Breathing again

What a waste of time, to hold my hand
A waste of love and affection
For most certainly, I am what I am
And you will always face rejection
My fiercesome conviction bids me to turn
Away from all hope of love
Sooner or later everyone learns
I strongly urge all to give up
I give what I can, only take what I must
And retreat into the world I created
And while all I hold dear crumbles to dust
My taste for pain remains unsated
A smile by day, a phantom by night
Haunting the halls of my lonely exsistence
A fragile bird always poised to take flight
Eternally weakened by my strongest defences
So where does that leave me? Cold and alone
Peering into the chasm I built for my heart
My unwavering pride has been carved out of stone
I rest miserably assured it will never break apart
The best of the worst is always my fare
Uncertainty is a most cruel beast
While some have been able to catch me unaware
Others have deemed me the worst of the least
So that leaves me here, scared and uncertain
Spirit always yearning to knock on the door
To finally tear back this immovable curtain
And joyfully find that there is so much more
More thah what I know, more than I see
So much more than I dared to hope for
Oh God if it's possible, please let there be
A chance to breathe and fear it all no more

The fool

The fool will think that they alone will survive
The strongest and wisest to escape here alive
Every battle plan has been perfectly laid
The numbing fury will always sustain
The world falls into ruin while they sit there in rapture
Feeding on bread from their merciless captors
Biting the hand that holds out to save
Falling into the depths of a watery grave
Feasting on wine from poisonous veins
Clothing themselves in the finest of chains
Tormented cries fall on deaf ears
Utterly blind to their fellow mans tears
Confused and angry, a hatred for hope
The only option to seek is firmly letting go
Chasing every possible pleasure
Polishing every worthless treasure
Pulling down strength from uncaring eyes
Springing every trap, believing every lie
A harsh opinion this is known to be
None so jaded and cynical as me
I must ponder this before laying down rule
Is how many times have I been the fool?

St. Augustine's confessions

One of my favorite writings of St. Augustine.

What, then, is my God? What, I ask, unless the Lord God? Who is Lord but the Lord? Or who is God but our God?
Most high, most good, most mighty, most almighty; most merciful and most just; most hidden and most present; most beautiful and most strong; stable and incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet changing all things; never new and never old, yet renewing all things; leading proud men into senility, although they know it not; ever active, and ever at rest, gathering in, yet needing nothing; supporting, fulfilling, and protecting things; creating, nourishing, and perfecting them; searching them out, although nothing is lacking in You.

You love, but are not inflamed with passion; you are jealous, yet free from care; you repent, but do not sorrow; you grow angry but remain tranquil. You change your works, but do not change your plan; you take back what you find, although You never lost it; You are never in want, but You rejoice in gain, You are never covetous, yet You exact usury. Excessive payments are made to You, so that You may be our debtor, yet who has anything that is not Yours? You pay debts, although You owe no man anything; You cancel debts, and lose nothing. What have we said, my God, my life, my holy delight? Or what does any man say when he speaks of You? Yet woe to those who keep silent concerning You, since even those who speak much are as the dumb.

The essence of You

Searching for signs my heart is still beating
Trying to staunch the flows of it's bleeding
Lifting my eyes and lowering my head
On the crooked path my dusty feet must tread
My fingers are clutching these pieces of glass
Stubbornly refusing to let the misery pass
Throwing myself into the fury of the storm
As the waves of bitterness slowly take form

I pause for a moment to ponder my fate
Struggling to think in my ignorant state
Is this what I want, to shatter my dreams?
To unravel my life and tear at the seams?
I know I want more, more than all this
There's a plan for my life I don't want to miss
How can rise I rise above the merciless waves
How can I be free from this inevitable grave?

I want the essence of You to be the essence of me
The path that I walk, the air that I breathe
The song on my lips, the dance of my feet
The laughter of my soul, and my every heartbeat
I want pictures of me to be relfections of You
In everything I say and in all that do
Let there be only one thing that I desperately seek
That the essence of You, be the essence of me

Mirrors and images

When was the last time a mirror told you what you wanted to hear? Bear with me for a moment as I refer to a mirror as being capable of doing so. I realize it is an inanamit object, incapable of thoughts or emotions, I'm simply being metaphorical. When was the last time a mirror was honest with you? If you are anything like me, it doesn't happen very often. More often than not, I chance a brief peek in the mirror, and instantly feel disappointed. There are few times I look in the mirror and don't regret it. Lately, I've been pondering why. You really don't have to look far to see that society today is teeming with ideas and specific opinions on what beauty is. People everywhere, all around the world, are influenced in one way or another, by images or gossip. The self made 'bar' of beauty has been raised absurdly high, while the bar of acceptance a been lowered to unrealistic levels. Every time I stop and truly ponder it, the more ridiculous it seems to me. For instance; Who decided that acne makes someone ugly? Who decided that anyone being anything other than skin and muscle, is fat? Who decided that clothes can either make or break a social status? Who made us care? Society will always have a cruelly critical eye fixed on everyone. There are days I feel I cannot escape its burning gaze. It follows me everywhere. Then, I pause for moment and wonder, "Why? Why do I care?" I look at people of all ages, ethnicity, shapes and sizes, and try and figure out why everyone is so impacted. There are, of course, obvious influences, tv most likely being the guiltiest culprit. Those folks on tv just look so darn good. Flawless skin, perfect figures, straight teeth, impeccable fashion, and irrepresible charm. Everything I'm not. In all appearences, they have everything. Then, there are those blasted magazines. Have you ever been standing in line at a grocery store, checking out the newest brands of gum, and suddenly caught sight of a magazine out of the corner of your eye? Amongst the various gardening options, construction advice, guns and gossip, there's that one ripped guy or flawless women smiling generously at you, as if to say, "My life is good." I must admit there is a brief moment where I can't tear my eyes away. And, almost instantly, I start thinking about my own figure. I start comparing. As I shuffle forward to purchase my items, there's already a knawing in the back of my mind. Slowly chewing it's way into my sub-concious, where it sets up shop and begins to chip away at my confidence. Then, there's that group of friends on facebook or myspace, that seems perfect in every way. A ridiculous amount of friends, a fast track life, and (again) perfect forms. The list of distractions and pressures goes on.
All this made me think. Why? What does physical appearance do for us? One theory presented itself. It may be outlandish, but it is the only conclusion I can possibly reach for. We all want to be accepted. Even those who claim to not care, deep down, want to be accepted. We want to be wanted. Desperately. We desire to be noticed, maybe even admired. We want others to want us. And somehow, society has taught us that physical appearance is a deal breaker.
Yet, on the flip-side of that, there is something else that chips away at our self-confidence. Perhaps the worse critic of all. Us. "You are your worst critic." So true. Often times I will obess over something for a long while, feeling like it sticks out for all to see, only to find out later that nobody even noticed.
As cliche as it may sound, I think everyone is beautiful. We are beautiful. Don't listen to that mirror. God made us in His image, and He doesn't make mistakes. Ever. We are beautiful.

Silent prayer

Do you ever feel like no one hears you? Do you ever feels like no one listens? Like you could stand in a crowded room, screaming, and not a single person would turn your way? I sure do. Words begin to feel useless. Like trying to shout into a raging storm. The words are ripped away the second they pass my lips. Amid the mad hustle and bustle of a constantly changing society, people get lost in the chaos. Forgotten. Left in a lonely corner to gather dust. It is easy to feel forgotten and unheard. It's easier still to be the one to forget and not listen. How many times have I gone about my way, blissfully and contentedly unaware of the storm that rages around me? I choose to coast on through, surviving by any means necesarry, yet I cry injustice when the same is done to me.

I was struck with a thought today as I watched one of the deaf kids pray. Growing up, I was taught many times over, the 'proper' way to pray. I got very very good at praying, and stopped talking to God altogther. But today, as I watched her pray with her hands, I realized how useless my words are sometimes. It rarely occurs to me that God reads what comes out of the heart, not the mouth. Words are good, but they are just noises if not spoken from the heart or with true intent. It somehow never occured to me. I can create the most elaborate and spectacular prayer, laced with good intentions and delivered with passion, but if I am not bothering to approach the throne of God, then it's just a show. I make myself disingenuous. There's nothing wrong with folding hands, closing eyes, and kneeling. It's a sign of respect and humility to God. Yet, from what I understand, He also just wants me to talk with Him. To communicate with Him, in all honesty and love. Even though the deaf girl couldn't use words, God listens the prayer of her hands and her heart.
And He doesn't just listen, He hears us.

The Kingdom

"The Kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went out and sold all he had, and bought that field."

This struck me quite hard. What struck me the most was word Joy. Not happiness, not contentment, not excitment, his joy. When was the last time I felt overjoyed at knowing Christ? At best I content myself to be safely happy. At best I harness my emotions to sit back and take little part in the massive hurricane of love that He is. When was the last time I let Him sweep me off my feet? His love is a wildfire, and I am clutching a lighter. His love is an endless ocean, and I'm splashing around in a stream.

The man in the parable, without hesitation, went out and sold everything he had. Not most of what he had, but everythig he had. He surrendered all he owned, considering it nothing compared to the Kingdom of Heaven. In his overwhelming joy, and in complete faith, he sold everything. Would I give up everything for the Kingdom of Heaven? Would I sell all I have to gain the Kingdom? There are times where I surrender things little by little. A small bit here, and pinch of surrender there, but staying inside these lines I've drawn. I get so comfortable in my shell of moderation. There is nothing comfortable or moderate about faith. Faith cannot be measured by man. In human thinking, there is very little about faith that is safe. In fact, it looks down right ridiculous. Undignified. Crazy. To sell everything for a Kingdom that cannot be seen with human eyes.
I want to be down right crazy for the Kingdom.