Overland

"'One word, Ma'am,' he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. 'One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things – trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.'" - Puddleglum's Speech, The Silver Chair

Winter

"Lord, you are the God who saves me;

    day and night I cry out to you.

May my prayer come before you;

    turn your ear to my cry.

I am overwhelmed with troubles

    and my life draws near to death.

I am counted among those who go down to the pit;

    I am like one without strength.

I am set apart with the dead,

    like the slain who lie in the grave,

whom you remember no more,

    who are cut off from your care.

You have put me in the lowest pit,

    in the darkest depths.

Your wrath lies heavily on me;

    you have overwhelmed me with all your waves.

You have taken from me my closest friends

    and have made me repulsive to them.

I am confined and cannot escape;

    my eyes are dim with grief.

I call to you, Lord, every day;

    I spread out my hands to you.

Do you show your wonders to the dead?

    Do their spirits rise up and praise you?

Is your love declared in the grave,

    your faithfulness in Destruction?

Are your wonders known in the place of darkness,

    or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion?

But I cry to you for help, Lord;

    in the morning my prayer comes before you.

Why, Lord, do you reject me

    and hide your face from me?

From my youth I have suffered and been close to death;

    I have borne your terrors and am in despair.

Your wrath has swept over me;

    your terrors have destroyed me.

All day long they surround me like a flood;

    they have completely engulfed me.

You have taken from me friend and neighbor—

    darkness is my closest friend."

Finding Home

We live in a mismatched world. We play the part we're told to with little regard for talent or courage.
There is no "right-fit." The papers can only print the words "generalization," "racism," "sexism," "misunderstanding." We're all a crazy bunch of kids running in circles in need of something to hold onto.

In this world that can't distinguish the grays, how are we supposed to respond then to a beckoning?
If some meaning calls out can we even hear it through the salt and pepper fights on the screen?

Home isn't a place you live, it's not a location, or even a state of being.
Where do you belong, where you mean something, where you smile:
That's the hint of home, the teaser of the rich secret.

The forest, the trees.
The sea, the waves.
The meadow, the flowers.
The stage, the thrill.
The knowledge, the books.
The sounds, the music.

That's finding it,
Get on your way,

Home.

we dont see Each other anymore

all we see is how many Packs you smoke
how many people youve slept with
what your doctor told you Was fact
what your broken heart told you was true

the real Individual has been replaced
with a ghost comprised of the condition
a wraith created By the problem

the pain the sorrow the torture
all Become our defense mechanism
to keep out the pain the sorrow the torture

i see a standin a fake no more you no more reality no more no more

were not blind we Just dont choose to see
were not broken we Just let go of our wholeness

we dont Have the strength to get the strength to get the strength

our scream reverberates In our ears
the first cry doesnt stop because its the last cry

and Again
we miss each other we run right past them
and even forget to glance back

and all they get At the end of the day is
i miss you
because we dont know how To give anything more

Sought

Something in me has always longed to be chased after.
I suppose I easily relate to dogs and their fascination with having their human owners running after them aimlessly. There's a certain sense of meaning that arises when someone chooses to make the direct effort to seek you. It's an unspoken proof of love.

That is my love language.

In the misguided name of being an introvert I ran away with the hope of someone chasing after me.
I spent so much time alone waiting for someone to come and find me. Because if someone did come and find me, then I would know. I would know that I know that I know that they care. That they wanted me. That I was truly loved by them.

So I thought it a failing of man that so often I was left on my lonesome. Just me and the sky, the trees, or the grass. But it was not man that failed in this instance. It was me.

When I'm alone, I'm not.
Have you ever wondered why people of varying religions find so much satisfaction and meaning in meditation? They get away, they're alone, they're detached from the flow of trouble and mayhem.
But me, in my perfectly secret place, I tried to connect it again. I wanted to interject more humans into the equation when that peaceful solitude was meant to have a lack of people.
It isn't surprising that I was so often unsatisfied. I was doing it wrong.

Because now when I'm alone, when I put the cross before me and the world behind me, when I let go of all the chains that I myself am holding pressed against my chest, when I say, "Here I Am," then the lightning strikes and the flood comes.

And there I sit.
Me. Alone. Sought.

Yeah, alone is indeed the wrong word.
But I don't mind, because every time I go there now, someone shows up.
Every time.

Inexplicably Joyful

In a time of sorrow, moments that are fully awash with sadness, there is peace. There is a soft smile on my lips.

I am inexplicably joyful. And this is said whilst sitting amidst a pile of ashes. Only God could bring about such a marvel.

I walk on the bright coals of my failed dreams and despised hopes. The confusion of brutality seems closer than necessary. Even so, I tread with faith from a faulty heart.

As uncompassionate as pain is, it can still be the catalyst and the answer to your cry, "Bring me closer."

Though the stab of brokenness is debilitating it is equally beneficial to force us from our constrained thinking to the reality of trust and desperation.

Only God could convince me of this.

Excerpt from "Drip Drop"

"I Love You."
what an odd phrase.
we make it meaningless when we
really
mean it to be
meaningful

we're not very good at this