I've been listening to a lot of speech
Listening while they speak
Wondering whether its them or me
Who's got it all together
Whether we're bond or free
Whether we'll ever agree
Tired of pretending
So I let 'em be.
Wondering which one is wrong
All the while knowing that it Ain't me.
Knowing and searching deep in my soul
For an ounce of compassion; there's none that I see.
Who will I be
When its all said and done?
denying myself
Yet yearning for fun
Missing my people
Then wanna be alone
Ain't talk to no one
Won't pick up the phone.
Tuesday, February 06, 2018
Friday, February 02, 2018
Pentecost
It's dark in here. And very cold. A hollow sort of cold. An empty cold. With no refreshment or joyful exhilaration that makes you want to run around to stay warm. No. This is a dead cold.
There are too many of us packed together in this room- we're packed together tightly and very afraid. Yet I'm lonelier than I've ever been. Like there's a void or a tear within the earth itself and all that was light, and good, and comforting is being sucked into it.
He left so suddenly, and with him he took all my peace. It's not just me. And it's not just us. I think the whole world can feel this emptiness... because there is no sound. There is no movement. There is only stillness and waiting.
I can hear them all breathing and occasionally someone shifts in his seat on the floor and the shallow scratch of his sandal rubbing across the clay distracts and annoys me.
I can't tell if my eyes are open or closed anymore-the darkness is so complete. And every now and again there are little pinpricks of light that dart across my vision- like when one rubs his eyes too hard and causes that dull pressure in his skull to protest and send bursts of light to the back of his eye lids.
There's a sound. There's a sound like the howling of a mighty wind cutting through the branches and needles of a pine forest. And it is growing louder. Unbearably loud. It's overwhelming.
I keep expecting to be caught up in the storm and tossed about, but everything remains still. Except that now all of our eyes are open, and I can see their eyes because there is light. Real light. Like fire bursting upon the heads of all those around me. Flames dancing and growing- stretching and lifting toward the ceiling.
We're standing now with our heads cocked back staring up at these tongues of fire that are bursting from the tops of each of our heads and uniting into one big flame. It grows brighter, grows whiter, until I'm certain we will all go blind.
When our bodies are so cocked back that we are in danger of falling over backwards, the flame consumes us completely, and blasts from out the room. Surely the entire earth is engulfed in flame. Surely the whole world is consumed in fire. How long we stood there, shuddering in the light!
Then the light draws back. We can feel it rushing back toward us. The wind! The howling wind! And with no sign of slowing the light enters us. Through our mouths and eyes and ears. Through our skin and our beating hearts, the light infuses us so that there are beams of light erupting from our bodies. We are glowing.
Then we begin to speak. And we haven't stopped speaking. We are consumed. We are compelled.
See my only relief from the fire within is to share it with you- to have you bear it along with me. For it to consume us both. For it to consume us all.
There are too many of us packed together in this room- we're packed together tightly and very afraid. Yet I'm lonelier than I've ever been. Like there's a void or a tear within the earth itself and all that was light, and good, and comforting is being sucked into it.
He left so suddenly, and with him he took all my peace. It's not just me. And it's not just us. I think the whole world can feel this emptiness... because there is no sound. There is no movement. There is only stillness and waiting.
I can hear them all breathing and occasionally someone shifts in his seat on the floor and the shallow scratch of his sandal rubbing across the clay distracts and annoys me.
I can't tell if my eyes are open or closed anymore-the darkness is so complete. And every now and again there are little pinpricks of light that dart across my vision- like when one rubs his eyes too hard and causes that dull pressure in his skull to protest and send bursts of light to the back of his eye lids.
There's a sound. There's a sound like the howling of a mighty wind cutting through the branches and needles of a pine forest. And it is growing louder. Unbearably loud. It's overwhelming.
I keep expecting to be caught up in the storm and tossed about, but everything remains still. Except that now all of our eyes are open, and I can see their eyes because there is light. Real light. Like fire bursting upon the heads of all those around me. Flames dancing and growing- stretching and lifting toward the ceiling.
We're standing now with our heads cocked back staring up at these tongues of fire that are bursting from the tops of each of our heads and uniting into one big flame. It grows brighter, grows whiter, until I'm certain we will all go blind.
When our bodies are so cocked back that we are in danger of falling over backwards, the flame consumes us completely, and blasts from out the room. Surely the entire earth is engulfed in flame. Surely the whole world is consumed in fire. How long we stood there, shuddering in the light!
Then the light draws back. We can feel it rushing back toward us. The wind! The howling wind! And with no sign of slowing the light enters us. Through our mouths and eyes and ears. Through our skin and our beating hearts, the light infuses us so that there are beams of light erupting from our bodies. We are glowing.
Then we begin to speak. And we haven't stopped speaking. We are consumed. We are compelled.
See my only relief from the fire within is to share it with you- to have you bear it along with me. For it to consume us both. For it to consume us all.
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