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 Silence has been replaced by a dull buzzing as even in the wind airwaves flicker on and off.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.