Thoughts: Quand allons-nous aimer?

Mon Dieu, pourquoi?

The sobbing in the streets where we used to sit and sip our café au lait,  watching our neighbors pass by as they carry out their lives. We were just smoking our cigarettes, laughing, lounging.

Now we’re putting out our buildings instead, drinking up the sadness with the madness, our streets flooded with confusion, with anger.

Mon Dieu, mon cœur! Ce n’est pas possible!

Could it be that our nightmares were reality? Our streets were refuge for the fleeing, our homes were shelter for the weak. Could it be that these people are just like me?

Identifying with the outcasts, identifying it was also me. No home to go to, mourning in the streets, white roses in bullet holes in glass, our pain as theirs, home’s not safe.

Remember when things were calm and the waves were soothing? When man loved one another? When humanity was more human?

Oh Jesus I’m up in arms, I’m ready for war! But how do you fight an enemy that isn’t tangible? It’s not an army or a nation or a people group, it’s our hearts.

God, why can’t anyone see, that it’s people who are fucked up, and people are the key to setting things right with humanity. Everything we touch turns to dust, we try and create only to decimate, pushing for betterment of things that weren’t meant to be. All our hearts are black, all our ambitions are driven by our selfish conditions with visions of pornography, of celebrity fame, of a cause with a voice and no action.

What the fuck are we doing?

I’m not any different than anyone else. I’ve got my hands tied with my emotions, grasping for relationships I know aren’t good for me, concerned with the thread counts in my sheets, looking at parts of women that weren’t meant for me. Anger wells up in my chest, I can’t rest, I’m not functioning at my best, I’m not functioning at all.

I’m just existing.

Sometimes that’s all I can do.

A dear friend looked me in my eye and told me I wasn’t the same. He said, “You’re angry now, like there’s no hope.” Well I never asked for any of this pain, any of this shame, I was just trying to stand up for what’s right! I was just trying to be a decent human being!

“Who are you to determine what’s right? You know, when I’m angry, it’s because I’m afraid. Our anger is a reaction to our fear. What are you so afraid of?”

And thus from his lips it did depart, that I was caught, and it was time to face my fear. It boiled down to my shame, that I was the person I was, that I was actively fighting against everything I believed. I was afraid I would never be wanted, that my best would never be best for someone else.

Well Christ reminds me that even my worst is good for him, so I’ll get angry at him for calling me out, then get angry at me for getting angry at him, and get angry that I’m the way I am, then get angry at me for telling myself that.

We’re all so layered, sediments and stone, but canyons don’t get so beautiful without weathering to show their bones. When you look at how complex you are, and realize so is everyone else, pieces start to fall in place. Pain is what shapes our perspective, pain is what pushes us into the light, pain is created by us, pain is existent only because of us.

So “shadows prove the sunshine” and we’re woven together. Sometimes we’re in the shade, sometimes we’re not, none of this will make any sense until you can admit to yourself that your joy only comes at the cost of someone else’s pain.

“Do you think some people were made for suffering so others could experience joy. I think about that often. I think maybe that’s me.”

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Thoughts: What Kind of Mop Do You Use to Sop Up Wasted Love?

“Were you there when I was hungry? Were you there when I thirsted? Did you have my name in your actions instead of your mouth? Did you love me when I had none?”

I can’t help but struggle with the concept of love. Watching Romantic Comedies, listening to As Cities Burn’s “The Widow”, having a heart-felt conversation with my roommate, bickering with my mother, having lunch with my grandmother and aunt, struggling with a desire to be loved as much as I love others. I’m always wondering where the reciprocation is? Caught between hopeful expectancy and melancholy apathy.

I know love is self-sacrificing because I’ve given myself so many times. I’m always surprised at the amount of me’s that I can pull out of my chest, like the machine from “The Prestige” is just pumping away right behind my sternum. Giving my clones away to passers-by like a man in a hotdog suit. “It’s by one get one free!” I call out after them, only to see the flyers of me discarded on the ground as they round the corner.

So I quit giving myself away. This paper-man had lived in so many different garbage cans by now that Oscar was getting upset for encroaching on his realty. So I moved upstate, into the seclusion. There was fresh air, there were song birds calling at every moment, there was the gargling as the rivers rushed about to meet their mistress the Atlantic, no reason to shave the forest that grew from my chin. I was akin to the stones and conversed often with the elk. We would talk at length, but the pines always brought back the same question from the elk’s mountainous hideaways:

“You know you weren’t made for solitude. You call to us like we can save you. We weren’t made for your companionship and we weren’t made to piece you back together. You always tell us of this man who made us as if we don’t know him. You call him by name, but his name is all you know.”

Elk always were the wise and mysterious sort. It was back to the Midwest where I would try and find community, where I would try and make a home. Find a cozy house with good bones, work harder at knowing Christ, find time to figure out what I believe and how love really works.

Sometimes, I like to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling. It’s nice to look  at the bumps and ridges. They’re like their own little landscape, like another world inverted from ours. It often reminds me that that’s how I see things, like Death Cab’s “Lack of Color”, always fixated on the wrong things. I wonder how God does it. How we’re so small he can see us all with one gaze yet we’re oh so much more than bumps on the ceiling.

How do we love so effectively as you do? All I am is a mess of depression addled nonsense. I know I am more than that but how? Everything we are pushes against you as if our poles were magnetized to be opposite. The Creation has continued to sing you a love song since your thundering voice sounded those billions of years ago and all we do is sow in the discord. Every time I love, I love too much. Every time I guard myself I become calloused and cold. How can I be compassionate and look after myself at the same time?

There are few things I get anxious about, but love is one of them. It’s messy and I often times don’t know how to do it. I’ve messed up a lot of relationships and friendships. I’ve been too selfish, or too forward, or too vulgar. I’m constantly stewing in what I could or couldn’t have done, Bugs Bunny cutting up carrots as I yammer away, unknowingly boiling alive.

I’m really hoping that someday I will understand how to love fully. How to be compassionate and invested for the right reasons. How to keep a healthy distance to allow myself to grow and flourish just as much as those I give love to. Maybe someday I’ll realize that I’m not the only one who struggles with this and maybe one day this will allow someone to be honest with themselves, that’s all I can really hope.

Thoughts: Temporary Ground

Finite beings with finite feelings, is there really any love in us at all? We claim to love, put it on a pedestal, give it names spoke in whisper. But do those names mean anything? Because our love isn’t valid unless it’s bought for 5.95 out of a People magazine. Our sex isn’t good enough out side of a Cosmopolitan dream.

Living in a world where I can’t express how I feel towards others. Not a single word of encouragement or beauty or it’ll be awkward. Can’t tell a woman she’s beautiful, can’t tell a man he’s admired.

It’s not that we don’t want the attention. That’s all we ever want is attention. “But with strings attached? That’s absurd!” Always thought of but never heard. Ultron couldn’t have said it better, funny how a made up animatron can be so human. More human than most I’d say, because at least he’s honest.

Strings: what a thing. Connection. We can’t handle that. “You want to tell me that I matter? You want to tell me that I’m loved? How can you parade around such infinite claims when my death’s just around the corner? Crafted from the same explosion as the stars, we’re just star dust. And even eons from now, stars still burn out.”

How abysmal. How tragic. How selfish. We can’t even accept love because we’re afraid we’ll lose it. You want to talk about temporary ground, well we’re all standing on it. The claims you stand on are just as temporary as the dirt. Funny how we can be offered something so beautiful, a soft kiss on the cheek, a summer’s eve spent by the pond, holding-hands on the train as the sun streaks through our hair, a cool real bow on a gift someone went out of their way to get you, words about how lovely we are from the lips of someone we respect and love, yet we can’t accept those things because then we would mean something. And when we mean something what we do has worth. It has weight. It has consequence.

“Well what if we get hurt? What if we cause the pain? What if we’re left out in the rain, sitting by the fields where we play ball? What if our hearts are broken?”

So what if?

“Then let’s break everyone else’s heart first. Keep your veins filled with your own sentiments. Keep your words to yourself. I’ll keep you 12 inches away, so when I need you I can use you. But when it’s all said and done, I’ll get out my ruler, and at 12 inches you’ll stay. Cut you out of my life so I don’t have to feel the pain of knowing you love me. Out of my sight so I don’t have to remember that I was worth something to someone, so I have nothing to lose.”

I know we’re stuck on temporary ground, but why does that have to be so lonely? Why can’t I tell you that I love you, why can’t we make mistakes?  Why can’t things be awkward? Why can’t we sort it out? Why do I have to suffer with not being a part of your life? If there’s one thing that Christ has taught me, and one thing I know is true, is that he is not temporary. “Everything is temporary, except for Christ, and that’s what I’m clinging to.”

Those words give purpose to everything. In Christ everything is infinite. Through him, I don’t have to worry about loss, I don’t have to fear consequence. Such beautiful words from the mouth of such a gorgeous person. Someone who’s always spoken life into me when I’ve needed it, especially when they didn’t know I needed it. Someone who is so dear and so infinitely wonderful.

Make things weird. Let people know how much they mean to you. Don’t live in a calloused world, we have enough pain without people numbing it out of their thoughts. Feeling is a great thing, don’t let others fade like the McFly’s in Back to the Future. Sometimes heartbreak will happen, but heartbreak creates heartache, and heartache leads to passion for a better world. Love is a hard path, but it’s the only path that actually leads somewhere.

Poetry: Romanticism in the Ordinary

Don’t treat me like the shores today. Can I be something more stable?  Not in pieces, thrown about by tides, crowned in seafoam.

Yeah, I’m always so beautiful when the sun sets on me. Yeah, I’m always so comfortable beneath your feet. But in the end you’ll turn again to your landlocked abode away from me.

I try to cling to any crevice I can fit. I just want to be so close to you, be with you wherever you sit. But I’m just too agitating to your pale skin, you’ll wash me away, down this drain of despair whilst you’re reading in your den.

Can I be your breath, or could I be the light? Something you can’t live without, allowing you to see the beauty in every day and night. Quite alright, the thought of being in your lungs, where I’ll hang on your every word from the tip of your tongue.

Maybe just a blanket and a bed. Providing you with comfort, shelter, safety, a place to lay your head. So precious with it’s dreams and visions, caught between REM and bliss we could kiss and laugh our day away.

I could be your foothold and get your through this climb of memories and hours we call life. We’re always expecting so much more, some adventure, some caper to whisk us away so reality isn’t as real. But love isn’t found in coves on the Gallapagos, on beaches by the coast.

Find it in someone’s eyes and find it in their hands. Find it in the way they laugh or the way they make demands. It’s in the crinkling of a nose, a freckle on the cheek, I promise you, I’ll prove it to you when we meet.

I just need a love that wants to hold hands in the sun, walk creek beds in the summer, drink a beer, take a run. I don’t want to find you in the extraordinary, that’s not where you are, it’s who you are.

So when we meet just know one thing, I will do everything in my power to let you know you’re lovely, to let you know you’re gorgeous, to let you know I’m whole.