I used to yearn,
yearn to the point of bursting
yearn to the point of
firing
creating
becoming.
I used to feel
art
so deeply
let myself be swept away
by the currents
of words
and emotions.
I used to
imagine
beyond my world
beyond my little
safe spaces
where I was
growing up
and old
and into.
I desired so much more
things that would make my blood sing
my heart race
and my eyes shine.
I desired
more than I had experienced
certain that
the indefatigable tang
of life
lay there,
just beyond my fingertips -
growing longer in time -
everyday
till
maybe
one
day
I would touch
the splendor
that made my being
ache
with
suppressed joy
waiting
waiting
for the spark
that time would provide.
And then!
O Then!
What a conflagration
would ensue!
I became lost
somewhere between
yearning
and completion
forgot about the
sweet tang
of
holding future joy
so tightly
that the tension seemed unbearable
and yet beautiful.
I am starting again.
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Monday, January 5, 2015
A Beginning
or A Manifesto,
or An Invocation,
or A Resolution for my new year
This year, I want to be myself.
Be creative.
Be alive.
Be full of joy.
This year, I will write letters by candlelight.
Remember that it's never too late to reconnect with old friends.
I will knit things that aren't scarves
and sew beautiful things as well.
I will explore this world I live in,
not cower in fear of the unknown.
I will explore myself,
map out my mind,
discover my desires and inclinations.
I will be excited
and enthusiastic
and alive.
And I will choose to trust God,
to hold onto him, and joy,
when depression and control are so much easier.
I will smile from my heart
and climb trees
and invite others into my life.
At the beginning of next year
I want to look back and marvel
at the beauty that I found,
that was given to
and shared with
and lavished on
and birthed by me.
I will do things that make me smile
and do things for others that will make them smile.
And I will suffer and sacrifice and struggle
and forget and fail and fall,
and I pray to God above that I get back up,
that I forgive and love and hope and trust in the midst of it all.
I want to be genuine and have integrity.
I want to be inspired,
not amused;
engaged,
not entertained.
I want to interact with this world I am living in,
not just react.
I want to live,
not just survive.
I want to be myself in the truest sense of the word
and the truest sense of me.
I want to be.
or An Invocation,
or A Resolution for my new year
This year, I want to be myself.
Be creative.
Be alive.
Be full of joy.
This year, I will write letters by candlelight.
Remember that it's never too late to reconnect with old friends.
I will knit things that aren't scarves
and sew beautiful things as well.
I will explore this world I live in,
not cower in fear of the unknown.
I will explore myself,
map out my mind,
discover my desires and inclinations.
I will be excited
and enthusiastic
and alive.
And I will choose to trust God,
to hold onto him, and joy,
when depression and control are so much easier.
I will smile from my heart
and climb trees
and invite others into my life.
At the beginning of next year
I want to look back and marvel
at the beauty that I found,
that was given to
and shared with
and lavished on
and birthed by me.
I will do things that make me smile
and do things for others that will make them smile.
And I will suffer and sacrifice and struggle
and forget and fail and fall,
and I pray to God above that I get back up,
that I forgive and love and hope and trust in the midst of it all.
I want to be genuine and have integrity.
I want to be inspired,
not amused;
engaged,
not entertained.
I want to interact with this world I am living in,
not just react.
I want to live,
not just survive.
I want to be myself in the truest sense of the word
and the truest sense of me.
I want to be.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Snow Silence
I find myself wishing it would snow at the oddest times
mid-January,
in the middle of an argument,
standing in a garden looking at a grey statue -
a girl with a bowed head.
The desire for flakes -
deep flakes
six-sided flakes,
small and fluffy and heavy and wet and dry -
comes -
a sharp pang and then gone
a longing unable to be lingered over
leaving before common sense tells me that it's May
and the flowers are much nicer than the icy wind and frozen water of January.
But.
Still
I yearn
in small bursts
lighting flashes of illumination
for the silence of my memories -
so very different from this apartment
and this too-large room
with its too-white walls
and the too-much darkness it contains.
The wish for snow,
is, after all,
a desire for home,
for the security I feel walking through our cemetery
with flakes on my scarf
ice on the road
the orange glow of life and shopping centers lighting the sky
when the moon hides her face -
the cloudy veil she prefers in the nether months.
Snow smothers all
fear;
after all
it seems silly to be afraid
when you are crunching through foot high crystals
decked with dozens of layers of fabric
knowing you can't run
in your new boots
but who is there to run from?
All the muggers and drunkards and dangerous men are huddled inside,
cursing the elements you move so deftly through -
your natural element,
your phase,
your season,
born on the brink of snow,
hours before the earth we walk upon
turns back towards the light once again,
and you are comfortable
with the darkness,
the cold
the snow
and where once you hated how
the feminine
was seen as dark and cold
and the things that are not,
you understand now,
longings in your imagination -
that nexus of feminine power -
called forth by the wish for the safety
of the snowflake
and the naming of the soul-home
that holds you.
The silence -
a cold December night.
mid-January,
in the middle of an argument,
standing in a garden looking at a grey statue -
a girl with a bowed head.
The desire for flakes -
deep flakes
six-sided flakes,
small and fluffy and heavy and wet and dry -
comes -
a sharp pang and then gone
a longing unable to be lingered over
leaving before common sense tells me that it's May
and the flowers are much nicer than the icy wind and frozen water of January.
But.
Still
I yearn
in small bursts
lighting flashes of illumination
for the silence of my memories -
so very different from this apartment
and this too-large room
with its too-white walls
and the too-much darkness it contains.
The wish for snow,
is, after all,
a desire for home,
for the security I feel walking through our cemetery
with flakes on my scarf
ice on the road
the orange glow of life and shopping centers lighting the sky
when the moon hides her face -
the cloudy veil she prefers in the nether months.
Snow smothers all
fear;
after all
it seems silly to be afraid
when you are crunching through foot high crystals
decked with dozens of layers of fabric
knowing you can't run
in your new boots
but who is there to run from?
All the muggers and drunkards and dangerous men are huddled inside,
cursing the elements you move so deftly through -
your natural element,
your phase,
your season,
born on the brink of snow,
hours before the earth we walk upon
turns back towards the light once again,
and you are comfortable
with the darkness,
the cold
the snow
and where once you hated how
the feminine
was seen as dark and cold
and the things that are not,
you understand now,
longings in your imagination -
that nexus of feminine power -
called forth by the wish for the safety
of the snowflake
and the naming of the soul-home
that holds you.
The silence -
a cold December night.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Taut
I am wound so tight
an overstretched guitar string
just waiting,
waiting,
for a finger to trail lightly over me
and then
I will snap.
I will break
I will release all of the things I have been holding in for so long,
the things sitting on the back of my tongue,
never sure who these words belong to
because they sure don't belong to me.
These tears want to come, gushing out
hot trails down to chapped lips
the feel of electricity in the air,
thunderstorm in my bones
fingers wrapped tightly around a tree root
like an an anchor,
the handclasp of a brave man
a dryad as my chair
and friend
and only lover.
I am tired
and the storm raging around me,
inside me,
all over me
is getting to be too much.
No more, I want to say,
but these aren't my words.
My mouth is mute
on every important matter I've eve heard of.
How can I release my words into the uncaring world?
They are my babies,
and they carry my genes
they uncode me,
lay me bare under the obstetric stares of the whole world.
I am coming undone,
falling apart at the seems and could-have-beens
pieces of decaying leaf mold I've been holding on to for far too long
littering my invisible path into the woods
the gingerbread house locked up tight
against burglars,
for the witch has learned to be cautious
about who she snares these days.
I asked you once
to tell me how to be wise.
You taught me how to instead.
I asked you to show me how to trust you.
You pushed me onto a high-flying trapeze bar.
I asked you for an earthquake,
a blacksmith's fire,
an anvil and chisel to hammer myself taut and thin and tired,
an overstretched guitar string
so I may learn reliance.
You have never let me down.
an overstretched guitar string
just waiting,
waiting,
for a finger to trail lightly over me
and then
I will snap.
I will break
I will release all of the things I have been holding in for so long,
the things sitting on the back of my tongue,
never sure who these words belong to
because they sure don't belong to me.
These tears want to come, gushing out
hot trails down to chapped lips
the feel of electricity in the air,
thunderstorm in my bones
fingers wrapped tightly around a tree root
like an an anchor,
the handclasp of a brave man
a dryad as my chair
and friend
and only lover.
I am tired
and the storm raging around me,
inside me,
all over me
is getting to be too much.
No more, I want to say,
but these aren't my words.
My mouth is mute
on every important matter I've eve heard of.
How can I release my words into the uncaring world?
They are my babies,
and they carry my genes
they uncode me,
lay me bare under the obstetric stares of the whole world.
I am coming undone,
falling apart at the seems and could-have-beens
pieces of decaying leaf mold I've been holding on to for far too long
littering my invisible path into the woods
the gingerbread house locked up tight
against burglars,
for the witch has learned to be cautious
about who she snares these days.
I asked you once
to tell me how to be wise.
You taught me how to instead.
I asked you to show me how to trust you.
You pushed me onto a high-flying trapeze bar.
I asked you for an earthquake,
a blacksmith's fire,
an anvil and chisel to hammer myself taut and thin and tired,
an overstretched guitar string
so I may learn reliance.
You have never let me down.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
A Love Poem
Every snowflake,
every wispy cloud framed against an azure sky,
every dandelion puff I've made for you.
The hot, rich, dusty smell of petrichor,
the palpable feeling of home you feel in your mother's arms,
the delight you feel in a flower filled meadow.
A love poem to you.
And the yellow flowers,
all of the yellow flowers -
the ones that appear soon after the snow melts
and the ones that linger late into the autumn
whispering I love you.
And even though the grass withers and the flowers fade,
my word stands forever:
I love you.
I love you.
every wispy cloud framed against an azure sky,
every dandelion puff I've made for you.
The hot, rich, dusty smell of petrichor,
the palpable feeling of home you feel in your mother's arms,
the delight you feel in a flower filled meadow.
A love poem to you.
And the yellow flowers,
all of the yellow flowers -
the ones that appear soon after the snow melts
and the ones that linger late into the autumn
whispering I love you.
And even though the grass withers and the flowers fade,
my word stands forever:
I love you.
I love you.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
LT13 closing ceremonies
Tears and snot pour down my face as I weep, head in my hands as my Brother and Sister in Christ support me on either side, their comforting hands solid on my shaking back. Around me - the masses of my friends, singing praises and promises to God, paying little attention to me. I had been holding it in all evening, ducking into the bathroom to cry and hoping that my friends didn't notice my tear-stained eyes, but here where there was no chance of well-meaning but unwanted comfort I was letting it all out.
"Oh God! Why?! Why? Those arrows, aimed right for my heart, for the deepest oldest wounds. 'You are forgotten. You are so unimportant those you look up to forget about your very presence. You are a child. You know nothing.' They say, they shout to the very rooftops, trumpet to the tops of mountains, proclaiming shame and fear over me. Why?"
"There is a room locked deep in your heart that you haven't given me the key to. Your victories this summer mean nothing if that room is not unlocked and dealt with now. Will you trust me?"
Hesitatingly, "Yes."
"Take my hand"
We approach a plain wooden door, leading to the dungeons of my heart, where all of the deep evil lives. I hand God the key, and watch as he fits it into the lock. It is as he turns it that I realize I had been wrong. It isn't a door to the dungeons, but to the treasury, and rather than being plain and wooden it is made of gold and encrusted with jeweled flowers and birds.
***
'The door slid open. A blast of grief, of the deaths of children, of crippling diseases that took beauty at once but withheld death; of unconsummated love, of love lost or twisted or grown to hate; of noble deeds that proved useless, that broke the hearts of their doers; of betrayal without reason, of guilt without penance, of all the human miseries that have ever occurred; all this struck them, like the breath of a slaughterhouse, of the blow of a murderer... just this she had feared, had half-expected; yet the reality was much worse than what her tired mind had been able to prepare for her.
'Greetings, said Maur's head. I did not think to have the pleasure of seeing you again....
'She opened her mouth to gasp, and despair rushed in, bitter as aloes. Tears filled her eyes, but she pushed herself away from the threshold... "This---is why---we've been---so---tired---all along."
'"Yes." The sibilant hissed in the silence like adders' tongues...
'"We must get rid of Maur's head...." She walked purposefully up to the low platform where Maur's skull lay; the shadows in the eyesockets glinted... She set her shoulder in one of the ridged hollows at the base of the skull and heaved. Nothing happened but that Maur laughed louder; its laughter crashed in her head like thunder, and her vision was stained red...
'You shall not bully me again! Aerin said, and, almost not knowing what she did, pulled Gonturan free of her scabbard and slapped the flat of her across the base of Maur's head where once the backbone had joined. Blue fire leaped up in sharp tongues that lit the entire vault, with its many shelves and cupboards and niches, and doors into further strongrooms. It was a ghostly unhealthy color, but the skull shrieked, and there was a crack like a mountain splitting, and the skull fell of its pedestal to the floor....
'Maur had lost its ascendance once Gonturan had struck it, and while the skull still stank, it seemed almost an organic stench now, under the open sky; no more than the faint rotting smell of ancient carrion.'
~The Hero and the Crown, by Robin McKinley
***
Lies instead of truth, despair instead of hope, darkness instead of beauty, were in the treasure places of my heart. The dragons' heads that I put in places of honor still send out whispers of lies, but it's different now. They are losing their ascendancy in my heart as they are attacked by the Word of God, which is the sword of the spirit. And that gives me hope.
"Oh God! Why?! Why? Those arrows, aimed right for my heart, for the deepest oldest wounds. 'You are forgotten. You are so unimportant those you look up to forget about your very presence. You are a child. You know nothing.' They say, they shout to the very rooftops, trumpet to the tops of mountains, proclaiming shame and fear over me. Why?"
"There is a room locked deep in your heart that you haven't given me the key to. Your victories this summer mean nothing if that room is not unlocked and dealt with now. Will you trust me?"
Hesitatingly, "Yes."
"Take my hand"
We approach a plain wooden door, leading to the dungeons of my heart, where all of the deep evil lives. I hand God the key, and watch as he fits it into the lock. It is as he turns it that I realize I had been wrong. It isn't a door to the dungeons, but to the treasury, and rather than being plain and wooden it is made of gold and encrusted with jeweled flowers and birds.
***
'The door slid open. A blast of grief, of the deaths of children, of crippling diseases that took beauty at once but withheld death; of unconsummated love, of love lost or twisted or grown to hate; of noble deeds that proved useless, that broke the hearts of their doers; of betrayal without reason, of guilt without penance, of all the human miseries that have ever occurred; all this struck them, like the breath of a slaughterhouse, of the blow of a murderer... just this she had feared, had half-expected; yet the reality was much worse than what her tired mind had been able to prepare for her.
'Greetings, said Maur's head. I did not think to have the pleasure of seeing you again....
'She opened her mouth to gasp, and despair rushed in, bitter as aloes. Tears filled her eyes, but she pushed herself away from the threshold... "This---is why---we've been---so---tired---all along."
'"Yes." The sibilant hissed in the silence like adders' tongues...
'"We must get rid of Maur's head...." She walked purposefully up to the low platform where Maur's skull lay; the shadows in the eyesockets glinted... She set her shoulder in one of the ridged hollows at the base of the skull and heaved. Nothing happened but that Maur laughed louder; its laughter crashed in her head like thunder, and her vision was stained red...
'You shall not bully me again! Aerin said, and, almost not knowing what she did, pulled Gonturan free of her scabbard and slapped the flat of her across the base of Maur's head where once the backbone had joined. Blue fire leaped up in sharp tongues that lit the entire vault, with its many shelves and cupboards and niches, and doors into further strongrooms. It was a ghostly unhealthy color, but the skull shrieked, and there was a crack like a mountain splitting, and the skull fell of its pedestal to the floor....
'Maur had lost its ascendance once Gonturan had struck it, and while the skull still stank, it seemed almost an organic stench now, under the open sky; no more than the faint rotting smell of ancient carrion.'
~The Hero and the Crown, by Robin McKinley
***
Lies instead of truth, despair instead of hope, darkness instead of beauty, were in the treasure places of my heart. The dragons' heads that I put in places of honor still send out whispers of lies, but it's different now. They are losing their ascendancy in my heart as they are attacked by the Word of God, which is the sword of the spirit. And that gives me hope.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
A Slice of my Life
Note: I wrote this back in December, December 13 to be exact, but I wanted to share it with those of you who read my blog. :)
*******
I grew up in a loving Christian family. We went to church every Sunday, were involved in many of the ministries, and even talked about God at home during the week. I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior when I was three years old, to a large extent because my brothers had and I wasn't going to be left behind. I did believe in God, but he really didn't impact my life too much. I followed the rules, was a good christian girl and as long as my behavior followed the standards I had set for myself, I felt pretty good about my life.
However, I was incredibly lonely. I had friends at church and school, but spent a lot of time alone, feeling left out and sad. Especially after a few deeply wounding experiences, I didn't trust anyone, not truly. I never told anyone anything important about my life, afraid I would be laughed at, dismissed, and betrayed again. And I transferred these beliefs to God, not trusting his heart towards me. Oh, I told him things, important things even, crying out to him in my pain, but I didn't believe he was out for my good. In high school I really struggled with believing in God. I believed he existed, but I didn't understand when he acted in ways that seemed contrary to my good and happiness. The worst of it was that I wanted so badly to believe in him and have the kind of relationship my mom, and my older brother, and my friends seemed to have with Him.
Everything came to a head four years ago in my senior year of high school at a youth conference. I finally broke, sobbed my eyes out on the floor, snot dripping down my face, as I finally let go and decided to trust God with myself. Later that evening, I even told one of my youth pastors and a few of my friends one of my most closely guarded secrets. They listened to me and loved me. It was incredibly freeing, and the journey since has been more beautiful and wonderful and terrible still.
Over the past four years God has become more and more real to me, and his character has opened up to greater and greater extents. I now have that relationship I had envied in high school, and it is beautiful. Not everything is smooth sailing of course. Things are, in some ways, harder than ever. Every day I wake up having to make the decision over again - will I trust God today? Will I let go of my own plans, my own attempts at self-righteousness and control? Will I stop grasping at everything apart from God that promises me life, all the little indulgences and sins that my flesh hungers for, but I know don't really satisfy?
This past year, I've been on a books and movies fast, as those are the things that I give my heart away to in return for the promise of life, my personal idol as it were. My flesh hungers for escape from pain, and stories provide that to me, if only for a little while even as they numb my heart. There have been so many ups and downs this year, many starts and stops to my fast, and I've been on my knees, raw and sobbing out to God more times than I can remember, because, God, I just want to be happy! I don't want to feel all of these negative emotions! But my purpose on this earth is not to be happy but to bring Jesus Christ glory.
This means saying no when I want to say yes. Allowing myself to feel when all I want is numbness. And trusting that when God brings me to a cliff and tells me to jump, I won't crash and burn but instead mount up on wings like eagles. And so when at Fall Retreat God asked me if I would let him break my heart, I timidly and fearfully said ok. For Jesus Christ came to help the sick and the hurting and the dying, and restoration and healing often involve lancing the old wounds and letting the pain and anger pour out before new growth can occur. The past few months have been a time of such deep pain, as God systematically uses the sucky things in my life to remind me of and bring me back to old festering wounds from my childhood so he can heal them. Yes, this fall has been full of pain, but has also been a time of healing, and learning at a continually deeper level that God is good, God is trustworthy, and if I wait on and trust in him instead of trying to find life on my own, he will satisfy me.
And this is eternal life, that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. John 17:3
But those who wait for the Lord [who expect, look for, and hope in Him] shall change and renew their strength and power; they shall lift their wings and mount up [close to God] as eagles [mount up to the sun]; they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint or become tired. - Isaiah 40:31 (Amplified)
*******
I grew up in a loving Christian family. We went to church every Sunday, were involved in many of the ministries, and even talked about God at home during the week. I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior when I was three years old, to a large extent because my brothers had and I wasn't going to be left behind. I did believe in God, but he really didn't impact my life too much. I followed the rules, was a good christian girl and as long as my behavior followed the standards I had set for myself, I felt pretty good about my life.
However, I was incredibly lonely. I had friends at church and school, but spent a lot of time alone, feeling left out and sad. Especially after a few deeply wounding experiences, I didn't trust anyone, not truly. I never told anyone anything important about my life, afraid I would be laughed at, dismissed, and betrayed again. And I transferred these beliefs to God, not trusting his heart towards me. Oh, I told him things, important things even, crying out to him in my pain, but I didn't believe he was out for my good. In high school I really struggled with believing in God. I believed he existed, but I didn't understand when he acted in ways that seemed contrary to my good and happiness. The worst of it was that I wanted so badly to believe in him and have the kind of relationship my mom, and my older brother, and my friends seemed to have with Him.
Everything came to a head four years ago in my senior year of high school at a youth conference. I finally broke, sobbed my eyes out on the floor, snot dripping down my face, as I finally let go and decided to trust God with myself. Later that evening, I even told one of my youth pastors and a few of my friends one of my most closely guarded secrets. They listened to me and loved me. It was incredibly freeing, and the journey since has been more beautiful and wonderful and terrible still.
Over the past four years God has become more and more real to me, and his character has opened up to greater and greater extents. I now have that relationship I had envied in high school, and it is beautiful. Not everything is smooth sailing of course. Things are, in some ways, harder than ever. Every day I wake up having to make the decision over again - will I trust God today? Will I let go of my own plans, my own attempts at self-righteousness and control? Will I stop grasping at everything apart from God that promises me life, all the little indulgences and sins that my flesh hungers for, but I know don't really satisfy?
This past year, I've been on a books and movies fast, as those are the things that I give my heart away to in return for the promise of life, my personal idol as it were. My flesh hungers for escape from pain, and stories provide that to me, if only for a little while even as they numb my heart. There have been so many ups and downs this year, many starts and stops to my fast, and I've been on my knees, raw and sobbing out to God more times than I can remember, because, God, I just want to be happy! I don't want to feel all of these negative emotions! But my purpose on this earth is not to be happy but to bring Jesus Christ glory.
This means saying no when I want to say yes. Allowing myself to feel when all I want is numbness. And trusting that when God brings me to a cliff and tells me to jump, I won't crash and burn but instead mount up on wings like eagles. And so when at Fall Retreat God asked me if I would let him break my heart, I timidly and fearfully said ok. For Jesus Christ came to help the sick and the hurting and the dying, and restoration and healing often involve lancing the old wounds and letting the pain and anger pour out before new growth can occur. The past few months have been a time of such deep pain, as God systematically uses the sucky things in my life to remind me of and bring me back to old festering wounds from my childhood so he can heal them. Yes, this fall has been full of pain, but has also been a time of healing, and learning at a continually deeper level that God is good, God is trustworthy, and if I wait on and trust in him instead of trying to find life on my own, he will satisfy me.
And this is eternal life, that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. John 17:3
But those who wait for the Lord [who expect, look for, and hope in Him] shall change and renew their strength and power; they shall lift their wings and mount up [close to God] as eagles [mount up to the sun]; they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint or become tired. - Isaiah 40:31 (Amplified)
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