i never understood when people said that
a heartbreak could destroy them
and i thought that, since my love was not loud
it was not strong.
my love was not fireworks, no bouquet of roses.
it was a tree, taking root and burrowing ever deeper.
have you ever seen a tree pulled out by the roots?
my chest is a crater.
my ribs are too small for my lungs.
my jaw clenches and my eyes weep
without the tired consent of my battered mind.
my whole body is become slave to my heart
whose steady beat is
no
longer
triumphant
i am alive. i am alive. i am alive.
but i am no longer alive
i simply
exist
14 June 2016
I think the strangest thing I've noticed in today's society is its propensity to pinpoint all the wrong things. In the Orlando shooting, the focus is now on racism and gun control, as if those were the deciding factors in the tragedy. I think the reality is that human beings are capable of infinite good and infinite evil, and in Orlando, we saw infinite evil.
The problem is not guns. The problem is not even terrorism, if this was a terrorist act. The problem is that we live in a world where people do terrible things to each other, and that is not something that we can change with a new law. You cannot legislate a mindset; you can't enforce compassion.
So often I think we get caught up in trying to force our will on other people, in trying to pass laws that go along with our point of view, when really a law is simply words on a piece of paper. In the end, it will not stop someone who has decided in their heart to do something heinous. That's not to say we shouldn't take a stand in our government, but perhaps in a world where violence and opposing views abound, we should take time to look to those around us, and to ourselves.
What would it be like if we, as Christians, were a community that left no one out? What sort of world could we create if we truly adhered to Jesus' teachings of 'love your neighbor as yourself?' Do we spend our days constantly asserting our own way, or do we look for those who have fallen by the wayside? Are we kind to strangers? Do we set an example of integrity and compassion for those watching us?
I think everyone wants to answer yes. But in the end, how do we treat the seventeenth clueless IT guy on the phone who doesn't speak good English? How do we respond to offbeat characters that spark fear in our hearts? How do we treat people who have hurt us? Even more importantly, how do we dialogue with people we disagree with? Do we hammer on theological points and miss that the person in front of us is a human being?
We live in a broken world, and nothing in this life is ever going to fix that entirely. We are flawed people constantly trying to ensure our own safety and lifestyle. We shake our heads at the way the world is turning and continue on our daily lives. Perhaps Clinton will win the election. Maybe it will be Trump. Hopefully, neither one.
But in the end, how much impact does a presidency have on what really matters? Presidents can change the surface of the world; they can start and end wars, change laws, and ruin diplomatic ties. But nothing, not a bad president, not a shooting in Orlando, can change the value that we place on human life, on compassion, and on our fellow humans.
We cannot force others to make the world a better place with rules and legislation. The hard reality is that the world becomes a better place one person at a time. There is no magic wand that makes people kind. Feminist persecution will never change the fact that immature people exist. Anti-gun laws will never change the fact that criminals with intent to kill will find a way to do it. Rules cannot fix the broken human heart. Change has to start with us, and we have to face that fact that making the world a better place is hard work, full of frustration and injustice, not some righteous crusade full of glory and sunshine.
I suppose my point is this: in our everyday lives and in our governmental choices, compassion ought to be our highest priority, and we have to understand that everyone's compassion looks different. Perhaps you have strong compassion for marriage equality, and I have strong compassion for victims of the bourgeoisie. Our focus will be different, but I think that if our hearts are focused on caring for other people, even disagreements can be civil.
The problem is not guns. The problem is not even terrorism, if this was a terrorist act. The problem is that we live in a world where people do terrible things to each other, and that is not something that we can change with a new law. You cannot legislate a mindset; you can't enforce compassion.
So often I think we get caught up in trying to force our will on other people, in trying to pass laws that go along with our point of view, when really a law is simply words on a piece of paper. In the end, it will not stop someone who has decided in their heart to do something heinous. That's not to say we shouldn't take a stand in our government, but perhaps in a world where violence and opposing views abound, we should take time to look to those around us, and to ourselves.
What would it be like if we, as Christians, were a community that left no one out? What sort of world could we create if we truly adhered to Jesus' teachings of 'love your neighbor as yourself?' Do we spend our days constantly asserting our own way, or do we look for those who have fallen by the wayside? Are we kind to strangers? Do we set an example of integrity and compassion for those watching us?
I think everyone wants to answer yes. But in the end, how do we treat the seventeenth clueless IT guy on the phone who doesn't speak good English? How do we respond to offbeat characters that spark fear in our hearts? How do we treat people who have hurt us? Even more importantly, how do we dialogue with people we disagree with? Do we hammer on theological points and miss that the person in front of us is a human being?
We live in a broken world, and nothing in this life is ever going to fix that entirely. We are flawed people constantly trying to ensure our own safety and lifestyle. We shake our heads at the way the world is turning and continue on our daily lives. Perhaps Clinton will win the election. Maybe it will be Trump. Hopefully, neither one.
But in the end, how much impact does a presidency have on what really matters? Presidents can change the surface of the world; they can start and end wars, change laws, and ruin diplomatic ties. But nothing, not a bad president, not a shooting in Orlando, can change the value that we place on human life, on compassion, and on our fellow humans.
We cannot force others to make the world a better place with rules and legislation. The hard reality is that the world becomes a better place one person at a time. There is no magic wand that makes people kind. Feminist persecution will never change the fact that immature people exist. Anti-gun laws will never change the fact that criminals with intent to kill will find a way to do it. Rules cannot fix the broken human heart. Change has to start with us, and we have to face that fact that making the world a better place is hard work, full of frustration and injustice, not some righteous crusade full of glory and sunshine.
I suppose my point is this: in our everyday lives and in our governmental choices, compassion ought to be our highest priority, and we have to understand that everyone's compassion looks different. Perhaps you have strong compassion for marriage equality, and I have strong compassion for victims of the bourgeoisie. Our focus will be different, but I think that if our hearts are focused on caring for other people, even disagreements can be civil.
25 December 2015
I am not a particularly merry person. Nor am I jolly, or cheerful, or gay or any such adjective. I am a dour creature of decided gloom, who occasionally delights in mischief and chaos. As such, the rituals of Christmas tend to bore me, and while I adore seeking out and obtaining the perfect present for a friend or family member, I find that I am less thrilled about having to procure these by a certain date. I prefer my gifts to be spontaneously endowed the moment that I find them.
However, on this Christmas day, my hand sore from the exertion of testing out my new cello bow, my thoughts wander toward wonderment that the year is almost through. I can't say that it's been a particularly enjoyable year.
I can say, with great satisfaction, that I am four or five chapters away from the end of my first novel (yet again) and this time, the draft pleases me. I believe I have, at last, reached a point at which I can stop rearranging the major plot points and focus on line-edits.
Why am I, who rarely post once a month, writing to update you on the mundane details of my life?
I am writing a particularly sticky chapter that isn't flowing well at all. Generally I take this to mean that I should delete it all and not write it, but I have elected to push through it (probably to my later regret; these scenes never seem to turn out well) and have only a thousand more words to go.
only a thousand more words to go.
There are some days where I loathe my choice of profession.
However, on this Christmas day, my hand sore from the exertion of testing out my new cello bow, my thoughts wander toward wonderment that the year is almost through. I can't say that it's been a particularly enjoyable year.
I can say, with great satisfaction, that I am four or five chapters away from the end of my first novel (yet again) and this time, the draft pleases me. I believe I have, at last, reached a point at which I can stop rearranging the major plot points and focus on line-edits.
Why am I, who rarely post once a month, writing to update you on the mundane details of my life?
I am writing a particularly sticky chapter that isn't flowing well at all. Generally I take this to mean that I should delete it all and not write it, but I have elected to push through it (probably to my later regret; these scenes never seem to turn out well) and have only a thousand more words to go.
only a thousand more words to go.
There are some days where I loathe my choice of profession.
13 December 2015
I think the reason that our culture is inundated with stories of death and cancer, novels that try to assign some deep value or wisdom to the words of the dying, is because we as humans inherently search for meaning. We look at death as the end of life, and we look at life as the ultimate good because to be alive is to be human, and to be human is to be infinite. And yet, to be human is to be finite, and our lives are bookended with dates inscribed into marble as if that can define a person and the life that they lived. We watch people as they slip from living, breathing lines stretching upwards into infinity like a cubic function and dwindle into silent, lifeless lines, defined by their slope and their x and y value endpoints.
I think it's this view of the infinite becoming finite that disturbs us so much. It reaches into our chest and grips our soul with cold fingers that bring forth thoughts we would rather just forget. We need it to mean something. We need it to mean something because if it means something, it's easier to accept. If we learn from it, it's not evil at all, simply another lesson in a lifetime journey of learning.
The truth is that death doesn't mean anything.
Death simply is. It's not a lesson. It doesn't care what you learn from it. It claims us all but that is a fact, not some deep piece of philosophical mumbo jumbo. The truth is that not everything in life is part of some grand plan to make us into better people. Life is. The only lessons we will learn are the ones we teach ourselves.
I think it's this view of the infinite becoming finite that disturbs us so much. It reaches into our chest and grips our soul with cold fingers that bring forth thoughts we would rather just forget. We need it to mean something. We need it to mean something because if it means something, it's easier to accept. If we learn from it, it's not evil at all, simply another lesson in a lifetime journey of learning.
The truth is that death doesn't mean anything.
Death simply is. It's not a lesson. It doesn't care what you learn from it. It claims us all but that is a fact, not some deep piece of philosophical mumbo jumbo. The truth is that not everything in life is part of some grand plan to make us into better people. Life is. The only lessons we will learn are the ones we teach ourselves.
Consummation
Cease with your accusations, mother -
hide your jealous tongue behind your lips.
You come to me with flowers still bright with the sun,
your voice crackling with arrogant pleas,
entreating him as the keeper of chains.
No ill-will binds me thus.
Wipe those tears from your eyes, mother -
Your grief earns you now only scorn.
See how my lover's eyes darken,
cast your gaze to our intertwined hands,
watch as I devour his cold lips with mine.
My fire blazes in his night.
No wine darkens these sanguine lips, mother -
the sweet stain of lust mars my skin.
The cries of the damned led you down
here with unfortunate souls who’ve no choice.
Comfort them on your way to the surface;
hellhounds will follow you out.
See her retreating, cruel lover?
Place your hands at my waist; steal my breath once again;
let me warm your bed as your soul chills my heart.
Remind me of when you first whispered to me,
your voice the soft silver shadows of trees.
Sing to me once more.
What care I for Spring in the arms of my lover?
I’ve a dark shadowed god for my paramour,
with lips sweeter and deadlier even than sin.
The lord of Death lays iron crowns at my feet.
Rise from your black throne, my master, and
claim me now as your wife.
Show me your kingdom, my lover,
lead me down through the fields of the dead.
Let us feast on forbidden fruit and wanton wine,
let the underworld hide us from sight.
As we fade into death, let winter rage above.
Murmur my name like a prayer.
29 October 2015
Here's what they don't tell you about cancer. They don't tell you about the wet, gurgling sound that mucous makes in the lungs of someone who is drowning in his own body. They don't tell you about the way flesh melts away until all that remains is gray skin stretched across a skeletal frame. They don't tell you about the tubes that carry black fluid from your loved one's wasted body.
They don't tell you that watching someone die of cancer is the same as watching someone's body destroy itself.
My uncle died on the twentieth of September at 3:47 a.m., and though this is a simple fact to remember, I found myself expecting to see him rounding the corner even as we made preparations for his funeral. In a sea of people whose world had crumbled around them, I felt curiously adrift; a mute observer whose chief agony found its source in the harsh cries of my aunt and the silent grief of a cousin two years my junior.
A true tragedy is one that destroys what could have been. Loss comes at the end of a life, in the twilight of an fulfilled existence that now draws to a close. Tragedy is the summation of vitality crushed beneath the ruin of memories and stories that will never exist, of dreams destroyed at the root, and of tasks left half-finished.
Ours is a culture that sensationalizes tragedy, plying it as a sales gimmick so often that we forget its true ramifications. It is well and good to read or write about a death, but until you have lived through one, you can't truly understand the full impact.
Death is a curious entity; true comprehension of its being drives one towards insanity, and in balancing on the edge of that precipice, one reaches adulthood. Only when one realizes the true fragility and worth of life can one truly live; only when one sees Death as something other than a storybook character can one grow up.
My childhood ended with a phone call at 3:49 on a rainy Sunday morning, and there are times when I can't remember what it was like to laugh in the face of our inevitable decay. I find that I am guilty of trivializing grief, of commercializing loss, and of romanticizing morbidity. I find that words, once clear and precise beneath my pen, cannot be combined in such a way as to convey the enormity of life's most defining trait - its end.
I have miles to go before I sleep, and many great deeds to accomplish before I set foot on the planks of that final ship. I think that adulthood comes with realizing that life is short, and means little if the legacy one leaves behind is not one of integrity, love, and kindness. And sometimes it takes a tragedy to remind us of this: that to live shall be an awfully big adventure.
Euphemisms
He’s gone and he’s not coming back.
I often wondered why we soften our speech,
why our words deceive with thoughts they lack.
I think that our human lips are too frail,
Our voices too weak to hold
the brutal truth of death,
of heartbeats stilled and skin grown cold.
Our throats will crack the words in two
(He’s de
ad).
Our eyes will
fill
and our breathing
hitch
and all at once, the spines we have
s
t
r
a
i
g
h
t
e
n
e
d
will remember the weight of our hearts and
c
r
u
m
p
l
e.
And so we lie.
Because ‘he’s gone’ reminds us of business trips
and school days.
Temporary states in which
he is still living.
Not the reduction of corpses to ashes,
the irrevocable loss of spirit.
Not death.
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