By the harbor

I still spend a lot of my time thinking about a Maria or a Riku. Some water-spirit sent to sing my fiery tunes. Sent to stand and prophecy amongst the silent. I turn on an acoustic radio, taking me back to childhood lullabies. Yuh know, the things we thought of right before we went to sleep. It wasn't like the complete conviction I rest my hope upon now, rather a naive wonder about what I could rest upon in the future, what sort of paradise I could create for myself. Maybe one woman could bless my life. But as the winter winds blow steady, and I hear the call of the kings men, I reflect on when I should of listened, and what life would have been if I did.

In the quiet he is with me. With thoughts and plans I cannot understand he is constantly with me. Its a mystery to me, where he resides. But his groans rest upon my lips, and his sight upon my eyes. And I say and see things I shouldn't, natures beyond natures.

And it makes me wonder, where is my real home? Is it with Maria, by the harbor, singing sad songs to each other about the mistakes we made making the mistakes we made, on attempts to make a way to find each other. I spend time thinking about whether she will cry, when I tell her about the things I lost and the belongings misplaced in that old house of mine. I think about telling our sons about our sins, and watching them get caught in the traps we ourselves swore we would dismantle in our youth.

All the same. I think the joy we could find once we stop the cycle of fatherless children creating fatherless children would be grand. At least in my line.The way that Eve was helper for Adams soul. The way Christ might find delight in the church. Still, right now, that's something I don't know.

Maria, I don't want to tell you your chances are slim; and I don't want to make a choice out of heartbreak either to be with you or without you. I understand the wrath of the flood. I understand destroying everything for the sake of holiness. And I understand cutting off my connection the way that slumbering Seabear does.

But I'm not apathetic am I? No, I'm just a heartbroken man. Who believes in grace.

Its a conundrum. Natures beyond natures, right? He always with me Maria, even in my transgressions against you. I have evidence. I have the proof. Perhaps in this season of life, that's all I'll need to know. He's all I need is I'll need to know. Maybe down the line I'll be singing that blues with you. Although sweetie, right now it seems if he asked me to, I couldn't refuse him. I did once. I can't again.

My heart can't bear breaking his heart again.

I believe in Grace, and reconciliation. Even for a guy like me. Hell, I believe in it for the ones seem worse than me. Not that they are. I know what I could be.

Don't know his plans. But if he asks me to those plans speak in a foreign language, I will. I will tell a man complete certainty that the abundance of love behinds those words is greater than he understands.

And I believe in words. Even if I don't understand them.
And I believe in God. Even if I don't understand him.

I don't know where we stand. And I don't know if I'm singing the wrong songs. Or if I should look for you. Or if I'm wasting my time with my head in the clouds. Dreaming a dreamers dream. I don't want that, I want the reality of realities. Which is funny, cause I think its a marriage. I'm in love with a king who's in love with me.
Unity is sweet. But I don't know darling. I don't know. I can't tell what the future holds for me. Wish I could.

Be still my soul

Be still my soul
Grievances shall not hold you captive
Pride shall not hide your ears under tumors
Cancers of narcissism will not plague you
Will not save you
That curse will not take you

Anxiety shall not break your sanity
Fear shall not bring down the purity kept for you
The healing kept for you
The love kept just for you

Confusion shall not blot out the inherentance of wisdom
Anguish shall not take claim of the final victory
Neither loss
Neither blasphemy
Blasphemy shall not take truth out of Providence
Whether spoken by you
Whether spoken by the adversary
Shame shall not collect your heart and get away
Sorrow shall not tie down your iniquities to your identity
Poverty shall not damn your position
(despite what you are fighting in)
Suffering shall not throw you into a depth you cannot rise from
Apathy shall not steal from you the vibrancy committed to you
Unforgiveness shall not overpower the mandate of reconciliation
Anger shall not spoil the perfect seed planted in you
Violence shall not reign king over man

The King's name is Jesus
And this is his true-hope

Reverance

It felt like a six-story spirit rested upon my shoulders. He loomed over me, There was no where to go, my feet were unmovable. I was completely sober, and slightly scared. But more so, hopeful.

Now, I am struggling with my mirror. I wrestle with two thoughts. They're thoughts about reflections, the way the light shines on my eyes. No. Not just the light, but what resides deeper within. The first thought was; can you see the spirit inside, or is he just hidden by my pride? Pride overflows my mind with lies, screamin "LOOK AT ME, RAISE THIS SONG OF BLASPHEMY. EXPERIENCE A FULLER REALITY, NARCISSISM IS THE PINNACLE OF CREATION"

The second thought is; as I search myself, trying to find those sacred temples, will I miss your light, miss what makes my temples holy to begin with? Will I get so stirred in my spirit, that I can't stop spinning, caught up in a parallel reality to keep my mind busy in? Or will I retreat, back to my apathy, a comfortable home, or rather a comfortable grave.

But, that's not a really an option is it? Tell blackbird I found a proof of angels equal to the ones we found of demons. In fact tell that to the silent child with the burning eyes, that and that God really is like water. God really is like an ocean of life. Too full to fill anything less than eternity. That he will, if asked, comply with your prayer for a different heart. A heart full of the love you say burned out with chemical stains on your brain. A heart you say can't believe that miracles could happen for you, that too much hope can't be true. He will wash over you like a violent wave, and that leprosy will leave your body, truth will remain.
And you
You will be free
Just as I am now. I think with absolute certainty, that Christ did really die for me, and that he intends to complete his work. I was working so hard to build myself a ship, to sail across a dead sea, to find something in this ocean of nothing. Righteousness was the cloak I was terrified to wrap around myself. Thought I couldn't produce the strength to carry such a heavy material. Thought I might drown in this ocean of nothing. Thought psalv-muron was going to cast a final curse to devastate any grip I could place. Still, by divine grace, the finality of tragedy took its exit, not tragedy though, just the unanswered questions those philosophers so eloquently composed.

I can burn that house I called my planet now. I called it Ringo, but really it was just a dirty temple to selected favorite idols I liked to subscribe to. I can watch the fire consume it, in complete holy wrath, in complete holy jealously, for all those years I was succumbed to idols of addiction, self-denial and self-blasphemy (the years  where I said that there was no love). I will smile when I see its structures finally collapse, knowing there is no way back.



You and I can walk away, with that six-story spirit, or seven or eight, depending on where we are then. Either way, we will be totally and completely in love.

I don't think that those two questions I posed will matter then. Or even exist.

Rather, reverence.

Quam Gloria, Hallelujah!

Past the spectacles galore, I come to your throne to adore the meer manger and swim under your living currents away from from these lawless waters. I want to simmer under the heat of your quiet glory. I want to embrace you and BURN DEEP DOWN, all these carcinogens I found, I keep bringing them around. Bells ring, and I have learned to rise this week, but I don't know where the time will go and I fear what I have already known, although I cognitively know I am now

More than dust. More than a mourner. More than just a scorner, scorning all the things that happened in that seamless house of unseemly men. We acted as cowards despite eternal weight of relationships. I hid behind the cushions, you know, where we would stash our trash. I hid amongst the trash, for fear of where the time might go. Feared it might be predestined to be blown away, cause the Joy of life seemed to be light and fluffy, but I felt the burden constantly and indefinitely.

I wonder about you Brother-King, as I find you to be more consistent than the pain, how consistent was your pain? How constant was that weight? Did you feel the heaviness of the brokenness of this universe when you were first born? How did you not cry?
How come you were the only child not to cry, I would think your tears would your first reaction to how dismal a place we left for the HIGHEST GRACE. The lack of maneuverability in your fate.

JESUS. WHAT KIND OF EYES DID YOU SEE FROM?

As sin entered through your ribs, as our idolatry of murder spilled into your innocence as you became that which you were destined to abolish.YOU WERE BORN AMONG THE GENOCIDE OF CHILDREN.

You must be able to see something I can't father. Within merely the guilt I am capsized and return to filth  What Joy resides within you to call me out of this? Where resides this registry of hope to keep my heart sustained? How gentle you are, as you wipe down my feet, with your hair. My Jesus.

You watch me as I attempt to worship you, I fumble upon arrogance and pride and narcissism and vanity and lust. And self hate. I feel disingenuous to core. But God you are so good.

Quam Gloria.
Quam Gloria.
Quam Gloria.
Hallelujah.

Everything

There is no glory here. Its like groundhog day, the record is turning, but the song is going nowhere. There is no glamour in a drunken romance. Its there, always there, always reminding you that you are breaking her heart before you even know her. Some romance this is.

But a grand romance is still here.
I lie to myself, about you. I drop my faith by the doorside, and I crawl into bed with my enemy. Where is the glory I can't see? Its in your jealous tears. Its in those groans to deep for words. Its the way you will calm my unsettled skin after I've let the cancer take its place. I traded love for addiction. You traded your life for me. You traded everything

for me.
Cause you're madly in love with me. Not obsessed, not dependent, and never apathetic.

You are of a different kind. I am worse than the lepers, my heart more sick than the pharisees. STILL, after contortion upon contortion, session after session of me hurling stones at your temple, you are steady from the throne, you keep the tide away from my feet, so that I am not swept away by shame. It took you everything to atone for my failures, and even upon death, you never let me go. Still I stone you.

I would blame it on my hands, on my dead flesh, I would turn to masochism, take out my eyes, but you wrote the truth upon my tongue and your wisdom upon my lips. And at nine every night, rises a Steadfast Seabear, speaks order into the air. Out by the shore, he beckons my hands to paint those castles and  cathedrals from within this cavern old. He and White Grizzly speak about one cavern in particular. I look upon it often, and my quiet prayers become violent cries of desperation. Our knuckles are throbbing, as our hearts are turning. Its the inconsistency eating at our bones. Their groans align with mine. The cavern is a wilderness where honesty lay, where we are genuine men. Truth is, thats a part of me. Hypocrisy is finite and closed.

And stones lay at his feet, and broken he stands with a crown in his hand. Among the wild depths within my soul, he remains scarred and oft, still in pain. By and by, I will never wear out his name, and I swear upon time and faith, that the day will come when our hearts beat the same. A day you traded for everything.

Reality of my weakness

If your out at the right time, you might catch me slinging sparks
Out here in the desert. That's just my way of wishing the night away. I really just want to draw in chalk in front of you doorway. To line your bedroom with salt to keep those darker things away from you. Those gates won't prevail, I swear it to be true, though the thought creeps into my mind often; you laying down to die, your breath finite and cool, and my petition remains irresolute.

On still, within the account of my inconsistencies, lies fear for your heart. A great lack of faith about the healing of those family wounds.

Despite the promises made to me. Promises made in red
I saw it again today, passing by in my tradition, in the repetition, he lied counter-current to the day by day routine that I settle for.
STILL HERE are those waters I am engulfed in;
of lies
medicine
and self-discovery? - indulgence in the damage that took a hold of me when he took a hold of you. Thought time would iron out those wrinkles but I haven't spoken to my own Blue-Birthking in months, that blue just seems to have turned gray.
Thought time would conquer that departure,
thought wisdom would be heard and understanding would have her voice heard because
I thought I was a greater being having stood upon my enemy,

Seems that's not the case. 

Seems to be a tease in the reality of my weakness

And thats where I'm at.

I'm asking my heart whether I can depend on it to surrender. Conviction won't roll off my mind, understanding has made her home here, and I know, I've heard her from within the whale. 

Just stand still the voice says, just take my hand and remember the seasons that came before

Before you tell me where my promises will land and how the naive will raise their hands

The peak of truth is my promises to you. Thats the reality of your weakness.

And there lies the mustard seed and there lies the mountain. 

Crowns Upon Temples

Today was different. This past two weeks have been different. Sure, sore red eyes undercoated with purple weight all the same. I've had my legs locked up on staircases, and I've been deep blue in the foreign current. I still tumble upon disbelief.

His words, run thick through my blood. Upon the pounding of my heart weighs a sword of great spirit. The gravity of the Son is to grand to flee from. Such great dishonor I brought upon myself when I fought for falsehood and such sorrow when I held my hands over my eyes to avoid such beautiful light. But my eyes are shining in the morning light, and while my voice is still gruff, my aim is beauty and true. Still and still I am finding another cavern to crawl into, and another city to be illuminated and to adore.

You ask me what these cities are, at what depth have I traveled within my soul, by what roads have I journeyed here?

This is love, to die for ones friends.

You and I can see that the our purpose in this life is to love each other. When we were dying and decaying, that's what we held onto. Now that love brought us back from those depths, we live in its vibrancy. We live in these temples, at its command, centered around its propositions and decrees. This is what law I serve. This is the rules that I follow. Mind you, I understand the passion for anarchy, to up-throw tyranny, but I will always serve what is good. I will not live for myself. That is true tyranny at its finest. To serve a finite evil, whether it be your flesh or the demons one follows.

So I find myself here, in the purest relationship I have. My dear sister. You inspire me anew. The one girl I can swear to protect and serve. Youthful and naive, the dust doesn't have to settle in our footsteps. Power and authority can break new breath upon these grounds. These walls are being raised, and that wolf of the world has scheduled demolition.

So I will have my war with the wolf.

He will see what the Word is manifest. There is a call for those who know his voice. To take up torch and speak new life into the ashen nature. We are without excuse to give up, to not take up agreement and concordance with the breathtaking spirit of love. He is resounding in his decree, THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN SHALL NOT FALL. In grace our glorified bodies will rest and we will know the truth of those words. For now, we hold onto the lamb who was slain in verification during the wrestles of doubt and hopelessness. We will wrestle anointed.

We are anointed to bring good news to the poor. So that love might be glorified. So that he might be glorified. We are temples to take stand in light and be illuminated in glory of the insurgence of the love of MY BROTHER-KING!
Meteorites will fall. Weary hands will rise towards heaven and exclaim,

I AM FREE!

OH DEAR GOD I AM FREE FROM THIS CANCEROUS CURSE!

I am free by grace.

Selah.

Weary hands shall meet and bonds will be formed from weary days heavy-ladened in warm adoration of truth. Of Clarity. And set in clarity they shall find what I have found. There are deeper reserves made for memories not to be forgotten. Deeper reserves made to hold love within us. Fruits of faith and joy and endurance and self-control to be had in those temple-gardens. Bread is to be broken in your walls my sister. As I have had faith, in the healing hand of Brother-King, so shall you. By his grace he will take your iniquities my sister, as he has mine.

I watch you in eagerness. Find him. Cry out.

Submit to the truth my dear, how grand, how holy is he.