I need a man!!! Not so he can pay my bills: I’ve got that. Not so he can help raise my kids: I’ve got that too. Not even so he can “complete me:” I’m already perfectly imperfect. To be quite honest… I need a man… because it’s just unnatural to have to wash my own back in the shower!!!
Poetry, Prose, & Punchlines
And now I’m the crier:
I’ve been thinking of this hype. I avoid my friends, not because the CDC recommends it, but because many have been the criers, “Prepare!! Prepare!!” They speak of worldly preparations. It’s good to prepare, but the energy behind it is unsettling, ridden with anxiety. The world has too much of that already.
So… I keep my distance so that I don’t take on that energy. What they don’t realize is that I have been long prepared in ways they do not know… I speak of our spiritual preparations. I suppose that is a fault of mine that they don’t know the depths of my relationship with God. Oh yes, they know the surface, but not the daily walk and intimate conversations. It enables me to have a profound peace and complete trust in Him.
I thought this morning: If we look at it from a Traditional Chinese Medical viewpoint (or Taoist view)… it is a virus affecting the lungs…. our “taking in.”
So I ask myself “Am I taking in… the spirit of God and Christ or… the virus?”
Peace, Love, and Trust be with you today and every day!
Throw Back…. Friday?
I am so excited to have found my journal of quotes from all the amazing books I had read in my early 20s!!! Lost in the pages was an old piece I wrote while at a layover in Chicago, referencing O’Hare’s Neon Walkway.
Untitled
Sleepy-eyed travellers lethargically rush to their gate, yet upon arrival all they do is wait. Unaware of the pale orange sun creeping up above the horizon… To say good morning to Chicago. Occasionally one may look up, but their tunnel vision limits the beauty to simply signs: “Restrooms [this way],” “Gates C22 – C32 [that way],” “Gate C21 [over there]” and the ever-faithful 5:33.
I had an experience like no other as I made my way outside to the warm breeze. Almost like a mad Carnival Funhouse, the multi-colored neon lights pushed me along. The walls like a space station pale pinks and blues with brand new plastic borders. The music tooted a flute from an unknown source but… Breathing made it all come together in a serene playfulness.
Now as we all wait. We sip on our ritual Grande Mochas… Hoping our plane doesn’t crash.
Bring Back Yesterday
It’s days like these that I’m proud of my defenses…that I can block the energy so I don’t feel the offenses… that suction of life out of my core to leave a hollow pit that suffers in its emptiness like never before. Good thing I can block that today. ‘Cause the devil came out to play with the minds of the fragile leaving a bloody mess. Lord it’s a tragedy, I must confess. So please bring back yesterday… that time of innocence. Before I knew how unfathomable actions could be. Before that news that I would see. Before I knew evil’s act. Just erase the trauma, take it all in fact. Leave me with yesterday… that time without sin. When the world was good and love would win.
Maybe There Is No God
I’ve just grown up knowing that God was there.
That His Grace and Love are everywhere.
I want to believe that He leads my way,
That it’s not just a random sort-of-day.
But then all the connections I have felt with people, places, and things,
Turn out to be only my imaginings.
Maybe the One I pray to is just in my mind
Maybe He doesn’t exist since He’s so hard to find.
Because those beliefs that He tells me to hold true
Never work out… They never do.
So perhaps that’s why he doesn’t love me
Perhaps that’s why someone else is buying that property.
Because none of it is real, it’s all in my head.
But I guess I’ll have these delusions ’til I’m dead.
My hope feels lost if it’s all just chance.
There’s no divine plan, it’s all just happenstance.
I just want to disappear – get away from everyone.
Fuck it all: If connections aren’t real then I’m done.
Ode to the Middle Schooler
I can’t make you care about World Civilizations, Algebra, or Astronomy.
I recognize you’re growing older and wanting your autonomy.
I can’t make you fight for what you deserve or make you rise to be a star.
I recognize that you’re confused and trying hard to find out who you are.
I pray and pray for you to choose love, life, and laughter… while you go astray.
But I also beg the Lord that you don’t forget my love along the way.
There’s a delicate balance between my responsibility and yours.
Don’t ever forget that when He closes windows, He opens doors.
I’ll practice letting go… to cease control.
So that you can fall and fail to help you become whole.
Love, Mom
Black Hole
You are my light. I am your darkness. Originating from One Great source.
Beware my star, my brightest sun, I will take all of you without remorse.
I do not seek your money, things, or any of your countless possessions.
I want your darkest deeds and frightening fears- a collection of confessions.
There was a time when I was like you: Shining life, a world of envy.
Then my heart collapsed under the bitterness of what could never be.
I’m trapped inside: Stay back, lest my love crush your soul with no recourse.
I remain invincible, yet you’ll know me there by my gravitational force.
Stellar, soulful, seductive: I extend my reach into infinite dimensions.
Out of me- The Gap in the Sky- returns the King for our ascensions.
Now only blackness- snuffing the light- at the center of your galaxy.
But at any day and hour, the gates will open, Love wins, and we’ll be free.
Love is my mental illness
When I can’t stop the fight to reach the light of your soul. When I disappear so you don’t hear my heart fall asunder. When I trek on and on in this role despite the ache rolling through my chest like thunder.
A little crazy never hurt no one.
How I let you go every other day: I cannot stay it seems. How I cling to the fling that was a red hot flame. How I see you in my dreams and hope for the long-lasting steady burn of your love game.
A dash of insanity could be fun.
Why I obsess and overthink over my fear of rejections: Your affections are my reprieve. Why I request of Amor, a bequest from above. Why I get so worked up and try to leave until your spirit mingles with mine to command, “Be still my love.”
A pinch of madness is better than none.
Darlin’ I’m nuts about you. But when you’re gone… This love is my mental illness.
My Basilisk.
It eats me up inside: Not knowing. The thoughts gnawing their way down. Down into my core. Tired of the times I’ve cried: But not showing. The sickness craving attention when I try to ignore.
Its breath so sweet, its touch is a sin. Dark magic salaciously at play. Playing on my heart strings. The look it gives when we meet: I drink it in. Even with the knowledge that it means my death, I submit to the serpent’s callings.
I’m fighting to face it then forget it’s hold on me. I’m trying to love it then forget it doesn’t love me.
Anytime it crosses my heart, the boost, the bliss. It is my basilisk.
A Thought to Share
I don’t have your love… if you keep it hidden in you.
thesaltstone 