Days

The sun is just up. The sun is just now rising. The ability music has to convey the exact cravings of my heart is astounding, and will always be astounding and mysterious. In my life, at least, the life of someone who probably has too many feelings hahaha, there is this tension between my loneliness and my knowing that I don’t need you. At once, I often feel lonely and driven to succeed without you. I don’t need you; I really don’t, but it often makes me sad and even angry that she isn’t here. When the night is over it is gone, and the sun is out and rising and is both hopeful and dangerous. It starts out and the realization I have what I was like last night hurts my heart but more than that it inspires me to do something greater (without you). I know that all that matters is loving God, loving people, and being loved; but that certainly does not mean I need you—not that I don’t want you in my life, but that it is my fault when I get needy—I want you and love you, but in no capacity do I need you. The sun brings almost the anger, you know? The anger may be brief but it is no less real. Why would I even think I need you? That is the feeling. It is like, You can be over there and let’s never speak and it will all be okay, Okay? And you move from an uninformed anger almost to an anger that is knowledgeable. I am understanding now, in the later part of the morning, what I was so angry about, and it angers me less against you and more against myself—for the knowledge lurks in my head by so rarely yields itself in my life—no, actually, not that, it yields itself, much more in the last five months, but it pains me that the fruitfulness of what I know doesn’t yield itself all of the time, you know? I understand that I need to not focus on you, really, or at least not focus on you at first. You know, that whole priorities thing. I need to get them straight. The anger, though, is terribly fruitful, because it shows me that I don’t need you, and that is such a powerful realization, because last night I was my old self, and I don’t hate my old self but I realize he’s non-existent now. But now—without you!—I’m moving faster, and I know what I’m after. The anger gives way to hope with a chip on its shoulder, hahaha I like that.

 

But then—

 

there’s this drop-off. And you know the anger was real, and even important, and even vital, but now you have to surrender. So there’s this moment of surrender. And it really can be a moment, and is a moment often. It’s almost noon. And the stillness of the day is creeping into my marrow. It produces not nostalgia but peace, because it’s not if I believe in love but if love believes in me. In my head, when I pray, when I really pray in deep and hurting earnest, I often imagine myself in rags at the bottom of a pearly-white staircase, my King sitting atop it in a golden and dazzling chair, and I am crying, weeping, tears streaming down my strained, red face, and I throw my arms out because there is nothing I can do by myself without His love, and I say to Him, “I am sorry; I have forgotten my First Love—Lord, will you yet have me?” and He sprints down the stairs, off His throne, leaving majesty in His shadow, and embraces me, even in my rags. And this is what the moment of surrender entails—love has left His glory and is among us. He sweat and thirsted and hungered for us, for me and for you. And just after this moment of surrender comes a soft revelation, a revelation that I can’t make it on my own, a revelation that I need Love. It’s not that I need you, because I don’t—at all—need you, but I need Him so desperately that it’s absurd. Sometimes you can’t make it on your own. A house doesn’t make a home—please don’t leave me here alone. And last night I thought I was all alone, empty and abandoned and left to die with no-one even to say, I am here; but that is not the case and never will be the case, because He has not left us alone, but will be with us always, even to the end of the age. I will fight for my life. It is mine. My paper heart isn’t paper anymore.

 

I fight and fight and fight and then it the light comes brighter than the sun, and it is early afternoon now; the nostalgic morning is over and the brightness of the day is fully upon me, and suddenly I see—I am her. Everything around her is a silver pool light; people who surround her feel the benefit of it—she holds you captivated in her palm. This is who I want to be. This is what I want to be. This is, perhaps, the greatest happiness—the realization that the person who you wanted to be is the person you are. I’m not empty—how dare you say that. Don’t you ever say that. I hate, despise, absolutely abhor sermons that are in the second person (you! you! you!) and label you incompetent. Imago Dei. We are intrinsically good. Do they not see that? Before we were sinful, we were good, and that remains in such majesty. I’m at this happy crossroads, and I just linger for a moment—I’ve been hangin around this town on the corner. It took me a very long time to realize that He loves when we are able to revel in peace and joy and contentment in His love, and that’s what I’m doing. Suddenly I see, and then I linger in the carpe diem. It’s like stretching time, meditation is, you know? When you meditate on one feeling or fact or phenomenon you are warping time. And that’s what hangin around does for me. But you spun me around and you loved me instead—after I revel in it, I realize that after all this, after last night and that terrible dip into my past self—I’m alright, I’m alright, I’m alright baby I’m alright—not because of me, but because of Love, and what He has done for me. Though the deadly torrents of loneliness occasionally ensnare my soul and emotions, I’m all right.

 

On it’s way down, the sun loses its bright light and descends into more of a glow, and though last night it briefly, so briefly, wrung my neck, I know that this night it will be different, because He has loved me and put me at a place for a reason that taught me something I needed to hear, or rather it re-taught me something that I intentionally turned my hear from. Instead of fear, this late afternoon brings reflection, reflection on what I have learned in so short a time, or what He has taught me in so short a time. We were perfect. And then we sinned and were torn apart from Him. One of the million lies she said is all of the things you love are dead, but I see what she thinks of love and it leaves me laughing—we will come around. I don’t need you; I’ve never needed you—when you’re gone we will come around.

 

And at last the sun is sunken. It gives way to darkness. It gives way to solace. The anger is gone, the happiness dissipated, the revelation ingrained, and I realize that this is my life, it isn’t much but at least it’s mine. With this night comes complete composure, a containment of my collected satellites.

 

With everything, I can only walk on. If every step I take is forward, then I become a continual source of renewal and life, an existence opposite of last night. I will walk on. 

Wither and Bloom

It’s been a phenomenal week on the road, and I guess part of that is because I officially got the gig last Tuesday. If don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m going to be writing for a band—Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers—this fall, and touring with them. That’s the long story shortened many, many times. And I’m usually awful at explicating things right after they happen, but I think I can pin down a few things that I’ve already learned.

 

1.       One: Don’t have expectations, and I’m pretty firm on this one. My friend Jeremiah and I were talking about this the other day, about how we crazy humans (and Americans more specifically) live life with expectations, like we’re naturally entitles to something; and I think that when we live life with tons of expectations it inhibits our ability to live carpe diem, to live in the moment. I tried my best to avoid expectations for this week, and I was blown away.

 

2.       Two: Empathy. I’m officially a writer now. It’s weird. Because I’m 19 and have been given this incredible opportunity, but I am thankful. Empathy—in the introduction of his biography on Abraham Lincoln, Stephen B. Oates says that empathy is the biographer’s best asset. I would whole-heartedly agree, and would say that it might be any writer’s main asset, for it is empathy that allows a writer to put himself or herself in another’s shoes, experience another person’s point of view and emotions and fears and hopes and shortcomings and goals and prejudices. And the more I think about it, the more it seems to be true that empathy is a very noble thing, and a very Christ-like virtue; I think that when we truly strive for empathy we are able to love other people more, because we can understand where they are coming from and where they are going and why they act that way. It’s really a fantastic thing.

 

3.       Three: By no means are there only three things I learned this week, but the last one I want to touch on is something I talk about a lot, and it might bother you but I don’t really care if it does. Brothers and sisters, it is so damn important that we learn to live now, that we learn to live in the moment and not in the past or future. There is no past or future. They don’t exist, and yeah it’s obviously smart to have a plan for things, but don’t box yourself in by constantly dwelling on things like that. For Christians at least, this is my thinking: Our sins are forgiven (past); God is omniscient and omnipotent (future)); and what is our calling?—it is love, for Christ says, Love the Lord your God, and, Love your neighbor as yourself; love, most concretely I think, exists only in the present. Let’s live now. Let’s do that.

 

(Life is transient; people come and go; relationships wither and bloom. Though it may hurt, though it may pain our hearts, let us love those even if it’s someone that will leave all too soon; let us love the unloved; let us love the house sound guy or the famous musician’s son or the bartender or Cousin or Skunk or anyone that we come across—smile and shake someone’s hand, because it may make someone’s day just a little better, because when someone does that for me it makes my day better. Love your neighbor as yourself, and I know that I fail at this so much of the time but I am learning and strive to take lessons to heart. Love. It’s never an exhausted topic, and God has given me this fall opportunity first for love.)

Contradictions

As self-indulgent and conceited as it might sound, I consider myself an artist, and subscribe to the belief that artists are different, that they have a sight and vision others do not, that they feel in ways that others do not, and that they live out their lives in ways that others do not; this is not to say, however, that artists are better, in any way, than anyone else here on the earth, or even to say that there are not drastically different forms of art, for I would be foolish to consider the brilliancy of mathematics and physics un-artistic. But, as I was discussing with my friend recently, a painter herself, there are terrific downsides to being an artist. For myself, I take an odd fancy to loneliness, and I struggle with depression and relationships but at the same time relish my time alone. I also straddle the line between self-deprecation and artistic arrogance without the proper balance. In many ways, I am a walking and breathing contradiction. Here is Whitman in Leaves of Grass:

 

“Do I contradict myself?

Very well, then, I contradict myself;

(I am large—I contain multitudes.)”

 

The latest contradiction I have found myself a part of lies in the realm of the abstract. On the one hand, I am an artist, and I savor the idea that millions of people can read a single sentence and have different responses evoked; but on the other hand, I hate, absolutely abhor not understanding things. Like God, like women, like poetry, like love, like Picasso, like relationships. There are so many things which I do not understand and that I desperately desire to understand. I yearn for the ability to consistently derive joy and ecstasy from the abstract—in all of its forms.  

In the Midst of Love

A thing that I struggle with is the tension between the temporary and the eternal, between things fleeting and things staying. And so often I don’t realize that even the things fleeting in my life have eternal consequences. There is a Love that seals the two seemingly opposite poles.

 

In my life, I sense this tension most in my relationships. If you worked at Pine Cove with me this summer, you know how much of an asshole I can be in friendships and getting to know you. Here is the problem: I don’t want to get close to someone just to drift away from them a few months after. It hurts. It hurts my heart. What I don’t realize is that, as believers, we are called to love no matter what. (Recently I was thinking about various convictions I had, like political convictions, or moral convictions, or whatever, and it occurred to me that sometimes one must choose between a conviction and loving a person, and the more I dwell on that the more I see that love is our primary conviction and should not be ousted by anything—this is not to say, however, that we as Christians are to be pushovers; look at Christ! He ran into the temple with a whip and drove people out [John 2:15]; He cursed at people [Luke 11:19-40]; Jesus wasn’t a pushover. We have to balance, learn to balance, love and passion; it’s a tricky line we Christians walk.) Back to the point—love love love. I missed that at Pine Cove to a great degree. I thought about myself first and love second. If you worked with me at Pine Cove, I’m sorry. I probably didn’t love you as I should have. I was selfish (still am). I was in the wrong.

 

In that, you can pray for me. It’s all love and carpe diem.

 

The solution is Love and God is love (1st John 4:8) and Jesus is God so the solution is God/Jesus/Love. Love is our calling.

 

Love love love love love.

 

This is a line from a Rachael Yamagata song that says something good about love, and—in part—she is talking about romantic love, but I think this line speaks true of love in general and definitely would have helped me:

 

“So for those of you falling in love . . . throw yourselves in the midst of the danger, but keep one eye open at night.”

 

Love!