deM atlaS – Watabout

“They don’t give a watabout my life.”

lowercase

There are things I am hesitant to make public. This is one of those. 

I believed for a moment today, but then it went away. “I feel this deep sense in my heart that I cannot shake,” I said to a friend and he nodded, half-heartedly listening because he was so tired. It was a flicker. A glimpse and for a moment felt warm like it might stay for a while. But it didn’t. It never does.

Then, like I do most every Wednesday, I went to a church group where the onus is placed on confession. Men confessing is like _____. I confessed that I no longer believe. That for so long I wanted to feel like god has my back, but he doesn’t. That’s why I lowercased him.

This brings me to the topic of respect. I lost that too.

I believed for a moment today, but then it went away. I have to ask myself, “Was it ever really there?”

George Saunders on story

 

Articulate the Silence

Close your eyes if you want to.
The nothing is something.
Maybe just an absence or a state of mind.
Allow yourself to feel the nothing.
It might be black.
It might be white.
Maybe grey.

Allow yourself to feel it.
Let it pour in.
Let it fill up to the top.

It’s ok if it has a quiet sound.
Like a buzzing.
Or a watch ticking that’s wrapped in something soft.
Allow yourself to feel it.
It’s ok if it swells and grows louder.
There might even be a rhythm to it.
That’s alright.
It might invade a bit.
Happening more quickly than you expected.
Or it might take some time.
That’s also ok.

Are you there?
Has it happened?
Have you transcended this life and become a part of the nothing?
Good.
Be there.
For as long as you wish.
For as long as it takes.
Let it roll on top of you like warm waves.
Simply be.

The nothing and eternity have something in common.
Can you make the connection?
If you don’t want to, that’s alright.
Today, it might be enough to simply say that they do.

You are connected to it as well.
So am I.
So is everyone who has ever been.
And everyone who will be.

There is a great force.
Causing everything to spin.
Making continuous revolutions.

Maybe, the force is pulling you closer.
Can you feel that?
The warmth of contact?

Open your eyes,
and give a name to the most important thing in your world

Bitter angels

Like bitter angels we fall
Little raindrops that patter
Down to the sidewalk
As stained glass; shatter.

Mutemath – Remain

“I’ve been confiscating every shred of hope that I can.” 

This song is transient and effortlessly beautiful. Wonderfully whimsical and simply magic. Listening to it makes me believe that I have caught something special in a glass jar. Something that I can hold onto for a short time and then release back into the world. “Just keep trying. Just keep fighting. Just keep going. Just keep surviving. Just keep walking. Just keep breathing. Just keep hoping. Just keep believing,” rings like an anthem for those down and out and moments away from the unthinkable. This song is special and I want more like it.

At all

Somehow, in a white room with no windows or mirrors,
you see yourself.
How could this be? You ask.
How, indeed.
Perhaps you are drawing from memory and casting
such things on the barren walls.

Or maybe you’re not really here at all.

Big

I think God is so much bigger than I’ve ever heard.
Bigger than anyone’s ever said.
Than any writer has written.
Even than language itself.

I think we dwarf Him.
Put Him in boxes.
Consider Him less.

He’s much bigger than any church has ever spoken.
Than any door has ever opened.
Than any singer has ever sung.
Bigger than any ring has ever rung.

Like ladders, we try and climb to Him.
Hoping with each step up, we’ll understand Him more.
I’m askin’ what for?

This poem won’t get close.
Not a fraction’s fraction.
This poem will fail like every single other one does.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t try.
There’s always room to wonder.
Just remember, we don’t scratch the surface.
Our “perfect” penmanship to Him looks like a child
learning cursive.

The nothingness

Flying down the tarmac, head out the window, ears full of Parisian sensibilities.
“What are we doing here?” He yelled to no one in particular.
“The same thing you are!” The nothingness yelled back.
As he put his head back in, he shrugged, thinking little of the exchange, but he did in fact feel, somehow, changed.

Serena Williams recites Maya Angelou

This poem is simply a timeless classic. It does something very palpable to my spirit. I makes me want to move. Dance. Live. I think the verses seem natural coming from Serena’s lips. I pray for more pieces like this one; perfection.

“Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?”