Fishing

Three days down in the belly
Three days down in a fish
Three days down I am running
Three days drowning in contempt

Who can rescue me now
Of three days hopelessness
Hiding from the Father
Down in a whale of a fish

For I have lived, I have loved
I have lost, I have cried
I have died to rebellion
Please Almighty Gracious One

Three days down in a belly
Three days down paid a price
Three days down in a fish
Three days later gave me life

By that same awesome power
I am changed, I am born
Took three days for this song
Spit me out, I've thankfulness

I had tried to deny
To resist the will of God
I had tried to run and hide
But its God who chose to die

Three days in the belly of a fish
Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord!
The Advent took my sinfulness

Created New

By the pond of illusions sits an old tired tree
Whose pace has fallen considerably
From when he was young and sprout,
Like an aching train grinds to surcease,
He remembers how it used to deceive.

Tides of situations had forged their front against him
Each time retreating with one more limb
Tweaking his habitual
Life each time from change to painful loss,
These tormenting memories made of grim.

Oh the many seasonal changes year after year
Dressed and undressed him leaving him bare
From youth to maturity
It was they that transformed him from one
Gentle tree into a harvest to spare

He ponders those forces uncontrollable vices
Through tedious ages him pestered,
Distracted by the pond's lure.
How he had closed his fists against life,
How he had missed all the joyful voices.

And resolves to near a complete conversional end,
Facing the rain, wind, trouble and pain,
All the seasons that made him,
Forgetting one ardent pond at last,
To embrace and enjoy the life to him lend.

Gnarled yet beautiful his story sings a tune
So true he forgot to listen to
The song from his creator
That while certain change may seem like loss
It's but by Christ our heavenly debut

Gratuity

Living a life of gratitude, exhibiting the attitude that takes no offense towards an ever defensive world. It isn't apathy in the midst of life's calamity, but open handed acceptance in every single instance to toil what is before you without a longing grieving spirit. Quite actually, harboring feelings of lacking competes against the sovereignty that God is just in giving just how He pleases. Not to suppress the humanity of us all, because the heart wants exactly what it wants. Our humanness must remain. It holds though that no person is right to bring accusations upon the only supreme King. Living a life of gratitude is the characteristic attitude of receiving everything and counting it as joy, instead of believing that life is for the taking, attempting to reap the worlds claim of personal rights. So learn to live in gratefulness, Life is not to own, and give it back in thankfulness to Christ the King alone. Happy Thanks Giving!

Music of Gala

Do you see what I see? The Star of David dancing in the night. He arrived as an innocent baby boy and the powers of darkness as they might could not quench his life. Oh for the sake of our burdens God chose rejection, not obligation so that we could know life. Before his birth he already rose from the grave, not to stay but to reign. And there a great company of angelic beings appeared dancing and praising God. Redemption knocked on creation's door! The shepherds feared how awesome, and the angels danced for us. Hallelujah!

Do you hear what I hear, voices singing in the night. Rocks and trees, every kind of living thing, bringing all that is within up to Him, a glorious accolade. Let go and let God, with tears the world rebukes, flow into mysterious music. Prepare Him your hearts! Emmanuel, can You hear this song strong breaking physical bonds; thunder and earthquakes respond. Adore Him, for this is what belongs to us, our voices shouting the song of the redeemed. Hallelujah!

Do you know what I know, the Name of the Lord is our strong Tower. His healing love is the power to live righteous in faith. Mighty God, Everlasting Father, worthy are You to receive strength and honor! We will carry the royal banner through fields of sorrow where seeds once sown in pain, tomorrow yield joyful testimonies of the Lamb who was slain.

Amani Acres

My back tight like stiff leather hard to loosen
Why has everything gone to shambles?
Too many tears stings the corner of my eyes
I am lost in snow capped mountains of confusion

The Book I must trick myself awesome to behold
Three steps I'm told be like a child
Inside of a nature I don't want to discover
Three tricks later no streets of gold

I wish I were high as a poor street boy
Just free to remain in a dazed dream
Unseen, the ability to worry dies starving
But my mind is no toy so forget that ploy

Someone tells me of Amani Acres I yearn to roam
A pleasant past time four years courting
Confined by illusions please break this gate
For tomorrow I graze ocean's banks alone

I sea my awaited recompense

Forth from the sea froth creeps in stride
Towards where my tracks spell sandy scrapes
A picture of my broken shores
Yet I must wait its healing tides

Whispering secrets the waves of comfort unknown
They speak to me with no words of humanity
Be hushed says they and separate away
So frolic in the grace Amani Acres once shown

Homeless

The trouble of life is in desire
The lust for fulfillment
The hope of magnificence
The longing for an eternal security
The antics we accept in pursuit
A guilty conscience breeds
The falsity of mirrors we believe
We fall short of significance
Or so we’re deceived
Consumed, futile actions we carry
Lost in the depths of our soul
Oh where is confusion’s end?
What is worthy anymore?
What is true in life?
For it has made me a rat by the desire of it
I am homesick for I have no home.

Homeless.

At 5:30 am I saw a homeless man as I was deactivating the security alarms. He was sleeping on a bench on the church grounds. I am supposed to kick him out. But I found myself staring at him for ten minutes as he slept. Tears streamed my face. I gently woke him and asked him to leave. I went back to the apartment and looked at my bed as I normally try to get another hour or two of shut-eye. I crept to the ground instead and there remained awake. I wrote this as I thought about what I had just done, and how he must feel about life. But as I now read this poem of sorts, meant to be about how this homeless man must feel, I am convicted of the same desires. Where is home? Or do we walk this earth whith nowhere to lay our heads?

Success

Founded slowly grew the peak through the sky
Mt. Kilimanjaro wrapped by glory
Standing to awe strike through out history
Monumental her structure firmly high
Mystery captivating men to try
Silent patience pervading her story
Instilling hearts with fearful factory
Provoking prideful thoughts conceals her lie

They traverse beholding victory’s sight
Where atop the clouds one throne seated strong
Relentless rain reduces climbers’ might
The road ruined, the journey proves too long
Hope drags on to final summit alone
Her gift of majestic success, a stone

Mountains are mysterious and powerful. When I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro there was a very spiritual awe to it. Like a mountain, success is mysterious too. She lies to us that the top holds promises worth climbing for. Those who pursue it to an end may end up at the summit, but many will die on the journey. It was dark, and I was near the top of Kilimanjaro, some 18,000 ft. I turned and looked down at the base where a few small towns sparkled. In a matter of days, I had seperated myself from the world. Without realizing it, the higher one pursues on the mountain of success the further from the world they will be. And one day Christ will return, and they'll realize the mountain they sit on is really only a stone.

The Earth Is Groaning

Is this what this life's about?
Beaten wounded full of doubt?

Bruised from the plowing our toiling hands
Brought to grief greed cannot relief
The senseless wars between our lands
Born of money its evil deceit

Lifeless living no loving others
All crying ceaseless without cause
Waking selfish hating brothers
A speechless yearning oh please dear God

And we breathe this life void of fullness
Where nights draw long and longer still
Bringing to bear bodies fruitless
Sweating bleeding from the harvest mill

For the earth is dying noisome reeking
I hear her groaning in the night
Breathing screeching reaping weeping
Forever longing to see God's light

Oh my God, what can we say?
What can we say but oh my God?

Christ is the song, He is the story
That we should know His blessedness
Oh for His love, oh for His glory
The intimacy of forgiveness

Fearing Love

There is an honest fear of the depths of our hearts, caves which lie damp and dark never to see light. Where pools of affliction make their home, and we find our true souls abhorrently chained there, living in the disgust of our own refuse. So we disguise, compromise, force upon our lives a spirit that strives to deny, forget and hide the gross cold cave from being known. But why? Because mere knowledge about the healing power of God's love doesn't satisfy the wounds of social rejection, that's why! It is what we call sin, the effects of shame. Who wants to be naked, exposed and blamed imperfectly unclean? So we substitute our fears for ears once made to listen to God, fueled by the shrieking voices tormenting an uncontrollable cycle of thinking. And there we cower in the futility of our doubts, listening to our own soul groaning hoping that somehow our tears will comfort us.

Then someone calls our name from the entrance. Frightened, diseased and weak we are unable to clean up the damned evilness we sit in, let alone present ourselves appropriately. So we never call back. Oh how poor we are for it is Divine Love that waits. The stench of our shit hole, the darkness of our hearts, will not stop Him. He only smells the redolence of His child. He waits to kiss our pussy lips. He waits to conquer our shame. If only we'd see through our guilt and let the Lover Reign. For nothing is worthy of attention except He who became sin to put it to death. Not even the condition of our cave deserves a moment of grief, for we are powerless to clean. Only He who is clean is able to redeem our house of worthless suffering. You have the choice, choose Love, rejoice. Look into His face away from your cave and taste the sweetness of His grace.

Melting Pot

I grieve a grave America the grave
Long suffering her woes for the pot wont melt
Stir it some more Democratic whores
Republicans alike sold to power
The authors of institutionalized fire

Ten thousand grieve the American grave
The specials forced to compete Olympians
But choppy shores drown the weak
And meek mild street sleepers trampled over
No matter to the cook oil doesn't like water

Time itself digs the American grave
What sacrifice will fill the deepening hole
For hatred still spells Babel's Tower
Until the ultimate bill one sacrifice
Oh redemption fills the grave Himself

Then men are free to live with each other
Revelation 7:9-12

Would You Still?

Believe in me in spite of not despite of this contrite reality. Alleviation, like the sun lifts a morning fog. The earth revealed, what it is, as it is, nothing more is concealed. Believe, oh that I am, not what I'm not, but in what I am. For past lasting catastrophes of my soul a piece of sand becomes a pearl. Not by Your mystery but by my pain. Vanity shreds my heart, then I'm left to gather it up. Believe in me? Even when I deny that what is true. Ha, I trust only in my hate, no friend or foe can relate, an obstinate life I'm done. Be done with me! Fright? Yes fright in me, scorn me abhor everything You see in me. Meaningless all that is about You is meaningless. I can take it. In my heart I can take it, and I'll hurt you too. Be true then, would you still say I'm worthy, lovable and forgiven if I say fuck You and all of heaven. I'd rather hell. Judas is my name! I play a devils advocate game with my own soul. Would You still?

Eye For An Eye

Just once must I indulge this Life
Down right sit tight and wait with might
Tis Him who bears a lover's name
Oh Jah I cry where is my gain
That I might pass from endure pain
To freedom's end and harvests ripe

Wine and Merry cast peril's end
And I find my only one true friend
His eyes I've never actually seen
An obscene rarity I can only dream
What must I bring an offering
To appease that which might condemn

That shame wich sleeps my eyes within
For fear what light may shine within
But there a little glimmer I see
Oh God! the color You're looking at me!
A grin, a smile, so lovingly
An eye for an eye, You're in, I'm in

For the first time I smile at myself

Asymmetry

Though I rather gather a stranger's handout
Greed endures my collection
And I'm left further away
I will return to the Living God
Who holds my head between His palms
Who sings my name brimming in love
A gift for me continuously
I wish to refuse but overwhelmingly
Tears pour down my cold face
My soul He knew long before time
And calls me forth from sin's depth
His breath was enough for life
A gift no stranger can give
The drink of grace beyond satiation
Oh my increased adoration
Dear Yeshua the world does not know
How I can dance amongst wolves
And my body is covered in sores
My beaten flesh will be Your banner
Testament to the mystery of Love
So divine it demands this earthly mortality
I wish to die praising my King
My dignity, humanity cannot steal
The last breath of an offering

Except For Him

Why does she cry? Its the pain of a loved one, allowing them to struggle. The choice to withhold a helping hand knowing they will benefit in the end. They must grow, they must learn to stand on their own for one day she will be gone.

Why does she cry? He doesn't look back, he can't. A quick hug. "I love you mom," and then he's gone. Away for how long she wonders? Twenty years spent adorning him with her love, and now she has lost him to his own life. She won't allow herself to bear it too heavy. Compulsory cleaning begins.

Why does she cry? For her son, or for herself? She will be alone for at least the next couple of years, or possibly the rest of her life. Motherhood in its fullest sense is dead. She cries. It is painful, painful in her own heart. She cries because it is life coming to its end without her awareness. Something she intuitively knows cannot be fought against.

She cries for hope. His hope. She cries for his happiness. She cries because there is nothing left for her to do except cry, except hope, except pray, that he will find life and live with purpose.

Prison Bars

At last I'm left to these prison walls, bleak hands squeeze, pleasing the masters that walk the halls, leaving only fear, my dearest enemy. Impossible to measure the casualties lost before I arrived.

The opportunity to choose and not be told, ordered like a poor slave, he has no control, alone to dream, nothing more. Poor boy I tell myself. I want to fight against the right to decide which they pried from my cold fingers. Fingers now that hold grimy bars separating me from the ability to control as every man should his own walk in life. No choice of mine landed me here.

Though what is more, freedom? Every man desire to flourish. And who can in despicable straights remain truly human while contained in a box? All thoughts and hope of freely living die. Or did I ever loose anything at all? I must ask and get past these feelings quenching my soul. Why is control the pinnacle of my loss? Because I had acted in a manner that granted a perceived, but unrealized sense of power. The degree to which I lived in; I created a lone star and wore it proudly. No, only illusions died for I've realized I never really had control over my life. Only illusions. True freedom comes upon killing my lust for absolute power. At its best, abandon the pursuit of control, and realize the futility of such possessive yet truly fruitless illusions.

Woolgathering

Recently the field of Psychology included a new category, "creativity," as another determinant of intelligence.

Well, I guess this blog is my practice of intelligent dialog, a creative expression of myself, an act of woolgathering.

It is not a common word, but woolgathering means to engage in fanciful dreaming.

There is a healthy relationship between faith and fantasy. It is that faith is strengthened when fantasized. To be able to see and feel a picture brings a thought into a realm of tangibility. Faith is made alive. I have found my perceptions of God strengthened though this.

Feel free to woolgather.