Saturday, December 29, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
today
is the 23rd.
T minus and counting.
i hope You understand the difference between theoretical and tangible.
No mincing here.
NOTHING to lose. And You think that's a cliche.
There is nothing here. Inside or outside.
Get to it, p.J., otherwise You'll be calling up a stone.
There are more who know how to speak besides Jeremy.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
the man in the suit
just couldn't wait
for the man in the suit
three loops down
and still going
since the days of the pretzel
the man in the suit
on his way
because of
and for
it was being kept under wraps
was gonna surprise...
longed to surprise
craved to surprise
the flower through ice
but the man in the suit
got a phone call
an unspoken message
about his suit
a blunt message
about the heart
for the man in the suit
three loops down
and still going
since the days of the pretzel
the man in the suit
on his way
because of
and for
it was being kept under wraps
was gonna surprise...
longed to surprise
craved to surprise
the flower through ice
but the man in the suit
got a phone call
an unspoken message
about his suit
a blunt message
about the heart
Sunday, December 16, 2007
I remember
I remember you, sir.
It was 1997.
I have never, ever forgotten you.
I have never forgotten what you said without saying a word.
Never forgotten.
I am now you, sir.
It was 1997.
I have never, ever forgotten you.
I have never forgotten what you said without saying a word.
Never forgotten.
I am now you, sir.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
blood and ice
blood
so much
lost and flushing
not dripping
gushing
still alive
after losing
so much...
how on earth?
crevices
cracks
holes and seeping
gaping wounds
endless steeping
red river flowing
deluging
undertowing
ice
numbing
not just cutting
slicing
not just nipping
dicing
frozen meat
in an arctic freezer
the sharpest cleaver
as though blunt
does nothing
not just stinging
violently swinging
landing
upon its mark
golpes to the face
bludgeoned mutton
stunning concussions
wincing
gripping
flinching
now nothing
all gone
the cold hard truth
it doesn't matter
most particularly not to God
and so
because of this
there will soon be
one final act
of coldness
I will be God
for an instant
and all the coldness
will cease
instead of being
the one fucked
in this worthless shithole
I will be the one
who does the fucking
I will be the author
of ice and gales
and wind and hail
as I pin the tail
God has shown
His priorities--
more importantly,
His lack of them
I will
in a moment
show Him mine
and all will see
this rendition
of blood and ice
loud
clear
unequivocal
complete
then He and they
can ponder
what to do
with that blizzard
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
the lamb and the shepherd
Once upon a time there lived a lamb. The lamb was in many ways like other lambs, yet in other regards was different. The lamb grew up as lambs do, taking other lambs and the shepherds of the field as they were, because (of course) this was what the lamb knew. It didn't know any different than what had been around it.
And then, over time, something took place in the lamb. Somehow, and none of us really know how, the lamb was able to see its growings up and its surroundings in a different light, as they really were. This was a good thing, though some (perhaps even many) would not view this as so.
The lamb, who for so long had taken and accepted lambs and shepherds as they were, began to see that lambs and shepherds were not as they appeared to be. They were not as genuine as they gave themselves off to be. They were not as true as they thought themselves to be. They did not love as they proclaimed to love. The lamb saw that, sadly, love was a lip-service word which rolled off the tongues yet in reality had no sustenance with it.
The lamb took this all in, and as turns would have it became what many would say is skittish.
There also, in this same time, lived a shepherd. This shepherd was a good shepherd, yet as fate strangely had it had only ever been around mostly bad and black sheep. The shepherd had endured through this lot, though not very well at all.
One day, as it was, the lamb and this shepherd crossed paths.
It was an interesting acquaintance, for the lamb was skittish and the shepherd had the exclusively bad history with sheep. Even despite what they both had lived, the lamb and the sheep nonetheless came together.
Their time together was good, yet at the same time there was something not quite settled. Whether this was of the lamb or the shepherd no one knows, and it doesn't really matter. Let it simply be said that in light of the goodness of the lamb and shepherd experiencing each other that there was an underlying coarseness that permeated the air.
After some time of being together, despite the goodness that was taking place, the lamb told the shepherd it was going away. The lamb was endeared to this shepherd, yet something about the coarseness took its toll on the lamb. The lamb told the shepherd it was going to another pasture for a bit, and did.
And so the two were apart. Every once in awhile the shepherd would call out to the lamb. The lamb, in the neighboring pasture, could hear the shepherd but did not reply. The lamb missed the shepherd, yet the lamb knew that the time was not yet right to return.
After some bit of time, the shepherd called out again as had occasionally been done. The lamb, this time, replied. The lamb came back from the neighboring pasture to the shepherd.
Something was noticeably different.
The coarseness was gone.
For however things transpire, there was a new dawning for the shepherd and the lamb. A new air over this pasture, and in this new air the shepherd and the lamb came together.
And here is the most difficult part of this account, for here is where human words fail, miserably, to adequately convey what took place for the shepherd and the lamb.
Some would call it good. Others would call it beautiful, others magical. Still others would call it heaven. Heaven because of how much good and healing and Life was now taking place.
The lamb's skittishness, well founded because of the past, was gone. The lamb gave itself to the shepherd with total abandonment. This was not the first time the lamb had been around a good shepherd, yet it had been so so long. So much since the previous good shepherd had been bad, and the lamb had, realistically, given up hope of ever being with a good shepherd again. To be here now, this was just so so good for the lamb.
The shepherd, who had only been around black sheep until now, flourished. After all the years and years of anguish and self-doubt, the shepherd now, finally, was tasting what it was like to be a good shepherd with a good sheep. As they spent time together as shepherd and lamb, the knots and warpings and entanglements, which had seized and gripped and lambasted the shepherd mercilessly for so long, became undone.
It was beautiful. It was heaven. It was Life. The mutual freedom and healing taking place between them was amazing.
One day the lamb was grazing in the plentiful pasture the shepherd provided for it when the shepherd approached. The shepherd knelt down next to the lamb, as was customary and routine for the shepherd to do.
Often the shepherd would kneel down and talk gently to the lamb. Other times the shepherd would kneel and stroke the lamb's wool. Sometimes the shepherd would do both, stroke gently and talk soothingly. Sometimes the shepherd would kneel down, wrap arms around the lamb and carry it over to the fresh spring brook for a crisp and filling drink of water.
On this day, the shepherd bent down as usual. The lamb didn't know what the shepherd would do, yet knew that it was always good. Part of the beauty between the shepherd and the lamb was the suspense of not knowing what was in store, yet the certainty of knowing that whatever was forthcoming was something good.
When the shepherd bent down to the lamb this day, the lamb saw the shepherd make a motion not seen before. This did not startle the lamb for the shepherd was good, and whatever the shepherd did was good.
Suddenly the lamb felt a fiery pain race across its neck from right to left. This startled the lamb, and as it looked down it saw mats of blood and hair already clumping together upon its wool. Beyond this was also blood already forming a pool on the ground. How so much blood could already be out of the lamb and all over everything was beyond comprehension.
The lamb began to raise its glance to the shepherd, but the lamb was already beginning to black out. There was no allowance in this flash of time. No accommodation for shock, for the lamb was already going.
In the final instant, through blood spurting up into the air, the lamb could barely make out the shepherd through the wall of red. The shepherd had stood up and was walking away. As things for the lamb quickened, the shepherd walking briskly and without so much as looking the lamb in the eye, mumbled over the shoulder "I'm not who you think I am."
Then everything, for the lamb, went completely and utterly black.
And then, over time, something took place in the lamb. Somehow, and none of us really know how, the lamb was able to see its growings up and its surroundings in a different light, as they really were. This was a good thing, though some (perhaps even many) would not view this as so.
The lamb, who for so long had taken and accepted lambs and shepherds as they were, began to see that lambs and shepherds were not as they appeared to be. They were not as genuine as they gave themselves off to be. They were not as true as they thought themselves to be. They did not love as they proclaimed to love. The lamb saw that, sadly, love was a lip-service word which rolled off the tongues yet in reality had no sustenance with it.
The lamb took this all in, and as turns would have it became what many would say is skittish.
There also, in this same time, lived a shepherd. This shepherd was a good shepherd, yet as fate strangely had it had only ever been around mostly bad and black sheep. The shepherd had endured through this lot, though not very well at all.
One day, as it was, the lamb and this shepherd crossed paths.
It was an interesting acquaintance, for the lamb was skittish and the shepherd had the exclusively bad history with sheep. Even despite what they both had lived, the lamb and the sheep nonetheless came together.
Their time together was good, yet at the same time there was something not quite settled. Whether this was of the lamb or the shepherd no one knows, and it doesn't really matter. Let it simply be said that in light of the goodness of the lamb and shepherd experiencing each other that there was an underlying coarseness that permeated the air.
After some time of being together, despite the goodness that was taking place, the lamb told the shepherd it was going away. The lamb was endeared to this shepherd, yet something about the coarseness took its toll on the lamb. The lamb told the shepherd it was going to another pasture for a bit, and did.
And so the two were apart. Every once in awhile the shepherd would call out to the lamb. The lamb, in the neighboring pasture, could hear the shepherd but did not reply. The lamb missed the shepherd, yet the lamb knew that the time was not yet right to return.
After some bit of time, the shepherd called out again as had occasionally been done. The lamb, this time, replied. The lamb came back from the neighboring pasture to the shepherd.
Something was noticeably different.
The coarseness was gone.
For however things transpire, there was a new dawning for the shepherd and the lamb. A new air over this pasture, and in this new air the shepherd and the lamb came together.
And here is the most difficult part of this account, for here is where human words fail, miserably, to adequately convey what took place for the shepherd and the lamb.
Some would call it good. Others would call it beautiful, others magical. Still others would call it heaven. Heaven because of how much good and healing and Life was now taking place.
The lamb's skittishness, well founded because of the past, was gone. The lamb gave itself to the shepherd with total abandonment. This was not the first time the lamb had been around a good shepherd, yet it had been so so long. So much since the previous good shepherd had been bad, and the lamb had, realistically, given up hope of ever being with a good shepherd again. To be here now, this was just so so good for the lamb.
The shepherd, who had only been around black sheep until now, flourished. After all the years and years of anguish and self-doubt, the shepherd now, finally, was tasting what it was like to be a good shepherd with a good sheep. As they spent time together as shepherd and lamb, the knots and warpings and entanglements, which had seized and gripped and lambasted the shepherd mercilessly for so long, became undone.
It was beautiful. It was heaven. It was Life. The mutual freedom and healing taking place between them was amazing.
One day the lamb was grazing in the plentiful pasture the shepherd provided for it when the shepherd approached. The shepherd knelt down next to the lamb, as was customary and routine for the shepherd to do.
Often the shepherd would kneel down and talk gently to the lamb. Other times the shepherd would kneel and stroke the lamb's wool. Sometimes the shepherd would do both, stroke gently and talk soothingly. Sometimes the shepherd would kneel down, wrap arms around the lamb and carry it over to the fresh spring brook for a crisp and filling drink of water.
On this day, the shepherd bent down as usual. The lamb didn't know what the shepherd would do, yet knew that it was always good. Part of the beauty between the shepherd and the lamb was the suspense of not knowing what was in store, yet the certainty of knowing that whatever was forthcoming was something good.
When the shepherd bent down to the lamb this day, the lamb saw the shepherd make a motion not seen before. This did not startle the lamb for the shepherd was good, and whatever the shepherd did was good.
Suddenly the lamb felt a fiery pain race across its neck from right to left. This startled the lamb, and as it looked down it saw mats of blood and hair already clumping together upon its wool. Beyond this was also blood already forming a pool on the ground. How so much blood could already be out of the lamb and all over everything was beyond comprehension.
The lamb began to raise its glance to the shepherd, but the lamb was already beginning to black out. There was no allowance in this flash of time. No accommodation for shock, for the lamb was already going.
In the final instant, through blood spurting up into the air, the lamb could barely make out the shepherd through the wall of red. The shepherd had stood up and was walking away. As things for the lamb quickened, the shepherd walking briskly and without so much as looking the lamb in the eye, mumbled over the shoulder "I'm not who you think I am."
Then everything, for the lamb, went completely and utterly black.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
reality in the season of pretentiousness
Well well well, here we are again. The six-week time of year where people engage in trying to have others believe things which are not.
I've got a job where I interact with the public on a daily basis, and just like clockwork here it is. Just like the sun coming up, the week before Thanksgiving people have turned on their "nice" switch and for six weeks pretend to convince people of a wide variety of things.
I wouldn't hate this time of year, except for how rift with fakery and pretention it is.
Is there some good come about from what some do during this six weeks? Sure, and I won't knock that. What ticks me is that in January this same everybody will flip that same switch off and go back to being Hyde instead of Jekyl until next November twenty-something.
This exposes the niceness of this six weeks as, let's be honest, a bunch of chicanery and shallowness.
I would rather people be the same all the time. Why do this in December when you won't be doing so in March? Why are you going out of your way in November, when the rest of the year it's all about your "me and my schedule" mentality?
But this is the time of year for people to crank their penance into hyperdrive. We're jerks for 46 weeks of the year...let's do penance for six to make up for all the rest.
Quite honestly, and I can only speak for me, I'd rather us be self-absorbed jerks and jerkettes as the rest of the year. Slathering on the fakery shouts pretentiousness to me, and I'd rather have people's true self than their attempted deception.
Another part of the year is the mierda people send out at Christmas. Females have the family put on nice clothes and tell them to smile real big, to project to the world what happy and together people they are. (It's such a female thing to project images to others--yet males successfully brainwashed are just as gung-ho about it as the ladies.)
The truth of the matter is these people's lives are writ with quite a bit of ongoing disappointment. The reality of women who talk a big game but then got lost in what women get lost in, and the men who distance themselves from the dig of this by burying themselves in work, civic causes, adulterous lovers, church, naughty pictures, sports, men's groups, other activities. (Then the women are somehow perplexed by the distance, prompting the circular conversations writ with awkward silences and rehashing the same topics rehashed umpteen million times before...yet everyone and everything remain static like rats on a treadmill.)
Yet in light of this reality, look at how many project an Ozzie & Harriet existence to the world.
I wouldn't mind this time of year except for what I know will happen in January. These people I interact with in public? They're still going to slosh around the cheery comments. They're going to speak as though they sincerely wish me well, but the truth is they don't give a rat's ass. And the truth also is that come January this temporary chirpiness and their well wishes will return to scowls,impatience and silence.
Give me your scowls and impatience now, please. I prefer the real you over the attempt to be placated. But we both know that isn't what's going to happen. And so I'll continue to bite my lip and give a silent half-nod as people wish Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and all that.
If I had my druthers, you wouldn't wish me jack shit. All chirpy now, then you turn it off in January. But since it is part of your annual penance and makes you feel better, knock yourself out. There is an ultra nano-percentage of things in life which have even the faintest microblip of merriment, but since people think pretending and the expression of words change dark realities, go ahead and tickle yourself pink. I'm sorry you feel you have to say those things.
I've got a job where I interact with the public on a daily basis, and just like clockwork here it is. Just like the sun coming up, the week before Thanksgiving people have turned on their "nice" switch and for six weeks pretend to convince people of a wide variety of things.
I wouldn't hate this time of year, except for how rift with fakery and pretention it is.
Is there some good come about from what some do during this six weeks? Sure, and I won't knock that. What ticks me is that in January this same everybody will flip that same switch off and go back to being Hyde instead of Jekyl until next November twenty-something.
This exposes the niceness of this six weeks as, let's be honest, a bunch of chicanery and shallowness.
I would rather people be the same all the time. Why do this in December when you won't be doing so in March? Why are you going out of your way in November, when the rest of the year it's all about your "me and my schedule" mentality?
But this is the time of year for people to crank their penance into hyperdrive. We're jerks for 46 weeks of the year...let's do penance for six to make up for all the rest.
Quite honestly, and I can only speak for me, I'd rather us be self-absorbed jerks and jerkettes as the rest of the year. Slathering on the fakery shouts pretentiousness to me, and I'd rather have people's true self than their attempted deception.
Another part of the year is the mierda people send out at Christmas. Females have the family put on nice clothes and tell them to smile real big, to project to the world what happy and together people they are. (It's such a female thing to project images to others--yet males successfully brainwashed are just as gung-ho about it as the ladies.)
The truth of the matter is these people's lives are writ with quite a bit of ongoing disappointment. The reality of women who talk a big game but then got lost in what women get lost in, and the men who distance themselves from the dig of this by burying themselves in work, civic causes, adulterous lovers, church, naughty pictures, sports, men's groups, other activities. (Then the women are somehow perplexed by the distance, prompting the circular conversations writ with awkward silences and rehashing the same topics rehashed umpteen million times before...yet everyone and everything remain static like rats on a treadmill.)
Yet in light of this reality, look at how many project an Ozzie & Harriet existence to the world.
I wouldn't mind this time of year except for what I know will happen in January. These people I interact with in public? They're still going to slosh around the cheery comments. They're going to speak as though they sincerely wish me well, but the truth is they don't give a rat's ass. And the truth also is that come January this temporary chirpiness and their well wishes will return to scowls,impatience and silence.
Give me your scowls and impatience now, please. I prefer the real you over the attempt to be placated. But we both know that isn't what's going to happen. And so I'll continue to bite my lip and give a silent half-nod as people wish Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and all that.
If I had my druthers, you wouldn't wish me jack shit. All chirpy now, then you turn it off in January. But since it is part of your annual penance and makes you feel better, knock yourself out. There is an ultra nano-percentage of things in life which have even the faintest microblip of merriment, but since people think pretending and the expression of words change dark realities, go ahead and tickle yourself pink. I'm sorry you feel you have to say those things.
Monday, December 03, 2007
it's already beginning, of course
Well well well, here we are again. The six-week time of year where people engage in trying to have others believe things which are truly not.
I've got a job where I interact with the public on a daily basis, and just like clockwork here it is. People have turned on their "nice" switch and for six weeks are already pretending as though they care more than they actually do.
I wouldn't hate this time of year, except for how rift with fakery and pretention it is.
Is there some good come about from people being this way during this time? Sure, and I won't knock that. What ticks me is that in January these same folks will flip that same switch off and go back to being Hyde instead of Jekyl until next November twenty-something.
This exposes the niceness of this six weeks as, let's be honest, a bunch of chicanery and shallowness.
I would rather people be the same all the time. Why do this in December when you won't be doing so in March? Why are you going out of your way in November, when the rest of the year it's all about your "me and my schedule" mentality?
But this is the time of year for people to crank up the penance into hyperdrive. We're assholes and bitches for 46 weeks of the year...let's pretend for six to make up for all the rest.
Quite honestly, and I can only speak for me, I'd rather you be an asshole or a bitch like you are the rest of the year. Slathering on the fakery shouts pretention to me, and I'd rather have people's true self than the attempts to deceive. Attempts to make me think they are what they truly aren't.
Another part of this year is the b.s. that people send through their Christmas cards. Everyone puts on nice clothes and smiles real big, so they can project to the world what happy and together people they are.
The truth of the matter is their life and their year is filled largely with strife and underwhelmingness. The reality of emotional roller coaster, hoodwinking women who talk a big game, and the men who distance themselves from this by burying themselves in work, civic affairs, church, naughty pictures, men's groups, other activities.
I wouldn't mind this time of year except for what I know will happen in January. And so these people I interact with in public? They're still going to slosh around the cheery comments, and as much as I can't stand it I'm resigned to it. They're going to speak as though they truly and sincerely wish me well, but the truth is they don't give a rat's ass. And the truth also is that come January this temporary chirpiness will return to the normal scowls and impatience.
Give me your scowls and impatience now too, please. I prefer the real you over the attempt to be placated. But we both know that isn't what's going to happen. And so I'll continue to simply bite my lip and give a silent half-nod as you wish me a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and all that.
If I had my druthers, you wouldn't wish me jack shit. But since it is part of your annual penance and makes you feel better, knock yourself out. There's not a God damn thing merry or happy about my life, but since people think the mere expression of words changes dark realities, go ahead and tickle yourself pink. I'm sorry you feel you have to say those things.
I've got a job where I interact with the public on a daily basis, and just like clockwork here it is. People have turned on their "nice" switch and for six weeks are already pretending as though they care more than they actually do.
I wouldn't hate this time of year, except for how rift with fakery and pretention it is.
Is there some good come about from people being this way during this time? Sure, and I won't knock that. What ticks me is that in January these same folks will flip that same switch off and go back to being Hyde instead of Jekyl until next November twenty-something.
This exposes the niceness of this six weeks as, let's be honest, a bunch of chicanery and shallowness.
I would rather people be the same all the time. Why do this in December when you won't be doing so in March? Why are you going out of your way in November, when the rest of the year it's all about your "me and my schedule" mentality?
But this is the time of year for people to crank up the penance into hyperdrive. We're assholes and bitches for 46 weeks of the year...let's pretend for six to make up for all the rest.
Quite honestly, and I can only speak for me, I'd rather you be an asshole or a bitch like you are the rest of the year. Slathering on the fakery shouts pretention to me, and I'd rather have people's true self than the attempts to deceive. Attempts to make me think they are what they truly aren't.
Another part of this year is the b.s. that people send through their Christmas cards. Everyone puts on nice clothes and smiles real big, so they can project to the world what happy and together people they are.
The truth of the matter is their life and their year is filled largely with strife and underwhelmingness. The reality of emotional roller coaster, hoodwinking women who talk a big game, and the men who distance themselves from this by burying themselves in work, civic affairs, church, naughty pictures, men's groups, other activities.
I wouldn't mind this time of year except for what I know will happen in January. And so these people I interact with in public? They're still going to slosh around the cheery comments, and as much as I can't stand it I'm resigned to it. They're going to speak as though they truly and sincerely wish me well, but the truth is they don't give a rat's ass. And the truth also is that come January this temporary chirpiness will return to the normal scowls and impatience.
Give me your scowls and impatience now too, please. I prefer the real you over the attempt to be placated. But we both know that isn't what's going to happen. And so I'll continue to simply bite my lip and give a silent half-nod as you wish me a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and all that.
If I had my druthers, you wouldn't wish me jack shit. But since it is part of your annual penance and makes you feel better, knock yourself out. There's not a God damn thing merry or happy about my life, but since people think the mere expression of words changes dark realities, go ahead and tickle yourself pink. I'm sorry you feel you have to say those things.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
some more gnawing
In the midst of these various shreddings going on, through which God is showing crevices I didn't even know existed in my heart (but which He apparently wishes to bring to light), some sober thoughts came to mind:
• if God did not even spare His own son Jesus in order to perfect him, how is it we would think we can become matured and perfected any other way?
The heart of the matter is today's Body has no ambition with regard to maturing. Let's look at the Church and see what it thinks matures us as Followers: theoretical and scientific dissection of the Book, and praise & worship. Neither one of these according to God, has anything to do with growth. They might be enjoyable in some regards, but they no more mature us than the man in the moon.
• sometimes in this Father seems to be penning akin to Job. Sometimes akin to Jesus. Sometimes Abraham. Sometimes Moses. Sometimes David. The Way is not theory, friends. This Way does not consist of nostalgically appreciating and heralding people of old who endured extreme hardship, faced bleakness, were ripped from stem to stern and yet God was with them. if you are a Follower, God calls you into the arena. He calls me into the arena. Faith lived is very very ugly, yet faith in today's Body is earmarked as this sweet, buttercup-type thing that makes everyone swoon and croon. Is this not how it is portrayed?
Faith played out is very ugly. Very very painful, often taking us to the brink of hell, human emotion and insanity. It is very unbecoming. More plainly, faith actually taking place will rip and shred you. It is not enjoyable or positive in the slightest regard.
But the Body wants no part of real faith. Real faith is ugly. Real faith has no part in the positive marketing paradigm that every church is branding. And that is just sad. The Way is portrayed as this utterly enjoyable, blessed existence in which God spends every ounce of His energy thinking of new ways to be nice to us, give us preferential treatment and make every thing we touch turn to gold.
Tell you what. Go ahead and believe that. Cuddle up in the Praise/Blessing/Victory Room and don't ever come out. The rest of us lament that by this you are having your baby bottle surgically and permanently attached to your lips. Go ahead. Run from the growing up that God would have for you.
This reminds me of a friend of mine, God bless his little heart. In the last year and a half God has penned some serious shit in his life, designed to prod this friend into a much deeper albeit extremely painful place. What has this guy done? Taken it like a man? Taken it on the chin and gone deeper? No way. He has tucked tail and run as fast and far as he possibly can away from it all.
This has crushed me and frustrated me. I see God trying to bring this friend to follow Jesus, to embrace the Via Dolorosa, and he'll none of it.
One of the most frustrating things about this is the havoc and searing pain in this friend's life is answered prayer, yet he doesn't even realize it.
He doesn't realize that what he prayed for was for a snippet from Philippians to come to bear: "that I may know Jesus, that I may come to know the power outflowing from his resurrection and that I may share in his sufferings as to be continually transformed into his likeness, even to his death".
My friend prayed for that...but doesn't know it. He saw firsthand some powerful things that were going on with me in the midst of suffering and he told God "I want power like that in my life". God says "okay" and began to sear him. All he's done since then is tuck tail and ask God to please go back to being nice to him. He's openly admitted to me (on more than one occasion) the pain of what's going on's entirely too much to bear, and further admitted he's hidden himself in video games and romantic relationships to try and get away from the pain. Pain that God has scripted, bidding him to grow up and come to know the power he thought he expressed to see.
But that brings to light an interesting point. My friend is not alone. The truth is millions of people who embrace the Way have no desire whatsoever to actually, literally and legitimately become like Jesus. People all over the place are expressing hunger to become like Him. God hears this. Yet when He begins to pen things that will spur people to (gulp) actually get on the road to becoming like Jesus they tuck tail, run, and cry out to God about how strongly they're being attacked and will He please reprieve them.
And God's saying "Um, you asked for this. You asked to become like Jesus and I'm obliging."
"But no, Father. I'm your child. I'm supposed to have VICTORY in all that I do, and this just doesn't fit the bill. Um, will You just go back to being nice to me?"
This conversation doesn't actually take place because many are laser-locked on a false paradigm. They don't realize when they ask to grow, ask to become like Jesus that God responds with...suffering.
Do we not get it? Do we not very plainly and openly read in the book that growth is spurred by hardship? We do, but we go into heavy denial of this because the paradigm of the Church does not (let's be honest here) line up with what God says very plainly about growth and about becoming like Jesus.
The Way is not about glitz, glammer, SUVs and slick-looking suits. The real Way will take you to the brink of human existence. Pulpits won't say this because they are too dependent on people to pay building mortgages and staff salaries.
I'm offering up a dare, friend. I dare you to tell Father that you wish to become like Jesus. That sounds silly, doesn't it, because you've already asked Him this and are in process of this taking place, right?
Well here's the deal. Do the same thing, only this time add two words to the end of the request. The two words are "Your way". Or for those of you who are a little more anal retentive, feel free to clarify it a bit more. "Father, I want to become like Jesus, Your way. Not as I've been taught and told by the Church, but rather Your way."
Fair warning here. Should you dare, it is advisable you strap on a helmet and clench your butt cheeks. Cause if you mean it you're about to taste something vastly different than what you've been told your entire Christian life. That verse you've often quoted, "God's ways are not man's ways"? Tell Father you desire Christianity His way.
Don't be like my friend and tuck tail. When the shit begins to hit the fan, don't go decreeing it "an attack" or go hide up in things like my friend has.
If you're going to go through with telling God you wish Him to do something, let Him do it. I assure you it is not going to be pretty. It's going to be ugly and it's going to lance you like you have never fathomed.
But it's worth it.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
abrasions and concussions
One of the perils of Feminine Christianity permeating today's Body is the unwavering premise God is one who authors and scripts tenderly, softly, sweetly, etc.
It is rather my experience that He is violent and abrasive in His pennings.
With about as much sweetness as a Brillo pad laced with jagged glass.
Things which have been ripped asunder in life and in my heart are occurring with the type of pain that there are no human words for.
Yes, THAT type of pain. And yes, things which are His doing.
This season seems just almost about to stop rippling when double-whammys stun to the core with heart-numbing concussions.
This has been happening in two's.
I've commonly heard a lot of folks refer to things coming in threes.
Two's. Three's.
Hmmm. Twenty-three's.
I wonder how numb you were when here, Jesus. No one cares to think about that, do they?
Monday, November 19, 2007
friends
I am not one to ask Father for relief from things. That is just not the nature of my relationship with Him, strange as that sounds to some.
For those of you who do have a petitioning relationship with Him, would you please? There are two more wrenching blows which have hit with full gale force in the last week and, quite honestly, things are a mess.
I can deal with the blows, it's the resulting full tilt and tailspinning which don't appear to be good...or could they be part of the water getting down the mountain?
Don't know. I only know the searing from these lancings to the marrow.
I am in need of salve, and in need to hear from Him in this.
Thanks.
For those of you who do have a petitioning relationship with Him, would you please? There are two more wrenching blows which have hit with full gale force in the last week and, quite honestly, things are a mess.
I can deal with the blows, it's the resulting full tilt and tailspinning which don't appear to be good...or could they be part of the water getting down the mountain?
Don't know. I only know the searing from these lancings to the marrow.
I am in need of salve, and in need to hear from Him in this.
Thanks.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
silence screams
The hands are frozen solid on the face of saving grace
Infidels and harlots in a blackened burning place
Silence screams, the echoes roar
Silence screams, forever more
With idiots and mannequins and charlatans in tow
Circus clowns and lunatics and ladies dressed for show
In a sullen field of chaos where dead men still have dreams
From pressure in these spaces silence screams
The folly in our passion
The prisoners of desire
The foolishness of bigots
Fodder for the fire
In bitterness and exile
As brutal as it seems
In the coldest darkest spirit
Silence screams
"Silence Screams"
--Rez Band
Friday, November 16, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
shhhhhh
I've been thinking about this for a long long time. I wonder why abuse is a hush-hush topic in church and in life. There's a chunk of sexual/physical that is continually going on, however even more untalked about are the other forms: emotional, verbal, psychological and manipulational.
It's a taboo topic in church. Don't ever recall it being talked about in the open, frankly. I have rarely seen people bring it up in round-about ways, only to see the Church ram verses down their throat to shut them up from talking about it and further entrap them in this hell.
The few I've known who have talked about it always mentioned it sheepishly and embarrassingly at first. Once they saw I didn't draw back in horror, over time they wished to talk about it some more and there was some really good talks and salve.
I know others who have wished to be honest enough to talk about it, only to see the lump get too large in their throat and they said nothing. I know what they weren't saying by their silence, and that's okay. If they weren't to a point to talk it's okay, I do not push ropes down the road.
The only type of abuse that generally (occasionally) makes headlines is sexual/physical. I find it interesting both in society and in the Church the infrequency that all types of abuse rise to the surface given the frequency of occuring.
I grew up in a 'Christian' home where abuse was frequent (emotional, verbal, psychological, manipulational). One of my parents engaged in this.
My other parent was stuck between a rock and a hard place: if they spoke up about it the venom would become directed toward them. And it's not that they couldn't hack it, but they were an avoidant-type person with regard to conflict and so essentially the abuser had free reign to do as they wished.
The non-abuser dealt with the abuse (which was directed at all family members, spouse and children alike) in a way which in hindsight I understand, however it also left the abuser unbridled. The non-abuser's way of dealing with the abuse was: don't add fuel to the fire and the fire will burn itself out.
Fires do burn themselves out, however there was never any conversation between the non-abuser and me/us about the burning and damage which took place while the fire burned. One of my siblings to this day is very regretful toward the non-abuser for not stepping up on our behalf. The whole thing is water under the bridge for me, put to bed long ago. It is something I learned from and, more importantly I think, something I have put safeguards in place to prevent ever again being treated like a garbage can with a hairy lid, being available for them to dump their refuse at will.
We all got scalded, except the abuser of course, and even as kids we were essentially left to ponder the confusion: I've got this parent, blood relative, who professes this deep love for me/us, yet treats me/us like dog shit. Yet I notice something. Whenever we go to church they take on a completely different disposition, one that is bridled compared to the hell they spew everywhere except in the public limelight.
A true Jekyl/Hyde environment, with the abuser being Hyde 95% of the time, which no one at church, school or social circles knew existed. And boy were they skilled at flipping the switch on and off quickly.
I have talked off and on in this blog about masking and pretending. I grew up seeing it and, regrettably, engaged in it myself in the past in terms of masking pain which I didn't feel like talking to anyone about. In the 90's I was involved in a church while at the same time going through some strong swirlings in life. I had a couple of close friends, but never reached a point where I was nudged to talk.
And so, even though I had some stuff I was dealing with internally it was "doing fine, brother, God is good" whenever people would ask. I'm familiar with this fronting. I also know what it is to deny the turmoil in my heart and life. No more. (I know, big surprise...)
And so I'm not unaware about the masking and projecting a certain image which are the reality in many lives. I'm not unaware of the overt brainwashing actuated by most of the Church today, trying to convince people with Godspeak and bible verses to mask and pretend. It really angers me that the Church promotes posing, talks of "winning our community" or "the world" for Jesus, and messages that things are "great" in their midst...when there are wounded and abused in their own pews who are neglected prisoners.
I visited a church this last summer. This church would be considered "alive" by most's consent, I think. During the service not one but two people said the following, verbatim:
(Music Minister): "Boy, I'll tell ya. When I'm feeling down I just begin to praise Him, and I don't feel bad for long!!!!" This was met with applause and many vocal acknowledgements by the people.
(Preacher, during the sermon): "Sometimes people come up to me and say 'Pastor, you don't look like you're doing too well.' I tell them 'Well, it may look that way, but I'm doing fine.' And they say 'No, really. I mean it really looks like something is really going on that's not good.' And I tell them 'Well, that may be so, but I know Someone Who can change things." This was again met with a host of vocal affirmations among the people.
So the Music Minister markets Jesus like a drug. Jesus, an elixir pill who works instantly and every time to cure our woes, guaranteed. On the MM's heels, the pastor during the sermon trumpets his own masking when something of severity is going on in his life. And, I can only assume, since he is considered the leader of that flock of people, he is instructing his people to do likewise. It sure was spoken of as definitive m.o. for followers of Jesus.
Interesting how Jesus angrily denounces this very thing, yet it's heralded as the Way by the Body.
These things taking place are the norm and not the exception. People who are bruised and abused are not to rain on the Blessing Parade in today's Church. (Yet so many churches say they are a loving, caring, welcoming people.)
Here is what the Church offers the bruised and abused:
• praise your way out of it
• ingest the Jesus pill and you just watch what happens
• God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life
• even if shit is going on, shove reality under the rug and tell people you know Someone
• tithe (more), and watch God bless the socks off of every area of your life, beginning immediately
• this is an attack of the enemy, who wants to take you out
• what unconfessed sins have you not brought before God?
• read the bible (more)
• become a Prayer Warrior (more)
• I'll/we'll be praying for you
• join a small group
• apply these biblical principles in your life
And then, of course, there is the litany of bible verses and Godspeak which dictate to people to stay in abusive situations:
• turn the other cheek
• if you live with an unbeliever, you can win them to Christ with your good deeds
• God is all about family
• "give us 8 weeks, we'll give you a dynamic marriage"
The list goes on.
How incredibly shallow, huh? Got news for you in case you can't see it here: saying any of these things to the abused or wounded is like telling someone with a severed spinal column to go suck on some throat lozenges. Totally unrelated, clueless and of absolutely no good whatsoever. In my opinion, calloused and heartless as well. At the epicenter of these messages: don't crash the party and leave your muddy shoes at the door.
So, by all this, what message is given by the Church into those enduring abuses of all types? Well, first of all it's not given the floor to be mentioned because of how festive things are supposed to be. If someone does go out on a lark and talk about it, it's generally hush-hush. Or, don't focus on the reality of what is going on: God is big, He is able, He can turn things around, just give Him a chance--you'll see, have faith. Leaving the situation (or even putting your foot down, really) is out of the question, not an option.
What are the forces that hone this in the Church? Well, one thing is the generation of Church people who are 50 or older. They were taught by the generation(s) before them that you simply take things on the chin. There are things you keep to yourself and don't mention. There are taboo things that you just don't talk about (either in church or with people in general). It was just the way it was in previous times, and there is still plenty of this residue still around today.
Add to this the Party atmosphere in/about church and God and the "focus on the positive" mentality of Western culture, and voila: the Church does NOT engage the abused and wounded. Nor are they tangibly cared for in any true sense. They're treated as a fly in the ointment. They are dirtying the carpet and the atmosphere in these wonderful edifices. How dare you.
I was talking with a friend two years ago about the church we both were going to at the time. They told me that the church formerly had driven the church van downtown on Sunday mornings and brought a van-full of homeless out to the church for Sunday morning service, etc.
I asked him what happened. He said "Some of the members had a problem with them being there. It was such a stir that the church brought it to a vote, and the vote was to stop bringing these folks."
Churches are doing things like this, and you think someone with what is viewed as dirty laundry senses any kind of liberty to talk?
Oh, and then add to this the gossip factor that goes around, and the probability that people will murmur and whisper instead of jump down in the hole with you, put their arm around you and tangibly love. Another let's be honest, today's Church is not interested in getting down and dirty with people. There is not a welcome mat for those who have warts.
If you're clean, if your life is somewhat/mostly "together" then you're welcome and will fit nicely into our middle-class country club. If you can't do for yourself or have anything unbecoming about you, you'll get the signals. We'll send them silently at first, overtly if necessary. This is both my personal experience and my ongoing observation.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
sleep-driving
So I set a new personal record yesterday for catatonic driving, also known as sleep-driving.
My previous best was driving about 70 miles. That was in 1989, and took about an hour and a half. That seems long by today's standards, but back then the speed limit was 55 mph (and involved a short jaunt through one small town with a couple of stop lights).
Yesterday, after being up all night Thursday, I had a 14-hour drive ahead of me with zero allowance to pull over at any point and rest.
I do remember the first three hours of the trip. For the next eight and a half hours the only time I was coherent was when I was talking on the phone with a few folks, which was approximately an hour and a half.
According to Mapquest this span of the trip was 560 miles. So it appears I trumped my previous sleep-driving best by about eightfold.
Nothing worked to stay awake, and boy do I mean nothing. I tried focusing on the car in front of me, focusing on cars on the horizon, driving with the windows down. All these seemed to work when I first tried them--I discovered they didn't upon hitting the rumble strips or snapping to momentary attention while straddling the white line of the lanes.
You know it's bad when even the most reliable thing in the book, the trusty and reliable ol' sunflower seed eating routine, fails miserably.
This is a trip I've made around 80 times in the last two and a half years. I know all the exits along the way by memory, and use them as landmarks to help make the trip go faster. As in "okay, there's A, which means I'm an hour away from B". It's a routine which helps break the trip down into bite-size chunks. The thing is, on this trip I didn't see the landmarks I always see between Memphis and Buffalo...because of the sleep-driving. There was no "oh, here's such-n-such. That means I'm only an hour from xyz". I did pass by all the very familiar locales and landmarks, I just don't recall them.
This is really interesting, too, because there are several places on Interstates 30 and 40 where the road makes uncharacteristic 90 degree bends (as far as interstate roads are concerned). Two of these are at exits 78 and 116 on I-30 in Arkansas. Another is at mile 157 on I-30 in Texas. These are places where the otherwise generally-straight interstate makes a distinct turn. I was on the phone with a friend during the Texas one, and remember it. I don't recall either one in Arkansas at all.
So this sleep-driving, I've discovered, is an art form. You do it pretty well if you: (a) don't die, (b) don't run off the road, (c) don't hit any concrete barrier in construction zones, (d) don't side-swipe another vehicle, (e) don't get pulled over by a policeman or (f) don't get honked at or given the one-finger-peace-sign by other drivers.
It's funny. Numerous times when I snapped out of catatonia I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a pack of cars hanging behind me cautiously. As in "this dude is weaving, I don't know if I should/can pass him". I would then move over to occupy one lane (instead of the two I found myself in), the cars would see I was back in one lane, pass me, and we were all once again heading on our merry way.
I figured I was doing this sleep-driving thing pretty well, cause none of the people who then dared to pass me gave me dirty looks or fingers. Maybe they were too nervous, or too busy praying or occupied with both hands on their steering wheel, to do so...
At any rate, I didn't get any shaken fists come my way. That I could see, that is--maybe I was already back in Comatose Land before realizing any gestures being given. And if anyone did call 911 to report "a guy all over the road", well, all I can say is the police must have been disinterested or preoccupied in getting out there.
This is why I say there is an art form to this thing. There is a lot that can not go well, so if you get through without any of them happening, well, wouldn't that be considered artistic? Either that or skillful--somethin'. It's akin to that maze board game you played as a kid, where you tried to maneuver the little silver ball through the maze without it falling into any of the many holes along the way. You worked both the north-south and east-west tilt knobs as best you could. It was pretty easy at first, downright difficult toward the end. If you made it all the way through, wow.
This is not something I intend to do with regularity, mind you. However, I can now add it to a list of other things I've done while driving through the years, reading books and watching movies among them. Definitely a top five.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
