceed to do something that shocks them. The fact that they are shocked makes me wonder about myself, and once again I am forced back to the evaluation of myself and be sure that I am living by what I think and not by the thoughts of others.

I was looking through an old scrapbook that my mom had put together during my first grade year. Little things jumped out at me about my six-year-old-self, things I had forgotten. In one writing assignment full of short, simple sentences about how I loved school, the words "art is best" stood out. I looked at those words for a moment, reflecting how after all these years of school full of so many different directions and experiences, and the major I ultimately decide on is art. "Art is best," then and now. What stood out to me the most, however, was a little book I had done entitled "I Am Wonderful!" The project was based on Psalm 139:14: "I praise you because I am wonderfully made" and had me fill in blanks about the five senses. The very first one I saw said "God gave me eyes to see stars." The word stars was written in my large, sloppy, first grade handwriting in blue marker, and it seemed to stare at me from the page. I love the stars. I could stare at them for hours. I had forgotten that I also loved them as a child.

We often forget ourselves as we grow up. We are so influenced by the experiences we have, the people we spend time with, the books we read, the music we listen to, and the movies we watch. Sometimes we become so influenced by these things that we create an image of ourselves that departs from our core and we only remember it when we go back to our childhood and look at who we were when we didn't have to think about life the way we do today. Times are more complicated now, perhaps, but at our cores, we have not changed, we have simply developed.

Can you define yourself? It is an ongoing endeavor, I admit. For me it is an excessively simple story made complicated by an overdone title page and a confusing summary. The simple worldview of a child, the simple faith, unblemished by all of the questions of the adult world, this is what we all long to return to. Who was I at six years old? I was much the same person I am today, only today I am able to think more about who I am, and I am better able to share that with others.

Music To Walk To

2008-12-06T14:05:00.001-05:00

I want music I can walk to
When I'm under clouds alone,
When I'm sliding on the bricks,
When I'm far away from home,
I want music I can dance to
When the sun is shining bright,
When my friends are all around me
While we're lighting up the night.

And I want songs that lift and fill me
Songs that carry me away,
Songs that whisper in my ear
To give me simple words to say.

I want music I can walk to,
I want cloudless skies and sun,
I want reasons for believing,
I want goals that make me run.
I want ink and pen and paper,
I want books that never end,
I want stars that I can touch,
I want roads that turn and bend.

I want music I can sing to
When the silence is too thick,
When the ground is muffled by the snow
When my mind is not so quick,
I want music I can run to
When I've got to get away,
When my life is spinning upside down
When I don't know what to say.

And I want songs that bring my memory back,
Songs that carry me through time,
Songs that leave me with a smile
And laughter on my mind.

I want music I can walk to,
I want cloudless skies and sun,
I want reasons for believing,
I want goals that make me run.
I want ink and pen and paper,
I want books that never end,
I want stars that I can touch,
I want roads that turn and bend.

Roads that lead me on
To an unknown destination,
Stars that bend themselves to earth
To shake the planet's deep foundation,
Books that travel on and on
So the story never ends,
Ink and pen and paper
That on my mind depend,
Goals that I may look to
And run as if to win,
Reasons to believe that I
Do have faith deep within,
Cloudless skies and shining rays
To open up my eyes,
And music I can walk to
Until my time is realized.

I want music I can breathe to
When the air is freezing cold,
When the water's filling up my lungs,
When the story's still untold.
I want music I can live to
When the stars are falling down,
When the last remnant is ending,
When the fire is all around.

I want songs to help and heal me,
Songs that wipe my tears away,
Songs that take me to a new place
Of joy and endless days.

I want music I can walk to,
I want cloudless skies and sun,
I want reasons for believing,
I want goals that make me run.
I want ink and pen and paper,
I want books that never end,
I want stars that I can touch,
I want roads that turn and bend.

I want music I can walk to,
Music deep and rich and true,
I want songs that I can sing to,
Songs I never even knew.

One Good Knight

2008-11-30T21:00:00.001-05:00

You're pacing back and forth across the floor,
Catch sight of your reflection in the open door,
Wonder who it is,
She's too old to be you,
She's too grown up to wish for the same things you do.

She's too busy,
There's no time,
She's got too much on a heavy mind,
And she's trying to push your wishes from her head.

Just one knight
To make things right,
One good knight
To stand and fight
The dragons who rise up
And obscure your world in flames,
Just one call,
Just one text,
Just one little smile that says your name.

You stare at your reflection and you think that this is you,
You don't have time for wishes that aren't about to come true,
There's no time
To let go part
Of this crazy thing you call your heart,

'Cause you know
That that name
Will vanish off that shiny screen
And leave you sitting here with your wishes.

Just one knight
To make things right,
One good knight
To stand and fight,
The dragons who rise up
And obscure your world in flames,
Just one call,
Just one text,
Just one little smile that says your name.

He doesn't have to wear the shining armor
Or carry any sharpened sword,
He just needs to look into your eyes
And read the dreams reflected there,
Then all he has to do is care.

One good knight
To make me smile when I'm feeling down,
One good knight
To make me laugh,
One good knight
To help me think about the life I live,
One good knight
To walk with me.

Just one knight
To make things right,
One good knight
To stand and fight,
The dragons who rise up
And obscure my world in flames,
Just one look,
Just one word,
Just one little smile that calls my name.

One good knight,
Is there really such a thing?
One good knight,
Waiting in the wings,
One good knight
Here to prove me wrong,
I do have time or I wouldn't have written this song.

Homecoming

2008-11-26T22:39:00.000-05:00

Two hugs, warm,
Heavy bag, dropped,
Shoes, kicked off,
Jacket, hung away,
Voices, all around,
Smiles and laughter,
Talking of past,
Present, future,
Feet lead me from kitchen
To living room,
A soft couch and a bay window,
Beyond, the porch,
Past that, the trees,
Through them, the path
Of stone and grass,
To the road,
Across, dirt trail
To the dock
On the lake
Sunset's reflection
Every changing, always the same,
The sign on the road
Says 10 mph
Dip
Before the dam,
But before the dip
Is the driveway
We've driven down
Since I was born
To park by the stone wall
And climb the steps
To the path
To the door
But look sideways up the slope
To the maple tree,
And beyond, the field,
On it's side, vines,
Past them, the woods,
The creek, the trails,
Big trees that call me,
Whisper my name,
Tell me I'm back,
Here in this place,
No danger, no problems,
I'm safe on this couch
Looking through the window
I'm home.

My World

2008-11-16T23:25:00.001-05:00

I walked down the gray road slowly, my hands extended out to either side. The path stretched out before me like a stream of silver light, leading to the black mountains ahead that defined a starfilled sky. Fields stretched out to the horizon on either side of me. I could not tell what lay behind me, for I could only go forward, placing one foot in front of the other, seeking a firm place to stand among the scattered stones. My eyes held the mountains, my gaze vacant and dazed, my lips parted as I breathed in cold air and wondered what my destination was. My foot lifted to take a step and in that moment I paused, suddenly hesitant. Was it in me to move now? Was I supposed to act in this moment or do nothing? How was I to know when to take the step and when to stand still? When to speak and when to stay silent? I felt the breeze weave through my fingers and smooth its way past my palms. Should I lift my hands? Extend them? Leave them where they are? Was there a signal to wait for? I searched for patterns in the stars, but they gave me no answers. The wind made no paths through the grass, the stones did not arrange themselves to point the way. I stood there frozen, unsure if I was to stay that way. My eyes unfocused and attempted to look within, as if I would find the script to this play I was caught in somewhere within me. Perhaps there were notes somewhere, notes for this symphony, but I could not find them. They were not hidden, they were simply not there. There was no instruction to this. I had to face my fear and choose, choose to move my hand, to be silent, to stand or step or run. And then I would face the results of my action, be they good or bad. I looked at my hand, wondering. I had a hope, and idea, so slowly, very slowly, I extended it beyond myself, reaching into empty air. Suddenly on the trail before me a shadowy figure appeared. It reached back, slowly, and I gasped and withdrew my arm. It dissipated instantly and I stood there staring stupidly, not sure of what had just happened. Tempted I was to extend my hand again, but my mind told me no. It is safer to just stand here and be still. Nothing can touch you here. But if you reach out... I looked at my hand. I held it in front of me and looked down at it and watched as the tear fell and shattered on my palm. I closed my fingers over it even as I felt more trickle down my face. I feared the unknown. Even as I longed to seek it and know it, I feared whatever was further down the trail. Was now the time to step? This spot just left me shaking in my tears. Should I move? I looked up, my eyes searched the endless expanses for a hint. Should I move? Or, if I stayed here, would the shadow find me eventually and then make itself clear? To stay passive seemed safest, but what if something just passed me by? What if I was too skilled an actress on the stage I found myself, and all who saw me were fooled? What if I pondered all of these questions until the day I died? What if no one ever saw me? What if...what if... A brilliant light exploded over the mountains from the sky. It engulfed me and I knew that at least one Being saw me. And then the light was gone and I stood on the gray road, watching the starlight glint off its surface. Slowly I extended my hands out beside me and began to walk toward the mountains, humming softly to myself, slowly.

Heaven's Tear

2008-11-16T15:50:00.002-05:00

Silver light surrounds me, flashing,
Dancing through the mist and dashing
Past me, through me, all around me,
Light me, strike me, pierce and bind me;
Crash, I'm gone, the mist is broken,
Set adrift in starry ocean,
Night above and earth below
Falling swift with silver snow;
Freezing coat is lifted off,
Born away with mist aloft,
Still I fall through warming night
Descending to the lesser light;
No earth can I see beneath me,
No river, rock or changing tree,
All is black so to this hole
I'll fall and break upon your soul.

Tears of Fire

2008-11-09T22:37:00.002-05:00

Past washes down my eyes
In tears that laugh for times gone by,
Mirrors to a darkened cave
That from the depths the water drained
And spilled over to my cheeks
And kissed my lips to give them life.
For other's souls my soul does weep
As eyes gaze far away
Unaware that tears are spent
And heart is poised on cliff's edge
Torn between abyss and all the rest
Stand and watch, feed the clock,
Give us time to sit and think
For all hearts stand upon the brink
To watch their tears fall down to dusk.
An arrow draws the line between
Glad times and those that hurt
But no solution seeks us out
So we seek to skip ahead
And miss all the days within the rest
That shine brighter to our eyes.
They are blurred and clouded by the tears
That force us to live by days and years
And meet the pain that tears our hearts
And pressures us to action forward,
Prayers that fall down deep abyss
And light a fire in shrouded mist,
Show every mark made by every tear,
Every drop from every fear,
Then fire rushes to meet the sky
And bear our souls to rest on high
But I look back and shed a tear,
Just one, for those behind
Who will not meet me in the sky.
I only hope they saw the fire
That burnt my lips and bore me up
And cast the water from my eyes
To wash the pain away.

A Dream

2008-10-28T23:22:00.001-04:00

It was cold, but the windows were rolled down. Freezing air rushed in and blew a few loose strands of hair in my face. I ignored them. I was busy listening for something, watching for any sign of pursuit. My fingers were growing numb inside the leather gloves, so I curled them tighter around the butt of the handgun in my lap. My eyes flicked to the mirror outside the window, but the road behind was empty. This place was deserted for miles. It felt dead, mostly from the lack of living things. Nothing existed here but dead trees and melting snow. The truck's tires spun through another particularly deep patch of mud and slush and we forced our way around another bend in the road, hugging the side of the mountain on the left and avoiding the drop off on the right. This place could almost be beautiful if it wasn't so lonely. And if we weren't in such a hurry.

I glanced at my companions, both of whom were staring straight ahead except for the occasional look into the mirrors. The driver's hands were clenched around the wheel more tightly than mine were around the gun, and I imagined his knuckles were white under the gloves. Our gloves were the only really new things we were wearing; all three jackets were frayed at the seams and missing buttons, and they covered sweaters and shirts we had scrounged from wherever we could find them. The sight was an unwelcome reminder of the situation we were in. I turned my head back to the window and the mountains and the endless gray sky beyond. The truck hit a rut in the road and bounced, and I grabbed the door in an attempt to keep myself steady. My lip hurt and I realized I was biting it.

The road left the mountainside and turned into the trees, leading us deeper into this death trap. Fortunately it wasn't much longer before broke through into a small cleared space bound by undergrowth on three sides and a chain link fence straight ahead. A man was waiting to open the gate and we roared through, coming to a stop in the middle of the yard. The driver cut the engine and stepped out, followed by the other man. I jerked my door opened and put my boots down in mud, eyes flickering around as they took in the layout of the compound. Dog kennels took up most of the space. The canines looked as if most of them were part-wolf and all were muzzled, presumably to keep the noise level down. I leaned up against the truck, putting one hand on the still-warm hood and keeping the other tight around my gun. The other man glanced at me and did the same as the driver walked toward the building at the center of the complex and the man waiting at the door.

Later

I stood in the dead room, listening to no other sound but water dripping and a slight scuffling as the men behind me worked on something. They were trying to knock out a wall, perhaps, or fortify something. I don't remember. I just stood there, trip-wire tense, willing them to finish, to just hurry up and finish.

The water kept dripping, a slow, steady rhythm that was far behind the beat of my heart.

We were in a bathroom, one that was lit by a dying bulb. The yellow glow was sickly and faint. The floor and all but the upper quarter of the walls were covered in small, square yellow tiles. Many of them were cracked and completely gone in some places, exposing the concrete underneath. Water pooled in one corner, and I watched the entrance opposite it, ears straining for any sign that the guards further out had been neutralized. Something fell where the men were working and I glanced over my shoulder. They were struggling with a piece of concrete. The two bodies near them lay still and quiet, unmoving. It was for them that we were in this situation. We had to get this man and this woman somewhere safe, before anyone else found them. I turned my eyes back to the corner around which an intruder would come.

My ears caught the sound of a shoe on tile that was not one of the men behind me.

I ran for the corner and rounded it. A man was coming down the hall. He wasn't one of ours, and he carried a weapon. It was some sort of sword, glowing green like the lightsabers in Star Wars. I swallowed, unsure of what to do. I had no weapon, but for the people back there I was the only wall now. The man thrust the weapon at me, and I dodged, diving under the blade and rolling back to my feet, striking the back of his neck with my hand. He stumbled and swung around, swinging the sword for all it was worth and I ducked underneath, striking at his eyes this time. The game went on for a long time, it seemed: duck and strike, duck and strike. And then the blade was coming at my neck and I held my forearm up in an automative defensive gesture. The fact that I would lose my hand flashed through my mind, but then the sword made contact and shattered. I reached down and picked up the biggest fragment--a sword in it's own right--and held it to the intruder's neck. He looked at me with wide eyes before turning and fleeing up the hall. I let him go.

All was quiet then for some time. I examined the piece of blade I now had to use to defend this place. The sword appeared to have been made of glass. It bit into my hand as I held it, so I tore off a piece of my shirt and wrapped it. None too soon, for then came the sound of voices, like two boys were sauntering down the hall without a care in the world. I rounded the corner and came face to face with them. One was taller and he was leader, talking tough. I told him he had to leave. He didn't think I could make him. I held the shard of glass to his neck and pressed hard enough to draw blood. Finally they turned to go, but I knew they would be back. The look in their eyes was feral.

Only a little while passed before the two returned, brandishing long knives that looked suspiciously like the ones the guard at the other end of the hall carried. They held one each, so I broke my shard of glass over my knee, giving myself two weapons as well. The taller one sauntered toward me with a smirk on his face and lashed out with the knife. I blocked the stroke with one shard and slashed at his arm with the other. The edge only succeeded in scratching his leather armguard. That seemed to give him pause, however, and he turned back to his companion, then back to me, still with a smirking grin.

"You've won this time."

With that they both backed away, then turned and ran up the hall. I tightened my grip on the glass, not paying attention to the blood seeping around my fingers. The water dripped slowly and the sounds of concrete scraping continued behind me. I willed them to work faster; we didn't have much more time here.

Then I woke up.

The Dreamer

2008-10-17T12:42:00.005-04:00

I'm not thinking,
I'm dreaming,
I'm walking the wrong way.
I'm humming to a song that's not about to play.

I enter the wrong room
So I turn around and leave.
My face is in the wind
Like the breeze is in the trees.

Rain is falling,
Clouds are rolling,
Sky is dark and night is loading,
Prepared to shoot the stars to heaven
And light the moon afire.

The road shines long
So I wander on my way,
Determined to do something to solidify this day.
Friends say hi,
I wave my hand a little listlessly,
My eyes unfocused on the sky, my mind a rolling sea.

A spark explodes within my thoughts,
They're jolted and disturbed.
A crash, a wreck,
A needle fine,
A missile penetrates my mind
And splits the thunder clouds aside.
It opens up my eyes.

There lies sidewalk soaking wet,
The ticking clock won't let me linger.
I must away
Before dark midnight strikes and vanishes the day.

Mind is there but feet are here.
My worlds are two,
The world of wishes and the world of truth.
In which do I live?
I am the bridge to both
For only dreams may cross my span
To find the other reachless land
And trickle down the cloudless skies
Like blood on desert sand.

A Girl's Heart

2008-10-13T23:37:00.004-04:00

I pin my hopes and dreams upon the things that do not stay:
A knight in shining armor to come carry me away,
A castle in the sky where I may live out my days,
A fairy tale that's coming true in every single way.
But reality brings the winter wind and dreams go all astray,
The star I wished upon flees and hides within the gray,
And the rain comes pouring down to drown the words I want to say
So I'll curl up here tonight to find the words I need to pray.

Wish For Elsewhere

2008-10-09T16:56:00.004-04:00

I stepped into the morning air
And swung toward the road,
Went slowly down the broken steps
Braced hands against the stone.

I'm waiting for my ride to come
And carry me away
To where the light of morning sun
May brighten up my day.

I'll go to where the air is warm
And schedules don't exist,
Where water breaks on sandy shores
And sends up silver mist.

Thoughts of an Angsty Poet

2008-10-07T12:47:00.002-04:00

I'm happy on the outside,
But in pain deep within.
A smile controls my lips,
But my heart I cannot win.

I'm sitting here alone
Writing poetry
About how down and sad I am
Though others cannot see.

I'm sure most people feel this way
And they keep it silent too.
I'm just pathetic enough
To write this down for you.

I'm sure the world is interested
In what I have to say.
I'm sure someone is reading this,
Oh, and stars shine during day.

Stress fights to keep me on the ground
So I let it out on paper.
I guess that's why I write this now
And push the issues later.

So pardon me for writing
What's been written all along.
I know it's too cliché to count
Or remember when I'm gone.

Breathe

2008-10-03T13:28:00.002-04:00

Breathe in, breathe out
What day's about
Watch your breath
Float in the air.
Breathe in, breath out
Each step you count
Take one by one
To reach the end.
Breathe in, breathe out
Be still, don't shout
Just feel cold
Shiver still.
Breathe in, breathe out
Believe, don't doubt
You can reach the
Next hour alive.

Hope

2008-09-30T22:31:00.001-04:00

Essence and form
Stirrings within
Blinking of eyes
Forcing of grin.

Light in the darkness
A glimpse of the dawn
Scent of the roses
Note of a song.

Slip under the gray
Push it aside
There we'll find heaven
With God as our guide.

Falls Have A Purpose

2008-09-26T23:38:00.001-04:00

The simple cost
Time all but lost
At last regret
Say never yet
We'll worry
Time won't change
The ending stays
Our hearts remain
Untouched
Unfounded
Doubts may come
We'll try to run
But destiny
God's will
Is inescapable
So feet slip
We fall
It hurts
We are dragged along
The ground
Into Joy's smile
Hope's laugh
Faith's promise
Love's arms.

Lady In Waiting

2008-09-23T01:16:00.001-04:00

I just finished a book titled Lady In Waiting. This book changed my life.

When I first saw the book, I was skeptical. The subtitle was "Developing Your Love Relationships" and I thought "I don't have any." As I looked at it more, I began to think that it was only for women much older than me, who had been waiting forever and forever for their knight. But then I began to read it, and pray about it, and God moved.

I have never dated, or had a boyfriend. There were a few times I came close, but each time something grabbed ahold of me and stopped me, and in my immaturity I ended each potential relationship badly, and unwisely. I know I hurt them, and though not dating was the correct choice, I went about it in an incorrect way, and that caused pain.

But this is not about dating and not dating. In fact, this book is much more than a guide to handling relationships. It is a book that is useful for life in general. Divided into ten chapters: each taught me something. These are the qualities I am striving to achieve.

Lady of Reckless Abandonment. Trusting God completely, with every aspect of my life, striving to cast everything I hold dear at His feet, not caring what others say, not caring if any action He requires of me is implausible and unrealistic.

Lady of Diligence. Never ceasing to seek God. Relentlessly pursuing knowledge of HIm, constantly in touch, always striving to turn my eyes in His direction and know what it is He wants of me.

Lady of Faith. Even when the nights grow dim, knowing that God has a mighty plan, relying on him to see me through, to fulfill His plan. Knowing that He has the best for me, and I only need wait.

Lady of Virtue. Becoming pure on the inside, like a priceless pearl. Cultivating the fruits of the Spirit, living a life for God, one that is pleasing to Him.

Lady of Devotion. I am God's and no one else's, He deserves my complete and total loyalty. Everything I do, I do for Him, He is the reason for my existence. All else is second to Him.

Lady of Purity. Keeping myself safe for the one God prepares for me. Focusing on getting to know them in friendship, and striving to encourage them towards God.

Lady of Security. No anxiousness about if I am doing enough or doing things right to catch a guy... That part of my life is God's to worry about, and I will gladly sit back and let Him take care of everything.

Lady of Contentment. No hours spent wishing that there was someone beside me. Instead, hours spent striving to give myself to God and become the woman he wants me to be.

Lady of Conviction. Knowing where I stand. Making choices for life, guided by God. Being firm in my beliefs and opinions, backing them up biblically. Going to God in prayer for every decision.

Lady of Patience. Five words: God's Timing, wait for it.

This book was a guide to relationships with men, but I found it causing me to grow closer to God in so many areas. Simply trusting Him for everything, finding joy in living entirely for Him. Giving Him all my worries. Life is so much better now.

Not that it is easy. I am still the romantic I was before, even if I am a more realistic romantic now. I am still very much a dreamer, so my mind wanders easily. I pray constantly that God will renew my mind and help me to focus on Him. I am thinker. I over analyze everything. Then a friend pointed out that I don't have to analyze anything, if I'm trusting God. He does all the analyzing, all the problem solving. I don't have to worry about a thing. Just two simple rules: don't analyze, and don't assume. Let God take care all that.

The book mentioned a list of qualities that a future husband should have. I had such a list at one point, until a good friend shuddered at the thought and gave me a few simple things that sum everything else up nicely. First, that he must bring God glory in his life and his pursuit of that life, and second, he must work everyday to become more Christlike. There are many other, more specific qualities to look for, but those two are a good umbrella for them all. Next thing: don't look. God does that for me. He'll bring my knight when the time is right.

How do I know when I'm ready? I don't. How do I know when God's timing is now? I don't. But I don't analyze, I don't assume, I don't look. I go with the life God gives me, thanking Him for each encounter. I strive to not let my mind wander, and instead focus on friendship and God. Get to know someone, and encourage them spiritually. This, of course, requires massive amounts of prayer, and occasionally some banging of the head on the desk, but in the end, I still have the joy of the Lord deep down in my heart.

It all looks so good written down, even through the fog of drowsiness I'm now battling. It much be executed now, and I am trying my best, with God's help. He loves me, and I love Him more than anything else. I trust Him completely and I am perfectly willing to step back and let Him handle the whole situation that regards my heart. It's too fragile to place in any other's hands.

No, I'm not becoming a nun or closing myself to dating. I'm just focusing on God and trusting Him to help me swim against the current and do the hard thing.

I'm waiting.

Lessons

2008-09-10T22:40:00.001-04:00

They say hindsight is 20/20 and that is the truth. They also say that talking about things helps you get things out and in order. This is also the truth.

I've gone through things this summer. They hurt me and frustrated and made me angry and depressed, and I wondered what purpose God could possibly have for making me shoulder all these burdens. But now that I can look back, I can see clear as day that He was pushing me closer to Him, all the time. He picked away at the people I had to confide in, until the only one left was Him, and to Him I ran, only to discover that He's the best listener I could ever have, in that He cares about my life so deeply it's unfathomable. Once I started really confiding in Him, He started changing the way I saw the world, saw life. And that brought a 180 degree turn.

Despite having an absolutely insane schedule, despite having almost zero "free time," despite learning how to juggle time with different friends, despite a burning eye and a sore throat, despite having no money, I have learned how to be happy this semester, even when the sky is gray and my eyes won't stay open in my 8:00 class. It's called joy, that unwavering sense of satisfaction that only comes from relying on the Lord. Optimism is sometimes what it's results are called. Bright eyes, a spring in my step...but I could go on about that. Sufficient to say, I'm more than content.

The next lesson to be realized after joy was that of letting go. I thought I was an expert at letting go, since I'd had to move so often. Turns out I'm worse at it than I thought. Well God helped me with the first issue to release. We sent it to the sky and watched it vanished and the joy rushed into the place it had been. The other big issue I was clinging to much more tightly. God solved that one with a perfectly timed talk with a good friend, one in which we spilled everything and examined them from every angle. Then He led me back to before, and my eyes were opened, and I smiled and laughed and gave Him that big, ugly issue that I had blown up and I felt free, light as air, it was gone.

The last bit I'm learning is to be content, to let go of all the world says I must be and simply be me. I want to immerse myself in my art and drown in my poetry, and dive into all these new friendships, wear what I like and listen to my music. I want to walk tall and present myself to the world and say, this is me. If you can't handle me, you'd better deal with it quickly, because this is who I am. I am no longer trying to fit in to a certain mold, no longer trying to be who people say I should be. God is the only One I should be concerned pleasing, because if I can please Him, then my whole life stretches out in front of me, open! I'm free to go wherever He leads me, do whatever I can, let the joy spill over and let God paint my masterpiece.

Funny how things work out. The key, as I told a friend earlier, is communication. Pray pray pray! The results, I assure you, are incredible. Love God, love life. Be happy! These are the lessons I've learned. Let go of all your burdens, lay them on His shoulders. Don't cling, you'll break a nail. Just release, and let yourself float away. (Seriously, there's no problem with having your head in the clouds.) Some things will still hurt, your heart may still ache at times, but every time that happens, use it as a reminder to go to God. And then, prepare for rain. Prepare to be blessed. Prepare to be attacked. Prepare to be defended. Prepare to live, because life is a roller coaster, and I'm sitting on the edge of my seat.

What's around the next curve? A loop, a drop, a corkscrew, who knows? But I'm sure you don't need any blog post to tell you: I am absolutely jumping out of my skin with excitement to see what it is.

Rain

2008-08-26T14:23:00.001-04:00

There are days when the sun shines bright and the smell of grass and campfires is in the air. There are days when we smell the ocean, or the snow, or the wind off a mountaintop. There are days when the rain pours down and washes everything else away, and we can stand in the middle of it and just be. All the smells will return after the rain, but they will smell better, and the colors will be brighter. All the dust and dirt will run off the leaves, and they'll be dried by the wind in time to shade the flowers that push up through the mud to see the sun for the first time.

We all try to become people. Just who we are trying to become depends on the person, but we all try to become someone, for whatever reason. We will mold ourselves and chisel ourselves and beat ourselves into that elusive shape that we are sure we want, but can never quite see clearly. But somehow, over a period of time that I cannot define, the realization came to me that as long as I could not see the finished product clearly, I could never reproduce it. I needed tools I did not have, I needed experience I did not have, and I needed abilities I did not have, but most of all I just needed to let it all go. Not that I needed to just "be myself" or stop trying to mold myself. No, instead I just need to be empty. I need to pour myself out so that my Jesus can fill me up, and then, only then, will I be the person I've been trying to become my whole life.

I'll be the person washed in rain that you see standing in the middle of it all, bursting with all the joy that has been poured into me.

Thinking Of You

2008-08-01T16:47:00.004-04:00

I'm thinking of you
Though I don't know your name
Or whether you're poor or have fortune and fame.

I'm thinking of you
Though I don't know your face,
Brown hair or blond, whatever the case.

I don't know your eyes,
I don't know your smile,
How you walk, how you dress, whatever your style.

I don't know where you live
Or what language you speak,
If you fly on the water or climb mountain peaks.

I don't know where you work,
If you like what you do,
If you tend to make plans, if you follow them through.

I don't know if you sing,
If you play the guitar,
If you gaze at the moon and the bright shining stars.

I don't know where you are
At this present time,
But my heart is there with you, and my thoughts are in kind.

Are you thinking of me
As I'm thinking of you?
Are you hoping that someday will soon become true?

The smile on my lips,
The light in my eyes,
The prayer that I pray as I watch the sun rise,

All these are for you
And you'll know them someday,
For now I'll just dream of the day when you'll say,

"You're the smile on my lips,
"You're the light in my eyes,
"I pray for you as I watch the sun rise."

I don't know when we'll meet,
When someday comes true,
But I know until then, I'll be thinking of you.

Mysteries

2008-07-27T09:32:00.004-04:00

A lonely flower on the shore.
A teardrop on the lake.
A silent wing through darkened skies.
A day for sunlight's sake.

Now why these came and whence they came
And how they came to mind,
You may seek and you may search
But answers you'll not find.

I cannot make the answers clear,
Nor the riddles clearer,
But I may take the images
And bring them somewhat nearer.

A darkened shore stretched down in sand;
The flower on the ledge
Stood white against the evening air
And trembled on the edge.

The glass-smooth surface of the lake
Spread shattered silent sound.
Another tear was added
To where countless drops abound.

Silhouettes of shadowed trees
Marched upwards to the sky.
Feathered swiftness wove around
And passed them quickly by.

For a moment, darkness fled;
The sun had torn apart
The night, and broke the silence thick,
A word toward my heart.

So now I have related
Each image full to you,
So now you search for answers
And tell me if they're true.

A Fairy Tale

2008-07-24T13:04:00.002-04:00

A lily maid there was, and fair,
She wore white flowers in her hair,
But they 'came tangled in the tresses
And spread pollen o'er her dresses
That lay dirtied on the floor,
And as she swept out through the door
A loosened nail caught on her hem
And made a tear she could not mend.
She changed into a flowing gown
Of whitest silk that fell around
Her feet, and on the end she trod
And fell face down upon the sod.
When she rose she'd scraped her palm
But still she turned to face the dawn
And feel the wind rush through her hair
And wait until her knight was there,
But wind blew petals far away
And brought in storm clouds dark and gray.
Soon the sky let loose the hail
And the wind became a gale,
So she rushed home through pelting rain,
Her gown now muddy from the lane
And cried until she could no more,
Her knight had not come through the storm
For once again the dream had failed:
Reality ruined the fairy tale.

Holes

2008-07-20T07:39:00.001-04:00

A person may only survive so many holes in the heart. That is why it is good, perhaps, that there are few in mine, and they are seldom brought back to the surface. But when they are, I feel pain, and when they are all pierced anew in the span of a few days, I wonder if it is not the number of holes that determines the breaking point, but if how quickly each hole is widened. A glance through old correspondence, no longer active, and a needle slides into my chest. A stray, unbidden thought passes through my head, and a spear thuds home. An angry word, and I feel a sword. More thoughts, realizations, wonderings, wishings, and I feel the volley of arrows as one after another finds its mark. Not many holes, but the ones that are there fall deep.

Even now I attempt to resist, to clear my mind of the memories and musings that cause the holes to deepen. But though I may succeed now, I know that tomorrow a sight, a sound, a sensation, will cause the forbidden thoughts to rise again, and though I may fight them down I cannot do so in time to prevent the arrows from striking home. I have gone through my phonebook countless times, searched my email addresses, but no name rises up to which I can turn. The ones I once confided in are gone. This is an arrow, part of the needle, part of the spear. No one to turn to. No one but God, and one cannot speak to God through a cell phone, nor can one send Him an email. And the ones that were there who were email-able are gone. No one to talk to. No one to explain things to. But that is one of the forbidden realizations, one of the thoughts that must be strangled before it is born, for it only results in another needle, another arrow, another spear.

Forget it all is the only way, but thoughts of forgetting lead to remembering, and remembering brings the pain back again and again. No outlet? I've tried to talk to people. I've tried to explain. But there are few who I would really run to, few who I would search the ends of the earth for just to hear their thoughts and have them hear mine. But they are gone. What to do with these holes? Patch them? Stitch them up? They cannot be patched, or stitched. God can make them whole, but he is the only One. There is no one else out there to heal them, or even spread a balm on them. They are all gone. And I am left here to grieve, and feel the pain as a needle slides through the same spot yet again, and again, and again.

Who will read this? Not them, for they are gone.

The Other Person

2008-07-04T16:56:00.003-04:00

Have you ever been the other person?
The one that stood quietly by and watched
While they were happy?
Have you ever been the other person?
Stood quietly by and smiled
While your heart was breaking?

Did it take you by surprise
To find that you were the bad guy?
But you kept your mouth shut
And let the pain go by.
Did it take you by surprise
To find that you were the one
No one wanted in this story?
Just keep your mouth shut
And feel the pain inside.

Have you ever felt like you were the odd one out?
No place for you with these other two.
Have you ever felt like you were the problem?
Oh, if you could make yourself go away!

Did it take you by surprise
To find that you were the bad guy?
But you kept your mouth shut
And let the pain go by.
Did it take you by surprise
To find that you were the one
No one wanted in this story?
Just keep your mouth shut
And feel the pain inside.

Have you ever been the other person?
Are you the antagonist?
Does happily ever after depend on your downfall?

Not everyone can be happy
So you'll be the one in pain.
Someone's got to be the loser
So you'll be the one in this game.

Did it take you by surprise
To find that you were the bad guy?
But you kept your mouth shut
And let the pain go by.
Did it take you by surprise
To find that you were the one
No one wanted in this story?
Just keep your mouth shut
And feel the pain inside.

Are you the other person?
The bad guy either way?
It's gotta stop somewhere,
But you have no say.

You know they're happy now
And you just can't destroy that,
So you keep your mouth shut
And you go the other way.

Have you ever been the other person?

To Find That Which is Guilty

2008-06-25T16:30:00.002-04:00

There are those who kill the body
But cannot touch the soul.
There is One who may take both
Or may choose to leaves them whole.
And then there are the owners
Who often have no say
But are resigned to struggle with
The troubles of each day.
I am one of these who live
To laugh, and not to fear,
And I am one who treasures life
And holds my body dear.
But often now my feet will stumble
Or my tongue will lie,
And my mind will wander ill
As stray far my eyes.
In those times I wish to cast
My body to the deep,
But even as I reach the cliff
My legs refuse to leap.
The I realize it is not
My body that must go,
But neither is my soul the one
That needs the heavy blow.
The very nature that resides
Within my sinful breath
Is the thing that must receive
The sentence that is death.
The only One that can defeat
This virus and not fall
Is the One to whom I run,
The One who conquers all.
Still I do not know the way,
So I give Him my trust
And set my feet upon the trail
Amid the swirling dust.
Long and hard though it may be
I still will struggle on,
Fighting hard to slay the flesh
Until my time is done.

Here and There

2008-06-08T08:54:00.000-04:00

Listlessly I walk the halls
And breathe of lifeless air
That lies still with summer's heat
And I wish that I was there.

Though the rain came pouring down
And the sun showed not its face,
Though the cold numbed fingers stiff,
I still long for that place.

Here the sky is bare and blue,
There the clouds are gray,
Here the mountains rise around,
But there there is the bay.

Here is where I lay my head
And here is where I rise;
There is where I wish to walk
And there my future lies.

Someday there I'll be again,
At least that much is clear,
But for now I must remain,
My only choice is here.

So I walk among the hills
And under trees alone,
For though this land is dear to me
I would call another home.

Fire

2008-05-05T23:15:00.004-04:00

It eats that which sustains it
Destroys what gives it life
Consumes what it is given
Produces pain and strife

Gives warmth to its creator
Then burns the shelter down
Sparks the revolution
But sears the victors' crown

Lights the writer's pen and ink
Gives sight to darkened eyes
Takes the paper and the words
Sends ashes to the sky

Tears along the forests' edge
Engulfs the funeral pyre
Reaches for the stars above
A roaring, raging fire.

Enigma

2008-04-13T00:53:00.000-04:00

Alas the wind
Caress my cheek
And leave me here
Let me weep
And so I sing
This song alone
And wish that I
Could find a home

But I cannot
And so I stand
And let the wind take me where it will...

And there my song ends. I left there and wept alone, and no one was there to hold me, save God. And even as I relaxed in His arms, I wept still, for though I was content, I was not. Unexplainable, I thought to myself. I speak to myself in hopes of understanding my own mind, but still it is impossible. I have a tendency to dramatize my life and mind and perhaps I have fallen so deep into this play which I have made for myself that I no longer am capable of seeing from the audience. I stand and wonder at the action and the dialogue and recite what I have written for myself, and wish that I understood it. For within it lies my dreams and could I understand, I might have the chance to live some of them. But as all now stands, I cannot.

So I sit and sing softly to myself as I imagine worlds and people and events that the rest of humanity will not see, for I do not understand my mind and thus am unable to bring forth that which lurks within it. All that comes are bits and pieces; half finished works of art and shards of dialogue that weigh heavy in my hands.

To Catch Life

2008-04-11T17:25:00.004-04:00

I caught life.

The clouds fled from the face of the sun.
Light flooded me and warmed my skin.
The wind rushed past and into my hands fell life.

I sat there and held life in my hands
And pondered what I would do with it.
Nothing I could think of seemed worthy
So I held it up to God and said, Lord, take it.

But God merely smiled down upon me
And life was delivered back into my hands
And He said He would show me what to do with it.

So I held it carefully and looked again.
This time I saw it differently than before
And as the wind rushed past me, I realized
That the first step was to simply catch life, and see it for all that it is.

Life and Death

2008-04-11T00:46:00.003-04:00

They're serious aren't they?

I sit here in my dorm room, late at night, alive.

All around the world, people are dying.

How are they dying? What are they dying for? What will happen to them?

Do we live only to die in the end?

The answer is no.

We live so that we can laugh at with our friends, and talk with them about things that matter. We live so that we can learn new things and feel the joy of discovery. We live so that our lives might have some effect on those who live around us. We live so that God may use us. We live so that we may sit on a bench under stars and flowers and look up in wonder at the fact that the very same incomprehensible God loves us more than we can imagine.

And then, only then, we die.

Our dying is determined by our living. The why of death is dictated by life. For just as we may have an effect on others in life, so may we have an effect on others in death.

We die when our purpose is fulfilled. Sometimes death is the purpose.

We don't know when it's coming. We can see death and hear death, smell it, taste it, and feel it, but we have never experienced it. All we know is life.

We don't know how to die until it comes that time. Then we will look back past the how, back to life to find the why. And the why will only be worth knowing if the life was.

It could come tonight, it could come tomorrow. But if we spent all of our time thinking of it, then there would be no life. For it is only when we focus on life that we are prepared for death.

A life lived for God is the one worth knowing. It is the one in which the laughter of friends is loudest, the joy of discovery is greatest, and the effects are most profound. It is the life filled with love, no matter what storms may rage around us. It is the life I strive to live, even more so when I am reminded of it's eventual end and what lies beyond. It is a life spurred on by two questions, both of which have the same answer.

Are you ready to die?

or

Have you lived?

Captive

2008-03-03T15:44:00.002-05:00

It's warm and sunny
The sky is cloudless
My eyes are bright
My energy boundless

The air is clear
The grass is green
The breeze is blowing
Song unseen

Spring has come
Arrived at last
So why am I
Still here in class?

An Attempt to Understand

2008-02-28T16:03:00.004-05:00

She felt trapped. It was a hopeless situation and there was no way out. No matter how long she dwelt on it, no matter how she tried to wrap her mind around it, it made no sense. There could be no explanation, no reason, for none existed. She did not like this, for in her world there was a reason for everything. That was how she thought, how she functioned. This senseless invasion of her world, this impossible situation, was tearing her to pieces.

She tried. She really did. She had all of the facts laid out in front of her. She knew him, but barely. She rarely saw him, she rarely spoke to him. Getting over guys was usually a simple, easy thing for her. She tended to lose interest fast. These were the facts on one side. They made sense, they had reasons, they were clear.

On the other side were the more frustrating facts. Like the fact that her mind was constantly finding its way back to him. She could not concentrate on homework, and her mind wandered in class so that did not hear the lecture. Every time she saw him, her breath would catch in her throat and her brain would refuse to piece together an intelligent sentence. Her face would grow red in spite of herself. At the mere passing thought of the possibility of her being with anyone else, her chest would seize up in physical pain and cause her momentary panic. These were the facts that did not make sense, the facts that she hated and attempted to put a stop to. But they refused to comply.

Not a superstitious person, she laughed away the fact that once after praying for the hundredth time about the matter the next candy heart that she pulled from the box read "love him." Harder to laugh away was the still, small voice that she seemed to hear after every subsequent prayer. "Just love him." She rebelled against this and fought it, for she feared love. Much as she longed to be loved, the thought of loving someone else terrified her. She could not love, especially not in this situation, with the certainty she would only feel hurt and disappointment in the end. Consequently she banished the word from her vocabulary and refused to use it. That way it could not be unrequited love, for it was not love at all. Yet the quiet voice saying "just love him" would not be silent.

She fought it with all of her might. She attempted to let her pain out through her poetry, but with every word composed it only intensified. The lyrics of her songs became lodged inside her head and drove her to tears. She turned to art, but every sight of the finished works only served as a reminder. She tried to banish him from her mind, but he was everywhere she turned around, and yet nowhere nearby.

The torture cut through her and drove her down. She tried to tell herself that it was a trick of the mind, but to no avail. She could not save herself, but she would not admit that was falling, for that meant only more pain was in the future the moment she hit the ground. None of it made sense, the situation was impossible. She saw it all as stupid, but could do nothing to change it. She rebelled against it but was hurt by it all the same. Perhaps the answer to her prayer was what she should do after all. Just love him. But how? He barely knew her and certainly did not feel as she did! Such a course could only end in pain. Was this what she was supposed to do? Follow blindly the path that made no sense at all, the one that had no reason? Follow it until her dry eyes were empty of tears and her breaths grew numb? Follow it to the bitter end, a lonely life of devotion unknown and unreturned? Was she supposed to do this?

She was trapped. The tunnel closed in around her and though she desperately searched its gaping maw, she could see no gleam, not even the smallest ray of light to mark its end.

Questions

2008-02-27T22:24:00.001-05:00

Where are you going?
Which way does your window face?
Outwards, inwards, east or west?
Do you watch it often or watch it less?
Does it send you on a lonely quest?
As mine so often does me?

How do you walk?
Which way does your door swing?
Forward, backward, left or right?
Does it open to day or into night?
Is it sealed by chains pulled tight?
Or does it set you free?

Why do you laugh?
Which way does your world revolve?
Over, under, up or down?
Do you never wear a frown?
Can your spirits never drown?
Or just float upon the sea?

Who are you?
Which way do your eyes wander?
Future, present, past, beyond?
Can you hear my painful song?
A wistful melody gone wrong?
And you it's source and key.

I Will Not Speak of It Again

2008-02-20T12:20:00.002-05:00

I will not speak of it again
It shall be locked away
Hidden where the sun goes not
Kept from night and day.

Though the stars may search my eyes
They'll find it not in me.
I'll send it from my heart and mind
To drown under the sea.

In chains I'll bind it, hard and cold
Until it withers fast
And when its ashes float away
I will be free at last.

My heart constricts within me tight
And longs towards its end.
To accomplish that I'll seal my lips
And not speak of it again.

The Scream

2008-02-15T18:06:00.003-05:00

Can you hear me scream?
Of course you can't.
I lock it deep inside myself
It echoes off the crumbling wall that rises around my heart.
I let the vibrations through
My hands that hold this pencil
But there is no end to the scream
It echoes on and on
That is why my hands shake.

Can you hear me scream?
No, it is hidden away
Secured in my darkest places
But ever reaching for the light.
If you looked far enough into my eyes
Perhaps you could see it
Reaching out toward the stars
Into the blackness of space
Where I would be free.

This is why I write the words.
This is why I press the lead down hard
And draw shapes of teardrops
Falling from eyes to shatter like crystals on the concrete of this world.
I smile to reassure those around me of my sanity
But inside I am screaming.
Can you hear it?

Happy

2008-02-02T23:06:00.001-05:00

I am happy.

I have people who love me

A mind that works well

Hands that can create things

And a God who will never leave me, nor forsake me, and who knows every step I will take.

There are decisions to make

Plans to unfold

Problems to solve

And all will happen

And all will end

And in the end

I will still be happy.

Story of My Life

2008-01-16T17:05:00.001-05:00

Life is a story.

I was sitting under a tree today, pondering one of the more frustrating aspects of life, and the thought occurred to me that life is very much like a story. We live it as we would read a book, looking forward to the momentous events, the great revelations, the climaxes. We labor through the rising action, skimming sentences and flipping pages in our eagerness to get to "the good part." We agonize over events that have to take place, always wishing and looking for them. The "in between" days crawl slowly by as we dream about what will be the landmarks of our life.

Sometimes the landmark hits us suddenly and we recognize the climax. We wake up one ordinary day and are surprised by the long-expected event, or else we know beforehand that it will happen on that day. Things like birthdays and graduations and weddings happen like this. But other times the momentous events happen gradually so that we do not even notice them until we are living in the falling action and are able to look back and watch them happening. These are things like levels of maturity, bits of knowledge, and falling in love.

We spend the days of our lives searching for these things and yearning after them, skimming the pages of in-between action while not really immersing ourselves in them. Yet what is a climax without the rising action? Would the landmark events be the same if they were not surrounded by the stories of all the ordinary days? For if there were no ordinary in-between days then what would the climax be but a few words splashed across an otherwise empty page?

It was at this point that I looked around, laughed, and asked myself "who these days sits under a tree and thinks about life?" And the answer came clear a split second later, and I thought it with a smile: "I do." And then the time caught my eye and I realized that I would be late to class if I did not leave now, so I stood and shouldered my backpack, and made a mental note to not forget to write everything down.

Lost Art

2008-01-11T18:43:00.000-05:00

2008

2008-01-01T12:20:00.000-05:00

My feet are frozen
I cannot walk
My lips are frozen
I cannot talk

Sleet is falling
And coating skin
Hair is streaming
In the wind

Face is turned
Toward the sky
Clouds are tinted
Reddened high

A single star
Shines through the veil
And tells us all
That we should hail

Our God who made
The last year dear
Now welcome in
The bright new year.

Burn

2007-11-16T13:42:00.000-05:00

And so the river dipped and turned
While swirling 'round the dead boat burned
Sending smoke and light afar
Piercing darkness like a star
Crying out a warning clear
That on water death was near
Flowing down from mountain springs
Dancing on the ship of kings
Eating wood and scorching sail
Leaving ashes in its trail
Floating on the river black
Washing through the gaping crack.

Linger on and linger here
For still night has need to fear
Though death sought to bring the dark
Life still burned and left a mark
Reaching through the midnight air
Crossing water cold and bare
Hands were raised and then I heard
The voice call out a single word
It echoed in the storm-gray eyes
And whispered through the raging fires
The smile fled o'er the churning sea
The love it sent was meant for me.

Transporting

2007-11-14T02:47:00.001-05:00

I saw a play today. I suppose one could say I have seen three plays in my life. One was a ballet musical though, so I'm not quite sure that it counts as a "play." But I did see it on a stage in a theater, and so I count it as of of the three. Each of these three plays were very different from each other, but I found I enjoyed all of them immensely. The same feeling swept over me that I experience whenever I go to the cinema or watch a movie on television.

This feeling is the one that I have been given a glimpse through a portal into another world. I am seeing and experiencing what these other people are seeing and experiencing. And then I am not looking through the portal, I am being drawn into it, slowly and yet so fully that when the spell breaks I often find myself a little disoriented. I will be watching a brand new film on the big screen and if someone taps my shoulder and holds out the popcorn, I will jerk and stare for a moment before comprehending. Then I will turn my head back to the film and once again lose myself in its world.

Theater and the movies are two very different things, yet both seem to have the ability to make me forget the world I live in and lose myself for a couple of hours in the mysteries of other characters and plots and lines well spoken. In case of a movie I will stay for the credits, closing my eyes and listening to the music. The makers of the film chose that song for a reason, and I remain in the other world for just a little bit longer, attempting to decipher it as well. In a theater I will sit and wait until most everyone else has gone, simply thinking.

Then I will stand and plant my feet firmly back in this world that is my home, and I will go back to my room and gaze at the shelves of books that line the walls. I run my fingers over the fiction and nonfiction, all too ready to once again be lost in World War II or Middle Earth. Then my fingers pass over the enormous Shakespeare, the one whose binding broke and that fell in halves, the one that is now held together by tape and gentle hands. I am all too ready to once again be drawn into the beautiful words and lines and phrases. And then my fingers continue down the line, brushing spines and bindings until they reach the composition books, the ones with nothing on the front but a simple title and the author's name. These are mine. None are completed yet, but someday they will be. Someday they will have real bindings, and page numbers, and my handwriting will be replaced with a computerized font. Someday it will happen and I will begin bringing people into my world, the world I really live in. It is a world in which things are seen differently, where beautiful words are spoken and wondrous things are seen. Someday.

As always, the person who entered the theater this last evening was not the same person who exited. I never am.

I did not see a play today. I saw much more than that.

Impromtu Aria

2007-11-04T01:25:00.000-04:00

I'll be here for you
Will you be here for me?
Will you come and find me
When I wander the seas?

I failed today
Like I always seem to do.
And I looked above
And saw the stars winking at you.

And I know I can never reach them
But I know you always can
So lift me up
And hold my hand
And love me to the end.

Love me I pray.
Let me know that you do.
Like the number of the stars
Let me burn for you.

And I sit
And I cry
Oh Lord, who am I?
For only you know
And only you may show
What lies beyond.
What stirs beneath the song?

Why do I sing these words?
Why these lyrics I compose?
I ask you to take me
Somwhere with the stars
And let me dance and sing
All night long.

Love me I pray.
Let me know that you do.
Like the number of the stars
Let me burn for you.

And let me say
I love you
And hear me now
I do.
Keep me forever safe
And with you.

A song
That burns within my soul.
I sing,
I sing that you may know.

I sing like no one's listening
Because I know they're not.
And I sing because I want to
And they can't tell me to stop.

Love me I pray.
Let me know that you do.
Like the songs that rise up
Let me burn for you.

I sing for you.

I sing this song for you.

Monday

2007-10-29T14:25:00.000-04:00

I hate today
It got in the way
Of how I dreamed my life.
Eyes blink open
Sleep is broken
Mind awakes to strife.

Feet slide over
At cold floor hover
And arms grip blanket tight.
Clock glows red
Alarm is dead
That allowed me to sleep past night.

Mind grasps for dream
That fled unseen
When the sun broke into rays.
Mind shuts down
Lips form frown
And that's why I hate today.

Composed In a Moment

2007-10-26T14:21:00.001-04:00

Fading into the past
Writing with light
Listening to the words
Lying awake at night

I drift through the stars
And write on my hand
Are there words to finish?
Is there room to end?

I use up the fingers
And write 'round the ring
Though I have no paper
I have words to bring

Fading into the past
Writing with light
Ink fading gray
Words shining bright.

Musings

2007-10-02T00:02:00.001-04:00

I open a book and read of men, and of women. I read how he put his arms around her and held her, and how felt as if she were flying, free with him beside her. I read how she felt safe and secure, knowing that he would never leave. I read how she felt comforted, knowing that he would always be there for her. I read of these and many more.

Everyday I try to take a walk around campus. Not a walk for exercise, but a stroll during which I leave my cell phone in the room and turn up the iPod and simply enjoy the green grass and the shade trees and the breeze that flows by and surrounds me. I wander around, simply unwinding and enjoying being alive. It is most refreshing after a long day of work. It is a chance to de-stress and to actually enjoy the weather and the outdoors before winter catches me.

The sky was beautiful today. I looked up and wished I had brought my camera with me on my way to eat supper, but I never do for some reason. I had left my sunglasses behind as well, but that did not matter since the sun was behind me as walked down the sidewalk. There ahead of me was the cafeteria and all of the routine food it implied. And there ahead of me was a girl and a boy, and as I watched he put his arms around her, and I could not help but wonder what something like that must feel like.

Was it like the books said? Probably. I'm sure those authors had someone hold them at least once in their lives. That is why I write my books and leave out those parts, because I do not know the feeling. I have never experienced it. I watched the couple as I approached them and passed them and went on inside, and I banished from my thoughts that wondering that had come so unbidden. But even as I got my food and sat down, a little part of my brain still wondered, for I do not know.

Flowers' Song

2007-09-23T14:41:00.000-04:00

I held the dying pair
Clenched against my palm,
But their flares of orange
Brought no joyous song.

I snatched them from the ground
When they caught my eye,
But here and now they sagged
And I gave a cry.

For now at last I saw
The grim deed I had done;
I killed them without thought
So ends the flowers' song.

Haiku

2007-09-22T19:53:00.001-04:00

You asked me to write
Something down for you to read.
A haiku for you.

Blank

2007-09-21T03:45:00.000-04:00

I dislike scraps of paper
Untidy and unkept
But blank lines did confront me
And so at once I wept.

To leave a piece of paper
Empty, blank, and lone
Is to make a person live
And give them not a soul.

How funny...

2007-09-20T20:26:00.000-04:00

Often when my mind is blank and words will not come, I go back and read some of the posts from years ago. Sometimes I feel as if I had never seen them before, so buried were they in the dark basement of my mind, shoved behind so many other thoughts. I came across one today from almost a year ago, back when I was still in high school. It outlined my worrisome nature and moaned over several assignments that had to be completed by the due date. Now I look back, after they have long been finished and are gone, and I laugh.

I stared at the blank sheet of paper today, knowing that the essay was due and I had to write it. I was stressed, I was worried. Shoving it aside in frustration, I came to Vienguard and read into the past, hoping to pull my mind back into the world of words. Then I found the post mentioned above, and I thought yes, when tomorrow is over, I will not worry over this paper again, and once it is received back and filed away I will not think of it again. It will be over. I will move on. Such is time, ever flowing.

The world of words has once again swallowed me. I smile, reach for paper and pen, and begin to write.