a-changing

life moves on
in its steady whirlwind,
keeping the past just close enough to remember -
- with echoes of eternity leading ahead.
we use numbers, schedules and fashion to tell time.
HE who sits on the Throne has chosen a different way.
His fingers paint colors resplendent with vivacity.
vitality traces every outline.
we turn a page.
He turns a season.
we grow a year older,
He works miracles which grow a man more than time.
the climax of our seasons is the absence of life.
resurrected by the miracle of Spring.
the return of the sun.
the beginning of all things new.
it's merciful, is it not,
that each year begins with brand new life.
that the old, dead things are left in another time.
it is only memories which are not so merciful.
time is still turning.
slowly, surely, fully -- it comes,
singing, dancing, shouting;
crying, mourning, sighing.
another page is a-turning,
what change do you see?

these are the questions

who are you?
who am i?
i look into the mirror but not long enough to catch a glimpse of who lives behind the eyes. and i figure, if i don't see it, no one else will either. if i keep busy, if i do things, if i'm productive no one but God will see the decline in things that matter more. i remember waiting up all night, frightened -- i didn't pray. it sounded like the rosary. the same words strung together by memory, uttered with insincere lips with a desire of equal out-put for in-put. my vending machine mentality, that if i put something in, some minuscule effort, God owes me. i'm glad He doesn't give equal out-put for what i've "put in".
another year is coming into focus. and more and more i am left wondering who i am. i am not defined by my grades, a degree, a vocation. not by my talents, failures, opportunities or social status. i am only a vapor, but i live like i'm set in stone. that is, there is so little time to truly live, and i spend so much of it being a selfish ass. so the question stands: who am i?

Therapy.

crash. burn. [repeat]
afraid. run. [repeat]
trust. hurt. [repeat]
hope. dashed. [repeat]
despair. pain. [repeat]

i don't want to repeat.
to run this cycle.
breaking away has no clear route.
freedom has no boundaries to start from.
must leave behind, push away all this.
start from the end.
push towards the beginning.
i'm tired of hoping in things that dissappoint.
tired of seeing glimpses of Jerusalem,
dashed when the fog clears.
weary of seeing what i have strained so long to see,
only to find i have made myself believe them to be.
i want to run.
i want to cry.
i want to hide-away and never come out.
i want to run to You.
i want You to hide me.
please make sense of all this broken-ness.

i can't think anymore.
i try, it doesn't work.
things come, they come to pass.
morning changes to day, to afternoon, to night.
then morning again.
there's no break from reality.
there's no breaking from me.
how can i leave, with things as they are?
i cannot go, cannot go far from here.
time makes things harder.
i forget what i wanted.
because i cannot see it anymore.
i dream in black and white.
if i dream at all.
i must rely on memories of dreams.
and hold onto pictures i've seen in the sky.
to songs i cannot quite remember.
and faces that grow more blurred with time.
i swim in an ocean of memories.
remember the awe...

star gazing

i sit beneath the sky.

under wind, under light, under gravity.

i spy light out of the darkness.

over seas, over city, over space.

i trace a pattern in the sky.

like my grandmother. like my neighbor. like a stranger.

i whisper into the emptyness.

cricekts whisper. breeze answers. the orchestra of night.

i'm smaller than all, beneath this gaze.

smaller than a child. smaller than an ant. smaller than all.

i'm looking for You.

tracing. whispering. sitting. looking.

if You can whisper, please whisper.

if You can trace, please trace a message.

if You can sit with me, please sit.

if You look and see me amidst this world.

please show me.

please show. please teach. please open my eyes.

How should we then live?

In light.

Of God's Grace.

Grace which is so out of line.

With everything we're taught.

How should we.

Who have been forgiven much.

Then, live?

Not living to attain.

What we're already given.

Not living to pay back.

What's already ours.

But, living.

Living knowing we're only alive.

Because Jesus died.

And God loves immensely.

So.

How?

Yeah.

the way 'round the world is a lot closer,
not like the things that get under your skin.
a whole lot of open space
lying flat on the ground, without a fear.
there are different people, too
there's a world outside your window.
i guess i just got too caught up
playing shadow puppets on the wall,
too busy looking at reflections--
never seeing the real thing.
who knew rain puddles could sing?
or that wheat fields dance wildly, freely.
that color could be so intense,
so full and rich that it could captivate.
here, the same sun. same moon.
different world.