i feel

i can feel the blood
i can feel the pulse pumping slow
i feel agony
i can feel the ache in the flow

i give my little
i cry your fear
i love you His hope
His hope meets us here

spyglass guards the entrance to my soul
strongest of prescriptions
gives me perfect x-ray vision
it mirrors wounds like they're my own
cuts so harsh they beg contrition

i give my little
i cry your fear
i love you His hope
His hope meets us here

my shoulders so narrow
Your hung arms so wide
Your cross I can't carry
You hold me up inside
uphold this universe:
the gravity
of empathy inside

the fraction of your frightened i can claim
so potent in my heart; can't compare to where you are
but each emotion's height He can contain;
sorrows borne and killed in His scars

i give my little
i cry your fear
i love you His hope
His hope meets us here

i hate webber, but the metaphor is apt.

i have been hurt, abandoned, and rejected throughout the course of my life.  i don't say this to be maudlin; you set yourself up for these kinds of things when you pursue a life in the arts.  it is a field where you are judged and critiqued on microscopic levels...a field where you have to constantly prove yourself worthy. and when your efforts fail, hurt, abandonment, and rejection lie in wait, ready to devour every sinew of your confidence and self-worth.

i hate those feelings. but what i hate even more is the disingenuous nature many develop in order to cover them up.  each name-drop, each mention of this show or that director or recent paycheck, each self-absorbed monologue and gossipy remark serves to mask a vulnerable artist afraid to create life - - but not on the stage.  no, the stage is fake and safe and allows you to be whomever you can't at your 9 to 5, on your sofa, with that guy you might just be dating but you're not quite sure.  the artist hiding behind a shroud of famous so-and-sos is the phantom afraid to be removed from his opera house.  it takes a special soul to be able to breathe honest life into the mundane...without lights or glittery costumes or blue language to scream in an effort to 'be free from society's constraints and social mores'.

i love the stage.  i love being able to step into an unwritten contract with an audience and usher willing minds to another world to tell a story of importance.  but it pains me to see that fantasy being used as an emotional drug by actors to escape hard, true interaction with any immeasurably valuable human being.

all of these things build a great fear in me.  i start to wonder if honest interaction is even possible. yet scripture says over and over again, 'do not be afraid'.  i always heard that and thought, "great.  something else i'm doing wrong.  i'm scared and i'm not supposed to be so i guess i'll just grit my teeth and pretend my way through it."  but scripture has many statements like that: 'pray without ceasing'; 'take heart'; 'delight in the Lord'...God wouldn't just give us those commands to shame us and tell us we're failing.  there must be something we can do.

that's where trust comes in, which makes me sick, because i trust and then i get hurt and then i never want to trust again.  but true trust perserveres.  this is what i'm learning: trust is not blind, but it is also not fickle.  when you trust continually, you will still experience hurt and abandonment and rejection.  but you will not live trapped within those emotions - - the pain will bloom and die within a larger goal of hope. 

i find myself struggling to break from these opera houses of fear daily...scared to leave the safety of my solitude for the wild of broken, fragile relationships. but i do it because i want my life to rival any story worth becoming a musical.  i mean, heck, my life's got enough music already.  it just needs a killer plot line.  and that means risking for what's real.

why i don't write more often

the things that compel me to write are usually the miniscule observations on character that brilliantly glisten when peered at with a tilted head.  however, these are usually secrets...

...the ego that pops out in the offhand comment invoking 'us' and 'them'...

...the immaturity evident in a grammatical slip-up...

...the fear of their own romances bolstering their inquiries into my relationship.

secrets are kept as such so as to not embarass the masquerader, and my commentary on the aforementioned matters, however innocent, would be almost certain to offend.  and that, friends, is my own secret: although i notice unsavory bits of character all the time, i never point them out, because i am afraid to be attacked.

however, i need to write.  so i will work beyond this fear.  expect more soon.

stars align

since i don't believe
the planets are gods
(even though we've named them after our false ideas of Him)
and whenever I stand
before electronic sliding doors
they don't sense my personhood
and i've never been able to input
that ESP channel
it must just mean
that things turn a little brighter
as one magnifies the sparkling facets of the other
and the other magnifies the sparkling facets of the One
and spinning in endless cycles of dimpled radiance
a universe swells in creation
uncontainable --
the notes and poems and footsteps and splatters
of a thousand characteristics shone
through as many mirrors
blessed by the Light

~ 1/23/11

romanza largo

in this context, horses must be called steeds

scary things are dangerous perils

pain means one is in distress

being helped is being saved

(despite insurmountable odds)

somehow, our hearts deserve such grandiose

somehow, love grows the importance of antiquated

elevated

terms

reserved for cathedrals

medievals

and holy

substantially, vintage means patience

firm respect for one’s craft

unhurried juices fermenting in so rare a pace

hours on hours enlivening flavor;

gathering scars of character by and

bygone eras releasing their cultural clout as

love

stands

on.

relevance is measured in these years

everyone knows it.

and we only reach the unfortunate height

of an elephant’s sight

when classic divorces creative

written after watching First Knight, 1/10/11