3/26/01
To write the words of love,
To write the words of life,
To pour out the contents of my heart
For the sake of all
Is to be at peace
And to be one with God and myself.
5/1/02
It's dark outside.
Few stars lend their light.
All I have to pierce the black
Is the glow of a single flickering flame.
Who knows how much longer it will last,
But for now it offers me its warmth.
Life can be filled with minutes or it can be filled with moments. You choose...
As waves crash against the shore,
Pounding the rocks, with a spray that never falls,
As the wind blows to and fro,
Shooting cold to the core,
As the darkness overcomes it all,
Black and unceasing,
You are the light that guides me home.
In the stillness of the morning,
As the sun awakes,
My heart comes alive,
With new love for you.
Random writings on a page
Try to make sense of all that is, was, and will be,
They come close, but fall short.
Live life. The rest will follow.
To live a life of love,
And to love the life you live,
Is a lot of "L's" to say in a row!
9/7/03
Always in a world
of feeling life laughing at me
I desire Love.
In the eyes of God
That to which we are so blind
Is given pure light.
10/7/03
All my life, all I have ever wanted was to love and be loved in the fullness of everything.
...
With a heart that has grown so weary through time and circumstance, hope is hard to find when I search through the emptiness that fills me. But I know it's there!
...
What is it about Love that draws us? That makes us long for its delicate touch? It's soft whispers in the dark?
...
For me, it's a desire for 'home.' A place that is mine and mine alone. Not a house or a town but a home. A place in the corner of someone's heart where I am held in an embrace that will never let go. A place where I'm not alone, where I'll never be alone.
10/7,11/27,12/25/03
All my life
All I have ever wanted
Was to love and be loved
In the fullness of everything.
To reach without limit.
To hope beyond hope.
To live in the peace of your heart.
In my seeking
For love's delicate touch,
Its soft whisper in the dark,
I longed for the idea of you.
...
Before I met you, I loved you.
Before I touched you, I felt you.
For in my heart I knew
That with love, all things could be.
11/27/03
My heart beat with a rhythm of uncertainty.
An uncertainty from deep within,
From that place where love was nearly forgotten.
12/25/03
There is something about a simple flame
As it glows brightly in the dark
Offering its perfect light
Bringing hope to all it touches.
As I read the words of long ago,
Telling a story of great faith and hope,
I find myself in the midst of them.
These words speak to my heart
With a boundless voice of truth
That fills my soul with a great joy
That overwhelms me.
These familiar words that speak so well
Tell of the greatest of all:
That of which there is no end.
1/7/04
Life can be pretty tough sometimes. The day to day, the tipping scales of tedium to anxiety, weighs me down and offers little solace to me.
Most days, when my heart and mind get restless and full of spinning thoughts that turn my spirits, I allow myself to get lost in stories that aren't my own.
Movies are somewhat of a passion of mine. I like books too, but there's just something about a good movie that fills me; fills me with great joy, great sadness, great hope and love and fear.
As I watch, I walk side by side with this character or that trying to find my own way as they find theirs. I share their laughter for their joys are mine. I share in their tears for mine is their despair.
....
What makes a group of words strung together great? Is it the way the particular words are combined? Or is it merely the spirit with which they were written and set together in the first place?
What makes a classic line from a famous author or poet 'classic'? Is there something in the words? Or is it just because they were written by someone famous?
What makes "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" more significant than my own writing of "How is lack of comfort, comforting? How can emptiness fill me?" (1/1/04) Both speak of duality and contradiction, yet my words don't carry the weight or importance of Dickens' 'great' words. Granted, the value is very individual, as my words are mine and known only to me. But are they any less 'great'?
1/25/04
Whispers of my mind
Echoes of the silence
1/26/04
Simplified to its most complex form
1/31/04
Empty reflections in the looking glass
Show much more
Than the fullness of a photo
Walking down the city streets
As life rushes by in the cold
I look around and realize...
An empty frame hangs lonely on the wall. Perfectly placed and level and true, it waits for something to fill it. But What?
In our lives we hang many pictures, material objects to make our surroundings more 'beautiful.' A landscape here or a still-life there, maybe even a portrait or two. For me, I've hung in my house a little bit of everything: memories of places I've been, signs of accomplishment and success, art to catch my eye, and some words I want to remember. Though, for me, perhaps the most appropriate would be an empty frame just waiting for a friendly face, a love, to fill it.
Perhaps the emptiness of the frame speaks of the vaccancy of our lives that materials and -isms try to fill. It hangs as a reminder of our own emptiness and to offer hope for the potential of fullness. Like me, it waits for someone to come along and fill it. But when will that be?
A high cupboard door lies open a crack revealing a mysterious blackness within. Though light shines out and falls upon this open door, not a single ray can pierce the gloom inside.
In a room of whites and creams, a single string of party lights - each bulb enclosed in brightly colored origami balls - offers the opportunity for life and light. But it's off...
2/7/04
Actors on the stage moving as they're told, speaking words that aren't their own. Sometimes I wish that were me; it would be so much easier to be someone else, to have my lines dictated, my steps choreographed. But it wouldn't be me.
3/28/04
My world exists within the four walls of my apartment. On occasion, for work or because of errands to run, I venture outside the walls of my world into the wider regions outside. And it scares me.
Out there it's big and fast and exposed. So many variables, so many unknowns, so many chances to get hurt. Out there it's a battle, a war, a never-ending struggle to be better than everyone else, to be right all the time; and the consequences for failure can be high.
In here it's safe. The pace can be of my choosing. I can act as I wish because the rules are mine. I am kept cozy and close in this place where I don't have to fear or wonder if I'm good enough. I'm not judged in here or get lost in a sea of faces. I'm free. It's safe in here.
But I'm trapped...
I'm trapped by the walls of my comfort, trapped by the walls of my alone-ness, trapped by my sense of safety that I hold so dear. These very walls that keep me from the potential pain of 'out there' are also holding me to a life filled with emptiness and a reality of a pain that exists because of my reluctance to risk.
These walls protect me and yet perpetuate the injury of loneliness.
10/22/04
There's just something about the alternative realities presented in literature, television, and film. Their scope of vision reflects the many ambiguous facets of existence as their lens focuses its view on life and its great opportunity for possibilities of right and wrong, of good and ill, of hope and fear, of all that lies between and beyond the vast extremes of the human heart and spirit.
2/13/05
I'm sitting in a house. Here I am told that I am accepted. Here I am told that I belong. Here I am told that I am loved unconditionally. But it is here where I don't fit in. Here where I feel like I have to be someone I'm not. Here where I don't really feel like I'm a part.
Faith is a funny thing. Such a simple complexity is faith. So simple that a child can follow so closely yet so complex that an educated, grown man cannot understand.
My focus is drawn to symbols that don't move me. My ears are tuned to a message I don't believe. Why am I here at all?
