Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Remember Thursday Night?

Dear God,

You took the only thing that meant anything to me. How could you? I asked for one thing in this life and still you stole it away while knowing my need. I’m done. I am putting my coat on the hangar, shoes in the closet, and refusing to walk another step. Why me? Was it something I did? Something I said?

My heart was broken. Not by a friend, brother, or lover, but by the one who said he’d love me always. By the one who said he’d be there through the good AND the bad days. What happened that you changed your ways? You were there when I laughed and when I cried. You were there when I told the truth and when I boldly lied. Were you offended by my music? Angered by my TV shows? Should I go to church more? Maybe change my clothes?

I really don’t know, and to be honest I don’t really care. I’ve tried to be fair, to be just, to be kind -but God- you took the only thing that was mine. I basically gave you it all, my entire life. I kept something small, a tiny comfort at night. Was that really so wrong? Are you that hung up on rules? Isn’t that why you corrected those Pharisees, the very men you called fools?

I can’t do this anymore. I cannot play your games. Remember Thursday night when I spoke to you on the floor? That’s the last time I’ll call your name. Things will never be the same. My friends try to comfort me, they say that no one is really to blame; but we both know better than that, for you possess all power. Every day there are thousands of deaths, hundreds every hour. If not your fault then whose? What, the people who sinned? The people born into a reality that they didn’t even choose?

You said that in this life there are two masters, you and that other dude. Well, God, I’ve weighed the pros and cons. Since you lie too, he wins...and you lose.



Dear Son,

I took nothing from you. I did everything that I could do. I asked one thing, your love, but you politely refused. I’m here. I am your God. I may sit on a throne, but I’d love to walk with you. There is nothing you could do, nothing you could say, I’ll be there for you whatever path you take.

My heart is breaking. It’s a ceaseless aching. I love you not as a friend, brother, or lover, but with agape, a love like no other. It was unrequited, given but never returned. Can you imagine how it feels to love endlessly and perfectly and yet still be spurned? We have laughed and we have cried, we have celebrated and mourned, -but Son- you’ve held back.

I watched you fill your life with poison, cloud your own mind with deceit. You were thirsty and hungry, but you only swallowed lies. What need could they possibly meet? I don’t want you to change, and religion is never the answer. It is just a tool that I use, but it can consume like a cancer.

I don’t care for the law, it’s the Spirit behind it. Weren’t you listening when my other son said he was nothing without love? It’s not about the rules, for they could never be enough. You can’t just wear them like a glove. Let me be your all, your tiny comfort at night. When you are alone in the dark forest, let me be your lantern light.

Remember Thursday night when I spoke to you on the floor? When you came to me broken, aching for something more? You called on my name, filed your complaint, acted as if I was to blame. Your brothers and sisters make mistakes along the way, terrible ones, corrupting the lives of millions every week. Thousands every day. As terrible as things seem, if given the option between death and life, we know what most people would choose. That other guy and I don’t compete. There is no win or lose.

It’s hard to hear, but I speak nothing other than the truth. I speak these things for the good of you, one diamond among six billion jewels. I know you’re not perfect, all-knowing, or wise. Though you’re covered in yesterday’s filth, battered, and bruised, I see you daily with a fresh pair of eyes. You are my son: what else could I do?

Remember Thursday night?

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I write to God occasionally, and this is a "correspondence" I had with Him quite some time ago. He speaks to me by giving me words to write A LOT, but rarely is it a "direct" response like this.

I do remember Thursday night, God. I definitely do.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

SIX.ELEVEN

Beaten, bruised, and abused.
Hurt, suffering, and refused.

Given no hope and knowing no light.
A plight that has no end. No “just around the bend”.

Shunned, ostracized, pushed away their entire lives.
Though raised by corruption, still hated for their sin.

So where does one’s humanity finish and the monstrosity begin? Are we not more than the sum of our parts? Does anyone care for crippled minds and broken hearts? Do we need special lenses to tell a person and their sin apart?

Disgusting, atrocious, lowest of the low. Must people live up to a standard for our love to show? Let’s switch gears for a bit. What of your past? Because it was said that if you’ve desired it then you might as well have done it.

But “Hey”, we say, “can’t you give a guy a break? I can’t alter how I think; I can’t erase my past mistakes.” True enough, sir, but there was one who took your place. He willingly paid the price to have all mistakes erased. Yet you pick, and yet you prod at those who have not yet found their way. Then you still possess the audacity to walk up to me and say you are “saved”?

“Violence begets violence” is an oft made claim, but might I suggest that hatred begets hurt and that we all break the same? If “fornication” is the sin then show me where the line between lust and sex begins. Show me where a person’s value dwindles and the depreciation sets in.

Is it inhumane to forgive those who kill? So alien to to love those who hate? That could be your brother, sister, mom, dad. You brother messes up, is sentenced to death, now are you glad? Some say “it’s the law”, “those are the consequences”, or “that’s the price for taking a life”. So now just because the government says it is okay that ultimately makes it right?

When did we begin to confuse darkness with light? To think that death could ever be equated to life? No more switching, let us open our eyes. No more trying to earn grace by belittling the very thing God labored to actualize. We are finished hiding behind lies like we’re politicians of wrong and right. We are through with thinking that killing is the only way to put up a fight. We will hit rock bottom but refuse to curse our persecutors. We will be shoved to the ground yet deny our “right” to hate the perpetrator.

We were beaten and refused. We were hurt and abused. We were shunned and ostracized. We were disgusting, the lowest of the low. Now we are by your side, yet hated, despised by many, and rightly so. It’s only natural that purity be spurned by the corrupt. Just remember that His love is enough and it runs from a spring that will never dry up.

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Pulled from the theme found throughout 1 Corinthians, the album Mutemath, and the dark recesses of my mind.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

CHURCH ONLY.

America. The only truth in life is that we have a right to live it. In reality death is its only destination, yet we always think of it like it's all about the moment we're living in. The here, the now, the second. They're the reason we involve ourselves with recreation, procreation, and domination. We're on a train that plows straight to the end; we don't choose how, when, or where it begins. We only decide what occurs before it hits that last bend. The tracks may be smooth or they might be incomplete, but either way the train and our fate must meet, greet, and detach. So that's that. Know that this life is not your purpose, it's not your end. This is just the car ride to where the vacation begins. So don't lie to me please, it's about more than starving children, hurting women, and dying trees. It's about the cause of these and where they will lead.

America. When songs are sung of your beauty, it is inevitable that someone will mention liberty. But are we truly free? Do we need liberty for the continuity of our pursuit of happiness? Will freedom really save a man in his hour of duress? When he's so confused that his relief is stress and his answer a test? The probability, the odds of a person living truly free...well, to be honest, they're one in three. In the world there are 6,887,842,952 different people. A third of that is 2,295,947,651 persons, and that number of free individuals is only real if every one of them claim as much without their parents' or friends' coercion. With the rampancy of untruth I'd say the actual number is closer to one in three of one in three, which is more like 765,315,884, but to what percentage of that number can the land of liberty hope to give birth?

America. The true beauty you claim abides in our ability to ask. Questions like: "So what's the catch? We're born, live, die, and that's that?" Those issues create a dimension that transcends the simple pursuit of happiness. For happiness is something that cannot last, happiness can be found without the freedom to choose. Happiness is found in the moment, an instant, the fun things we do. What we struggle to acknowledge is that happiness isn't always found in the truth. We lose a friend, hurt a leg, make a bad grade . . . all of these things cause our happiness to whither and fade. But joy, something truth brings, is never determined by the mood of the day. Joy is found in reveling in what we know to be true... or false? I'm at loss: I want you to be happy, but knowing the truth can lead to feeling worse than crappy. But perhaps it's not about how we feel? Perhaps its all about joy, death, freedom...the only things that are real?

America. You give your people possibilities despite the improbability that they'll take action. But what if your very existence spoke to the truth of what's really happened? What if your legacy was veracity and your tombstone a testament to morality? But more than reality, a message of the hope you have for our individuality, spirituality, and integrity? An account of not just who we are, but of who we can be; a tale of more than rich fools, a story of more than nice clothes, beautiful houses, and precious jewels.

Let ours be a saga of love, a history of good. Yet most of all, let our narrative be a witness to the God-chaser's truth. Let us be a witness to the fact that we owe nothing to you, but everything to the God we as a people, not a nation, can freely choose.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

A Medoly of Words

I love music. It helps me keep my sanity when I feel like I'm alone. I don't just mean listening to it, but creating it. It's a mystery t0 me: how can something contain the ugly truth and yet still be so beautiful? Lies, hatred, anger, pain, sorrow, envy . . . music is one of the few places that can bear them all. It shapes them into a cure instead of the poison that they are.

It's an outlet for everything that's building up. I can talk to God and play at the same time, or even worship while I play. It doesn't get much better than that. It's a venue for introspection like no other. Incomparable. It's a marriage of writing and sound.

Here's a piece of introspection that I found inspiring. Explicit language!

Rafael Casal - 'Ego' from Chris Wiggles on Vimeo.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Drip drop, drip drop....

Drip drop, drip drop. That's the sound the rain makes as it plops.

I love this kind of weather. It's cold, foggy, and best of all, wet. I don't even understand why. Perhaps a lot of my best memories are associated with it? Who knows.

As I sit here writing on this blog for the first time in ages...I've just been made aware of another way in which God has revealed himself to be amazing. A friend of mine was recently shown that she can be used by God in ways that she had never imagined and through things that she thought were worthless and boring. It's always exciting to see Elohim "manifest". It's a great little nudge when you're down and feeling pressured.

That aside, I've been thinking about creating a gaming blog for a while, writing for it five times a week. It'll be hard to keep up with it, but I know it's something I need to do to advance from the level I'm on at the moment. That and I hope to start creating videos soon. I need some kind of big, collaborative project to work on, too. It's good to get in groups and contribute ideas, yet it's even more exhilarating to work on executing things that way . . . or at least it is for me.

So my creative goals are:
Update this blog at least three times a week
Start and maintain a new gaming blog
Write five pieces on gaming a week
Find a group of people who want to brainstorm
Start making video concepts

Wish me luck. =)

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

If Ladies Could Fly and Birds Could Dance...

Ladybird, ladybird; flying seems to come to you so easily. Red back, spotted up and down. Polka-dotted like a summer dress, what beauty there is to be found! Brilliant in your unassuming form, in your shape exists a majesty beyond the norm. Subtle, small, and seemingly obsolete, what happens when you're crushed by oblivious feet?


Will the sky turn gray with sorrow? Will the sun still rise tomorrow? Will the rivers run dry to supply numberless tears? Will the wolves howl and the bluebird sing of fear? When the ocean has roared its defeat and the wind breathed its last breath . . . ladybird, will they remember your death? Does it really even matter? Is there a point to it all? Tell me, ladybird: do you too feel oblivion's call? It beckons, pleads, and prods. Wanting for more, it's jealous like God.

You beg for relief, so why do you refuse to receive? To be free . . . must your friends, you leave? Ladybird, you're a fragile thing, fleeting like the wind. When your time draws to an end, the very rules of the earth shall bend. Worldwide mourning shall begin.
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This was written for a friend who attempted to commit suicide several months ago and has now descended into heavy drug use. Her name is Song and she's a beautiful daughter of Elohim. For those of you who don't know what a Ladybird is, it's often regarded as one of the most (some would say few) beautiful insects in the world. We gave Song the nickname ladybird because she liked the old nursery rhyme associated with it and often said that if you caught one you'd get one wish to help someone other than yourself.

She doesn't have facebook or much social contact, but I'd love it if some of you guys would say something so I could print it out and give it to her. If you know anyone who'd want to say something then that would be awesome. I want to show her that the world WOULD mourn if she left it, and that there are people who care. Thanks, love you guys.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

***** Purity.

WARNING: Explicit content below. Read at your own risk.

I've been placed in a peculiar position. I met a man not long ago who has been separated from his wife for about six months. Let's call him Mike-san, shall we (Japanese titles, ftw!)? Mike-san and his wife both have their issues, and during this time of seperation there was some adultery on both sides . . . but that's not the point. They've been trying to work things out and he WANTS to, especially for the sake of his children. So we've been talking about the situation on and off and I've been given the opportunity to speak Elyon's truth into him.

Though he has been walking in the dark for a bit, he's a believer; he still knows who his help comes from and remembers who has gotten him through his darkest days, but like all of us . . . occasionally he needs reminding. To many of us that comes wack-a-mole style, but he lucked out. This guy isn't a tame "Christian", though. Tattooed, did jail time, and looks like he could crush me. O_O

He's raw.

For some reason that is beyond me, he looks to me for advice and actually listens to what I have to say. Why? I don't really know. I never approached him and told him that I'm a Christian; I never condemned him for wanting to have sex (come on, everyone [sane] wants to have sex). So what did I do? I listened. Mike-san told me something the other day that shocked me. He said that he envies me, so of course I asked him why. He has slept with so many women that he doesn't remember their names or faces, nor can he recall how many times he's had sex. Now,  I've never told this cat that I'm a virgin, but apparently he just KNEW.

He told me this: "People may try to fuck with you an' tell ya give in, but don't do it. Stay like you are and do you. HOLD to your beliefs. Neva let 'em tell ya' shit."

In helping Mike-san I've probably helped myself more than him! In case you were wondering what the title is, let me tell you . . .

Enjoy Purity.