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Walking streets lined with trees
Flowers planted and blooming
Peacefully, gently
Without any hurry

God is revealed every day
In every day
Steadily, incessantly
In every-day routine

But there’s a thrum in my mind
Of voices and noises
Stifling, Drowning
Compelling me to hunt

I want to grasp the world
With my hands, heart, mind
Reluctantly, tenderly
I don’t want to hurt

So I’m walking and running
Wanting to be There
Haltingly, Willingly
Wanting to stay Here

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Blanket The drums fell rhythmically, demanding
A beat here and the same
Elsewhere and soon
There is no respite
From the fist on the table

Meanwhile the harp weaves its warm blanket

sustain

Weight

The pain of not knowing and loving immensely is often unbearable.  My love for people is not something I think of often.  But if something cataclysmic were to happen, I enter a mode of living in which I function, I operate, but I don’t really care about what it is that I’m doing.  I’m preoccupied with this person. I think of them often; I think of them with sadness.  And with this kind of longing to be “in” on a person’s life is something that matters deeply; so deeply, in fact that the possibility that there is even one thing which he or she finds abhorrent, or to a lesser degree, simply inadequate, I’m crushed.  Just with the thought of it, I’m crushed; were it to actually realize, I’m not sure what I’d do or think of myself.

This love leaves me paralyzed: I want to let them know but at the same time, I want them to be completely unaffected by me.  I loved them for them originally, not because of anything they did for me.  Why would I want to change that?

Could I not be a spirit in the corner of the room, and watch you, because this “you-without-me” is whom I love so much?  But I want you to know that I love you because I want those words to enhance your life; not so that you’d do something for me?

Please be quiet; don’t respond to me.  Don’t touch me; please be yourself.  Do you know I love you?  Do you know that I love your life?  Do you know that I hate your pain but if you love it, then I will learn to love it?  If you have pain, I want to understand it.  What are your thoughts?  Is there anything I can do?

With such words, I’m paralyzed.  With such longing I’m paralyzed.  I am terrified of destroying your world because I entered.  But I love you.  And perhaps with these distant thoughts, you and I will both die one day.  That’s okay; I now just pray that God would tell you that I loved you very much.  And you were always dear to me.

I’m sorry for your pain; I’m sorry for the weight that crushes your heart.  I will not judge it; I will not condemn you; I simply want to understand.  You know what?  I simply want to cry with you; those tears, I wish I could have shared them with you.  I’m here; I have nothing to offer though.  Perhaps it’s best I stay at a distance.  I have nothing to offer.

Were I a person who chose to be selective about what I considered wisdom, I would not be writing this post.  As it is, however, I believe there are many, even those whom I don’t like, that have some wisdom which can help all of us in some way or another.

I recently met a pastor from Africa who had something quite interesting to say, something which I think has potential to be wisdom.  I was speaking with him about wanting to go to Africa; having a desire to return there.  His words to me seemed to be part-encouragement, part-accusation: he said one should do more than just think about them; that one should proactively seek opportunities to maintain a constant and consistent relationship with others in the world.  “Do dream is not enough; one has to do something about it.  There are many that dream.”

Originally these words put me to shame as I recognized that I had spent much of my time thinking, desiring about travelling; about doing many things.  But I have not yet done them.  It took me a while to understand that not all who give words of encouragement should be heard or listened to.  I have many responsibilities here; I have much to learn and to give back here.  While his words may encourage another to move beyond thoughts and desires and towards achieving, his words are not for me, even though he said them to me.

There are many well-meaning people in this world, who have lived through all manner of things which I may or may not be able to imagine.  They all may have words which are good words, but it is for me to discern what applies to my life and how much.  I have had many people tell me that living for other people is an ultimate Good.  I’ve also had people tell me that growing stronger in myself, in wisdom, emotion, will, physically, and knowledge is also the ultimate Good.  I believe they are both, and I believe wisdom is in knowing how to do both excellently.  To push myself for both myself and for others, this is everything my life can be about.  It is for myself; it is also equally for others.  I cannot help others if I do not learn how; but I also cannot help others more and more without learning more and more; without thinking more and more; without discerning more and more.

Trying to be patient is worthy of crazy-making. I feel like a mother and a father to someone who doesn’t seem to understand how to take care of things on their own. It’s someone who doesn’t realize that doing a little bit of practical things everyday keeps things from becoming overwhelming; that others have ideas and eyes different that their own.

How does one learn patience with someone who has a twisted sense of fairness; who’s unable to see clearly. Can you blame a blind person? I wouldn’t think so. Can you blame someone who refuses to see? Perhaps. To be patient; to be selfless is such a cruel and gut-wrenching job; I hate this person but at the same time realize that my reason for hating them is because I love them and am trying to be patient with them.

Will they change? Most likely no. With that said – should I? Why? I don’t know. Being patient is a very lonely business; being selfless is almost like feeling abandoned because the moment you decide to be selfless, it’s almost inevitable that even the most kind-hearted person is bound to trample on you. The only harsh consolation is that, out of finitude, you have to realize that you’re bound to trample on someone else who’s decided to be selfless.

Where does that leave us? Do we not be selfless because we may be trampled upon? That’s one path. Another is to be selfless to such an extent that others may brand you as insane, foolish, idiotic, and so on.   What difference would this make?  Perhaps, hopefully, begin a sea of change.  But once again, this is not why we should be selfless; because if the sea of change does not occurr, does that mean that selflessness has lost its worth?

This patience that I am trying to learn, is the patience which recognizes that I must only do good with no recognition reciprocated, with no gratitude or good deeds shown to me.  I continue to fight the reasons why I must show patience, why I must show kindness, why I must compromise and understand another’s situation when there’s no guarantee that I will be rewarded even in a mere “Thanks.”   I suspect I will fail; but I have resolve to be this person; to do what is given to me to do.

The measure of any relationship is perhaps this:

-every second spent together watching the swirling of a single snowflake, the cold creeping it’s cotton tendrils around your body; the depth of the silence shared on a spring evening, every inch of both your lives straining to understand what it is that brought you together.  What about her brought me to her; what about him brought me to him.

And when the snowflake finds its resting place on your eyelash, I’m faced with your soul, looking into mine.  Have we found ourselves in each other’s arms?  Or did we choose each other?  Did I wake up next to you?  Do I remember ever having gone to bed with you?

It’s when you answer the latter of the last two questions, that your relationship is measured, and from there, you embark…

Knowingly.