| Heres some of my random thoughts as of late. I know I have been rather silent... at least in this crazy xanga world. But i've been in a process that has taken a lot of time with little words. The only picture I have to explain it, is that my Father is holding me still, till I let go and look Him in the eyes. My problem with this, is that I fight my way out with every ounce of strength in me. Giving all of my fears and accusations power because I refuse to look into His eyes of truth. And surrender.
The Colors of the Dark
At the first loss of light
Red is the first in flight.
Out of sight,
out of mind.
Oh Jesus, give me eyes to see
the colors of the dark.
And even if my eyes should fail
warm my heart to feel
a love that is real
in the depths of the deep.
Sight is more than just rods and cones.
The beginning of life
is birthed in our bones.
Temperature.
Force.
Speed.
Weight.
Pressure.
Mass.
Volume.
are all words to express what we cannot.
The dark
The dirt
A womb
Each a breeding ground
for something beautiful.
Maybe this darkroom is my womb
to grow, to develop, to burst into bloom.
This darkroom is not the absence of color,
nor the absence of light,
of sound, of sight.
Because in this darkroom your glory dwells.
Whether or not I made this bed is irrelevant.
Even though time and time again
shame walls me in
building the frame around me
with a poisonous coating.
I cannot break down the barrier.
But Your presence is like water
That flows through this porous capsule.
And I am thirsty.
This is something I wrote in response to hearing Joy Harjo, an amazingly beautiful Native American poet at LVC college. After she finished her performance, there was a Q & A time, and this girl asked her about a poem of Joy's that her class had discussed (which i bought a book later and got to read). She asked what Joy meant by "the edge" in her poem. Joy responded with probably the most beautiful description I've ever heard of the process of transformation. She talked about "the edge" being the place where you have to choose to be transformed, and that initial choice is so hard because you can't see what is on the other side. But once you finally are on the other side, you wonder why you resisted so much in the first place. Anyway, there's no way I can sum up how she expressed it but I'll share what my response was to it. I don't know what else to call it.
This is my edge
and so I sit
This is my canyon
I think I know
what's down below
I count
I measure
I want it to make sense
I do anything I can to reason
But there is no reason
No sense
Not from up here
Up here sense and reason are wanderers, pacers
with an aimless aim
movement without moving forward
far from the edge.
My tools are of no use.
Daddy, so much on my heart today
I'm working the edge
Sitting on the edge
Backwards.
Breathe.
Breathe
Breathe
Just Breathe
And go
Let go.
Trust me
Don't just let go
Dive.
Sail far below
Take a plunge into the cool, crisp
beautiful unknown.
Dance.
Pick up your feet
Spin and don't stop
This is your worship
Being who you are
You were made to dance
To dive.
This is your transformation
This is new life
In the Land of the Living. |
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Anyway -- Over the Rhine
it's enough for now
besides I feel so awkward
anyway
and there is no doubt
I could sleep for hours
anyway
(i'll never leave you now)
any recourse now
well it's much too late
anyway
and our hate
like toys
should be put away
anyway
(i'll never leave you now)
no wonder this confusion
you've suffered all my delusions
we can right the end
we can close this chapter
anyway
we can start again
no matter what comes after
anyway
(i'll never leave you now) |
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| it is snowing today.
school got out earlyish. but it didnt really affect me.
i have a buttload of homework.
if anyone has a creative idea for a speech i can make on thursday that "defines" something, let me know. |
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today and yesterday are spring. |
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