Wednesday, December 30, 2009

dreams and things more realer...

Pitter patter little dreams
flying round on butterfly wings
Catch them quickly now, and make your wish
This time will pass too quickly

When words and dreams weave round this place
Like growing vines that bud for us
With so much potential and sweet scented seconds
Stay a little longer, won't you please

When the warm low hum of the droning bees
Fill the sweet honeyed air of warmest summer
Beneath the old oak with its dappled canopy
Lets just stay here and let time slow down

Come away, away, step away from the window
Where frost bitten fingers play chords on the ice
Draw close now, much closer now, then ever before
Right beside me and the fire is where you belong

This time will pass too quickly
So stay longer, right here with me
Lets just let time grow even slower
Till we fall into eternity... into each others arms...

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Solstice Sonnet

Rise! Oh, rise! Victorious Sun!
The Night was cold and hours long
Rise and reach across the horizon
Rise, oh, rise! Glorious Sun!

The days grew shorter under winter's harsh hand
And cold and darkness spread o'er the land
While night's strength grew ever stronger
And the darkness till dawn grew ever longer

And the people of the world looked with dispair
Crying where is the Sun hidden, where oh, where?!?!
For the fields were dying and the shoots did not break
And the animals shivered as more lives night did take

The world groaned in anguish beneath winter's cold
When suddenly heard was an old legend told
That the sun had run and hidden herself away
Her heart grown so cold would no more mark the day

So they sent for Venus and Cupid her son
To see if they could find the special one
To call through the stone and unlock the part
Where the Sun had grown cold so deep in her heart

They found a young poet, never before kissed
Who was son of Boreas and ruler of mists
And so Cupid drew forth his arrows so sharp
And struck fast and true in the young heart

And at that moment the horizon did change
As the sun peaked over before retreating from range
But no arrow was needed for the boy was smitten
And flying on the winds he followed as his heart was bidden

He flew hard and fast following mornings trail
And finally found the stone, but to no avail
For the Sun had entered in her stoney place
And he could find no entrance upon the rock face

And so he stood outside her iron doors
And pulled out his lyre and played a few chords
And sang with his heart to the retreating Sun
And his words were so sweet the doors were undone

But he did not enter into her secret space
For he was also a gentleman who knew love's pace
And so he sat outside her door and sang on
Playing and singing her many love songs

And deep in the heart of the stoney earth
Serrounded by her jewels of greatest worth
There was the Sun in all of her glory
Listening breathlessly to his love story

And with all her being she would have run to him
But she had a small doubt where his love did begin
And so she arose not in love but with great dread
And from the dark earth brought her beaming gold head

And looking upon the singing young poet
She marked Cupid's arrow and rightly did know it
And turned her face as clouds covered the skies
And the flood gates were opened as tears filled her eyes

For her heart was breaking deep within her breast
For she then knew that his love came from the arrow in his chest
And that it was merely sent by Cupid and his mother
To bring her out by one way or another

But seeing her tears and hearing her cries
The poet drew near and dried the tears from her eyes
And with his other hand he grasped the hard golden shaft
And drew it from his heart with a painfilled gasp

And she filled with dread as he fell to the ground
And he lay there quietly without uttering a sound
But just as the last of hope's light was dying
He looked up at her, and she saw he was crying

"O, Aurora, my Sun, my Glorious Dawn.
Now that the Cupidian arrow is gone
The cork is removed, the dam is undone
And my love pours now forth for only one.

For you, fair Dawn, fairest Morning Light
The only one I could love, for whom I would fight
I love you now more, no need for Cupid's arrow
I love you with all my being, my flesh, bone, and marrow

And I never wish to be apart from your beautiful eyes
To part from your touch, or your heart's longing sighs
I love you, with all of my heart yes, I do
So let us rise now together into the heavens blue

And so the sky was filled with Boreas' white mists
And the Sun rose within it, and there the two kissed
And so the whole heaven was bathed in her golden light
And the world rejoiced at the lover's first flight

For the Soltice has come, and the Sun had returned
And the seasons began changing, as all creation had yearned
And the Sun found her heart's cry answered at last
By the answer from his heart, always with her, stead fast

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

It's True

How can it be
that I can stand in a room
so crowded with people
and yet...
all I saw are your eyes
and maybe its true
yes really its true
that I could
and I would
spend the rest of my days
just in that place
with you...
talking with our eyes
breathing together
living together
life is happening
all around us, it's happening
leaves burst forth with
dancing rain in the streets
and even now
I can feel that tremble in my soul
the love that's held back
by the breaking dam of my will
ready to burst forth
ready to dance in the street in the rain
with you...
and I know
yes I know that its true
that the best things in life
come so agonizingly slow
but you know
that I know
I'd rather go slow
do this dance
the right way
then risk the chance
you might ever go away
so come along
they're playing our song
we'll just dance slow
I'm ready to go
but no matter the mood
or what we may do
just remember its true
that I will always
Love you

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Standing Under Your Window

When your world seems to be ending
When the words are too harsh and too loud
When things grow dim and seem sadder
I'm here for you waiting to be found

Because I'm standing under your window
Throwing these pebbles to catch your eye
And I'll stay here singing you love songs
Loving you more with each try

When you just can't seem to keep going
When the night's cold just grows too long
When your eyes grow dim with tear mist
Close your eyes and you'll hear my song

Because I'm standing under your window
Your knight guarding the castle's keep
And I'll stay here singing you love songs
Till you drift away to sleep

And when you feel your love growing
When you feel your heart beat in time
When you are ready for the next step
I'll be here, ready to take your hand in mine

Because I'm standing under your window
No matter what we may go through
And I'll stay here singing you love songs
Because I could never stop loving you

Saturday, December 12, 2009

For now...

And when I walk alone through the night
And I feel so far away from you
I will look to the frozen stars so bright
And know that they look upon you too

And when I can't fall asleep all because
My heart's cries for you are just too loud
I will listen to one of our many songs
In the memory of your eyes peace is found

And when I wake up after dreaming of you
Bittersweet dreams falling through fingers like sand
I will find the places where your hands once rested
And by touching them, hold your hand

And when the world feels too big and the odds too steep
And the distance between us just too wide
I breathe and recall that we breathe the same air
And your memory brings you to my side

And when I look upon the rising morning sun
Basking in the brilliance and warmth of its light
It reminds me of your laugh and your smile
And this all makes waiting alright

For now...

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Tonight

Juliet,
Where are you sleeping tonight?
What makes your face so bright?
It can't just be our moonlight.

Juliet,
Where is your bed of dreams?
Between roses and streams?
Where everything really is as it seems.

Juliet,
Sleep on soundly my dear.
I'll always be right here.
So sleep in sweet dreams, have no fear.

Juliet, sleep sweetly tonight.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

The Soft Goodbye

Can you hear the whisper my heart ached to yell?
Did you see the message my eyes tried to tell?
My loved lurked deep for oh so long
Trying with each breath to sing your song
There in the hours before the pale dawn
When we laughed and smiled in between dreams and yawns
I waited for the moment to show you my heart
To tell you I love you and never wanna be apart
But when it came and I began to part my lips
The music changed in between coffee sips
And though we merely laughed at my bent knee
There are words in my soul that still wish to be free
But for now I'll keep them caged inside of my pen
Along with that unasked awkward question.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Couplet # 31

May it grow, and protrude into the realm of today
As the sun grows and spreads on the horizon's long way

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Couplet # 28

No matter how hard I force the painted pictures on the wall
Like autumns leaves they peel back red and one by one fall.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Couplet # 27

I have tried to wash your heart's blood, my past,
From these hands with shards of broken glass.

Monday, November 9, 2009

When Selene Saught Her Endymion

Oh Moon in the heavens searching for Endymion
Search for him anywhere else, look to anyone
For this shepherd you found is not what he seems
But son of Hypnos and Anemoi, the thing of dreams
A god of mists that sleeps where you see him now
Do not stir him with your words so loud
For you think he sleeps and will wake to your kiss
But he is already woken, the signs you have missed
And he remains prostrate, to allow you still time
To leave him graciously, to not commit this crime
For he is not your Endymion, no matter what you think
He belongs to another, cease your smiles and your winks
He is already woken by another's sweet touch
Leave now, do not embarrass yourself more, too much
Already your blunt hammer falls have been heard
And forced into his mouth your own twisting words
But he is the mist, and the dream, and the cloud
He is not like you, so blunt and so loud
He walks no straight line, but always circles round
O Moon do not disturb the sleeper on his mound
Leave him in his little house of birch
And go seek you, a different branch to perch
For your true Endymion is within this flock
He is also a shepherd in similar frock
Open you eyes, O Moon, and see him there
He knows how, for your heart, to truly care

Saturday, October 10, 2009

As I Look Out Over The City

How they run their little races round
The merry old oak of human knowledge
They go about this age old tree
Seeking out new knots and dreams
Trying hard to find their ways
Trying hard not to wake up yet
Maybe if they run a little faster
They won’t have to stop the games they play
They won’t have to wake up yet
So they try to find their way around
Try so hard to make sense of this circle
They spiritualize every leaf and shadow
They refuse to see the rest of the forest
How foolish are these little children
To think but one tree is the world
But they will never even see its crown
Not unless they stop their games round
The breaking pillar that is this world
And see the shining sun that gives life
To each leaf, and branch, and acorn
And climb out the trench of a rutt called life
And run no more in repeated circles
But instead find the straight path
Of this blue disc of ours
That runs to the stars and beyond the sky
Into the arms of the Eternal Heartbeat

Friday, October 9, 2009

Questions for the Night

What if you could hear my heart
Beating across the galaxies?
What if you could count each tear
In the oceans I've wept in longing for you?
What if there were words enough
To tell how my soul strives for you daily?
What if you could measure how constantly
I ache for your embrace?
How much longer must bride and bridegroom
Be kept apart by burdensome time?
How many questions more until I make my point?
How much longer can I burn this rhyme...

Friday, October 2, 2009

Our Glass Coffins

Tracing crystal angels in the glass
Her breath fogged up the mirror's view
Was she too close to see outside
The walls she built of glass and snow

Snow white was a princess- ice as cold
Who ruled the world with mouth so bold
But despite her charm and virtue and class
She lay trapped there in her coffin of glass

Her pale white fingers yearned to play
And life ebbed lower with each passing day
But there she stayed waiting for him
Thinking with his kiss her life would begin

Show White was a prisoner -iron as sharp
Who ruled her life by a broken heart
Thinking the next or the next would finally fill
That void left by the apple-old forgotten kill

Now the problem with this princess
Is not that she's obsessed
For her yearning in Godly source lies
But how can she see him if she doesn't
OPEN UP HER EYES!

Snow White, Snow White why are you still sleeping?
Little Princess why are you so quietly weeping?
Come on, get up, and open your pretty eyes
Before Prince charming rides on by

Monday, September 28, 2009

Think Before Thou Posteth

I would write a poem of love
To my darling heavenly light above
But ere spoken my words are undone
For fear they be taken by the wrong one
My heart etched words would too soon
Be picked up by the trembling pale moon
And seeing words of 'disc' and 'light'
Would on her wings of deep midnight
Rise with trembling heart in trembling hand
and shining eyes, before me stand
Holding out her still beating heart to me
Moved so by cupid's boiling sea
And then what would I dare to do
To speak to Luna a lie or the truth
For both lead down toward deaths door
And would break the moon forever more
So no words of love will I write to the sun
Here where they can be seen by everyone
Instead in the secret my heart once more
Will remain behind the misty door

Friday, September 25, 2009

Dreaming of Another Dawn

I dreamed of you last night
but not as you would wish
I dreamed you walked alone
Alone on that empty road
And as the rains fell down
They passed around your shaking shoulders
And not a single drop of rain
Soothed the ache of your dry skin

Those smiles of yesterday
Have all but passed us by
The words have now been spoken
And now your tears you have to cry
I wish we could go backwards
To the way the world was before
But its all over now
We've gone through the door

I dreamed of you last night
That this wind blew too hard
And the autumn leaves cut through you
Where used to beat your heart
And as the orange umbra about you
From the glow of these street lights
Softly tones your lonely way with sepia
It was all I could do but cry

These tears of your tomorrow
Will also pass you by
And the pain will grow less
With each long and heartfelt sigh
I wish we could go forward
To where my heart was always drawn
To once again laugh fearlessly
Instead of dreaming of another dawn

Monday, September 21, 2009

Past Memory: Latent or Other(wise)

If you haven't read Frank Herbert's Dune series you are missing out. Before there was Star Trek, Star Wars, or any of the classic science fiction works, there was Dune. Its story is breathtaking in the scope of its detail, in a manner that can only be described as Toklienesque.

One of the key components of the story is something known as "Other Memory". Essentially, specially trained women can go through a process in which they become aware and cognitive in their bodies to the cellular degree. This permits them to control their body temperature, metabolism, heartbeat, the gender of their children, etc. They are the Bene Gesserit. The Bene Gesserit are also known for possessing something known as "Other Memory". Other Memory is essentially access to the memories of all their ancestors. The plot then revolves around the fact that within Other Memory, they can only look through their female ancestors because there is a primal fear that stops them from looking through their male ancestors memories. They had, prior to the book, been desperately trying, for thousands of years, to breed bloodlines and royal houses in order to produce the one who will be able to look not only through the female memories but also the male.

I won't tell you what happens because its an interesting enough story that you should read it for yourself.

After reading the book, I began pondering the concept of Other Memory and came to a startling and somewhat eerie conclusion about Other Memory and the Real World. Before you can even begin to look at it from an real perspective you need to know a little bit about cells.

WARNING SCIENTIFIC CONTENT FOLLOWS!!
Cells are basically made of two parts, the cytoplasm and the nucleus. The Cytoplasm contains the various parts of the cell structure that allows it to function and metabolize, such as the mitochondria, which all comes from our maternal ancestors. Your mitochondria is one of your mother's body's mitochondria. Her's was one of her mother's. And so on and so forth all the way back to Eve. So in a sense, you already contain something in every one of your cells that links you through your maternal line.

The other basic part of a cell is the nucleus. The Nucleus is the information that tells your body how to do things and how to function. The nucleus is made up of two chromosomes, which are basically chemicals bonded together to form long strings of information. Women have two chromosomes, both of them X, but men have one X and one Y chromosome. The Y chromosome, like the mitochondria, is one of your father's, which once more, traces back through your paternal line all the way to Adam. Women have one X chromosome from their father, but his X chromosome comes from his mother, and there the line usually ends.

What this means is that in ever single cell of your body, you have something that has literally been passed down THROUGH all of your ancestors. Each cell is a genetic heirloom.

Another basic idea in cellular biology is that all cells are pretty much exactly the same, they have just been altered by genetic signals to do different jobs. Before they receive the chemical signals, they are stem cells. They can be signaled to grow into any type of cell, even into tissues or organs. All from one cell. Theoretically, because they still contain all their original parts, these cells could be reversed engineered to turn back into stem cells. What this all means is that all cells are actually identical, whether they are hair follicle cells, skin cells, iris cells, or bone marrow cells.

This means that all cells in your body are identical to your original cell, that lonely cell from back when you were just one cell big. And you grew from that one cell. Meaning all the information needed to make your body was contained in that one cell. And that also means that all the information used to make your body is contained in all your body's other cells.

Take a moment to catch your breath. We're almost through. This is where it all ties together. But before it makes any sense how this ties to Other Memory in real life, we have to talk about your muscles.

Your muscle cells have memory. If you do any kind of running or weight training, you strain your muscle cells and build them up so they become stronger to a certain point, say till you can benchpress 150 lbs. If you were to stop and then start over again, you would regain your previous mark (being able to benchpress 150 lbs) much faster then before, and once your surpassed your previous mark you would slow down again to the previous speed of muscle gain. Its the scientific phenomenon known as muscle memory. Your muscle cells remember how to tear and regenerate up to how far they learned to do it. Your muscle cells have memories of your actions.

Remember, all cells are identical. Therefore, all cells have memories of your actions.

Your brain also has a very similar cellular phenomenon. Memory itself, as we know it. For years, scientist thought that memory was contained in ONE part of the brain. But through the years they have worked with patients who have lost chunks of their brains, and no matter which part of the brain is removed, while cognition is retained, memories are still present. This indicates that memories are not linked to a certain portion of the organ, but rather to the tissue of the brain itself, to the very cells. Scientist have no way of explaining it other than ALL YOUR MEMORIES are retained in your cells, not your brain.

This startling discovery then ties eerily with the earlier cellular fact, that you have your ancestor's cell parts in your own cells. If memory is locked in the cell, not the brain, then your ancestor's memories are actually within your own cells. That is a cool, and slightly creepy thought.

Now, I'm not saying that this means you can communicate with your dead grandmother through your toenail. Or that you can watch your entire family history like a DVD just by focusing your mind (or in the case of Dune, drinking a special poison and then using your body to convert it to a harmless substance.) But what it does mean is that that latent memory within all of our cells may serve to explain some of the reasons behind who we are and what we do, as well as phenomenons such as deja vu. Science is still working hard to unlock the mysteries inside each of our cells, and it will be interesting to see what they find behind that door.

In the meantime, here is an example of what I would call the influence of the latent or past memory in my own life. Before I was 2 years old, my mom and dad were divorced, and I grew up without really knowing much about my dad. We moved to another country and I grew up, forming a love for astronomy. This is weird because there was never anyone in my family who practiced astronomy or was in any way, shape, or form influencing me or introducing me to it. I just naturally was drawn to it for some inexplicable reason. Only to find out that my dad, whom I had basically no contact with for a decade and a half, also has a love for astronomy. Now, this may be pure coincidence. All I know is that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, and it is the glory of God to hide things and the honor of kings to seek them out.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Verbum Fugant

I opened my mouth to answer
But doves flew from my lips
To land upon your gentle curving heart
And croon there softly

I opened my mouth to object
But stones fell from my heart
And shattered upon the floor
And revealed an empty room

I moved my lips to cry out
But my call was drowned by the tears
Whose tears are these around my mind
Strangling my lips tonight?

I took a breath to whisper
But it froze with a louder thought
That if great care isn't taken
We are already upon the knife's edge

I tried to simple mouth the meaning
To sign my answer to your soul
But your rose tinted heart heard partly
Leaving me and the choice alone

So I sit in the empty room
Watching my choices wither and die
And now that I don't want to say anything
I know I have to say good bye

Monday, September 14, 2009

Walking in Light

Took a walk today
Down the road of yesterday
And saw some old friends
Whose faces I’d rather forget
The road’s been a long one
Its stones have left many scars
But today as I walked this road
Faced the ghost of yesterday
And phantoms of my fears
I came into the dark place
That hovers eternally at the edge of my dreams
And threatens to turn all to nightmare
And when I walked into the dark place
I found that there was something new
A new life that shone forth
From where my heart once was
Before it was taken
And the light in my chest
Sprang forth into darkness
And burned the oiliness
Until all was changed to feather-light
And I walked out of the dark place
And the darkness did not touch my soul
And I stepped up from the deep place
And turned to face my fears
And saw no more the dark place
But a place of white misty edges
And realized, after much deliberating
That I am not the villain of this tale
I took a walk today
Down the road of my tomorrow
And as I take this walk
The Light will guide my path

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Passera

Passera fair and ever fleeting
Flying upon your brown and black wing
You beat the air for fair tokens
The same song you ever sing

O Sweet Passera I hear your call
Your song has not fallen on deaf ears
I hear your heartbeat, understand your mind
Your hopes, and loves, and hidden fears

And Gracious Passera do not fret
I also know your heart is pure
You do not fear for yourself
But for another love that it may endure

Now hear, Passera, my words true
You’ ve played your part and done quite well
The veil will soon be parted and then
Time will all of these tales tell

But please, Passera, hear my plea
Do not stir the sleeping embers yet
For waking seed in midwinter’s frost
Will ensure no fruit the seed beget

Coffee Tumbler

Coffee tumbler
Tall and narrow
You look beyond
The round lip of your edge
And see the world from a perspective
Higher than most, you think
As lips pay homage to you
Daily
But they drink from your soul
And feast upon your thoughts
Until you remain used and empty
No longer full of life
But you are no paper cup
You were not made to be discarded
After merely a single use
No
You are a tumbler made
To be refilled day after day
Strong edges define you
They keep you safe and warm
You are made specially
To keep this life inside
Warm and lasting and full of life
To daily be filled
And daily pour out
To withstand the day
And see the glorious night
You were made for cold mornings
When all else is frost
You were made for cool evenings
For those who keep the stars
You were made to last through everything
To endure, to be strong
You are the coffee tumbler
You shall overcome

Friday, September 11, 2009

To her That Claims To Love Me

A poem I wrote a while back, found it today. Its funny, though it talks about love, its more about self awareness than anything else. Also, its one of the most open, transparent poems about myself I have ever written. Because real self awareness begins with honesty. And the hardest part of being honest with myself is to look at this and realize how much of it hasn't changed since I wrote it...

To Her That Claims to Love Me

How can I make you understand
You say that you want this
That you want to be with me
But its not what it seems
I am no mystery
If I were a more open book
And you could read through my pages
What would you do
Would you still love me dearly?
I don’t think so
My moods are unstable
Up and down
I’m a rollercoaster
Depression, the monster
Ever haunts my steps
Though I admit
I often try to fight it
There are some days I wake up
And I just give in
Do you really want that?
Forever?
I’m insecure about myself
My voice is too high
My stomach too round
My cheeks too big
At least they are to me
There was even a time
Not so very long ago
That I hated waking up
And being me
Now I’ve come a long way
But there’s much longer to go
Do you really want to go?
Take this journey with me?
I’m insecure about love
And those who love me
Sure blame it on my past
But that won’t help anyone
I can cling too much
Demand too much
And though I try to stop
I cry too much too
Do you really want to deal
With all of these things?
Is your love strong enough
To weather the real me?
My self esteem sucks
As you have probably already seen
My work feels pathetic
My words feel unclean
When compared to the rest
Of these voices in the world
Why would anyone care
What mine has to say?
Could you really bare it
To live with this day after day?
The list goes on
And on
And on
And on and on
When I get weary and sleep deprived
My tongue becomes sharpened iron
Cutting all those around me
Especially my loved ones
How thick is your armor?
If I never overcomes this?
How strong is your love
Could it endure this?
No father to trace
No figure to look to
How can I ever be one
Without an example
My greatest fear
Gnawing endlessly
Would you have enough patience
To stay with me?
I will not hide it
I will not deceive
This is the real me
Now think truly
Do you want to shackle yourself
Anchor yourself
Weigh yourself down
With me?
Is your love strong enough
To withstand all the trials
That I must work through
What God’s doing in my life
I’m so far from perfect
I’m not worthy of your love
Take a good look at the real me
And decide

Thursday, September 10, 2009

A Thought for You

You deserve so much better
Then a heart thats ruled by the rain
Leave this worn umbrella at the door
And walk out into the sunshine
Loving a poet is the greatest romance
Living with one is the riskiest chance

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Deadly Sin of Gluttony

Today your sin was gluttony
You consumed my every thought
My mind-trails could not run
And they all unraveled at your door

But that was not enough for you
You also devoured my reason
Picked your teeth with my excuses
And muddied these already milky waters

And then with reason gone
You tasted even of my heart
And turned my turncoat emotions upon me
The forbidden fruit still tempts Eve

Now, even now, I feel your reach
Deep within me, stretching further still
Carnivorously grasping at my frazzled will
Bending it between your iron jaws

Today your sin is gluttony
You are utterly consuming me
But when done will this be real,
Or will you move on to your next meal?

Monday, September 7, 2009

Should I Be One To Remind You Of Love?

This is the result of an internal conversation I have recently had with myself, in which I have begun thinking about the various aspects of my life and wondering about next steps. Being me, it obviously turned to the issue of love. And within me there is a part that really wants to capture love, as soon as I find it, and never let it go. To keep it and protect it and treasure it forever. But this is my knee jerk reaction to finding affection. And I never trust knee jerk reactions. So I further contemplated this feeling that I needed to "act on love before I loose it" and this was the result.

Should I Be One To Remind You Of Love?

Shall I remind you
As I have so many times before
That Love is not a feeling
Or what makes us step beyond this door
But that it is something
Much more ancient and powerful
Misused by many and understood by less
Love is panoramically blind
And so the lover blinds all around
And does not see what lies beyond the corners
Unless he or she opens their eyes
And see the truth for the lies

Shall I remind you that Love
Love is the freeing slavemaster
How many marks has Love not given you
Or was it truly love
Or your own hand that made those scars
Your own steps that brought those mars
Who will ever truly know…
Purhaps Love’s nature is perilous
Should that journey then be taken lightly?
Otherwise, if Love be truly gentle and kind
It is our own foolishness that brings Love’s demise
But then again, if our nature changes Love’s
Should Love be undertaken without some thought to ourselves?
Either way that this road may run
Love should not be taken in haste by anyone

And what of the threats that fall on blind ears
That Love unrequited shall too soon wither
But is that Love’s nature?
Is it fragile glass?
That is not truly Love
I hate to quote the ancient words to you
For I know that you know the deep magic well
But remember then, Love
Love is patient
Love suffers long, and is still kind
Love does not seek its own ways
Love keeps no record of wrongs
Love believes all
Love hopes all
Love ENDURES all
Love will conquer all
If this be truly Love
It shall stand the test of time

So, what do you guys think of my conclusion? This is in no way, shape, or form, my final decision on this matter. It is more accurately my current decision. But I would like feedback, as it helps me to think more about life, love, and the universe. ;)

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Peppermint Mocha

Just a little something I wrote for a class and found today. Didn't have time to polish it up so please excuse the mistakes and errors.


Peppermint Mocha

Today I arrived at the café as usual. I order my usual mocha and went to my usual spot. But there was something unusual about today. Today she sat in my usual spot. The girl I had never seen before in my life. I took my drink and took my seat, across from her, somewhat puzzled and intrigued. She was gorgeous, that was certain. And she was reading a book. A book on philosophy. So she was smart too. Gorgeous and smart. Now there was a combination. She looked up from her book and I looked down at my laptop. I looked back up just as she quickly looked down. Then she shyly looked up and our eyes met. And in that instant she smiled. And I smiled back. I sipped my mocha and was surprised. Surprised that there was something new in it. Peppermint. Just like her, it was unexpected but serendipitous.

_____________________________

Today I talked to her. It took several encounters but gradually I got the nerve to walk over and introduce myself. We talked. For a long time. I was late for work. But I didn’t care. The next day and the next day and the day after that, we talked and laughed and cried and life seemed warmer and full of life. We grew closer as days became weeks, weeks became months, and before we knew it, fall had passed and winter had come. In those cold winter months, just the thought of her smiling face brought warmth to my soul. It was like the warmth of the smooth milk in my peppermint mocha, my new favorite drink. Whenever I sipped it, I thought of her.
_____________________________

Today is the best day of my life. My heart keeps pounding. I can’t stop smiling. Am I dreaming? No, I’m not. Because I know I can’t sleep at night either. Because life is so much better than a dream now. Why? Because I told her. I told her I love her. And she said she loved me too. And we kissed! It was amazing. Out in the snow, in front of the café, the linger taste of the peppermint mocha’s chocolate still there. Like the chocolate, smooth and warm and sweet and spicy and comforting. How can I describe that kiss but amazing!
_____________________________

Today I sit here alone in the café. She is gone. She said I’d be okay. She said we both knew it was coming. She said we could still be friends. Now I’m sitting here alone. Listening to the oppressive silence without her. Feeling the emptiness without her. Sipping my last peppermint mocha, because now, all I can taste is the bitterness of the espresso. And of love.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Goodnight

I missed you tonight
So much that it ached
My heart fell apart
When you weren't there
I looked to my side
Alone in the crowd
I wanted you there
Your scent in the air
But I can't see your face
So clearly anymore
Tears have a funny way
Of making us blind
Are you still there
Is anyone out there
Or am I alone tonight
Again
The walls fall in
The ground gives way
The night draws closer
Goodnight

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Waves

Like waves upon the shore
We wave back and forth
Running upon the sand
Drawing back again

Like waves upon the rocks
we have fallen on hard things
But with each fall and withdraw
We will wear away even this

Like waves upon the sand
We'll let temporary lines wash away
Only to reveal beneath it all
The most precious of life's treasures

Like waves upon the sea
We rise and fall and rise once more
Because we are a party of something bigger
And the moon still moves us

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Blotted Signals

It was a simple sentence
Jumbled words in simple order
It was a thoughtless phrase
Never twice considered
But what leaked from your pen
and bled down the page
An ominous ink blot
Maybe something?
Never nothing.
Where do whispers leave their marks?
Where echoes imprint yesterday's repetitions
Why confuse your readers so?
Unintentional prophecy that rewinds life
Autumn repeating over and again
What blot proceeded this thought
Summer is almost over
Is the sun saying goodbye again?
Will winter come to another heart...

Friday, August 21, 2009

To J.S. with all my enduring enmity

Ever more and more
I come to see
Your face as the item
Of my single hatred
Your confining eyes
That trap all ideas inside
That little shake
Of your brain dead head
When you dismiss me
Like some loathsome stain
You have scraped me down
Upon your welcome mat
Embracing me with daggers
And smiles
Your despicable lies
Choke my soul
And break the strength of my bones
I have never hated anyone
More than I hate you
But wait
One day
You’ll need me there
And I just won’t care
I’ll smile that same smile
You always grin at me
And I’ll say the same words
Your repetitive phrases
Of trite nothingness
What makes me hate you?
What causes this gash?
What makes my pen spill
With words so rash?
That I would even
Dare my soul to utter
That it is well and good
You will never be a father
But that curse, I stay,
It shall not depart my lips
For I know something far worse
This too shall eclipse
Hope once found
Shall shatter still stronger
Then no more will you have
Thoughts that are longer
These mysteries are plain
Or sooner will be
But for now I’ll smile
And take all your scorn
Within me
Continue on this path
O foul vexed man
And you will not like the end
Of your story
.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Quid Pro Quo

It's all rather elementary
It's really just that simple
You give a little something
You get a little bit
That's what makes the world go round

He said this to me as he stepped from the stage
Where the limelight fell like dust of his yesterdays
He said this to me as he showed me the empty hole
Where his heart once was.... so I wonder

Is it all just elementary?
Is it really all plain and simple?
Do you really ever just give a little?
Do you ever really get even a bit?
That's what makes the world go round
Love is what makes the world go round

Monday, August 10, 2009

Propinquity

I may be in over my head here...
I may be swimming too far out...
I may be loosing my grip soon...
If I keep hanging onto this cloud...

The push to decide is ever pressing
The weight in my heart could crush the world
I can't seem to find the compass point now
As it keeps pointing between here and there

A step and I'm out in the open
My heart will be in the cross hairs
Is it fear that keeps me waiting?
Fear of a mistake I couldn't bare

All the world's one big show, yeah
All the world is a symphony
But will my life play the same tune
Or will it break the droll harmony?

I may be in over my head here...
(Have I lost my mind to think this?)
I may be swimming too far out...
(Have I already gone too far?)
I may be loosing my grip soon...
(Did I really ever have it?)
If I keep hanging onto this cloud...
(If I keep finding faces in the clouds...)

Friday, August 7, 2009

Twilight of the Soul

Did you see him sitting all alone
With his back to all he'd ever known
Did you feel his breaking heart alone
As pieces fell from his soul?

When the sky grew soft and ashen white
And the earth became too cold
When his eyes were clouded with the sight
And time grew unsteadily old

Footsteps on this lonely path
It's alright, he's walked here before
He'll walk it some more
He's slowly slipping to the floor, to the door

Hidden far beneath his smiles
He cries beyond your sight
And he's gone for too many miles
And it all comes down to tonight

Breaking hearts make no sound
We break them easily
Shattered glass makes no sound
As this body breaks free

This mirror grows darker now
As this path winds to its end
Turn these eyes from themselves
Or will there be one less ________
If he only had a __________

Monday, August 3, 2009

Untitled Soul

You may have noticed
You may have seen
That these last few poems
Lacked titles or meaning

But maybe you saw
Maybe you caught a sight
That hidden deep within them
Are a sign and a fight

A three way battle
Over a worthless plot
A raging whirlpool
Sucking each tittle and jot

Where the world grows flat
And the sky turns sick blue
At the end of the bare road
Will it be them or you?

What is this meaning?
You think you know, but do you?
Reread them if you dare now
And if you catch it what will you do?

Give them titles, see if you can
When the meanings come together
Will you be able to stand?

The words are drying up now
They grow together fast
When we figure out how at last

The excuses like creeks in the summer
Are beginning to blow away
As things get hotter and closer day by day

Are they merely empty poetic musing
Meant to be misleading and
Confusing

Or has a part of me leaked from my pen
What will you do then?

Less is more, so they say
So less I say then day by day

Where does this winding river flow?
As far down it as you will go?

The end draws near for someone's dream

Though endings aren't as bad as they seem

Can you taste the rain in the air

The good things coming before they're there

Coming to take away this care

Where

You'll fare

Better as you dare

Your heart to bare

Take care

Beware

Where?

There.
.
.
.

.

.


.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

You toy with me at every chance
A fleeting butterfly always out of reach
You flit between my fingers and the cracks in my heart
Weaving in places few have known

I cannot trust this sandy base
I cannot build upon the wasted land
I dare not let myself take a breath
When you get this close to me

Shackles weigh upon my legs
They stop the race before it starts
Where certain roads are pleasant paths
Their ends are far from the distant sea

I cannot let this feeling grow
But yet, perhaps, just a little while more
Perhaps, perhaps, playing with fire
Will not burn me, if I keep control

Can I keep control of my heart and desires
Would I want to, once my feet touch this slippery road
I dare not breathe when you're this close to me
Will I go my life, breathlessly by your side?

These childish thoughts, baseless and primal
Dwell in the darkest caverns of my primordial soul
Where the flesh rules king over my feelings
I will not descend into this dark hole

To fight the moment and triumph the instant
To have farther vision then the here and now
To persevere through fear and momentary desire
That is what set humans apart from the beasts

But sometimes that beastly nature still rages
And threatens the sanity of the celestial city
And in the midst of this war across my natures
I can only hold my breath when you draw near to me

Friday, July 31, 2009

Words fly from my mind
To bury themselves deep in the page
But when the seeds spring forth
The fruit is abhorrent to my taste

I have plucked ten and five poems
Complete, root, stem, and branches
And have left no trace to ever be seen
My hideous children burning

But still my muse, the ever slavemaster
Continues to drown me with downpouring
Of words and thoughts and phrases
Though none will stick to the page

But run down in soggy lines of prose
And poetry, bred abominable bastards
Not to grace the eyes of humans ever
For the angels still weep too loudly

At the sight of the perversion
Of good and sound poetic feet
The tripping in this waltz
Curdles the cream within your bowels

And makes the world darker
And all this in a single night
The moon is a wicked cruel deceiver
To empower lover and monster equally
A word can be the cruelest thing
When spoken out of time and season
A word can break the strongest heart
And form a never healing lesion
A word can sway the steady mind
Its influence is great indeed
A word can plant a secret hope
And crush that very self same seed
A word can have more power than
You may know or care to admit
A word spoken in carelessness
Has influence spreading far from it
A word has power and a heavy burden
A millstone for its careless user
A word can change a dear friend
Into a cold and heartless abuser

Beware your thoughtless spoken words,
Consider your hearer with care
For closed eyes or hardened heart
To those you leave so bare
These bitter tears you now sow,
In the reaping time, beware!

Fall is the truest time
For when once all trees were green
Soon will some wither and others remain
What was once hidden will be seen
By the lake again
Wooden house with wide windows
We watch the mist roll
Across the still waters
While birds are silent

Glass hearts
Can hide no secrets
That's why we hid them
Exactly there
While the world looks in

Through these wide windows
Into the empty space
Between the glass panes
Into the quiet air
Between these two panes

The tinkle of crystal
Of glass hearts barely touching
While secretive whispers
Slip through the cracks
The icy sound of silence

Timelessness is so unattainable
We shiver at its very mention
For here in between the window panes
Time cannot breath this quiet air
Here we are safe

But no movement, all is frozen,
To shatter the silent pains
No words can be spoken
Or else we break the spell
And time will invade the sacred

Solid glass remains eternal
And movements remain unmoved
While echoes never spoken
Quiver in this empty air
Between the two glass panes

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

A message wrapped in white words
Placed in a bottle of lead
Thrown into the oceans of the world
Tied with anchors about its neck
Why do I even hope it reaches you?

A whisper spoken in the darkness
Of the deepest ocean cave
With roaring waves about it
And the crack of thunders above
Will you ever really hear it?

Perhaps an echo can pierce the veil
Cut through the night across the sea
Break upon the brilliant dawn on sparrowing
To sit upon your windowsill
But would you even notice it?

What would I say to get your attention?
Tell you I love you and can't and don't and won't and want to and shouldn't?
What can I do to make you see the words?
Trace all your tears and just hold you tight?
But would you even understand?

I can sing words and paint pictures
I can weave meanings and point at symbols
I can spell it out and break it down
I can build it up and scream it out loud
But how do you explain what you don't understand?

Words bend, meanings break, thoughts disintegrate
And all that is left are two people
Standing on opposite ends of a chasm
With the means of bridging that large gap
But should all gaps be made whole?

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Walking through fields of memories
Bright poppies of yesteryear
Reaching viridian tendrils, softly
Reaching with folding red lips
Whispering of long nights long passed
Whispering our secrets to the world
In this field of memories

Dancing breezes dressed in tufts of cotton
The dandelion seeds waft like snowflakes
Taking steps we took once, long ago
Dancing our dance in this field
Echoing laughter of our childhood
Captured long ago and stored forever
Kept in the dancing breeze

Shall we go to the old apple tree?
Gnarled bark knotted with a thousand love notes
To sit beneath the wide, spreading branched
In the speckled twilight of the shade
To breathe the scent of sun warmed apples
To hide between the twisting roots
Shall we go to the old apple tree?
Shall we go to the old apple tree
There in the field of our memory
And dance with the cotton wind?

Sunday, July 26, 2009

My Garden

My Garden

Today is a practice in reality. No, not in my normal, provocative rambles on debatable topics of uncertain resolvability. This is merely the fact. And maybe the greater facts that can be distilled and condensed from the facts. But enough of this rhetorical labyrinthine prelude. Let me welcome you to my garden.

The sun burns high in the powder blue sky. It’s not azure. It’s not even cornflower blue. It is powder blue, like the sun drained the usually wet-blue sky of all its precious moisture until it turned into a vacant, dry, blue powder. A blue desert, hot and uncomfortable just to look at. This powder blue sky stretches out thin across the sky until it disintegrates at the edges of the horizon in rippled layers of white that dance in the heat waves.

But most of that rippling horizon is obscured. It is obscured by a wall of deep, forest green leaves. A hedge. It stands thick and tall, circumnavigating this small world with its wide green arms, interwoven branches decked in their evergreen coats. Its top dips and rises like waves on the ocean, like the heads of mighty columns pushing through the green mantle. Inside hide spiders, lady bugs, small birds, and a family of squirrels. They call this place home.

I call this my space. My sanctuary. My garden. I found it, long forgotten and hidden behind its hedged wall. It was wild, with long golden grasses that rose as high as my chest. Birds and squirrels and all sorts of other animals made paths through its rippling waves; small tunnels that crisscrossed this golden world inside the hedge. This is how I found it. Overgrown. Forgotten. Ripe with potential.

It was like our lives, back in the dusty corridors of the past, when we would look over our landscape and see nothing but unmarked potential. Remember the days when you would look over your life and see roads and possibilities spiderwebbing away in all directions. Remember the time, when optimism unmarred by cruel reality blossomed and shot forth the green shoots of ideas in your mind. Remember those long forgotten dreams. What did you want to be when you grew up? Why?

I spent the next year working from early in the morning till sundown. I began by carving a simple path through the garden. It was fall and the long golden grasses were pressed down by the heavy October rains. The smell of the sweet earth and the wet grass and the red leaves of the small maple tree all washed by the rains was intoxicating. The path took several different turns through the decomposing soil, some unexpected. A few unforeseen bumps forced detours. A shallow running streambed caused me to stop until I could build a bridge. But eventually I reached a place where I was happy with the winding paths. We must all carve our paths too until we reach the place were we feel our work is complete.

And yet, my work had only begun. I spent that entire, cold winter, breaking up the hard clay soil which lay beneath. For years, the garden had remained untouched by any human hand, the wild grasses quickly outgrowing all other plants until they were all that was left. Their stalks grew high but their roots were shallow. I tore them up easily. But this meant that the ground had remained unbroken, and had hardened to clay. After pulling them all out, I was left with the daunting task of shoveling the cold, hard clay out, breaking it apart with my shovel, and then mixing it with compost. For days, it was the same repetition over and over. Dig out the hard places, break them apart, mix them with something better so they would not go back the same way. Its amazing what clay garden soil can teach us about the human heart.

While I was digging, I met my enemy. The blackberries. These wild brambles had been encroaching for years, moving slowly forward in their war with the golden grasses. But now that I had cleared the grasses, the blackberry roots that had lain dormant beneath the grass had their opportunity. They began sprouting in pathways, in beddings, in between planks on my bridge. They were everywhere. Once again I grabbed my shovel with my blistered hands and I went to work. Funny how just when you think you’ve beaten something bad, you can always find something worse just around the corner. It may seem like a bleak outlook on gardening (and life) but being aware of that very real potential gives us the power to take initiative action against it.

After I chopped back my first blackberry, I discovered their horrid roots. Buried deep in the hard clay where sunlight had not penetrated for perhaps centuries, they lay like red, shriveled snakes, long and twisting. I decided to act. I dug deeper. Pulled out more clay. I found them and pulled them up and threw them away. But the problem with things like blackberries are that they cannot simply be ignored or hidden away in some secret corner of the garden, otherwise they will find a way and they will break forth and they will spread everywhere. No, the only way to deal with blackberry roots are to pull all of them out from their hiding spots, hang them up in the sun where all can see them until they shrivel up and dry completely, and then burn them. The parallels with sin in our lives is striking. There really is only one effective way of dealing with it.

So I took care of the blackberries in the garden. I chopped back their bushes and pulled up their roots. I broke up the fallow ground and enriched it with compost. But because of the giant evergreen tree that towers over the entire garden, my soil was still too sour. I had done nothing to cause this. I did not plant the tree, but instead the tree had come with the garden and would always be there towering over it. As it stood there it dropped its pine needles all over the soil and sucked the nutrients right out of it. It was a continues process that there was no stopping. The only thing I could do was sprinkle something over my garden. Regularly. And that was something called Bloodmeal.

Now this may sound gross, but when livestock is slaughtered, the blood is collected and dried into a powder. This powder is used by farmers and gardeners to fix a nitrogen deficiency in the soil. Where there is no nitrogen there is no new, green, leafy growth. There is no life without the bloodmeal. And interestingly enough, because the tree continually sprinkles its needles on the garden I must continually cover it with bloodmeal in order for it to grow and prosper. I’ll leave you to connect the dots and analogies there.

So I worked the garden throughout the winter, breaking up clay and snow and ice. I could not allow my garden to become hard or cold during this time or all the beneficial insect and fungi and bacteria in the soil would die and I would have useless dirt. Again, very similar to the human heart, we must also continually work to prevent ourselves from growing too hard hearted or cold, or we loose the very things that give us life, and we become useless to others and to God.

Come spring I was excited. I ordered seeds. I ordered little plants. I got vegetables and fruit and herbs and flowers. I had planned everything perfectly and had placed enough effort into the garden to allow it to grow and prosper. I remember the warm spring day when I went out and with a quiver of excitement made the first hole in the cool, wet, black soil. The seeds were planted with purpose. I didn’t scatter them half-hazard or without intent. Every seed I planted was planted exactly where it was planted for very specific reasons. I planted the pumpkins away from the rest so they their vines would be able to grow where ever they wanted. I planted the lavender along a hillside so that its roots would never be wet or soggy. I planted the corn and the beans together, which thought odd sounding, caused the beans to have something to anchor to as their vines grew, and the corn which feeds heavy on nitrogen, had a plant that actually takes it from the air and places in the soil. The two were an odd couple, but I placed them together for a reason.

Then came the waiting. Few things in life, other than waiting for a bus at a bus stop, can teach you as much patience as those dreadfully slow two weeks. But nothing on earth can describe the amazing joy and hope you feel when you walk out into the garden on that early spring day and you see those bright green shoots barely breaking out of the cracked ground. The rewards that come with patience far outweigh the waiting. It is always worth it in the end.

I watched them grow, the straight grass like shoots of corn. The winding tendrils of the beans. The large, velvety soft leaves of the pumpkin and cucumber. The calendulas came up fast, and within a few short weeks they were blooming in large heads of orange, yellow, red, and bronze. They formed hedges of color around the beds, all the while acting as guards to deter common garden pests. They were only annuals, and so I knew they would die by the end of fall and never come back. But I grew to love them anyway, because no matter how many times I cut of the flower heads, they always kept pushing out more, usually bigger and brighter colored too. They were the epitome of optimism, and their optimism was contagious.

They did die at the end of the summer, and the next spring I was unable to find any more seeds. But that didn’t stop them. Unknown to me, they had sown their own seeds and even to this day, I will find them growing in out of the way corners and unexpected patches. They are like good friends, unexpected gifts you find in unexpected places. And just like good friends, many of whom we do part ways with throughout our lives, the season we have them for is a time to be enjoyed while they’re there, and a memory to be cherished when they’re gone.

Then came my harvest. It was amazing. To think that those small seeds could contain this much abundant life was incredible. Some of them had literally been so small that they were no bigger than the period at the end of this sentence, and yet they had grown into large bushes that still stand to this very day, covered in small, blue, cucumber flavored flowers. Some things did not have the results I expected. The corn was barely as big as my pinkie and was not nearly pollinated enough. But it was beautiful anyway, especially after it was dried and used that thanksgiving as decoration in the house. The pumpkin didn’t make anything but flowers, yet we found out that there are quite a few recipes for stuffed pumpkin blossom (surprisingly good!). In all things, I had done my part and I had harvested, even when the harvest hadn’t been what I expected. But as long as I had kept my mind open, there were a few happy surprises to be found.

That next winter I took care of the garden again, but life got busy and in the spring I did not have time to take care of my garden. I knew I should have gone and weeded it, but I procrastinated. Several months later, the sowing season was past and I finally made time to go to my garden. The beds were covered in weeds. The paths were overgrown with golden grass. The blackberries were back and had taken over the whole streambed. And I could no longer sow, and therefore would not have any harvest that year. Timing is so critical in all areas of life. If we aren’t conscious about our actions as well as their timing, we will miss the windows of opportunity.

So I went back to work, pulling the things out that didn’t belong there. I became obsessive about it. I stayed at a spot for hours pulling out every last weed, making sure not a root was missed. And while that was great, once more my timing was off. I had cleared the garden of all the weeds by winter, but then, the rains came and there was nothing at all left to anchor the nutrients in the ground. It all washed away. Make no mistake, the weeds did not belong there. But while pulling them out root and all was good, I should have cut the roots off and thrown the leaves and stalks back in the soil. Sometimes we want to purge life of all our mistakes. But mistakes serve a great purpose too. They help us retain the good things in life. They help us overcome destructive habits by tasting the consequences. The worst thing we can do is not make a mistake, but make a mistake and not learn anything from it. I learned from my mistake that winter, when I had to build retaining walls around my beds in order to keep the soil from washing away. What is the greatest mistake you have ever made? What do you blame yourself for, the most out of everything in your past? What did you learn from it? What are you still learning from it?

Throughout the years I have worked on and off on the garden. I have come to realize that it will never be finished. There will always be something to do, something to work on, something to plant or something to pluck up. And I’m okay with that. I have also come to realize that the garden can’t be built up in a single season or a single growth year. It is taking years of slowly working the soil, slowly beating down the paths, slowly pulling the weeds. This process is the fun of the garden. It is what makes it alive. I wouldn’t want it any other way. And as I continue on it, my original vision is changing. Where once a lonely bench would have sat, there is now a hedge of lavender, soon to be joined with a carpet of red, creeping thyme to sit on. The vision, like the garden, is ever changing, ever growing, ever expanding, never ending.

Today, I walked back into the garden. The sky is the powder blue I referred to before. The hedges chirp with cicadas and the giant evergreen tree ruffles with playing squirrels. This year I let the garden lie fallow, so that it could have time for the soil to recover. The beds are covered in red clover, bees buzzing lazily as they gather the sweet nectar. The golden grass has sprung up all around, laying low already under the burning sun. Queen Anne’s Lace, a weed that looks like a carrot plant with a long stalk and a white, lace-like head of tiny flowers is mixed in between the golden grass, wasp, white butterflies, and onyx black beetles flying from head to head. Large dandelion heads of feathery seeds are also seen throughout the field like setting, their delicate heads breaking in the wind, carrying the feather seeds on the breeze. Blackberries that have spilled over the streambed banks like a green river hold up sun warmed fruit, just ready to be picked by a bluejay, a squirrel, or me. I stand out here, and I simply breathe.

Did you know each one of those animals are breathing too? Did you know each one of those leaves on each on of those plants are breathing too? Did you know that the fungi in the soil that allows that giant evergreen tree to grow as high as it does by merging with its roots, breathes? Did you know that the ground itself is continually breathes? All of creation breathes in unison and in that way we are all very much alike. We all rely on the Ultimate Breath to sustain us. We are His garden, and He delights to see us bring forth good fruit. Why would we ever deny Him that?

Some people wonder what heaven will be like. I know that for me, heaven will be an untouched spot of ground, no ethereal city or celestial cloud bed. A place where I can dig deep without worry of stone or thistle or thorn or serpent. A place where I can sow blank white seeds and dream new flowers and fragrances and patterns and plants from them. A place where I can build the garden of my heart’s desire, and then take my Heavenly Father by the hand and guide Him through it and show Him every single detail, ever secret corner, that I made for Him. For me, heaven would be a garden.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

The Old Physician

It started as any story, in a land far away. The sun shone bright, the birds sang sweet, and the girl met the boy. It was love at first sight, cupid’s arrows hit true. The two were hopelessly in love and thought the world could not get better. They pledged their hearts to one another, and promised ever to be faithful. The world was bright and sweet. Until.

Until the dream, the terrible dream. She dreamt it on a moonless night, when smoky clouds shrouded the stars. She dreamt that a fire raced through his veins, and consumed him both body and soul. Then she dreamt that time ran backwards while the flames receded in her eyes. She saw them draw back to a single spark, lodged deep within his chest. And she knew, she knew the spark started it all.

The next day they were walking in the tranquil woods, listening to bird song and loving each other’s presence, when he swooned, ever so slightly, and had to steady himself on a near tree branch. He assured her he was fine. He told her not to worry. He said that nothing was wrong, just a sudden dizziness. He got up and walked on and for the remainder of the day he was fine. But she knew better. She knew she had seen it. The spark. The spark that would consume him.

She looked to the wise ones and asked them about her dream and the spark, and after much consulting they agreed to perform the testings, to see if her predictions were true. They brought her beloved before them and gazed upon him. The signs were all there, the slight tremble in his hands, the distant look in his eyes, and even the strain in his voice. All confirmed that he had the disease.

She begged him to see the great physician, the one who could cure him. But her beloved insisted that he was perfectly fine and that the wise ones did not know what they were talking about. He refused to go see the physician and even grew angry at her when she asked him about it again. All the while, her she worried more and more, as her dream became more horrifying with each passing night.

Finally, she went in secret to the physician’s house. He welcomed her in, the old bent man with disheveled white hair. He walked slowly, fixing their tea, as he listened to her tale about her beloved. Then, as they sat down and drank tea, he explained to her that he did have a cure for the disease, and that he could give it to her right now. However, before he would give it her, he asked her an important question.

“What if he still insists that he is well? How will you respond?” asked the physician.

“I-I don’t know. I guess I couldn’t force him to take it, but, to have to watch the disease ravage his body…” she spoke sighing.

“Yes, I think I can help. Here” The old man said taking a white orb from his shelves, “This will aid you. If you can endure it. It will impart wisdom. Just place your hand on it and close your eyes.”

She placed her hand on the orb, and closed her eyes. Instantly, she felt a tremendous force pressing down on her, as if the whole weight of the world was upon her. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe, as if she was about to be crushed by the weight. Finally, she couldn’t take it any more. She knew she would die if she stayed there. She panicked. She opened her eyes and she ran.

She ran out of the old physician’s house and all the way back through the woods where she had first seen her beloved swoon. It was only when she got there that she felt the heaviness in her pocket. She pulled out the vial, with the neat directions printed on its label. “One drop a day will keep symptoms at bay, all drunk with ease with destroy the whole disease”.

She found him. She showed him the bottle. She begged him to drink and be made whole. But he insisted that he had talked to a different physician. A young physician, who told him that he needn’t worry at all. Her beloved insisted that he would not touch the contents of the vial. It was as the old physician had predicted.

For several days she tossed restlessly, wondering what she should do. In the end, her love for him won out, and she began secretly feeding the substance into his food. It smelled so foul that she could only add a single drop, thereby keeping his symptoms at bay while she tried to convince him to drink the rest.

But he never would. And eventually she ran out of the vial’s precious liquid. She returned to the house of the physicians but he and his whole house had vanished without a trace. Then came the agony. She saw the shaking hands get worse. She saw the distant stare get deeper. She saw his life begin to fade. The life of her beloved. And she had no more cure left.

She stayed by his bedside as he grew weaker and weaker, protesting to the last that he was not ill, that as he had gotten better before, he would get better this time also. She never had the heart to tell him that he only got better because of her secret ministrations. Finally, after an extended battle, in which both suffered tremendously, he gasped a rattled breathe and died.

She screamed in anguish, closing her eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks. Then she heard a gentle and familiar voice prodding her.

“Its alright, dear. Just open your eyes.”

She opened her eyes and found herself sitting in a familiar house, across from a familiar figure. It was the old physician. He was extending something towards her. A white orb. And her hand was on it. She remembered, looked up at a wall clock, and realized only a second had passed since she had closed her eyes. It had all been an illusion.

“Why?! Why did you do that!?!?” She yelled, jumping to her feet.

“To show you what would happen if you simply continued enabling your beloved to deny the truth of his situation. As much as it will pain you, you must allow him to see the symptoms of his illness. The real ones. The undeniable ones that will open his eyes to his condition.” The old physician explained, “Only then will he be willing to take the medicine and be cured of this disease. Do not let your love and compassion cause you to harm him and make him go through the torment you have just seen.”

She stood silently and nodded before uttering a whispered thanks and walking out the door with a haunted, vacant expression on her face, still trying to come to grips with the fact that the last month of her life had not truly happened. And as she walked towards the palace, she couldn’t help but shudder as she thought about the possibility. The very real possibility that what she was currently seeing was also just an illusion and the at any moment it would all vanish as she opened her eyes.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Why I am not interested in Christian Nonfiction like The Shack or Self Help Books

Why I am not interested in Christian NonFiction or Self Help Books

I am an intellectual person, in that research and study and reading and pondering and seeking out knowledge and wisdom has always been a deep part of who I am. Because of this, people have long thought that I would be interested in all kinds of books relating to intellectual discussion. These have ranged far and wide, from research papers to theological theses to philosophical allegories to self help books. However, time and time again, I have gotten books from people, have read only a small part, and never read them again.

Now, before I continue, if you are one of these people, please do not take this as some kind of angry rant. It’s not. I am thankful to have people in my life who take enough interest my own interests to wish to provide something entertaining and thought provoking or even spiritually uplifting for me. I also understand that often when someone is truly touched, moved, or encouraged by a book, they will be passionate about sharing that experience with others. So, please, understand that this does not come from bitterness towards people or hatred for self help books. This is merely me explaining my personal position, in order to A) answer a question for myself, B) provide meaningful and thought provoking discussion, and C) hear what your opinions are on this topic.

Of all these various kinds of books, the ones I get recommended and handed to me the most are Christian Self Help Books. Even as I write that, the laundry list that comes to mind is staggering. So many books that people have wanted me to read, many of which I have never even cracked the spine of. Why? What do I have against them?

Nothing. These books are fine. Most are reasonably well written, and cover topics which are most definitely relevant to me. So why do I not read them? Because there are two things that any Christian Self Help Book is trying to do. They are either out to convince you to think about life and issues the way they do, or they are there to help you better your own life, either your internal issues or your external relationships.

The first general type is then more theoretical, theological, and philosophical. The problem I have with this is simple: History teaches us that theology and theories have harmed the church more than anything else, marring the bride of Christ, and staining the reputation of the church and of Jesus even to our own day. What am I referring to?

Throughout history, from the very inception of the church, there have been people who have gained spiritual insight and revelation for their lives. But while they were passionate, they were also fools. They insisted that the revelation God gave them specifically, was meant for all, that any who did not agree with them must be false messengers from Satan. They approached life with such a dualistic viewpoint, and they and their followers acted from it. War after war, witch burning after witch burning, crusade after crusade, they desecrated the name of God by taking “Holy Wars” in his name. They were no better then the Muslims who bombed the Twin Towers on 9-11.

So excuse me if I am cautious about following people who claim to have special revelation. I understand that not all are like. In fact, I believe that a large majority of people who write books like these only have the readers’ best interest at heart. I am not saying that all Christian Self Help Books are out to get you to go on a Crusade. What I am saying is that many view their way of approaching or dealing with life as the ONLY way. And that is a dangerous mindset to have.

(Here I should probably add a sidenote that I am not saying that there are many ways to God…. but…. then again, there are many ways to God. In fact, each person has a very unique and special way to God that no other person will ever take. All these ways pass through the cross at some point or another, but they are not all the same way. If you really want to take what I say out of context, I will be giving you SO much opportunity that this will really be my one and only sidenote in my defense. If you have any issues or problems with what I say, please, feel free to voice them in the comments area. I love to hear other opinions because it either helps me come to a better conclusion or strengths the one I already have. Either way, it make me better, so please, let me know where I go wrong. :D )

Anyway, moving right along. The other reason I don’t read theologically or philosophically inclined books is quite elementary. If it’s basic theology, then its something I have probably heard a million times before in Christian school, sermons, chapels, and Max Lucado books. Why on earth would I want to subject myself to mind numbing repetitious phrasing of the same basic phrases and thoughts, ESPECIALLY IF I ALREADY AGREE WITH IT!!!! And, if its not basic theology, and its some kind of strange, out there, new way of looking at and approaching the world, I will begin to argue with the author as I read through it, mainly because the only reason books like it (aka The Shack) are written is to ignite people into arguing about issues. Personally, I find that when I argue about things, when I am aggressive in my pursuit of knowledge, I become closed minded to what other have to say, defensive about what I have to say (irregardless if it is right or not), and in general, my spirit becomes grieved. Why on earth would I want to subject myself to that type of situation? Life is complicated enough already and has enough trials that I do not need to go creating any more for myself. I will not seek out aggression, aggravation, or give myself over to be manipulated by any author. The moment I detect it, I put the book down and take a step back. If it keeps happening, I stop reading the book altogether. Usually, but not always.

That covers the fist type of book. The ones with special knowledge, revelation, or outlook on life that they want to force everyone else to except. Obviously, the Holy Spirit can use the book to speak to a person’s life and bring correction. But the Holy Spirit can also use a sunrise, a billboard on the side of the highway, a commercial for Comcast, or even (God forbid!) a Michael Jackson song. It’s not about the source material, its ALL about our ability to discern the voice of the Holy Spirit in our lives. If we have that, then we can be in the middle of the desert, a million miles away from any written word, and we will read God’s revelation for our lives upon creation itself.

Moving right along, there are the other types of self help books in the Christian community, and I have slightly just touched on them with that last paragraph. The other type is the ones who say that they have knowledge or wisdom to help you either internally work through your own issues inside your own life, or externally work on your issues with other people you encounter. These are actual self help books.

(Okay, I promise this is the last side note, but basically, just have to say, that when you look at the basic premise of these self help books (fix internal/external) you realize that you don’t need any book other than the Bible. In fact, you don’t even need the whole Bible. All you need is two short phrases. Love God with everything you have. Love people like you love yourself. If you can do that, you won’t have any problems internally or externally. And I doubt I have ever met anyone who had even mastered those two simple things.)

As I just pointed out previously, when you are sensitive to the Holy Spirit, then God will reveal the areas in your life that you need to adjust. The amazing thing about the presence of God is that as you drawn near to Him, He draws closer to you, even if you can’t feel it, and when He draws near, the mountains melt, the islands are moved, the heavens roar, and we are rightly put in our place. Or, as one Biblical writer put it, all our righteousness becomes like filthy rags.

When we are actively pursuing God, we will become aware of His presence. The more we are in His presence, the more we realize just how wrong and messed up we are. The more we realize what we are doing wrong, the more we can stop doing it, and begin to do what is right. But once again, this only comes if we are sensitive to the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit will warn us when we are about to enter into temptation. The Holy Spirit will plead with us as we are making the decision to sin or not to sin. The Holy Spirit will convict us afterwards when we have sinned and point out exactly where we went off the path. And the Holy Spirit will guide us back to the straight and narrow. All this, and SO MUCH MORE, He is willing and able and waiting to do, and is doing even right now, all we have to do is be able to hear him. All we have to do is listen. Really listen. And if it all happens so organically when we are drawing close to God why would we need a self help book?

But the opposite is true too. If I was not actively seeking God, why on earth would I ever read a Christian self help book? As a Christian, I knew very well when my life is not on track. If I’m not working to fix it, it means I am running away from it, like Jonah. I am aware of what I am doing. I am aware that I am making mistakes and that I am not right with God. And in that place, I know that a Christian self help book would only convict me back on the right track. So why would I read it if I am purposely trying not to think about God?

So if my relationship with God is good, there is no need for a Christian Self Help Book. If my relationship with God is bad, there is no way I would read it. Therefore, a Christian self help book serves no purpose in my life. Maybe it’s different for other people. I can understand and respect that. But for me, personally, I prefer not to drink rock filtered, fluoride added, flavored water. I would much rather drink deep from the sweet, fresh, pure source, untouched by the taint of human thought or emotion. I would rather get insight directly from the Holy Spirit, in a way that is specifically applicable for what I am personally going through at this exact moment in time. I would rather have the Holy Spirit’s constant prodding and direction in orchestrating my life every second of every day, than have a manual telling me what I already know, that I forget as soon as I close its back cover.

But as I said before, these are all simply my opinions and how I understand the world, both the physical and the spiritual, to work in regards to my own life and my own journey. Maybe you see things differently. Maybe you have experienced different results and different feelings. Please, share them. I won’t make fun of you. I won’t ridicule or insult you. I probably won’t even respond to your comment. But if you don’t voice how you feel, then there may be errors that go uncorrected in my life and the lives of those who read this. And if no one disagrees with me on anything then it means I must be perfect and have a perfect understanding of this, which I most definitely am and do not. So, how do you personally feel about Christian Self Help Books?

Sybilla Proxima

The seasons turn ever round
Summer is followed always by fall
The world turns without a sound
Ever changing, constant in all

The moon may wax and wane and die
The waves of the shore may come and go
But the cycle, nature's constant cry
Is unchanging in its circular flow

These days are like the days before
They feel the same as they once did
The nights we saw, we see once more
But their secrets now cannot be hid

The winds are changing in her heart
Once more the ripples upon the pool
And what was once a solid part
Will be shown to be the dream of a fool

He listens still to all the voices
And yet he heads only his own
Once more he'll make the same bad choices
This circle-path leading him all alone

Decisions now made at this crucial time
Will echo in the eternity's halls
The appointed cannot escape the rhyme
And one way or another will hear the babe's calls

The ancient things now rediscovered
Will bring life into these dark lives
But what will they do with the uncovered
Will fragile souls be able to survive?

Look to the eastern gate of the sunrise
Where the sky burns red with the dawn
For the day of destiny is marked with demise
And the fleeing of this young fawn.

Strong pillars of this house will crumble
The mightiest will all be brought low
Until only the foundations remain in the rubble
To begin anew, to let the trees grow

When the smoke of fires long kept hidden
Finally clears from off tomorrow's eyes
Then answer they the calls when bidden
This destined child's earliest cries

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Open Your Eyes

Sorrowful seekers in crimson snow
Where do the sky's tears run to?
When all the world was colored blue
and the earth shattered with your sighs

Glass is fragile when you walk upon
The sea that never ends its crashing
Raven feathers in her hair
Fell away with dawns burning light

When weaving tangled light chords
Wrap around your wrists, so warm
Can only that old crucifix
Break through these concrete shells

But run you did, yes run so fast
Across the universe of burning stars
So fast, so far, on this path to nowhere
Anywhere but there, where you saw your face

The crack broke clear across the sky
The burning light awoke your heart
The fingers tearing at your eyes
So that you might see once more

But then the light fell away
And once more you were wide awake
But yet you walked through the wide world
With eyes wide shut to everything

To passing angels on wings of bronze
To passing dreams from up above
To roads that led to brighter days
But you would not open your eyes.

But you will not open your eyes...

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Mysteries

When I was a young boy
And my feet made of clay
I remember meeting her
On that clear summer day

I was with my best friend
We had come for the band
They played my favorite song
When I saw her stand

Did you see her
Did you see her
Standing out of the crowd
Did you hear her
Did you hear her
Singing out loud
Can anyone tell me
Who is this girl I see?
Part the veil of this new found
Mystery

She sang like a siren
She looked like a venus
She shone as a beacon
Across the gulf between us

Her mind was taller
Her neck was strong
Her ways seemed higher
And her thoughts fell long

Did you see her
Did you see her
Standing out of the crowd
Did you hear her
Did you hear her
Unravel thoughts out loud
Can anyone tell me
Who is this girl I see?
Part the veil of this deepening
Mystery

But her heart was heavy
Too heavy for us to bare
She made herself noble
Because inside she was scared
Scared of trusting again
After tasting that hell
So instead she rose up
Locked deep in her shell

Did you see her
Did you see her
Looking so proud
Did you hear her
Did you hear her
Crying out loud
Can anyone tell me
Who is she really?
Does she even know
Her own mystery

******************

Eh, personally didn't like how this one came out... I think its partially because I wrote the first half, knowing where I was going with it, then I went to sleep and woke up, thinking I would finish it real quick, only to realize I had forgotten where I was going with it... so yeah, turned out kinda blah in my opinion...

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Traveler

He gazed out upon the grey city. Giant monument to the works of man, it stood as a gleaming sore upon the banks of the brown river. Large windows gleamed lazily upon the slight white light that permeated the clouds above, seeping through them and finally touching upon the soot covered windowpanes. The city had a thousand chimneys billowing a thousand columns of black smoke into the white air above the grey buildings.

He turned his back upon the sight, and strode towards the waiting hansom. It was black as ebony, with neat little windows and a neat little driver, with a plump belly and a stove top hat which had seen better days. Outlined upon the windows and the door’s handle was the silver insignia of the couch company, two gleaming branches heavy with fruit, carried by a raven.

He entered the handsome and soon it set off. He traveled alone, as the city flew by, with its men and women in black clothes with white faces and grey eyes breathing the heavy air outside. The rushing brown river, the only source of color, flowed slowly and thickly as if burdened by its own silt. The city had been his home, for too long, and now he was departing. Now that he had discovered his next destination.

The hansom drove on till it reached the outskirts of the city. There where the trees, blackened with soot, were slowly creeping back into civilization, the hansom stopped to pick up another passenger. It was an elder gentleman, with long dropping eyes weighed down by longer drooping eyebrows of white. His figure shook, as he held the ashen white shawl around his shoulders, coughing and cursing as he was helped aboard. He too was going to the station.

“Well, now, young man. Who exactly are you and what are you about? Hmm!” He demanded gruffly.

“I am who I claim to be and I do what I am told.” The man answered looking towards the forest that suddenly sprung up on either side of the hansom as it had begun to move.

“Heh! What a pup! Fine, if it’s philosophical banter you want, you shall have it! I am the voice of prudence and wisdom, experience gained through years of bitter toil. I am come to lend sanity and reality to your dreamy existence.” The old gentleman said, taking out a long ivory pipe, shaped as a bull and lighting it.

“I see. Well then, Wisdom, you may call me Youth, or Ideal, or Hope if you like. Either way, I am your antagonist and your polar opposite. I see potential in all the world and all within it. There is still so much left to be done.” He said smiling.

“Ah, but you are mistaken in that. We are not so different after all. I too see potential throughout all of creation… but I see the true potential, the potential for harm! The dangers that lurk out there in the world, boy, are exponentially greater than the few happenchance’s of happiness. Why, look at this hansom we share, it has much more potential for some kind of disaster to take place. Yet, the only thing that it can do that is not a dangerous potential is merely an uneventful ride.” The old gentleman said, drawing deeply from the pipe, making small embers glow in the hollow of its bowl.

“But what are the odds of any of those disasters truly happening to our couch particularly?” He countered, once more gazing upon the trees, “And even if, as you say, reaching out destination is the only good that can come of it, is that not the greatest good we could hope for? Reaching our destiny?”

“Destiny? What does a child know of destiny? A single raindrop is destined to reach the ocean, but it cannot comprehend its vastness, nor can it begin to understand the deep things hidden within its dark aquamarine folds. No, you have no idea of destiny, young man.” The old gentleman said gruffly before pulling at his pipe and releasing a thick cloud of scented white smoke into the interior of the dimly lit hansom.

“Well, that may be true, but look, it is as I said, we are here, and we did not perish, but instead, reached the end of our journey. See, we have arrived at the train station.” He said as they came to a stop.

They were in the middle of the evergreen woods, the imperial giants of the arboreal world’s dawn standing sentry around the gleaming copper and brass train station. Its interior was lit with many bright burning gas lamps whose small flames flickered and wicked in the gentle breeze of noontime, as dusty motes played upon the beams of sepia sunlight that breathed gold into the very air.

But as he stood by the stop, he saw the three tracks before him, each with a waiting train expect for one. The one. The one he had come to take to the distant land of his quest. And now, it seemed that it was not where it was suppose to be. He walked to the warm, brass counter, and spoke with the attendant in her green woolen uniform. As she answered, he couldn’t help but notice the lines on her face increasing rapidly with the slightest emotion, as if she wore a thick glob of pancake make up across her face. The news struck deep. His train was not coming at all.

“What was it you spoke to me of destiny, boy?” asked the old gentleman, still sucking on his ivory pipe.

“The train was robbed and derailed. But even in that is more potential for good. You see, either one of these other two trains will take me where I need to go. I just need to wait a bit longer, that’s all.” He answered, looking at the two gleaming black bodies of the locomotives.

“But which will you choose? You can’t take both. The one goes by the great canyon, where the sun burns each shade of the sunset into the gorge’s stones in the most magnificent display of power! But the other goes by the lake, surrounded by the gleaming mountains, where the moon’s pure light gleams of the glaciers and sparkles on the crystals in the lakebed. Both are magnificent. Both are beautiful. Both ought to be seen at least once before one dies.” The old gentleman said with uncharacteristic passion.

“But I am only going one way. I will not get to see both.” He said sullenly. “But which way should I go?”

“Heheheh! You see! I have won! Now you understand the true bittersweet potential in life, its greatest strife! It is choice! For even if none of my grim predictions ever come true, you will still have to decide between paths and people and loves and when you do, you will have to sacrifice the other path and all its happy potential. That is the true bitter, horrid, heartbreaking potential of life!”

And having said that, the old gentleman drew hard on his ivory pipe and blew out a fierce cloud of white smoke that soon encompassed him entirely. All the while cackling as he did so. Then as the wind blew the smoke clear, the old gentleman was gone. All that remained was the scent of tobacco on the wind, and the echo of the antagonistic laugh in the hollow places of the station.

He stood there, watching to two trains for what felt like a lifetime. He knew he would have to choose eventually, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized the logical choice. But it meant never seeing the other path, which was equally appealing to his soul. But he didn’t have time to waste. He had more important things to do.

So he finally boarded a black locomotive and walked to his tidy compartment. The day on the train passed quickly, and by the time he had reached his stop, the sun was setting in fierce and fiery passion, burning the clouds and setting fire to the purple heavens. He stepped down from the platform in the forgotten city, where not a sound was heard except for the creeping shadows of night. And immediately, all though and turmoil of his own choice were forgotten. He had arrived at his destination, and now he had a task before him. He walked up to the large, looming building, lit his candle, and stepped inside.

His lonely voice echoed in the high vaults of the empty cathedral. The rows of pews were derelict and dust covered, while hangings of cobwebs draped down across the wide, dusty nave. He held up the single candle as he walked further into the humid air, like a cloying dying breath held inside a moist body. The pale moonlight, glided over the surfaces like liquid silver, outlining the shapes of massive pillars, arches, angels, gargoyles, and things which weren’t really there.

He had come this far and he had to see for himself. He swallowed and walked further into the large, empty building. His shadow fell across the grey marble, growing further and further until it came to the end of the long nave. And there it settled, like some black bird of ill omen, upon the altar. Upon his destination and destiny.

Fools in our Lives

"Go from the presence of a foolish man when thou perceivest not in him the lips of knowledge." - Proverbs 14:7 (KJV)

"[Love] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails." I Cor 13:7-8a (NKJV)

We all have them. Those friends, family members, or coworkers who are always making one bad decision after another. You know their kind: the ones who make decisions without thinking of the consequences, who live life as if the moment was all the existed, who regularly say and do things which are completely moronic and have no idea that they do. They are the ones who make Type B people look bad. They are what the Bible calls, fools.

Now, there's nothing wrong with a little foolishness now and again. Finding joy out of simplicity is one of the ways in which we, as humans, cope with the constant stress of actually being alert to our actions and words and their effects on others. The key difference is that for a fool, that foolish behavior and lack of foresight, has become such an integral part of who they are, that it is the source of their identity. They are not called the "farmer who does foolish things" or the "son who acts foolishly", they are called "fools" because that has become the entirety of their identity.

At this point, you probably have some names floating around in your head. I know I'm doing my best not to and still have them there. That is another consequence that being a fool has, and that they are so blissfully unaware of, that everyone they encounter can plainly tell that they are fools and that it will work to sabotage their lives and futures. In the long run, there really are no benefits that arise from being a fool.

So the question then becomes, how do we respond to these fools in our lives. Their actions set them on a course that leads to disaster. The Word makes it clear over and over again that the paths of fools leads to poverty, wickedness, and destruction. What are we, as Christians, suppose to do about them?

The Bible is interesting in that it provides two answers to this, the above verses. And like so many things in life that are more complicated than we truly realize, at first glance, it would seem that the two contradict each other. The one verse is a summation of the entire book of Proverbs, and any book of wisdom in the Bible (James, et al) which states that those who are wise should not waste their time on the fools. The other verse sums up what could be considered to sum up the books of grace (Pauline Epistles, Psalms, et al) when it states that our love for others should endure and bear all things. This presents a dilemma.

It is infinitely wiser to abandon a fool for the simple reason that they walk a different path than the wise. It is the same principle of being unequally yoked in any labor. A fool will waste a wise individual's time, and wasting time is one of the worst things we can do, since time is one of our most precious resources here on earth. The Bible talks a lot about "cast[ing] pearls before swine" and giving the "children's bread to the dogs", essentially, giving something of value to those who will never appreciate the value of it. A fool will waste your time, energy, and resources and will never even think about it. And that is only the beginning. Fools not only bring destruction into their own lives, but those around them as well. A wise person should follow the advice of Solomn when he says, "depart from a fool when you realize he lacks knowledge."

And yet, through all of these things, love can persevere. Love suffers for a very long time at the hands of the fools and is still kind to them. Love is not puffed up in its own conceited wisdom, and so does not think evil of anyone. Love reaches out to those who need it the most, regardless of their situation, position, or past. Love keeps no record of wrongs. Love stems from a root of grace, and so has grace for all. Love conquers all.

So which do we do then? Are we to love people regardless and persevere with them, or are we to recognize a fool for a fool, and depart from their ways which lead to destruction? Which path do we take: the path of wisdom or the path of love? In many places in scripture the two paths do diverge strongly. When one loves somebody, the way God loves them, you cannot help but be moved to some form of action. That is true love. Yet often the actions that are the fruit of love, are contradictory to what would be a wise use of time/energy/resource/life. God calls us to love but He also calls us to wisdom. So which is the better path then?

Like many things in life, the answer cannot be computed down to a simple binary yes/no. The Word talks often about loving someone enough to NOT interfere, to allow some chastisement to come into their life. Even God does it to us, allowing us to bear the consequences of some of our actions so we may learn from them and grow closer to Him. And similarly, when we have true wisdom, we cannot help but be moved to compassion when we gain understanding of the circumstances that often make a person a fool. No one truly chooses to be one. So we see that the situation is more complex than simply picking a path.

If we were to choose just one method of dealing with a fool, we would ourselves descend into foolishness. Essentially, most things, when kept in moderation and administered within the bounds of God established institutions, are beneficial to humans. It was not for naught that God said, "It is very good" when He was finished making the earth. What makes a fool is essentially their decision to overindulge in foolishness, until it becomes their very identity. They are out of balance. But to choose only one method of addressing them (as the problem), is equally as foolish.

The reason for this is simple. To live in our temporal world is to change. We equate life with it. Yes, there is still a measure of constance and endurance in many things, but one of the most sure things we are certain of on earth is that things always change. The best and most applicable example of this are the seasons. As they change, the world changes with them in their constant pattern. So also, we go through various seasons in our lives, and our fools go through seasons in their lives. Recognizing this is essential in deciding how to address them.

There will be times when we will have to take steps to help them, even when we feel we do not want to. There will be times when we will have to step back, even when we desperately want to intervene. God uses them and uses their situation in our lives to grow us, but only as long as we remain sensitive to His word. Sometimes He may ask us to do teh unwise thing, to allow them into a place in our heart and trust them in a way where they have let us down and hurt us before. As hard as it is, love keeps no record of wrongs. And that same love that drives us to take action, must sometimes be tempered with wisdom to recognize that inaction can be a form of action in and of itself, as a method to wait and let the Lord do what we cannot. In all of this, God dictates the seasons and God will dictate the path that we must take during it. Staying sensitive to His word and His will is what will ultimately guide us to the place where wisdom and love are united in our lives and in our actions.

"Call to me and I will answer and show you great and unsearchable things which you have not known." - Jeremiah 33:3 (NIV)