“If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful and strong.” ― Masaru Emoto, Secret Life of Water
Walking through the question marks
Where will I go in this dark?
With the light dimming behind
How will I go being blind?
Screaming in my head, holding the candle near
Where will I go from here?
The path is crooked with cliffs along the way
Fear says never to go but only to stay
When there’s no sight from lack of light there remains no assurance in the steps. My soul’s being torn between ravenous beasts manifested by my torment. Faith, will you save me now? Will you come on the white horse of sanity and redeem my soul? These wasps follow me, stinging me where ever I go. I can hear the buzz of their wings while I sleep. There’s no healing from the swelling injections filled with the puss of their rape. What parts of me have died or are dying? Why can’t I tell? I know that bricks are missing in my wall and deleterious eyes stare at me from the holes. With all of this hell raging in and around me, I call out, as we all do in the foxholes of life, “GOD HELP ME”! He will, but how, it escapes me, but when, it eludes me, and in this moment I hang to what I know from His dealings with me in the past. I know He’ll help me, I know He’ll come, I know I’ll survive and be stronger yet for the next wave of human devils and demon thoughts.
“Sometimes beautiful things come into our lives out of nowhere. We can’t always understand them, but we have to trust in them. I know you want to question everything, but sometimes it pays to just have a little faith.” ― Lauren Kate, Torment
For the first time in my life, I’ve got insurance on most things I own. This gives me incredible peace of mind, and I realized, “Why don’t I feel this same sense of protection and relief when I contemplate God’s care and oversight?” I’ve made an investment in material insurance which leads me to believe that I have purchased the protection and therefore will get it. But how do I “purchase” God’s favor and protection? Or can I? The currency of the spiritual is faith and I must invest it on this insurance policy. But many times God has superseded my investment by providing what I needed with no provocation or allowance from me. I was spiritually bankrupt ignoring my spiritual responsibilities and He still came to my rescue. So why can’t I relax and enjoy the fact that God will bail me out if trouble comes? It’s like having a policy and not knowing what it covers, if I don’t know I won’t feel that relief or worse I won’t be covered over a particular disaster. So how do I know what my policy covers? I have to read the paperwork. This is the bible, a book written by people under the inspiration of God. We know that people wrote it and men decided which writings were shall we say “inspired” and not “perspired”. That means how the heck do I know that this “policy” set forth in the bible is correct? How do I know my experience is correct? Were my particular provisions set about by me or God? These are hard things to grapple and I struggle to find my feet in faith. I do know that in more than a few instances there were no ways out but through, shall I say. the miraculous. I choose to call this Divine intervention and I believe. But damn if my soul isn’t torn in half trying to understand the whole faith and God thing. I do believe, but I struggle and fret trying to find out my role in this life.
Questions are a sign of intelligence and creativity but they can lead to an endless, tortuous circle of reasoning. Why did that tragedy happen to me? Is God male or female? Will I know people after I die? These inquiries can exhaust my mental and emotional energy, leaving me with no strength to push through the day at hand. Questioning my beliefs, my existence, my experience, is necessary, but I must lay down these pursuits and find a place of peaceful existence should my questions go unanswered. What follows is a leap of faith that eventually brings sense of well-being to my life. There I have to understand that I don’t understand, admit my finite power of mind, lay down my notepad, my calculator, my psychoanalysis, and find the peace that will guide me though the dark valley of the unknown.
“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” – Plato
I’m hiding in this darkness so long
That I don’t remember light.
I thought I’d open a window and see
What lives outside the night.
But on the glance of what should be hope,
I was blinded by the ray.
I never knew that light could cause me this much pain.
But its warmth had a touch and
A sight of what could be,
I was still scared by the pain of knowing
That I really wasn’t free. The prison I was locked in is
A cage of my own design.
Only I could use a key of faith
One had left for me to find. Breaking the hardened seal of my sepulchered life,
I blinked back tears at
What’s outside night.
Walking towards the house, I just finished spending another evening with my church youth group. On the way something sinister stirred in the shadows. No sound, just glimpses of dark figures, darker than black, accompanied by a deep foreboding fear. Forcing myself along the path, all my nerves on end, I scramble to find a weapon worthy of this opponent. My fists were no match, guns likewise. I needed something without form to battle the unseen opponent. Words, that will do, they have no shape and find you even when your hiding. I’ve got the weapon, now which words? The pastors taught me words exist that are extraordinary, having more weight and value than common words, words that were in themselves different. The most powerful of these are the words that looked ordinary, but are changed by my belief about the source and effectiveness of them, i.e. they gained value in this battle by virtue of the faith I placed in them. It wasn’t that faith did it, because I had to actually use the words, but it was faith that gave them the edge to cut the dark. I read this somewhere, “You light a lamp for me. The Lord, my God, lights up my darkness.” Repeating this I tried to understand how to fight the fight that is not fought with fists but with belief. I believed that Big Daddy (that’s what I called God) let me find those words as advice. Fear has torment and I was always afraid, so this whole thing was a training ground to overcome fear and learn how to fight what is called by others as “the good fight”. The victory to press past this feeling and not turn around and run, was not a gallant one at all, it was horribly clumsy and vacillated between wanting to run and wanting to face this fear. All said and done, I made it through, I didn’t die and I learned a valuable lesson that equipped me for the rest of the craziness called my life.
“And so, irritants, it is with this that I leave you. You are spared so that you can think of what it really is to live in a world that engenders a pain for which there is no comfort. Here is your product! You have the rest of your lives to think of this. And I suggest you think quickly, for a long life is never a guarantee.”
― Jhonen Vasquez, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac: Director’s Cut
No way out, that’s plain to see,
No breaks here, at least not for me
Created someone, by choices of peers
People pleasing, bad choices in years
Time is here, for the ugly plans
Another choice, to take a stand
In the mind, I thought I’d be
Options present, from a Divine We
Way is clear, two roads to home
My destiny, no guilt to own
During the course of a man’s life there are certain actions which to him are inevitable. His nurture of violence, rejection, torment, and pain makes a repetition of this lineage probable in many areas. When the professionals look at his past and problems, they commit him to a destiny with their prognostications. Cursed with the Homicidal Triad, he carries the weight that his life is over and many others will end by his hand. Perversions visited on him time and again long to be reborn in a vain attempt at control and vengeance. He’s for all intents and purposes, a dangerous time bomb that, not a matter of “if” but “when”, will explode. He carries himself in a way that attracts the vermin and vultures of the dark life who, smelling blood, come and circle him in an ancient dance of death. They smell blood and think it a sign of weakness not knowing the he cut himself to draw them in. He does this so the ones he takes with him will be deserving of the death he brings. This way is clear and this way he will follow by virtue of having no other choice. No choice until one is taught to him by a God unseen, but heard and felt. His father told him that faith is a crutch for the weak, he now learns faith will save not only him but those he set his cross-hairs on and if not for the crutch, then the kill. Look for the choices you misfitted rejected ones, there’s a way that leads out of the darkness.
“Maybe it’s just hiding somewhere. Or gone on a trip to come home. But falling in love is always a pretty crazy thing. It might appear out of the blue and just grab you. Who knows — maybe even tomorrow.” – Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart
Why is love so evasive? It hides behind impossibilities. Dancing around dashed hopes and crushed dreams, it laughs, seemingly immune. Attempts to force its hand are met with indifference. It scoffs at the futility of such manipulations. It can appear dead, then, resurrect itself in spite of all logical resistance. Contrary to reason, it brings to madness the mind of the genius. Delighting in the bafflement of its adversaries, it raises strong arms to show defiance of prediction. Having disarmed reason and logic it takes the journey into sweet insanity, a wandering exploration through places beyond imagination. Struck with its seduction, a mere touch becomes a fire of uncontrolled passion. A whisper transforms itself into an echo that continues long after the source had taken its leave. Having then all power held in suspension at its will, surely the proverb is true, “now abide faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” I would have to agree, and that is the reason for love’s evasiveness – it is because it can.
“Drag your thoughts away from your troubles… by the ears, by the heels, or any other way you can manage it.” – Mark Twain
“Some men storm imaginary Alps all their lives, and die in the foothills cursing difficulties which do not exist.” – Edgar Watson Howe
Worry is a demonic embryo, its umbilical cord attached directly to my peace of mind and contentedness. It draws creative energy from them while imparting a deadly pathogen of anger, haste, and anxiety in a sticky mire of mental paralysis. The foul sinister infant spoils achievement by robbing me of the pleasure of attainment and eating the beauty of “Now” by a bloody spell of “What If”. To what do I owe the conception of this deceitful child? The copulation occurred by a rape of my mind from circumstances beyond my control. I thought it best then that I destroy it, to rid the world of this scourge. Many coat hangers of those attempts at abortion litter my thoughts. The wounds I inflicted are worse than the thing itself. Still, I made it this far, although I see it kick in my belly, its grasping hands pressing against my skin, deforming the beauty of birth with its sickening form. There is one antidote, a thing just as evasive yet, powerful enough to counter the poison of the demon Worry – my lover Faith. I follow her close and with every wonderful kiss she imparts a temporary immunity to my anxious contractions. There are nights I lay in her arms, as the thunder approaches, and instead of frightening me, it provides a romance for our affair, our bed alive with the fiery passion of battle. Faith, how is it you can take my dreary anxious nights and give me smiles of joy in the mornings after? The battle rages on, the sickness only cured by death, wherein Faith and I will join in eternal matrimony, our children never cursed with the vile afflictions of Worry.
The pill went down easy. Within minutes I felt the effects crawl over my soul. My desire assuaged, the direction became clear. Get more of this drug, get more, get more. Addiction’s voice is haunting and nagging, worse than an old wife on the rag. In my gut, I feel a recurring emptiness and my mind is filled with noisy clutter. They dance in an unsettled pattern that revolves around like the moon, the gravity of seriousness holding both of them close. I filled my bottle up with pretty little pills, the things that give me solace in the routine of restless seeking. Shaking the bottle, I looked again at the prescription, in bold letters, FAITH, and in small script below it, “can cause mindless ambling to churches and Tourette’s like expressions of religious clichés.” Damn this Faith, it’s a drug that allows me to feel good, putting icing on the cake of my rebellion, easing my conscience as I continue to act like the devils who I keep company with. I laugh as I sit in church, reporting weekly like I’m on paper and dutifully pissing for a spiritual U.A.. Someday I’ll lay down my bottle and actually commit to a changed lifestyle, instead of a mimicked mockery of a spiritual man.