Its just about two things in reality.
The single man of discontinuity and his love for his little brother. In the midst of the horror, the little brother painted his eyes black//
Black as night, and hidden from sight, he keeps me in his arms, despite the thorns that harm...
The homeless only have the concrete.
Crooked crows shouldn't be mistaken for albatrosses. Clearly they're very different. BUT as I lay on the concrete, as the eternal sunshine burnt my face, I made a decision. I glorified the flight of the crows, cause we all did.
And fuck it, I shot the albatross.
OH GREAT BEASTS OF MY HEART-The White Grizzly told my mama that my flight would never just be 20 ft high.
He said to get my ass off the ground, and I climbed, against the will of my dark soul.
MY DARK SOUL- He spat up blood in the name of destruction. His weight was always on my heels. Almost audibly he spoke his evil words, "FALL, FALL." He cried out as my body tore itself apart, pleaded with me for safety.
A safer world, does not include a child soaring above the masses! Think people, if you saw your children bleeding would you not bandage their wounds?
Don't you know? That's the crow squawking!
Now look again.
"You see your child separated from his heart by a four thousand foot distance. He keeps on jumpin and jumpin but he cant get his feet off the ground due to those by damn overweight black leeches, eating away at his love. He grabs them with his already bloodied hands and rips them off his wings, as he flies to you."
Yeah, it may take me listening to hours upon hours of silence to hear the albatross, but when I hear him, fuck it, I hear it. Yeah, with the crow I just hear a piece of the truth, and I speculate and swing and miss. I bandage the leeches wounds.
But just for one week, 50 miles of pain, my ears were his. My soul was his. The White Grizzly led us up those dead mountains, and those TRUE Cowboys let me know which way the albatross was flying. The scenery was astounding, and surely it could of been my deathbed, but Aslan, I wanted to make you proud. And trembling girl, I just wanted to hold you in my arms.
So I ripped those leaches off my body, just to put my soul in your hands. Just so you would take me into consideration. Aslan, you know my heart. I am just utterly desperate.
So desperate I climbed that bloody mountain to put that red dirt on my body and face.
So desperate I burned the tattooed lines of so many crows onto my heart.
So desperate I shot the albatross just for the chance.
You spoke the earth into motion.
How much I wish I could hear that voice.
I figured out what sin is.
Its the disassociation from the things that are eternal.
And so far, I know that you are eternal, I am eternal, and people are eternal.
Hope, faith and love are eternal.
Sin always disassociates you from those things.
I am so disassociated from everything. My heart is totally and utterly rotten.
So I just wanted to tell you,
Before you crush me tomorrow morning,
that I'm sorry.
I wish I had given it all up for you.
I gave you my heart, instead of giving it to her.
I would ask you, to please, please,
breathe that holy fire upon your index finger and just touch my soul. Reach down through my skin, through my bones, through my lungs and through my heart, and touch the dark cancer surrounding my love for you.
I would ask you, to please, please,
hold your hands above my head and let your blood drop down onto my forehead. Down into my eyes, till it mixes with my salty tears, and runs down to my lips till my very words change form, and till the eyes that betray me, let me see what you need me to see.
I would ask you, to please, please,
Come back down to earth, and shove me into the dirt, and hold my chest against the ground, and as you look into my eyes, tell me the truth till I get it.
Baby, if you knew How deeply devoted I was to you Then you'd see your utterly undeniable responsibility To be Utterly devoted to me
In a world full of strangers You'll always be in danger I just wish you knew who I was
Please call your operator Then ask for my father Maybe he can tell you Who I was
Just a puppet Who could not see The manipulators And their strings? Just a weary hero downing more liquor I will never Become a sage By staying in this wooden cage.
I know when I grit my teeth that I could break free So would you please Come find me Cause I can't do this When I just think of how to bleed
Word English Dictionary
Numinous [noo-muh-nuh, nus]
-adj 1. Denoting, being, or relating to a numen; divine
2. Arousing spiritual or religous emotions
3. Mysterious or awe-inspiring
I was introduced to the word numinous by C.S. Lewis in his book Mere Christianity.
"Suppose you were told that there was a tiger in the next room: you would know that you were in danger and would probably feel fear. But if you were told "There is a ghost in the next room," and believed it, you would feel, indeed, what is often called fear, but of a different kind. It would not be based on the knowledge of danger, for no one is primarily afraid of what a ghost may do to him, but of the mere fact that it is a ghost. It is "uncanny" rather than dangerous, and the special kind of fear it excites may be called Dread. With the Uncanny one has reached the fringes of the Numinous. Now suppose that you were told simply "There is a might spirit in the room" and believed it. Your feelings would then be even less like the mere fear of danger: but the disturbance would be profound. You would feel wonder and a certain shrinking–described as awe, and the object which excites it is the Numinous." -CS Lewis
Its been several years since I was first introduced to that word, but it has greatly affected the way I see God. His character is my great exploration. As I grow to understand him, I grow to see the ways in which I am in his image. Its like great parasites are falling off my body, and what is revealed is my true form. The shapes and curves were always there, but now they are in premium definition. Desires and portions of me that never made since, make since when I look at God. Realize that all sin, all pain, is a deviation of our true form. So all actions, twisted or not, originate from our true form.
For example, I love to take risks, be spontaneous, but I thought since God made the plan that he was never spontaneous. Just a chess player playing both sides. But as I learned to love God as my father, I realized a good father isn't hands off and robotic. A father pursues after his son, and excites his son. Abba let us have free will. That is a huge risk. Abba will wait till your on the edge and then come through, just to show you he can. Just so you can sit and understand that he is God. I inherit my spontaneity (not my irresponsibility), from my father.
But my darkness. I have darkness. I weep for the world. I burn with anger when I look at society. I want to separate from it all, and mask myself with oblivion. I want to crawl in some hole and live alone. Where it is quiet. Where it is dark. I love the dark. I love how it consumes me and seems endless. The black curves hold me, and break into me. All my secrets are spilled forth from my heart. All my feelings present themselves before me. There is no one to stop them from coming. I am dark. I can be true. I can hate your guts and you will never know. I can fear myself and no one will look at me strange. They all think I'm sick because I love the darkness. I think to myself "All this brightness is beautiful, but I want to be where it is dark," and I wonder, "Am I sick?"
God seems to greatly contrast the world. I look at society, I look at my church and am shocked. Everyone is telling us the answer is to open our eyes, and then we can see the bright shiny future. If we would just recognize the importance of school and our careers we would be able to have the things we need. God surely does not work that way. I asked a kid today what he found his self worth in, he said Grades, Baseball and faith. But as I asked more about his faith he shied away. How quick is he though to shove that 98 in my face! What a life! Success is in his hands. But, as I look more at him, I see that he is suffering. He suffers from purposelessness. He says he has faith, but it seems he only knows teachings. Christ had no gold. Christ had no riches. He was a vagabond. He was like Dallas and Jake. Christ was born of a women everyone thought to be a whore. I am sorry friend, but your nice clothes, and your optimistic attitude, and your 98 are worthless. They are nice, but they do not hold you up. Go find suffering and you will find you cannot measure your life by such things.
Jesus preached on something called the upside-down kingdom. A place where people were recognized on qualities that our society fearfully looks away from. Those that would willing get into the grittiness of others lives are princes and princesses. Those who cry under the weight of oppression are beloved. Not those who live happily, fighting no fight. No He listens to those who are calling to Him. Who need Him. Where is He needed?
God is himself greatly mysterious. He is light, but he comes out of the darkness. He is born in the night and dies in a storm. He is the bloodied sacrifice, the forsaken brother. And he is in total contrast to our world. He is in fact life, but we only think life can exist in the white light. He is in the disaster, the chaos, the turmoil, the oppression, the misery, the suffering, the messed-up world.
I wish to be bloodied. To die for a cause. To go black, and to weep in the night for the villainous nature of my corrupt oppressors. I do not want to live suffocating in riches and shiny toys. I want to be desperate.
I want to be desperate for you. I want everything you have to offer. I want to go where you go. I want to descend into the dark. I want to find its beauty. I want to inherit your kingdom of brokenness.
We are a church building upon the tallest mountains who do night realize there are children starving in the trenches.
I want to get in the trench.
----------------
When Jesus was not in the trenches. He was alone.
As Reliant K says it,
Lonliness and Solitude are two things not to get confused
'Cause I spend my solitude with you
He spent time away from humanity to be with something more than humanity. Where our true hearts are excepted. Father Steven once explained to me that Christ trusted us to be who we thought ourselves to be. Around him, we can be who we know ourselves to be! We have no need to pretend. The wonder of solitude. In solitude, we stop pretending, we find the numinous.
See.. its a perspective change. My darkness, your darkness, is not without reason. They scream into our ears that our nature makes us evil, but that is simply untrue. Your nature my dear, is overwhelmingly beautiful. Just as he is. Darkness, my love, is lovely. Deep, and penetrating. True darkness does not tremble in front of God, but returns to him, for God is home. God is the peace in the darkness. The stillness, the rest. We are to reflect that very darkness, to provide stillness, to provide rest... but many of us fail to do so. But the gifts I see in you Blackbird, is darkness.
I see heart of what is numinous, in your eyes my dear.
I am not here to adhere to any algorithm. I am here to transcend lukewarm gray.
I am here to administer black.
Black isn't tangible. Black goes on forever. Black is beyond your conception. Black is truth. Black, along with its twin white, are the fore-bearers of reality.
But you and your stumbling stones know only ash.
You know ash and dust, the cold and the clones. And you are ready to fall and flee from that which would fill your hollow bones.
Fear not, for the Composer and Conductor knew blood. Stories of instability and violent irritabilities were marked upon his hands. He knew well of the dance of despair upon desert sands. He knew helpless hours in which your juggernaut punctured his heart.
Be quiet you spitting fool. Your grey world is not the final answer, it is merely a place of indecision where every vaccine is radical.
Be aware world, of the blackness in their hearts. The utter mystery of the darkness in her eyes. No, it is not just the pain which you can only ignore, it is the uncomfortable reality of her soul. The very fact that it is deep as the ocean and as beautiful as Bach. She carries that numinous awe in the black of night. And you fucking know it. Be aware that you ignore her cry, and what you neglect you shall be measured by.
My mind, encouraged with a balance, heard the secret of my own soul. In a world full of erased men and blotted ambition, white walls and skittish hearts, the frankness of black seems to be to startling for them to handle.
But its that very frankness that keeps us human!
The secret of my soul burns on my lips and on my hands.
We the thirsty thirst. The child of the waterless is now a king. We the sinking sink. The one who is risen is king. You have suffered enough alone. It is time to suffer with him. It is time to suffer with me. We have a king who rejoices, but we also have a king who weeps. Let us weep, but let us never weep alone.
Black as night, and hidden from sight, he keeps me in his arms, despite the thorns that harm.
That is the secret of my soul. You may treasure it, or throw it away.
Instead of hitting the water. You hit the concrete. You are falling for an eternity. You are falling still. Not towards the water, but towards the concrete.
I shatter when you hit the ground. You bounce off. I shatter and you bruise. The subject of wounds and spilt blood are like a black hole that my heart can't escape from. And I cry. And I cry out: Oh save me from black hole.
Oh would you save us from this black hole.
We ask how to avoid the fight and they all take flight. We the freaks, the scoundrels, the shakers, the burners-never asked for cutting to be an only quick fix.
They wont help us, because they cant stop us. They cant catch you. And I think about you falling all night long. And hearing your fucking voice only pulls me deeper still.
Your falling and I can't move fast enough to catch you. I'm falling and everyone is watching me. Just watching waiting for the climax, waiting for me to finally shatter.
All the children claim to be loyal to the bone. But I don't hear their voices when I go home. But I'm not surprised that the world is only made of liars.
When blood and gore is all you see, do you in fact miss reality?
When all you have are prayers and imaginary fires, are you missing reality?
