A Thought on Waiting

Time has become such a noose, lightly draped over the neck of desire. With each second that ticks away incompletion solidifies in our hearts and minds. The ache groans deeper and longer as satisfaction seems irrevocably postponed. Oblivion seems just a few steps shorter as the gorge of longing digs within the enigmatic corridors of our hearts. Love is patient, love waits and pines for fulfillment but loves calls for a deep well, not a 12 oz can. In the ache, narcissism wields its ugly head and beckons the subject at hand to invert and enter into a whirlpool pouring inward and drowning all that once burned pure. There is one way alone to pull from the tattered cycle, that is to look to he who is love. In Him are hidden all of the treasures of wisdom and knowledge and He who made our hearts know our desire more than even ourselves. We are made in the image of the consuming fire and are called to dig deep wells in which the fire may rest and we rest in Him. From Him all things stem, for Him, to Him, and through him. Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart. We were made to love, let the reservoir grow.

Soldiers Little Ditty

Fire violently consumes their eyes. Everything resonates of life as they stare headlong into the sun. Destined to dwell amidst burning, they feel beckoned home. Their cry, "How long will the wicked prosper?" For they soon shall become just like dust. Tenacity erupts in a violent maelstrom of fervor within the hearts of these people. Arms locked they fearlessly march through the valley of the shadow of death led by the Light that destroys all in its wake. The virulent cancer lashes forth taking casualties, yet they fearlessly march eyes set on the bliss to come. The weak are marching on as the world staggers like a drunkard. Though my body may perish it is only a shadow. We will follow the lamb wherever he goes; he loved us to the end.

Taste and See

No one can hear anymore. It is as if as soon as incoming sound is turned cut off the catalogs of vapidity and the profound unlock like a heinous game of 52 pick up in your head. Silence has become static, our own creations forge our realities as fantasy drifts in and out of our conscious line of view and conviction. Truth was thrown out the window years ago and all that’s left are creations and forgeries it seems, half hearted attempts to get the mind buzzing while they stand proudly cutting the yellow tape meant to connect the mind and the heart. Buzzing is more than a honey producing allergy trigger pin, it is the dull whir our the gears in our heads wearing out. The teeth are gone it seems, all that remains are circles spinning round and round with a haunting hum hurting your head. Alliteration aside, we live in a culture where we embrace amusement without even realizing that the very meaning of the word means: to come against thinking.
With the gears grinding and chipping away at each other and hearts that are being cultivated for insecurity and obscurity we long to be fascinated, and we long to be moved. Born with two eyes we yearn to see. Sculpted with ears we crave to hear. Knit together with hands we are compelled to create. Birthed with mouths we pine to resonate. Six billion plus people with destiny and existence screaming in there souls and there is nothing but cancer and static meeting them.
The delicacy of this era has become produce and meat. The earth feeds from the knowledge of good and evil and feasts upon humanity. We all have been forged to experience what none can describe and that is God. Made in his image, creativity lurks in the crawlspaces of our being and we like a deer in headlights stare blankly and let it run us over. There are colors to be seen, symphonies to here, visions to behold, and a God to behold jaw on the ground in utter terror, joy, bliss, and trembling. We are made to allow him to move through us expressing his very being. He is the Father of lights and we behold only an infinitesimal part of the radiant spectrum. This is his pleasure, making himself known while drawing his creation into sheer astonishment of his unspeakable beauty.
With the majority disconnected from the hope of his calling, emptiness eats away at humanity like leprosy. Perversion spreads like wildfire because there is no knowledge of God, wisdom is lacking, and vision has been dragged into an alley mugged, beaten and left for dead. God beckons forth humanity to enter into communion. The heavens are invading the earth as the epic known as this age is drawing to a close. God will manifest himself through his people and beckons his beloved bride, children, and siblings to join with him. Symphonies of heaven and of the Lamb wait in anticipation to be released. God burns with longing to reveal visions of his glorious and transcendent radiance. He who makes all things to, through, and for himself is calling his bride to manifest and express his very awe instilling nature.
This is worship, beholding and becoming who the triune community of love is. As light is reflected through a prism so is the light of God is reflected through his children. The earth is the LORD’s and all that is in it and his glory will cover the earth like the waters cover the sea. He is not a vacuum, nor a formula, he is. If the only word angels can find in using to describe him is holy, you can bet that is how he will manifest himself when all things are brought to an end.
All beauty and creation stems from him, he is the perfection of beauty and in him are hidden all of the treasure of wisdom and knowledge, and he is the Word of Life. Behold him as the masses bow down to a soup can.

Much dreaming and many words are meaningless, therefore, stand in awe of God.

– Ecclesiastes 5:7

Up From the Ashes

It has begun to erupt, slowly but surely the fuses are being flipped and the fuses are being lit. As discontentment seethes in the air, the faceless inhale deeply preferring this to the grainy smog. A few cough and sputter out of what has seemed like an endless coma. Hazy lines dance in front of most of the awakening eyes. Something is different, as the lucid bill hadn’t been paid and the dreams ended. Groping in a blur the only hope it seemed was to hold onto each other.
Something beat in each heart. It grew as vision slowly became clear. It pounded against the sternum as if it were about to send the vessel into cardiac arrest. The sight was endless it seemed, as if it made devastation seem like a warm Disney finale. The ground was covered in corpses, breathing out death with each snore. The stench was unbearable as a few found legs, and the pounding persisted.
The faces now began to emanate expression, mostly of shock horror and disgust. Yet the pulse kept screaming. It felt as if there were hands pumping the heart to come to life. It grew harder and louder as the huddled group stared blankly at their soot covered faces. Harder, and harder, it shoved and pushed, and pounded. Then it all of a sudden it stopped.
The silence was deafening, as a light breeze blew through the rusty atmosphere. Then in the stillness of mystery another sound began to trickle. The rhythm was almost hypnotizing as the frail heads began to slowly bounce along to the sound in utter bewilderment. Life began to fill there eyes and dignity began to cascade over their frames. They had awakened, and were beginning to see for the first time.
The only things on the ground were trumpets, and each one was inscribed with the names that flickered in there static cognitions. The only other thing flashing was a cross. LOVE had awakened them, it was time to get up.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity into man’s heart so that he cannot find out what God has done from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:11

Our Chemical Romance

On the embankment if time one lone echo is heard. Some say it is an echo, but the rising understanding is that it is a sound that has never ceased proclaiming its burning oracle. This war cry forged before time stood still let alone was sketched, resonates in the ears of the hopeful, bitter, and despondent alike.
Kindred hearts in agony mourn their tragic disposition as the only escape they have is discussing the current situation, abscesses are the common identity as dignity has not been stolen but whored away in order to keep the situation to a minimum. Lost in thought and fantasy the masses scrape on by, hushing those who make any statement in regards to the current scenario. It will last forever as the world marches on, hand in hand, proclaiming the anthem of their sad parade. It marches through tossing out needles like candy and colorfully altered Prozac in order to truly taste the rainbow.
Anxiety grips all who have some sort of clue, the overwhelming cry of the broken, battered, neglected, raped, starved, dying, and utterly forlorn. The army armed with pamphlets beckon all the broken hearted to join the sad parade (the official name has changed over the year but this is the organization funding it, they had a better budget than even Macy’s).
The children join the dance in the inner ranks as the “learned ones” lead, removing clothing and baring all in order to find their true potential, or at least to find at least one person to fully accept who they are, its what the bands marching have referred to as love….. it was the whole purpose of marching; it was even the biggest word on the front of the brochure. Everything is in the name of love, from the engraving on the conductor’s baton to the shackles being subversively placed around the each of the company’s ankles.
The echo still persists, as merriment fights to drown it out. Yet it persists. Shattering trees and piercing eardrums it continues and grows, yet the revelry grows. There is one cry, one Word that stands alone predating the revolution of the decaying orb. LOVE! It is on the horizon and only life is found in Him. He will return and all things will be made new, LOVE beckons, flee the sad parade and you will be made alive in Him, and in Him only is their life.
Untied by pain the death parade marches onward into the darkness. Feeding each other with insecurity and fear it persists.
LOVE became flesh and bore all pain and grievances in His death for the very sake of love. He made each in the parade for LOVE and apart from Him there is only death. LOVE calls to those He fought to be with and will have His due. Reach out and touch it, LOVE marches forward.

The Letters of a Parched Tongue

They surround me and bounce through the air as if there was some machine just pumping them out. It seems all too mechanical the way expression flows as if the heart patted the mind on the back as it pushed the autopilot button on and left the cockpit. Nothing is left except for what the universe can’t help but take pride in pointing out that is decay. Life has entered boldly through the gates of entropy as though a pile of rocks is the pinnacle for absorbency, the quilted quicker picker upper is as close second d but the manufacturing sponsor can’t quite make the cut. Disposable information, feelings, and words are hinge pins on which the arrogant find themselves manipulating as if the pulse of a heart was nothing more than a vice, one better than Miami vice because commercials always had been ridiculously annoying. Silence has been replaced by a dull buzzing as even in the wind airwaves flicker on and off. I want to put my tender heart in a blender, spin it around to a beautiful oblivion, if not just for the reason so that dissection can be skipped and it can be consumed through a crazy straw in a Big Gulp® cup. So we watch it spin round and round, throwing in ginseng mixed with catchphrases, lemon juice and sarcasm with bite, and topping it off with a spoonful of sugar and flattery to make it more palatable. Millions of computers are having the refresh button rubbed away from the all American myspace community whose spite for the very nation they loathe is what they are becoming. At least that is the goal isn’t it, spoon feeding strangers heaps of their souls like a sample lady at Sam’s club, window shopping wasn’t cutting it, that and with the obesity epidemic who wants to look right? Its who we are, almost innately in the cubicles of our minds pining away longing for the office with the window, hoping to open it for a fresh breath of air while we do our duty to first and make sure the locks are secure, we can’t help but worry our secrets will come out.
They prance and they fall delicately balanced between the tongue of our mouth and the tongue of our shoes. The origin of all has been long forgotten. In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. In Him is the light of mean apart from Him there is no light, no love, no authority, no justice, and no peace. He is the very Word that holds all things together and will one day unite them into one world. The Word became flesh and dwelled among us. He died and rose from the grave conquering death and promised to put the Word (or the Spirit of Truth) in our hearts to guard and lead us unto His return when death will be no more.
To some this may sound like religious dribble, others it may ring of words that have turned to rhetoric, danced to the realm of jargon and have become nothing more than a sheet of scribbles tucked away under some dusty book in the crevice of one’s own mind. This is truth, it is the only way even historically in which life can be restored, champions for peace and righteousness, broken hearts mended and knives removed from backs. For some our backs are filled with scrapes which are so unrecognizably interwoven that we can’t tell the original wounds from the scratch marks to ease the incessant itching. Humanity and westerners are united primarily by one thing and that is our very reaction to pain. Or social structures and clicks are formed into clubs of like minded individuals who find the answer to their pain in some specific way, shape, or form. The most common thread between all groups is that the thickest bandage over the gaping wound is that of words. These words cover, not smother, and let infection build in the heart and the spirit until, as is often the case, the words form a callous around the wound prescribing the only “sane” rational, numbness. We get lost in aware unawareness that we codger lies and cling to lies and empty half truths longing someway to ease the pain.
There is only one great physician, His name is God. Taking the office of Father, Mother, Brother, Bridegroom, Judge, and a plethora of others He being God is the only one who can rectify the pain and darkness that consumes the deepest parts of who we are. He knit us in our mother’s wombs; He predestined us for love, delight and greatness; he knows our hearts, thoughts, and dreams; and He is rich in tender mercies not even snuffing out the dying ember. He made us for His convenience and His pleasure and will is that we, being made in His image and made to receive and give love to Him and each other, may enter into the full ecstasy of joy intimacy and fellowship. He being the Word is the source of life, in Him there is truth. Demagogues die, spin doctors stare at their ceilings in regret, the poets drown in angst, but there is only one who will affirm the echoes that stir within each of our souls, He is the Word and He beckons us to choose him or be consumed by pain.