Thou shalt not – Yes you should! –

“I get up and pace the room, as if I can leave my guilt behind me. But it tracks me as I walk, an ugly shadow made by myself.” – Rosamund Lupton, Sister

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Damn the guilt

Thou shalt not. When I went to church, that’s what I heard. Being a young man and given to many troubles, I struggled with my love for God while bearing the guilt of “thou shalt not”. Looking at the rigorous laws imposed on me by religion, I saw a weakness in their application.

Thou shalt not Lie. Really? I’ll lie till my tongue twists in my head to save you from harm. A man breaks into your house, your wife and kids hide, he asks you, “Where are they?”. OK religious man, you who impose on me your guilt ridden laws, speak up! Tell that man where your family is so he can kill them, or do worse. I laugh at your law now, you should lie!

Thou shalt not kill. Really? Do you know that your freedom to worship rests on the blood of many honorable and/or religious men who laid their lives on the line and killed to give you the choice to intellectually subject me to your guilt ridden standards. You should kill to protect your family, your nation, your freedom. I can go on and show that for every “thou shalt not” there is a circumstance in life that dictates you should.

 

Double standard? No, I see a higher standard. Wisdom is skillfully applied knowledge, knowing the rule isn’t good enough for practice of the same. Obviously we shouldn’t live on lies, killing people at whim. Here is wisdom, for every spiritual principle, “thou shalt not lie”, “thou shalt not kill”, there lies a spiritual application. If you maintain your hardened religious attitude and refuse to consider that every application of knowledge requires wisdom, guilt and confusion will be your companions for life. Taking the general principles of honesty and respect for life, I spiritually apply them. I‘m at a loss for the answers to this dilemma, however, know that I’ll lie to keep you safe, and I’ll kill to protect my friends, family, and nation. Understand the inherent weakness of rules and consider the full course of your beliefs before imposing them on me.

02152012

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The Dust – Apathy exposes your cracks

“Even when I try to stir myself up, I just get irritated because I can’t make anything come out. And in the middle of the night I lie here thinking about all this. If I don’t get back on track somehow, I’m dead, that’s the sense I get. 
There isn’t a single strong emotion inside me.” ― Banana Yoshimoto
 

 

 

You see beauty everywhere, your supposed to be happy. Your not.
You see people laughing, your supposed to be a part. Your not.
You see tears falling, your supposed to feel. Your not.

You see beauty everywhere, your supposed to be happy. Your not.
You see people laughing, your supposed to be a part. Your not.
You see prayers offered, your suppose to do that. Your not.

You see tears falling, your supposed to feel. Your not.
You see life passing, your supposed to do something. Your not.

And worst of all, you just don’t care. I mean you really, really, don’t care. About anything.

It’s death you feel in every little crack of your soul.

Like dust collecting, this death accumulates in the small areas of your life.

But wait you walking dead! Be encouraged!

There’s life again, a spring cleaning as it were, rising from the dust of death in your life.

You must quiet yourself and stop running to the next thing that will numb you.

You must quiet yourself and wait to hear the voice of your maker calling after you.

You must quiet yourself and pray to the one who has the love that will make you whole.

I’ve felt the death that living life can bring, and I’ve felt the arms of my Father,

Those arms have made me strong enough to live and be safe from the dust.

 

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

01082011

Second Hand

“Of course there had been clues. A bite of the lip. An indrawn breath. Wrinkled brows and shrugged shoulders. A few false starts at conversations about work and balance, but the real alarms should have gone off when all of that faded.”
― Zoe York, Between Then and Now 

helenduplicate

With the wind she tickled the grass

conducting music in the sand

She came, she went, with all she did,

she did in the second hand

Just another throw away, moved from

trash can to trash can

Coming to pick me, broken, used, always

holding the second hand

Lines of age with gray that casts away

at once I understand

There’s always a way for love to free

me from the second hand

Taking those clocks and finding a way

to trash the limited man

Time is the victim she said to me,

it’s killed by the second hand

Hours in the great divide, no worries,

content with just a stand,

In the present we all can feel the touch

of the second hand

A Uniquely Exquisite Pattern – The Pain Of Success

“As my sufferings mounted I soon realized that there were two ways in which I could respond to my situation — either to react with bitterness or seek to transform the suffering into a creative force. I decided to follow the latter course.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

Cicatrices_de_flagellation_sur_un_esclave.jpg

I bear wounds that seem to never heal, a constant pain that surrounds all my reality. Where will I go from it? What will I do with it? Pain is my fuel that stokes the fires of excellence and success. Without it, I’m powerless before pleasure, seduced to be complacent. I bear the marks of life’s whips in a uniquely exquisite pattern. So beautiful are their ragged trails that spell my name – “Survivor”. To excel I must accept my pain. When I fight it, or hide from it, it kills me. When I accept it, it empowers me. Mourn your pain, then brush yourself off, take it by the ear and demand from it success, knowing that unless you experience the depths of pain, you’ll not know the heights of joy.

Also published in:  Broowaha
02202011 

Love In Hiding – Why is love so evasive?

“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

hop3lessdreamers

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.

Also published in Broowaha
Also published in Wingposse

10252011

The Addiction of Belonging – Approval is addictive drug

 “A truly strong person does not need the approval of others any more than a lion needs the approval of sheep.” – Vernon Howard

secretdiaryofacollege-girl

There are purveyors of affection and belonging that ply their wares on the corner of our mind and emotions. Like the dealers who sell illicit and addictive substances, they, with great subtlety, offer tidbits of friendship that draw the lonely, hurting, or naive soul into their game.  Society today generates many deformities of social maturity. Single parent families, domestic abuse, molestation, and apathetic parenting leave many souls thirsty for belonging, for approval, and for a sense of family. This “drug” of approval is not an illegal sort, it is nonetheless, just as deadly.

Once the hook is set through approval, and acceptance is feigned in the “family”(the group or persons the searching heart wished to belong to), pressure is exerted to perform the will of the those who possess the “fix” of affection. The “addict” is drawn further away from their own independence and individuality and is conformed to the will of the “dealer”. Eager for approval, the walls of inhibition are broken down and the victim finds their choices of right and wrong becoming choices of the lesser of two evils. Gangs operate this way, drawing in the young, unwary, and inexperienced souls, transforming them into soldiers ready to obey their command. In a sexual relationship the same effect is accomplished. The end result is the dissolution of individuality and the creation of an extremely unhealthy social interaction that ends in the destruction of the victim, either physically, through death, emotionally, through heartache, or through social isolation and imprisonment to a partners will.

To break free from this cycle and bondage, the victim, the “addict”, must exert his/her individuality at any cost. The victim must stand on their own beliefs and moral decisions. Depending on how deep their involvement may be, this could be a costly and life changing act. When the victim is in too deep, it may well cost them their life to escape the hold of that “family”. But, breaking that hold is a must, an imperative, for without that break, there exists only a life of imprisonment and eventual misery and regret as the suppliant gives away their life for the selfish goal of another. Be careful my friends that you don’t find yourself in this hidden addiction of belonging. Choose your friends wisely and be sure to stand on your own ground. 

Also published in Broowaha

06252012 

"Why?" – Questions are answered tomorrow

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language.”

 –  Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

 

 

sensosketch

When the storm rages on the oceans way, 

“Why?” is not a question for the gales stay.

When the earth trembles and shakes us deep, 

“Why?” is not a question we should keep.

When the starry skies shed their bright lights, 

“Why?” is not a question for that dark night.

Reap the strong currents of dire sorrow,

 “Why?” is answered only by tomorrow…

06222012

Pee – The stain never fades

 “PTSD is a whole-body tragedy, an integral human event of enormous proportions with massive repercussions.” – Susan Pease Banitt

dirtifulmind

The stain spread across her crotch and down her legs. Not sure why, being far past the age when self control is learned, but her young body seemed to respond this way. She knew what this meant, the beatings, the torture, the hell that came by the hand of adopted dads and step moms who didn’t understand why. Did they consider that maybe something’s wrong? Did they know that a babysitter used the bathroom to defile her innocence, violating her with fucked up fantasies? No, she was left to deal with the severe repercussions, searching for a remedy. The diaper she wore in public (embarrassment being the rod of chastisement her step parents thought her worthy of), locked her in stocks of shame that forever took the pee stain, and engraved that young mind with its stench. She prayed often in those days for the God that raised people from the dead, the God that made blind men see, to just do a simple thing and dry her stain. Of course, the wetness never dried until it was to late, and her young faith died after many unanswered prayers. Let this be a warning for parents everywhere, pay attention to your kids, there are reasons why.

The Tub – Abuse cannot be cleansed

“When you aren’t loved, you aren’t real. Life is cold, like the stone against my palm.”
  – Richelle E. Goodrich, Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher

“Many abused children cling to the hope that growing up will bring escape and freedom…She is still a prisoner of her childhood; attempting to create a new life, she re-encounters the trauma.”
― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery  

 

I hear him coming, old truck grumbling

Stumbling up the stairs.

I hear him cussing, broken glassesthrowing

Threatening me to tears.

I hear his belt undoing, drunken fury lashing,

Bringing my young fears

I hear the slaps landing, bruises are coming

Staining my skin with smears

I hear the bath filling, his sorrow is falling

Draining his guilty water clears

I hear the door slamming, darkness is calling

Suffering my torment through the years

Related Post: Slamming Doors

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

02282012

The Demon Worry

“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

xsleeplessness

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.