octoberatsix

friday | october 28 | 2011

2011-10-29T10:27:00.000-07:00

thursday | october 27 | 2011

2011-10-29T10:26:00.001-07:00

wednesday | october 26 | 2011

2011-10-29T10:25:00.001-07:00

tuesday | october 25 | 2011

2011-10-29T09:20:00.000-07:00

monday | october 24 | 2011

2011-10-24T23:54:00.000-07:00

sunday | october 23 | 2011

2011-10-23T22:52:00.001-07:00

saturday | october 22 | 2011

2011-10-23T01:27:00.000-07:00

friday | october 21 | 2011

2011-10-21T19:36:00.001-07:00

thursday | october 20 | 2011

2011-10-21T01:01:00.001-07:00

wednesday | october 19 | 2011

2011-10-19T21:55:00.000-07:00

tuesday | october 18 | 2011

2011-10-18T19:22:00.001-07:00

monday | october 17 | 2011

2011-10-17T18:07:00.001-07:00

Sunday | october 16 | 2011

2011-10-16T18:53:00.001-07:00

silhouettes of glory.

standing in His Light,

our shapes become distinct.

saturday | october 15 | 2011

2011-10-15T20:05:00.001-07:00

humanism.

we're all trying to get Somewhere, but

so often we lose sight of Where we're headed,

and even more often we lose sight of Why.

we turn to one another in faithful obedience

to the commandment of love, but

in so doing, we turn our backs to others.

interest groups and social clubs are

become displays of humanistic altruism that

is necessarily exclusive, albeit in attempt to come together.

in this, we move apart from

He who is philadelphia made flesh and

calls all men to Himself.

we must draw near to Him, and so

gathered around Him, we stand a chance

of seeing one another clearly.

at the Center of this circle, we find

Love Himself, and in so doing we also

find our truest selves.

friday | october 14 | 2011

2011-10-15T20:04:00.001-07:00

escaping wrath.

in my earlier days, i responded to

the Voice who speaks all things into being

as though He were merely

the Great Fire Escape.

i climbed through windows, hoping simply

to be spared the burning of my flesh.

i believed the Flame would pass me by, but

the Consuming Fire shows no partiality;

it tests each man's work.

my hope for escape is now the hope

to be engulfed by the Flames of Love.

i pray that my work stands and that

the Great Furnace burns through that

which must be lost, for a great deal

of the Refining Fire is needed, but

if i try to escape Its Heat,

then i shall surely be burned to death.

thursday | october 13 | 2011

2011-10-13T20:54:00.000-07:00

this dim glass.

then i turned to see the voice that was speaking to me,

and on turning i saw seven golden lampstands,

and in the midst of the lampstands

one like a son of man...

- revelation 1:12,13

for now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face.

now i know in part; then i shall understand fully,

even as i have been fully understood.

- i corinthians 13:12

beyond this glass comes the call:

"be who you are. know that I AM."

i struggle against the burden of

my many transgressions, knowing

at last that my sins outnumber the stars.

pressed against this opaque wall, i yearn

to be set free, knowing that beyond this

is the Morning Star and He is arrayed in light.

in our midst, i say, and saying, rarely hear.

i see without perception, and walk

away from the mirror, having

forgotten my face's shape.

the weight of years presses

against my hollow body, and

i find myself alone in the

fire of nebuchadnezzar.

i strain to find His Voice, but

my ears are plugged by a

mucky multitude of malefactions.

i know that He stands with steadfast

mercy, beckoning my meager soul to

drink the Living Water and be

saved from the drowning undertow of

pestilent and perverse passions.

the greater the fall, the greater the restoration.

and yet, this dim glass reminds me, with

clarity, of my deep disfiguration.

yet something within me will not staunch

the longing to meet Him face to face.

"be who you are," He says,

"you are more than what you have become.

I AM that I AM; rest in Me, and

receive the forgiveness of sins."

wednesday | october 12 | 2011

2011-10-13T09:20:00.001-07:00

narrow stairs.

save yourself, and thousands around you will be saved.

- st seraphim of sarov

the stairs are narrow, and it is clear

that i must make this ascent alone.

each step leads to the next, but

i must stand in solitude with sure footing

if i am ever to reach the top.

too long i have attempted to peak the perch

with the weight of someone beside me –

the fathers would likely call this "vainglory."

but this upward path is mine alone

and to pass over its passage is to perish in

the most detestable of deaths. this

Way of Life is response to that call which

echoes from the pinnacle, and i,

with redeemed resolve, must reach to

take hold of Him who has

taken hold of me.

tuesday | october 11 | 2011

2011-10-11T18:47:00.001-07:00

heartichoke.

why is it that we call the center

of this - fruit thing (?) - its heart?

is it really worth the dignity?

we peel the fibrous exterior until

we attain the prize, the tender core, and

our labor is well compensated.

the envy of the plant kingdom, which

collectively sings the song of the tin man!

the pinnacle of flowerhood!

so what, then, can be said of

the tender hearts of men,

whose rough shells keep all at bay?

the outside must be softened, removed

if the core is to be found, but

this burden of Work is light,

and its freedom is the heart's desire.

monday | october 10 | 2011

2011-10-10T20:33:00.001-07:00

eyes on the prize.

how often a sidewalk stop becomes

a turning point in the journey.

i have not infrequently found,

when walking with somewhere in mind,

another destination bids me pay attention

i think i know where i am

headed, but too much, it seems,

i'm wrong. perhaps each place beckons

rest, and in my weakness of vision,

i succumb to the allure of new life.

yet in all these asides and

wanderings from the goal, i can't

help but ask my vagrant heart,

"what is it you are looking for?

and when will you know you've found it?"

onward i must proceed, always

keeping one eye open to the turns

in that which lies ahead, but i need must

know the difference between making stops

and simply losing the Way.

sunday | october 9 | 2011

2011-10-09T18:10:00.001-07:00

the shattered image.

how did this mirror become broken?

what manner of deed rendered it

incapable of bearing the Image?

well, that is to say, at least,

Its reflection is imperfect.

scarred? definitely.

but beyond repair?

what would it take to reshape this

glass, brilliantly fashioned from

the dust of the earth, and thus

make sharp the likeness

of that which it reflects?

perhaps this mirror is done for?

but it can be recrafted; for

what use to any is a vanity

the sight of which echoes fragmentation/

and thus it must be so

that we all must be made whole.

saturday | october 8 | 2011

2011-10-09T02:04:00.001-07:00

food pantry.

how many ounces of preservatives

do you think it takes to keep

just one can of mixed fruit

from going bad? two? three?

i'm sure, whatever it is,

the dosage is sufficient.

yet i, rebellious can of fruit

that i am, look for incorruption

in that which is perishable, seeking

salvation at those critical conditions.

but still i hope to turn and find

That which keeps my soul from going bad.

friday | october 7 | 2011

2011-10-07T22:54:00.001-07:00

easy offence.

i stand before this fence,
wondering what it will take
to climb to its other side and
discover greener pastures.

but the next thought is one
of anticipatory regret;
what color will the grass be
when i actually arrive?

will i find a lush garden,
or an dead desert dune?
will i breath in ocean breeze,
or choke on toxic fume?

when this happens, will the fence
then be impossible to pass,
and will i be stuck in a world
of fruitless un-utopia?

and how long would it take
for me to realize a mistake?
would it happen now, or happen then,
or would it happen at all?

perhaps it's best i just stay here
and brave what things may come,
but even here, in this way,
my question stays the same:

is it worth the risk?

thursday | october 6 | 2011

2011-10-06T19:09:00.001-07:00

hearts and crafts

if i were a point on these
intersecting lines,
would i have any idea
about the interwoven reality
apart from my singular perspective?

would i see the patchwork
as no more than a shadow,
or would some part of me
believe in a greater pattern
where all things form one shape?

how, then, does my mode of sight
presently differ from such
misperception of infinitude?
what world do i affirm with
such limitation of vision?

more than this, what kind of
edifice would humanity make
in this light? would it stand
on self-sustained hope, or would it
crumble under the burden of sufficiency?

it must be, then, that some Crafter
sees that which is obscure;
opaque points of view cannot deny
such intricacy or affirm closed causality.
indeed, this is the eternal Fact.

wednesday | october 5 | 2011

2011-10-05T20:05:00.001-07:00

on the road.

continually i find the path to be clear

only where i know must next step.

blurred tangents and vague off-roads,

somehow magnetic, hold no vision of

what may come, tempt to sway me.

i waver to and fro, but this Rock keeps

me straight. i may lose sight (more than

may) of the goal of this pesky trail, with

all these turns and tides through time.

it's no strange wonder that travelers lose

direction when they smell the flowers. but so

i keep my feet strong and follow bends

as they come. full of anticipation and wonder,

i resolve to trust the Way.

tuesday | october 4 | 2011

2011-10-04T18:05:00.001-07:00

another day.

the end of each day

bears with it the promise

of tomorrow. the unending flow

of sun ups-and-downs reiterates

the earth's diurnal vow, and

for a moment,

i can believe that

i won't be this way forever.

the cover of dusk-lit clouds contains

me within the shell of my body,

and once again, i'm human.

i hope, and am sometimes confident,

that my spirit will merge with

terrestrial revolution and i, too,

will be enlightened by the Risen Sun.

i sing my morning song with

beaked brethren, blessing the world

and all that is in it,

and my soul wakes from the mire of sleep,

enlivened by the One who make all things new.

monday | october 3 | 2011

2011-10-03T19:54:00.000-07:00

the art show.

why are these pictures missing?

have they been stolen? or

is it just the next cool thing

to frame a white piece of paper?

or perhaps paintings below

have been obscured by this blank

canvas in some great scheme -

a war between two artists.

one can almost imagine

competition for dominion

over the entire artsy scene.

there isn't enough room

in the gallery for

the both of them.

yet it seems that this obscurity

is one artist's only work. he

claims its credit, but for some

critics, its emptiness is a hard sell.

there are, of course, as at any

show, those who see its worth.

the trained eye, however, can

see the silence for what it is.

they know that somewhere

deep below, flows the passion

of an Artist whose very Art

is Life. His images are hidden,

though not quite lost. His

work is restoration. the recall

of that which has been covered

with the fraud of modern art.

tireless renovation reveals His handiwork.

but what of the canvas of my heart

when he uncovers its dimly wrapped frame?

what image will thus appear,

and whose likeness shall it bear?

sunday | october 2 | 2011

2011-10-02T18:17:00.001-07:00

arbortrary judgment.

often i have wondered how others

perceive my outer shell, and how

it portrays that which appears real.

broken bark and biting bugs

may be what they first meet.

the burrow of termites have

left their tunneled mark. a clear

infestation that rots the face of my life.

or maybe they see the burn,

the scar of that conflagration (i escaped

a fate darker than any would desire).

and then there's the cracks where

lightning struck and splintered

my weather-wearied wood.

they see the busted branches where

boys would bring their budding loves

and declare their hearts' intent.

the scattered fragments of my beaten body

bear the marks that meet men's minds,

which manage to make meaning of nothing

more than chips and scratches and holes

and fragile twigs and old memories.

and yet, they fail to see within this skin,

unknowing that deep inside is a soul

one-hundred-and fifty rings deep. i have seen the

rising and setting of more moons than any man.

i have heard the hushed vows of sweethearts

in the breeze. my inner world never stops.

through noetic xylem and phloem, i find

the deepest Water, and no one knows

i drink my heart's content.

i stand firm despite the wind, albeit

escaping somewhat scathed. and more

than any other i know, i turn to the Sun

and find His Light, my truest source of Life.

saturday | october 1 | 2011

2011-10-01T22:03:00.001-07:00

davy jones' successor.

where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

when my father gave me this key,

he said that it would open to me,

an endless reserve of treasure.

"where," asked i, with plunderous thoughts,

"might this treasure be found?" and begged

him, please, for an "x" to mark the spot.

"try as you might," responded he,

"you'll never find the chest. for

Only One knows where this treasure lies."

but his first words of vast wealth

had already staked their claim,

and i was bent on conquest.

i scoured the seas

and pillaged the people

of many a mountain town.

i sought high and low

through morning and night

in search of this great gold.

i was met with utter despair

as lock after lock grinned with malicious intent,

and tightly remained secured.

for twenty years i searched

and never once came close.

but now the Mystery of this bitter key

plagued me most of all.

and then one day, i came to

an isle, that, save for One Man,

seemed all but deserted.

"greeting, pilgrim," said He to i,

as he sat on a hill, against a great Tree,

though the Tree seemed held up by Him.

"a great treasure, I see, is that which you seek."

He discerned as He gazed in my eye.

wearied with work, i only could nod.

"you have no map," He prophesied,

"and your journey as led you here."

i dimly agreed, and He bid me to sit.

"i know where to find that which has been

the longing of your life's looking."

and with these words i sat up aright and begged Him tell me more.

no longer in want for this great wealth

but only with desire to be set free,

i told Him all i'd done.

He said He could lead me and offered me rest

as He saw i was beleaguered. but the price

for which He offered this freedom was the contents of what we find.

i gladly agreed, "all i have is Thine,"

and surrendered the contents of the chest.

he looked in my soul and said that all that remained was the key.

after great struggle i managed to find

the strength to loose the key from my neck.

i gave it to Him, and with that He grinned and called me "friend."

He bade me lie down and open my shirt,

and for some strange purpose,

i did His command.

and with one motion, He came over to me,

and stuck the key deep in my chest.

He unlocked my ribs and removed my heart,

and said, "I'll keep this treasure with Mine."

sunday | october 31 | 2010

2010-10-31T23:16:00.000-07:00

the odyssey.

words fail when it comes time

to say goodbye; a litany of concerns

remain hidden by the obscurity

of worry, and once again, i find myself

tragically speechless, hoping i've packed

enough for this journey. beyond

the threshold lies adventure and

uncertainty. the heroes of old found

themselves typically far from home,

braving scyllas and charybdises (charybdi?),

hurricanes and shipwrecks, fallen friends

and fiercest foes.

who am i who travels

forth into a world without

the promise of mythic hope and

epic redemption? what home

have i to purge of seedy suitors

who sup sumptuous savories?

who shall be my athena, and what

if i am not strong enough to string

the bow that has been given me?

all such pondering gives me pause,

begs me submit to the sirenesque

television who promises that adventure

shall be brought to me at 8/9 central.

but this is not the call; nor

is it the heart of the hero.

from forth i must go with

steady hands and quickened wit,

trusting that the path before

me is truly my own,

and that no one else shall

walk it better than i. whatever

calypso may offer, i shall refuse,

keeping my eyes on that

celestial ithaca where my Beloved's

song echoes through halls, and

gives this poor pilgrim the

rest he has so long needed.

saturday | october 30 | 2010

2010-10-30T23:56:00.000-07:00

new resolve.

so let us go, hand in hand,

as one (not two) into the

setting sun so that find

ourselves not to be alone

when dusk turns to dark.

we shall have each other

and through long night

we shall endure in hope

and faith that the morning

light will bring new song.

what manner of thing shall

be too strong if we band

arms and fight together

against fierce foes?

with you by my side,

i will fear not, as i find

new resolve to survive.

friday | october 29 | 2010

2010-10-30T03:31:00.000-07:00

pedal to the meddle.

we all long

to be told

that our beloved

will stick beside

us always. we

find such hope

to be fulfilling -

"the stuff dreams

are made of."

but does any

credibility exist in

someone who pledges

all of time

while driving away?

is my incredulity

an angry act

or remorseful response?

or is it

simply that i

am too afraid

to be the

one whose heart

speaks quickly while

a lead foot

finds his mouth?

thursday | october 28 | 2010

2010-10-29T00:18:00.000-07:00

this is the song that never ends.

musicians are a strange brand

of mystics whose orchestration

permits access to that song which

has been sung by all humanity

since time (signature) began.

the limited catalogue of chords

and my underdeveloped ability

to carry a tune in a bucket make

this quality of musicality to be

of particular interest to me.

what is the space created between

musical instruments but that which

is filled by the spirit of God? in the

song we play, what part do we find

ourselves? are we continually singing

the chorus, or is it finally the bridge?

is this verse spoken by lover enthralled,

or is it a cry to the Beloved?

what is this song about, in the end,

and what is the coda we hope for?

wednesday | october 27 | 2010

2010-10-27T22:09:00.000-07:00

three begs such complex oneness.

how can the same

substance appear

so differently?

perhaps this

is the question

asked by those

fathers of the

church whose

prayer pointed

homoousios.

one substance

existing in

three distinct

hypostases

baffles the mind,

bends back

the wit, inverting

all understanding

of man made math.

unique yet

inseparable these

three, existing

in, with, for,

and beside

one another

for all eternity.

such mystery

leads as we,

with isaiah,

cry out;

woe to me!

i am undone!

too lofty are

such thoughts

for created

intelligence.

meta-logic

beyond compare

gives pause and

begets prayer.

tuesday | october 26 | 2010

2010-10-26T23:28:00.000-07:00

i haven't seen this movie.

i have never seen

the sound of music;

i suppose this statement

seems obvious if one

is not familiar with

julie andrews

or the legacy

she has created.

it's

immeasurable, really.

but

still, the fact

remains that

i have yet

to partake in

a few of my

favorite people's

favorite things.

monday | october 25 | 2010

2010-10-25T22:22:00.000-07:00

missed exits.

"i think i need to be up there," he said, indicating the freeway above him. "damn it!"

"watch your mouth." she liked saying this to him. "just take the next exit, turn around, and get there. what's another two miles to this godforsaken trip?"

he flipped on the right blinker and began drifting into the next lane. "that's what i mean! aren't you tired, too?"

she looked at the kids in the backseat, making sure that they were still asleep. "incredibly. all i'm saying is that it has already been a long day, and i shouldn't have to worry about quieting another baby that won't stop screaming. we get there when we get there." she adjusted her seatbelt. "besides. it's nice to get a little more time with you."

he took the exit and slowed the car down to wait for a protected left turn. "yeah. it's been a while, i guess." he watched the cross-traffic. "sorry."

"it's okay. i mean. i know you're busy at work and all that." she shifted in her seat to face him.

"yeah, but –"

"but nothing," she interrupted. "you work hard. sure, we don't see each other much, but when we do, it's nice." she turned down freddy mercury singing, 'i got no rhythm.' "i appreciate all you do for us."

green light. "you do?"

"yeah," she said. "i do. i guess i don't say that enough."

"it's okay. i know you do a lot with the kids, and you're tired at the end of the day."

"yeah. but not too tired." she smiled, and they laughed together. "it's nice to do that again."

"it certainly is." he drove up the onramp, now headed the opposite direction. "i've missed you," he confessed.

"i've missed you back." she put her head on his shoulder.

then silence.

"you know," he spoke, "it's hard to drive with your head there."

she lifted her head.

"i didn't say stop," he grinned.

she put her head back down, and they were back on the road, right where they needed to be.

sunday | october 24 | 2010

2010-10-24T18:58:00.001-07:00

just outside.

how frequently i find myself in the

dark room of my heart, looking upon

a brightly illumined world, just on

the other side of this wall. there,

no doubt, birds fly freely into a

setting sun, finding their way back

to hungry beaks left waiting; water

falls, dashing itself against rocks,

impetuously playing its thunderous

symphony; trees sustained by the

final breath of the season shed the

remnants of summer and begin their

waiting game until they wake once

more when winter meets its

snowy grave. it's a wide world, yet

this fortress somehow holds allure

incomprehensible. the wind passes

through the leaves and their easy

percussion bids me join. somewhere

children discover themselves brave

to the risk of, in socks, standing up

on slides; doubtless, this need for

this adventure is lost on their mothers.

and i, supposedly wiser than they, choose

the comfort of retreat, of isolation. the day

outside beckons, and i strain against hermitic

inclination in attempt to hear its gentle call.

perhaps i have enough courage to crack

a window and let the autumn breeze hit

my face and empower me to open the others

before looking for the door.

saturday | october 23 | 2010

2010-10-23T18:24:00.001-07:00

here it comes.

a storm's a'brewing in the depths

of my heart, a noetic water cycle,

cumulonimbus clouds of the spirit

included, yet i remain without

an umbrella. now that i think about it,

infrequently do i find myself dressed

appropriately for such weather, trusting

such devastating rain will not fall, but

that i will find some way to evade the

onslaught that looms - usually i'm wrong.

such patterns are unpredictable and

my inexperience in soul meteorology

dims prospects of adequately preparing

for drastic shifts as strong winds of the

flesh consume and destroy my inner shacks,

and though i've heard threats of huffing

and puffing, i'm always surprised to

discover i've built my house on sand.

how can i withstand such brutal elements

as these which show no mercy to any

living thing or broken spirit? what

manner or mortar can support this

building and root it firmly to foundation

unshakeable? and will this torment ever

cease? all signs point to no, but amidst

the torrent of despair, i look for the Rock

upon which infirm housing stands.

friday | october 22 | 2010

2010-10-22T22:30:00.000-07:00

hide and go peek.

it's an extremely human thing we do,

this game of hide and go peek. we try

and take ourselves enough of the frame,

just to make sure we don't get spotted -

most of us don't feel all that photogenic.

we attempt escaping notice, but i think

we're actually pretty terrible at it;

children are even worse, having not yet

learned how to cover themselves to avoid

being caught by the all-seeing eye of the lens.

our battle is a strange one, riddled

with the ambivalence of embracing the

guileless child within and obeying the

frightened protector who believes that

the world truly does intend the child harm.

but we keep fighting the fright, peeking

around corners, eager that someone sees our eyes

and tells us that it's safe to come out.

thursday | october 21 | 2010

2010-10-22T00:46:00.000-07:00

the adolescent struggle.

sometimes

i wish

i just

fit in.

wednesday | october 20 | 2010

2010-10-20T22:22:00.000-07:00

a hell of a night.

long have i wandered from home.

many are the dark nights spent in

foreign lands, wallowing with pigs.

like a disoriented pilgrim, my hopeful

searching has become fruitless wandering,

yet further i venture into this world

of poverty. scorning the comfort of

Fatherly embrace, i prefer instead the

rigid cold of rocky rest stops and

frozen shelter of open caves that

are akin to sarcophagi, mausolea

where broken spirits lie.

too much time has passed, it seems,

to turn around and retrace steps

long covered by the pestilent snow

of my heart.

but still, hidden within the recesses

of broken memory, i think i hear

a quiet Voice that patiently

continues to wait its turn -

a Voice that calls this vagrant

soul to return home, assuring

a vagabond of its intention

to leave the porch light on.

tuesday | october 19 | 2010

2010-10-19T22:00:00.001-07:00

on further inspection.

i know that this is beautiful, but

i'm not sure just yet why i think that.

frequently, the most astounding sights

take some time to see, lest they

become nothing more than blurry photos.

perhaps, however, the mysterious

remains so only because it is i who am

unable to hold the camera with hands

that won't stop shaking. or perhaps

i was moving too quickly to get

a really solid glance at it. or perhaps,

most tragically, i didn't care to stop.

i have heard of people falling in love

with someone they once found to be

despicable. these occurrences give me

hope. i'm not sure why. but i am sure

that all have felt like the picture not

worth taking, like the book no one

wants to read, like the kid no one

wants to sit with. somewhere, deep

within us, these ideas and self-hating

comments take hold, and no one

should have to be alone.

how do (can) we hold others

with hands too shaky to allow

for finer focus on the things

worth finding? do we expect to

navigate successfully a dark room

without first searching for a light

switch? do we assume to know the

room simply because we've opened

its door? how, then, can we believe

we see another's soul or a thing's

beauty when all we do is take

blurry photos? needs be, then,

that we must learn to keep the camera still.

we must open books we're not sure about.

we must sit with those worthy of company.

we must shine light where

we assume only to find darkness.

monday | october 18 | 2010

2010-10-18T18:58:00.001-07:00

antisocial networking.

this is supposedly the age of connection,

so how is that we hide from face-to-face

by informing our social network that

mountain dew throwback is the

best thing on the planet?

we can find trivia with the click of a button,

yet we miss the person in front of us,

concerning ourselves with the worldwide

reach of our tweets (and still, nobody

has given me a satisfactory answer for

what the hell a tweet is anyway).

my days begin and end before a screen as

i bow down before the digital god of information

and i find myself curious as to how

i became more machine than man.

we have defaced ourselves and one another,

studying profile pictures, yet not seeing persons.

we analyze text message hermeneutics, yet

we don't really listen to voices.

the viral community is aptly named,

infecting us as we denigrate human worth

laughing at (i don't buy "with") scarlet as

she takes a tumble or the heartbroken cry of

a man whose addiction has plagued a family.

have we really become so calloused that our

fellows, those who share with us this world,

are nothing more to us than a cheap laugh?

what has happened to our humanity?

what has happened to the hearts we once

opened to welcome those who are in pain?

did they get carpal tunnel syndrome

concurrently with our hands? or do we

just have nothing to offer anymore?

we must always remember that it not

enough just to be facebook friends,

we are have to be brothers, too.

sunday | october 17 | 2010

2010-10-17T23:02:00.001-07:00

take me back in time?

"Roads? Where we're going we won't need - roads."

- Doctor Emmett Brown

frequently i have wished to go back in time.

not far. just, like, ten minutes - y'know?

it's usually for those moments when i open

my mouth to speak, only to find my words

muffled by my foot, which has decided that

my gaping pie-hole a perfect temporary home.

these are moments that pass before they've

even been noticed as "now" becomes "then"

before one can even call it the former.

the river of time cannot be dammed.

i guess, though, and i'm not sure, that

when i consider those times that i wish

i could rewrite, i'm not convinced that

a revision would really do very much.

who's to say the story wouldn't be worse?

and here's what i'm not sure about:

these moments where we misstep or

misspeak shape our lives, weaving together

an elegant tapestry of success and failure

that can only be described by an individual's name.

it's those idle words that give me pause -

those foolish instances that lead me to pray that

i learn from the past and that this now,

somehow, becomes a holy future.

saturday | october 16 | 2010

2010-10-16T19:27:00.000-07:00

unanticipated agents of grace.

the effulgent energies of God

can take such bizarre shapes.

we often bow down before

images of conflated paradigms

of dads, lovers, kings, and ghosts,

forgetting that Consuming Fire

which once appeared in an

unwithered, holy shrub.

thrones and romances are hardly

his style. he doesn't throw on jeans

and toss around the football. that's

not to say that he wouldn't, it's just

what we'd imagine he'd do, but such

ineffable splendor refuses cliché.

he comes to us preferring to use

things that are, well, a little weird.

twists and turns of plot, questioning

questions, fighting oppression with love,

scouring the souls of men by

dwelling in their flesh, and on day three

rising from the dead. with a God

who remains above, beyond, and within all

things, one must expect the unexpected, hoping

that we will be filled despite our own unlikeliness.

friday | october 15 | 2010

2010-10-16T02:15:00.001-07:00

i hope you learned something.

The gift of memory is an awful curse.

- Ben Gibbard

often i find that i am left

with dim recollections and

half-blurred memories

that revise themselves to

a point of something

damn-near utter obscurity.

smudged remembrances beg

the question:

what exactly happened here?

wracking my brain for answers,

desiring finer resolution, i find

no clearer perspective to these

pixilated enterprises of the past,

and these still-frames of history

become something tantamount

to impressionist paintings.

is there validity in saying,

"that was a dark time, but

now i'm much wiser and

much, much stronger?"

if those informing and

strengthening glimmers of

light are inarticulable,

has anything really been learned,

or does my delusion grow

with false understanding of

foggy retrospect?

where's the light switch?

it has to be somewhere.

thursday | october 14 | 2010

2010-10-14T19:44:00.001-07:00

made for a blank canvas.

each of these is somehow different from another.

they are all made of the same wood, and they all

wait for the same purpose, yet something about

each is unique, entirely unlike any other color.

it is true, of course, that sometimes

yellow-green and green-yellow can look a lot a like,

but still, something between them speaks, saying,

"you are what you are, so rest in being that."

perhaps it is only the eye of the Artist that

such distinctions can find unity. yet somehow,

i can't help but have this sneaking suspicion that

all these colors will be used in his masterpiece.

wednesday | october 13 | 2010

2010-10-13T18:38:00.001-07:00

with yet hours to go.

sometimes it's just too much to try

to keep enlivened such weary eyes.

the day grows long and lights grow soft.

edges are lost and this reality somehow

seems to be more shadow than truth.

it is these vagaries of Sunlight that

beg the question: can i really trust You?

spent, i come crawling to the end of

yet another cruel day, desiring only

rest, but where will i find it if not in You?

it is alone this desire, the wish for

divine Rest, that speaks veracity beyond

fraudulent blurs. it's not that You are

clear to me - how could You be? - but

You become real in unmet longing.

such intense, deep aching knows no

solace. what earthly goods (or words)

can satisfy the soul's hunger? and yet,

however dimly and heavily-laden,

one catches of glimpse of the lightest of yokes.

tuesday | october 12 | 2010

2010-10-12T18:18:00.000-07:00

on the cusp of evening.

how can i be present in a world where

even the moon starts appearing while

it's still light out? who does he think he is?

it seems that there is always something else

beckoning me from any given moment, causing

this one to be sliced to shreds before my eyes.

the telephone lines that once framed and

underlined the sky's most valuable parts are

now nothing more than razor blades that have

cut to bits this one giftly sight. the clouds'

magnificence has become obscured by the

ever-pesky moon and have been tread upon

by the waxing night. how then, again i ask,

do i remain focused when even the slightest

sliver begs me to forget where i am and

concentrate on what is yet to come?

and what is the difference between

preparing for and obsessing over the future?

perhaps it is not a matter of here-or-there

that is at hand. perhaps it must be one of

here-then-there. these azure heights have

not yet abandoned this day. the cerulean

backdrop is still the setting of this instant.

with breath and thanksgiving for this life

and all its worries, i turn with joy to

the sun of righteousness who makes ready

all those who with faith sojourn into night.

monday | october 11 | 2010

2010-10-11T20:25:00.000-07:00

theogeology.

geology would have its foundation rocked

if it even began to attempt cracking the mystery

behind the strata of my heart.

natural processes that explain the age of the earth

and the diagonal slant of levels of stone are useless

against the hardened layers of my soul.

science has explained for us a great deal and has

made comfortable our homes in the summer, but

fails to address the complexity of the human heart.

i think its no coincidence that the good book compares

the heart to land that receives seed, for like all

fertile land, we must be broken before seed can grow.

my heart has been covered by a conglomerate of sin

whose half-life only seems to be increasing - does

carbon-dating work into the future?

we have all been buried by the rubble of vainly constructed

self-images and sorry attempts at self-purification. we

attempt being our own rocks only to become a stonehenge parody.

we are a heap of stones who cast themselves against others.

we are a pile of rocks lost in the quarry of our lives,

desperately searching for the one who is

the headstone of the corner.

sunday | october 10 | 2010

2010-10-10T22:47:00.001-07:00

something completely different.

"have you ever considered the idea that every star could be the sun of another solar system thousands of millions of billions of miles away?"

that's a lot of prepositional phrases, he thought.

"i mean. seriously. think about it. what if somewhere out there there's another couple having this same conversation?"

he doubted this.

"we might be on a double date with slime-oozing aliens right now."

he wasn't sure what was appealing about this.

"out there. aliens are sitting on the hood of their version of an old buick, overlooking some weird extraterrestrial city, wondering who is going to make the first move and finally kiss the other."

again, he doubted this.

"i think it should be the guy. his name is philip. i don't know why, but it is. and her name is val, but everyone calls her 'rider.'"

why?

"she used to be an equestrian."

space horses?

"except...on, like, whatever they ride on that planet."

probably space horses.

"seriously. think about it."

he didn't.

"what if we're not alone? what if this moment is totally insignificant? lost to the greater background of own impending yet inconsequential deaths. what if we're just one more speck in that night sky? infinitely small and alone. what if we're just another white dot in the sea of sparkles? how can we be sure anything really matters?"

he sat up and looked her in the eyes.

"what?"

he kissed her. he had never been one for existentialism.

saturday | october 9 | 2010

2010-10-10T00:59:00.001-07:00

on mindfulness.

a professor once posited to me: suppose

our world were in total darkness, and

one day we found out that there was to be

one sunrise and one sunset. that's all.

he suggested that people would flock

to each coast, filling the seashore with bodies

for as many miles as exist to the north and south.

they gather here, he says, to watch this

spectacular event - this once-in-a-lifetime.

yet we inhabit a perpetual kaleidoscope,

but we have grown too busy to watch,

too bored to fill seashores with bodies

for as many miles as exist to the north and south.

daily, we miss these little big mysteries that

led g.k. chesterton to profess a childlike God whose

eye of wonder watches every sunrise and sunset, exclaiming,

"again! again! do it again!"

indeed, our Father is younger than we.

my friends, practice noticing. take time

and enjoy this earthly cornucopia of experience.

smell the air after the world is showered by rain;

rise with the sun, and join the daily hours of the birds;

taste the complexity of your next glass of wine,

and marvel, dear friends. be astounded.

refuse to grow old and pray that the God of our fathers

will draw you close to him, that in the future

you may grow ever more young.

friday | october 8 | 2010

2010-10-08T18:28:00.000-07:00

a quintessence of dust.

O Lord, what is man that Thou takest notice of him?

Or the son of man that Thou makest account of him?

Psalm 133:4

i've been told that the

rings of saturn are braided.

there are fish below the sea,

well beyond the reach of sunlight,

far beneath the depth a human can dive,

fish that glow florescent,

illuminating the darkness,

with their own brilliance.

science and her gentlemen callers

have discovered these things

though robotic eyes. hidden kingdoms

for millions (some say thousands, i can't

say which is right) of years had remained

far from the mind of any individual.

who's to say that God didn't

braid saturn's rings or make fish shine

just so they'd look good on film?

this world of his, we forget,

was created for his own pleasure:

the rings, the fish, the sun, the ant,

the millions/billions of galaxies

undiscovered or newly discovered.

all these things existed before

you, before i, before hubble even

conceived of never-ending universes

or glow-in-the-dark ichthyology.

yet all these things were spoken

into being by God's word, and it was

man alone that he fashioned from

the dirt of the earth by his own hand.

we, a quintessence of dust, are

the pinnacle of his work, the paragon of creation.

but it is the beauty of the sky, the fusion

of geographical strata, the budding

of flowers, the expanse

of space that holds our gaze

while our neighbor sits at our gate, dying

to be fed, praying

to be welcomed, longing

to be seen. we, look beyond, straining

to see the glory of God in the night sky,

forgetting all the while that

the Lord did not come to us as a heavenly body,

but that he came to us, earthly mortals,

disguised as one of us.

thursday | october 7 | 2010

2010-10-07T18:18:00.001-07:00

journey.

Your Word is a lamp unto my feet

and a light unto my path.

- Psalm 119:105

the first leg.

easy. I know where I'm headed -

it's right in front of Me. how

could I possibly miss it? I mean,

what's so hard about it? My Goal

stands right before My Eyes. of course

sometimes I don't know, but today

I ask: how could anything go

wrong on a day like this?

the second leg.

i've made a huge mistake.

where did i go wrong?

did i take my eyes off the goal,

or did i suddenly lose heart?

did i forget the way, or

did i ever really know it?

i'm lost, stuck in the middle

of the dark, afraid i've become

a vacuum of grace. and now i'm cold.

i'm tired. i'm confused. i'm a lot of things.

more than anything, though,

i'm pissed off, and i wonder if

i will ever be found again.

yet You call to me. softly,

at first, and then more softly.

You, the gentle Guide, remind me:

one step at a time, child,

one step at a time.

wednesday | october 6 | 2010

2010-10-06T18:33:00.000-07:00

duelism.

light and darkness are at war,

and my heart is the battlefield.

the two nemeses combat ceaselessly,

and at any given moment, i am

just a step away from siding with either.

it's a fight to the finish (which,

as we all know, is a good place to end)

as the two share my inner vastness.

i wonder - i really don't know - if

the darkness works to its own undoing as

the rapid movement of the Light would

fail to appear as distinctly as it does

against the empty stillness of the dark,

and the phantasmic glow of the One who

dispels all shadow would not appear rather

than assert such hauntingly desirable presence.

tuesday | october 5 | 2010

2010-10-05T19:36:00.000-07:00

mysterious benefactors.

perhaps

it comes from the master

bedroom, or perhaps it comes from

the childhood friend, or ex-something-or-other,

or maybe it's the mother standing

over a newborn's crib. or maybe it comes

from the next life. but there are

mysterious benefactors

who follow us with words

of light and life.

perhaps

we may not see (or know) them, but

their hearts remain forever entwined

with ours as they join themselves

to us by uttering our names and

shedding tears (of joy? of sorrow?)

on our behalf.

these patrons of good will are

the other cheek, the extra mile,

and the tunic also. they are

with us always, suppliant voices

who long to see us united with

the Benefactor of all as we, too, become

mysterious emissaries of beneficence.

monday | october 4 | 2010

2010-10-04T18:26:00.001-07:00

this side of the screen.

it's sort of like a puzzle. each

little piece is necessary to create

a whole that some how amounts to

more than the sum of its parts. it is

a body of interdependent units,

linked only by their need for one another.

it's true that each can be viewed as its

own entity, but something greater is missed.

we can note how green this one might be, or

how the water in this one acts simultaneously

as mirror and refracting lens. we can marvel at

how clearly one can peer through and see

a bit of what's on the other side, and we

readily miss the - quote, unquote - big picture.

no member of this conglomerate reality

considers itself to be more or less than

its neighbors. indeed, these little frames

understand their union as affiliates,

and they embrace working together,

believing that such teamwork points through this

window to an amalgam of glory.

oh, Lord, help us, too, that we may see others' squares

as we point to That which is Beyond this side of the screen.

sunday | october 3 | 2010

2010-10-03T23:07:00.001-07:00

agriculturation.

i've heard that palm trees aren't

even native to california, but that

doesn't seem to stop them from

looking glorious, silhouetted against

the backdrop of a setting sun, majestic

as they sway along to the tune of a

salty pacific breeze. indeed, they speak

something of paradise's reality as

their crowns make royal this purple

canopy. they declare this coast their own,

thriving in this place that is not their home.

amidst their acculturation they scream to

us (surfers, nurses, teachers, shoppers, waiters,

children, adults, neurotics, joggers, surgeons, et al.).

their cry is never lost to this otherwise

foreign ocean. they proclaim a gospel of sorts:

grow where you are planted.

saturday | october 2 | 2010

2010-10-02T18:53:00.001-07:00

the art of discovery.

i guess i've never looked

at it that way. the familiar

has this unfortunate skill

of going unnoticed until some -

thing - makes it known and

establishes it as some - thing -

novelly quotidian. it seems that

this world is a never-ending

scavenger hunt.

perhaps i have grown too old,

and my soul hides behind

cataracts of the heart, while the Sun,

on the other hand,

casts new shadows that long

to be seen. i pass quickly through

the everyday, hoping for different, more

engaging stimuli, praying all the while

for the adventures of somewhere else.

it may be, however, that the art of discovery

lies not in finding new - things - that

make richer this life, but in seeing

the same old things

with ever new eyes.

friday | october 1 | 2010

2010-10-01T19:42:00.001-07:00

Cut. Print It.

This movie is playing

way too quickly.

Before I can comment, or

ask what he just said,

the next scene is already

underway.

Characters come on screen and

exit, leaving behind something

indelible, yet unsubstantial. Their

presence will be nothing

but a memory filled with

one-liners and pithy remarks.

The writing is rich, and cinematography

pure. The score fills in the gaps,

telling us the inner states

of all involved, leaving us hoping for

a peaceable resolution. Maybe

an Oscar is in the future.

The film is a blur, and

when it ends, a story is

complete. The credits roll, and

that's that, reminding me always

of my own life with one, huge difference:

I don't get a sequel.

saturday | october 31 | 2009

2009-10-31T19:16:00.001-07:00

halloweenies.

reach your hand to the bottom

of the bowl and fish out as much

as you possibly can. plunder the

depths with sweet handful after

sweet handful. throw yourself

into unending celebration with

unblinking commitment. taste

the moment with a cleansed palette

and unending thanksgiving.

friday | october 30 | 2009

2009-10-31T19:15:00.000-07:00

sleeping on the sand.

i look through picture frames

and read in books about paradisal

places. my heart is replete with

longing as it seeks its home among

blended oils and tattered pages.

but painted images and terza rima

will fade in time and there will be

nothing left except the shadows

of forgotten promises and broken hopes.

the search compels us out of time to

find where things will not decay and

where tableaus dance in resplendent

light while maintaining their shape

and offer warm rest on sandy shores.

thursday | october 29 | 2009

2009-10-29T23:24:00.000-07:00

saturday afternoon.

i'm just checking the air in – oh,

yeah. we're good. so.

what do you say?

we'll go for a ride

through the park and

around the lake, and

see the ducks – i

know you like ducks – and

we'll stop for a second, and

take off our shoes, and

feel the grass

slip between our toes, and

we'll interlock our fingers, and

make for the water – last one

there is a rotten - you

don't like eggs – and

you'll beat me there, and

i'll catch up to you, and

knock you over, then

i'll kiss you, and

you'll shriek with joy, or

just play coy, i

never know with you, and

you'll insist we

wade on in, like

you do, except today
i'll agree:

it's a perfect day for frozen feet.

wednesday | october 28 | 2009

2009-10-28T19:08:00.000-07:00

sweet blurs.

it's a pity we can't look

at two things at once. though,

i'm sure there's some lesson to

be learned in this.

indeed, if i were meant to

focus intently on my face,

or the way that i walk, or

what my hair looks like, i

would have to extricate my

eyes from my head in order

to see. as it is, i find it impossible

to get a good look at my nose

without a killer headache.

when my gaze softens and is

directed outwards, however, sweet

blurs come to view, silhouetted

in the same dim corridor where

i stand, and now we walk

side by side toward the light, and

each step replaces obscurity with

further clarity, and we become aware

of our common goal of stepping

fearlessly into the endless sun.

tuesday | october 27 | 2009

2009-10-27T19:48:00.000-07:00

grapefruit.

i've heard people can live

to be 93 if they

eat two grapefruit every day.

i don't really like grapefruit.

am i screwed? or is

there something else for me?

where do i find some

other food that will

sustain me beyond

the life i expect,

and offer me something

that smacks distinctly of

life everlasting?

monday | october 26 | 2009

2009-10-26T19:39:00.000-07:00

rivalry.

i hate this tank.

i hate that stupid little fish.

look at him, swimming through this place

like he owns it. what a dick.

i could take him. no problem.

but, then again, he's a plucky

little devil, and i don't really

want to swim around, bleeding all

over the place.

it's probably better to just let

it go and find some peaceful

alternative. we have to share

this tank, after all. it would be

a little awkward to raise a stink

at this point.

there's an ocean, i hear, that is full

of possibilities! of threats!

exciting.

i can't even guess what i'd find.

i wonder if i would fit in.

probably not.

maybe it's better to have hateful

company than none at all.

then again, it would be ideal

if we were co-fish who could

swim together, and not just

through the same water.

sunday | october 25 | 2009

2009-10-26T00:07:00.000-07:00

direct flight.

if i had my choice, we

would go ahead and

just skip the

layover,

and go right to

our homes and collapse

into our beds.

saturday | october 24 | 2009

2009-10-24T21:15:00.001-07:00

a fairy tale ending.

is it so wrong to hope

for a fairy tale ending?

as i look back at the

bread crumbs that held such

promise – they seemed like

a good idea at the time –

it's easy to see exactly

where i went wrong.

the wolf-riddled woods

hardly seem as frightening

now that i'm out of the thick.

except, i realize, too, that

grandma's house is no longer

an over-the-hills away.

by now, prince charming –

it's probably more appropriate

to say princess charming –

has recycled the glass slipper,

knowing it's unsafe to dance with

footwear that can shatter.

midnight has been struck;

the illusion is broken, and

i'm just a stupid pumpkin

who keeps wondering:

is it so wrong to hope

for a fairy tale ending?

friday | october 23 | 2009

2009-10-23T23:47:00.001-07:00

the problem with a liberal education.

why are so many things

so interesting for so many

reasons that are so intricate?

i think frost was conservative

to speak of only two paths.

it's hard to make a choice

that spurns a million others.

playing the same token, it could be

philanthropy, or it could be

modern dance, or it could be

knife-throwing. no matter what, the problem

is the same: what will it be?

stumbling through a dimmed intellect i know

that one yes is a thousand no's. so how

does one choose when cancer needs healing; when

the great american novel needs writing; when

souls need saving; when society needs leading;

and when girls need songs written about them?

who am i to exclude anything

from the mosaic of possibility?

thursday | october 22 | 2009

2009-10-22T18:55:00.000-07:00

unleash the dragon!

i like funny faces;

they're a nice change

of pace.

it's like you see

what is going on

inside someone –

we're all aching to

let that inner self

run wild;

sometimes the only way

is to stick out

your tongue.

we could be anyone

but we are who

we are.

we are the only

faces that can make

these faces,

and that's something that

truly is a cause

for rejoicing.

wednesday | october 21 | 2009

2009-10-22T02:04:00.001-07:00

here comes the Son.

i wish i were a bug sometimes,

because then i would naturally be

drawn to the Light instead of having

to force myself out of darkness.

tuesday | october 20 | 2009

2009-10-20T18:32:00.000-07:00

punch-drunk love.

i want a love that makes me

more powerful than anything imaginable –

someone that breaks me out of this

neurotic prison and grabs me by the face,

slaps me around a little bit to wake

me up and says, "my love is fierce."

i want someone that i can fight for

to the death - or the pain, whichever

she'd prefer. i would throw myself through

glass for her. i would smash windows, crack

skulls, and maybe even shake babies on

her behalf. my love is fierce.

i would eat shards of metal for her.

i would crush her fingers with a hammer,

suck her eyeballs right out of her head because

i'd love her so much. she would be so beautiful

that i would slam her face on a grill to

watch it burn. my love is fierce.

i'm stretching through space and time

to find her, but i know she's there, nearby.

she must be because, talking about her, i sweat,

and thinking about her, my vision blurs, and i trust

that amidst the chaos and cacophony of

life, she will find me ready for her fierce love.

monday | october 19 | 2009

2009-10-19T19:36:00.000-07:00

auto-pilot.

i feel like i'm always moving

from parking lot to parking lot

never stopping to see anything

just all the time going and

i'm never where i am looking

for the next destination knowing

when i get there that

it will not be the right place

and i find myself asking the question

how did i get here

way more than i could have imagined

so what do you do when your questions

only fall on your own deaf ears

and somehow plot on trusting

a redirection of route is at hand

and a gentle female voice suggesting

turn right in point-two miles but

you pray that the next parking lot

will afford a home for you but

then you remember that real homes have driveways.

sunday | october 18 | 2009

2009-10-18T20:38:00.001-07:00

1955-present.

i imagine those were simpler times,

then. the whole family gathered

around the radio, and heard

a program. sometimes little johnny

would act out the avengers, or little jane

would pretend to bring to life the

little orphan, annie. there was an

activity in the air.

television hardly makes a worthy guest.

the family nightly invites peter griffin,

or steve harvey, or 7th heaven over for

dinner, offering them the seat usually

reserved for the guest of honor.

they will talk and talk, and the family

hangs on every word, rapt with unfaltering

attention.

the unending buzz of the television

fills all room for relationship with

meaningless white noise. when was

the last time dad and johnny threw the

ball around? when was the last time

mom and jane got their nails done together,

or made cookies, or did whatever women

in a post-feminist society do?

and to think, the gays pose the biggest

threat to the nuclear family.

saturday | october 17 | 2009

2009-10-18T01:44:00.001-07:00

okay.

okay okay okay,

pretend like i'm not

talking to you,

no no, don't

look at me.

okay.

this party's dead. let's

get the hell out of

here and get

some food.

sound okay?

friday | october 16 | 2009

2009-10-16T18:40:00.001-07:00

goodbye.

it must be nice to be a bird up high,

no thoughts of worry, cares, or even pain.

it'd be only the blueness of the sky,

no economic plights of loss or gain.

so many places i would like to see,

like new york city in the fall, and greece,

and spain, and prague, and boot-like italy,

then prob'ly london and the middle east.

the perk i'd like the most i have to say

would be the means to fly away from you.

it'd be just me and night until the day,

then i'd get lost in all the endless blue.

it's my hope that one day i'll be free

from ling'ring dreams regarding you and me.

thursday | october 15 | 2009

2009-10-15T18:30:00.001-07:00

groves and grace.

what california needs is rain.

the land is way too brown

and the grass is way too dry. i think

it all prefers the wildfires because

at least it has something to do

other than wither, which,

i imagine, has little appeal.

even a light sprinkling would be

nice, just to get things going a

little, i mean. also, it's

hard for drivers to adjust to

the rain, so it's probably best

to bring it incrementally. things

get weird.

but still, with rain comes new

fruit and with fruit comes satisfaction

as the harvest is evidence of hard

work now made complete. we remember

that the farmer plants the seeds,

but has no meteorological vote.

it's really more of a right time/right place kind of thing.

wednesday | october 14 | 2009

2009-10-14T19:35:00.001-07:00

narnia.

Fairy Tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.

- G.K. Chesteron

the king of beasts sings

a world into being.

from the mud come creatures

to join the chorus of the ages.

the son of the emperor-over-the-sea

from the beginning walks among them.

it isn't long (as with all good stories, of course)

before evil sings with discordant contempt

for that which rises from glory, claiming

the created with cruel, cold winter.

even father christmas gets it rough.

but amidst the frozen fields and righteous

turned to stone, the great lion is on the move.

he establishes the fighting few as friends;

he knows their names. they are badgers, they

are beavers, they are mice, and they are men

whose hope remains in the deepest magic.

we find ourselves among them

in their joy and in their pain.

we assert with all the faithful

that, while good, he isn't tame.

we find, too, that we've joined

their singing at the feast,

and, thus, have become willing

to die with noses pointed east.

tuesday | october 13 | 2009

2009-10-13T21:57:00.000-07:00

the open door.

am i coming or going?

sometimes it's hard to tell.

i suppose it's one of those

both/and situations, but that lends

little resolution to the question

i'm actually asking.

i suppose before opening the door to the future

it's vital to open the door to the past, and

enter the room to examine the photos

that sit atop cabinets framed in unforgiving

remembrance. these accusing mementos

never disappear; nor should they.

beside them are family portraits and

childhood videos and old baseball trophies too.

i guess we take lessons where we can,

noting what brings the room together

and what really seems to clash, hoping

against all conviction that

the room next door still needs decorating.

monday | october 12 | 2009

2009-10-12T18:32:00.001-07:00

3=1.

three distinct lamps

yet i see

one distinct light.

i guess it

makes sense that

they would work

together, and not

insist that any

glow is more

or less spectacular

than the other.

it's just curious.

together they light

the wall, never

overpowering one another,

but existing together

separately, but in

a simple unity.

it makes sense

in a somewhat

dimly lit room.

i guess it's

different when cosmic

law is involved.

there is some

saint whose name

escapes me (sorry,

buddy, it's nothing

personal, but really

you're hardly the

point anyway. come

to think of

it, you'd probably

just as soon

i forget your

name anyway) who

said, "i see

One Light, and

i see Three

lights." i guess

the Trinity can

do whatever It

(They?) wants. new

mathematics is hardly

an issue for

the One (Three?)

that speaks and

things become. at

any rate, three

Lights in perfect

harmony light the

path, and we

must walk it,

allowing ourselves, perhaps

forcing ourselves, to

live, maybe even

bask, in the

indescribable warmth and

glory of Father,

Son, and Spirit,

for by Their

Light all things

will be seen

both now and

ever and unto

ages of ages.

amen.

sunday | october 11 | 2009

2009-10-11T23:10:00.000-07:00

home. part ii.

I get by with a little help from my friends.

- The Beatles

this is my home.

you are my family.

i'm about to lay it

all out there.

i'm intelligent, and i'm goofy.

i say inappropriate things, never

missing an opportunity for that's-what-she-said.

i'm compassionate and usually funny.

i sometimes offer good advice,

that is, of course, when i'm

not trying to sound wise. i love you

deeply, and often need a second chance.

i don't always say the right thing, but

i sure do know how to give a back massage. i know

most of your middle names, but i'll always

forget your birthdays. i care how you are,

unless i'm busy thinking of myself. i'm not

good-looking, but i have pretty nice eyes.

i'm a little bit of a coward, but am certainly

over-protective. some have called me clingy;

i prefer the word vigilant.

i recognize beauty, but find it difficult

to appreciate art. i'm not the most athletic,

but that doesn't stop me from playing.

i lack confidence, but i'm a really good actor.

i runaway from conflict, but will readily forgive.

i stumble every day, but still hope to find Christ.

in this circle where we've all got each

others' back, you let these things be true,

and my deepest, truest prayer

is that i do the same for you.

saturday | october 10 | 2009

2009-10-11T00:08:00.000-07:00

home. (attempt #2)

The Church is revealed to all as

a brilliantly lit heaven, leading

the faithful in the way of light.

Standing therein, we cry aloud:

make firm the foundation of this

house, O Lord.

- From Post-Communion Prayers

this is my home.

you are my family.

i'm about to lay it

all out there.

sometimes i can be loud.

also, i wear tattered jeans, and

i don't always iron my shirt.

i can't really do much about my breath, though.

my tithing is minimal, and

i think about girls while trying to pray –

i've kissed too many in my time.

sometimes i cross myself like a catholic.

i don't always hear the sermon, and

even when i do, i might not listen.

i find the bible a difficult read;

television is frequently more interesting.

i like to swear, and have probably

set a bad example for the youth –

i find them more laudable than

most of the people here. sorry.

i like to smoke.

being drunk is also kind of nice.

i think superbad is funny. dirty jokes

make me laugh and cringe – but mostly laugh.

i have eaten meat on wednesdays.

fridays too. i am selfish, proud, overbearing,

boisterous, irresponsible, unhelpful,

lazy, sloppy, a little stinky,

at times a malingerer, and occasionally hurtful.

i also isolate myself, but right now

it's nice to put my feet up.

i have a hard time believing in my value,

not being able to see the forest for the trees

as i constantly replay the scratched tracks of my life,

and i like to take refuge

in my identity as a sinner,

rather than my call to be a saint.

forgive me for all this, and know,

we'll probably have to have this conversation again.

maybe not.

but probably.

friday | october 9 | 2009

2009-10-10T00:14:00.000-07:00

the land is my heart.

so much construction. abandoned buildings

likely built on sand. it's all empty and

the sky is bleak.

if we dug down through this

concrete divider, what do you think

we'd find? a god-fearing civilization?

at least it might loosen the soil.

thursday | october 8 | 2009

2009-10-08T19:30:00.000-07:00

benjamin.

i see what i want. it's right

in front of me, but somehow

i'm barred from it.

how did you do that so quick?

it calls me. i think it's my

fruitless search for purpose

clouded by –– uncertainty?

i could never do that. i'm just not musical.

everything i say has

the sound of recurrent avoidance.

can you play hide-and-seek

with yourself forever?

see? this is why i think you should be a teacher.

i float on, careening through each day

never really knowing where i'm headed.

maybe one day i'll make a difference.

i learn so much from you every day.

you have no idea.

wednesday | october 7 | 2009

2009-10-07T19:57:00.000-07:00

hello, there.

i see this going one of two ways.

one.

we embrace this. we go for it.

we fall madly in love. marriage. babies.

retirement. i'm not so sure about

the white picket fence. i'm cool with the dog, but

i've never seen much use for half a child – let's round

up to three. we would find a little place

in the mountains, or by the beach.

at any rate, we would write each other

love notes that would make the kids sick.

i'd like that. and footrubs. date nights.

and most nights we would stay in.

or. two.

we embrace this. we go for it.

we fall madly in love. marriage. babies.

but things get a little weird when

you start asking jimmy-the-pool-guy

to give it an extra good clean while the kids

experiment with lsd and pcp and crack and

we become grandparents at far too young

an age and you keep telling me to fix the

sink and the shower and there's a leak in

the roof and one thing after another and

i collapse into myself like a dying star.

so.

do you want to get coffee?

tuesday | october 6 | 2009

2009-10-06T18:26:00.001-07:00

love note.

i like cute feet, and

you, my dear, have the

cutest feet i've seen

in a long, long time.

monday | october 5 | 2009

2009-10-05T18:58:00.001-07:00

the empty chair.

i keep imagining all the things

i'd say to you if you were

sitting across from me.

would i kiss you or curse you?

i think more than anything

i'd like to say goodbye.

goodbye to second guessing

and biting my tongue. goodbye

to never knowing.

i'm not sure if i would

ask you for anything.

probably not.

i want to close the doors and

the windows too. because then you'd

know when too much was too much.

i'd probably tell you about how

good i've been without you,

or even how busy i've been.

after a while,

i might offer kind words

or inquire as to how you've been.

sunday | october 4 | 2009

2009-10-04T22:34:00.000-07:00

20/200

i think i need new glasses,

as it's getting hard to see.

i can't check out girls' asses,

and i squint while watching glee.

it's hard to drive at night,

and words are just a blur.

and even once in light

i thought a "him" a "her."

i stepped on my frames

now it's off my face they fall,

and when at baseball games,

i can't even see the ball.

to see a play on stage

is a truly pointless thought.

i can hardly look at pages;

i see lots of little spots.

there are different kinds of eyewear

that are all nice and trendy.

but no matter what i wear

i'll still have laser-vision envy.

saturday | october 3 | 2009

2009-10-03T18:27:00.000-07:00

tunnel.

one mississippi.

i've never been afraid of the dark, but

lately it's overpowering. in fact,

it's practically all i see.

two mississippi.

it's past mistakes,

anger gone inward,

and regrets – those damn regrets.

name it.

three mississippi.

it's everywhere, the dark. it closes

around me and

presses heavily on my chest,

assuring me that i really am worth hating.

four mississippi.

but, goddammit, i wish that

were the end of the story.

it's those few lights – those few

precious lights –

that point me to a brilliance

uncircumscribed and ineffable, one

that speaks – the light at the end –

and this hope is at hand.

five mississippi.

but i'm still in the fucking tunnel, wondering

when i can stop holding my breath.

friday | october 2 | 2009

2009-10-02T18:26:00.001-07:00

look at that.

doesn't it look like the sun

is being muscled out by dusk?

but he's, like, not going down without

a fight. he's losing – or something.

look at those trees, framing his light.

it's out there somewhere, you know. do

you see it? no. i don't really know what "it"

is either, but i'm sure

it's real.

i want to slide open the window

and fly fly fly. i don't know where

i'd go, but rooftops and trees must

make new sense

from a birds'-eye-view.

i think i'd chase the sun.

i know right now, i mean, look at him

will you look at him, please?

he's saying he'll be back. probably

tomorrow, but no promises. we get

each other, somehow, in this moment where

i look him in the face and he tells me

to keep hoping.

keep hoping for the new day.

thursday | october 1 | 2009

2009-10-02T13:40:00.000-07:00

sometimes.

i'm never really sure where i stand.

observing? resigned? ready-to-go?

none of these seem to

adequately describe where in the

hell i am. somewhere between

here and there?

limbo, i've heard it called?

somehow that doesn't satisfy.

middleman. nowhere man.

how did i get on the beatles?

or.

maybe it's just that i should

live perched on the edge, overlooking

the life of the world, where

all that's left for me to do

is simply to jump.