water reflections

Tonight the sun sank down in violet blue water, behind the yellow lights on the horizon. Evening sky sings like a clear alto melody; strong and beautiful. Beautiful like a sister, like a poplar, like a tear, like deep breathing.

I will reflect a bit with you my friend. My friend I will think and dream and murmur laughs with you. Let us take some moments to dip our hands in the cool memory waters, press flowers of contentment and regret into closed chapters of voluminous journals. We will love each other, my sister, my brother, with every careful display of the past. Your welcome reception of my raw vulnerability will crush me with its swift and powerful wave of love. How I will adore your fragile knees and we will shake our heads. Shake our heads. Oh! We will shake our heads, so slow, so truthfully, at our past immaturity. Our ignorance. Our terrible terrible. 

How glad-- how glad does the light of God make your heart? Does it fill you up anew? How glad does it make you? How glad?


five minutes more

I. Tonight fills itself with the study of linguistics. I am enjoying the ideas and information. The thought about a people defining a dictionary, which is usually considered (albeit slightly in error) to define words, was really interesting because looking at it that way returns language to this beautiful, organic, and even supernatural phenomenon that we shape and live in. We sometimes squirm around in it awkwardly, soar on its poetry declaring love and beauty, retreat to it when matters need sorting out, dance on it in the rhythms of music and intensity. Do we not also inflate it with evil and coarseness? Do we not often take elite words and drag them down into the mundane? Do we not war with it? Oh, language! Who will defend you?

II. Finding one's identity in God, in who he is and who he makes you essentially be, is invaluble and necessary for peace. Otherwise, we are defined by changing things, like ourselves and the reactions of peers and strangers. We either cling to his immovableness, or are blighted from all sides with totally random events that lift us up or bring us down. Our minds are so fallible! So often deceived! We know so little about the world, about others, about the inner workings, about minutia, about ourselves. Yes, it might be and probably is that we know hardly anything about God. But let us never doubt that he is forever the same, forever just, and forever loving. When He loves us, we are more than minds, more than bodies, we are souls lifted up, and saved.


five minutes of freewrite

Today is one for recovery. To the south, my neighbors are returning to their homes, cringing with what they might find. Do I have any idea what that would feel like? No. And I pray I never do. Hopefully, Mitch's grandparents' home is okay. I would never want to see the looks on their faces if it was badly damaged.

Crying is such a natural thing and it is good. I know God's thoughts are higher and more eloquent than this, but I can just imagine him creating mankind and thinking, "They must have some way to shed their excess anxieties and sadness. Some natural catharsis. Some satisfying release when life breaks their heart. Some act that postures them toward repentance and reconciliation. Something that keeps them real."

Today I will go to church at Incarnation, after a brief reading stop at Crooked Tree Coffee House. Alone, I am still great company, but I do wish for Mitch, as well. He enhances every activity. He makes things more beautiful. Yet, for as little wisdom as I do possess, I know for sure that this period of letters, phone calls, and long distances is sweet, sweet indeed. How he reminds me of the steadfastness of the Lord. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.



Wonders on this day I see--
Birds bright blue no scarcity
Fowl with wild plummage plum
Doves who speak, no longer dumb

Bewilderment as they synchronize
their kamikaze swooping dives
They fall like bombs upon the ground
Grounded exploding birds abound

A parade of color, spark, glamour
A lulling noise from the clamor
Swiftly swirled across the earth,
Sound of rustling, sound of mirth

Lighting makes a transformation
From birds into a new creation
They become golden autumn leaves
A plethora scattered as they please

Underfoot they crunch like eggshells
Like stained glass and tiny tin bells
Into shards they then shatter
Quickly rejoin; no tear or tatter

Wild dance of crinkle leaves
Fallen premature off trees
Swiftly circling up around
Small cyclone on nearby ground

From the funnel steps a boy
leading lions leading boys
Away they leap into a hill
Then, great wonder! All is still

Is it many? Is it one?
Is this all? Is there none?
I praise God-- epistemic bliss!
Change be not so random as this


Charmless Dolt

Today a young man walked into Crooked Tree who was absolutely without charm. His assessment of the menu hanging above the cash register was brief. He assaulted the Chai by flippantly speaking of it and then throwing it out. Then, still charmlessly, he questioned which type of chocolate was in the hot chocolate. WHAT? You crazy boy defunct of cheer and charm! Stop your silly questions! Then he just got the cider after his question about the type of chocolate was not answered to his satisfaction. To give him the benefit of the doubt, I later directed a question his way about his small computer. He just told me it was a Dell. What a dolt.

According to Victorian ideals, this is when he stumbles upon an innocent and sweet girl who makes him morally better. Eh. Good luck