Reason Breeds Insanity

I had a strange moment yesterday when Bec brought in the mail. There was a manila envelope in the pile that had my name hand written on the outside. When I opened it all that fell out was CD. For a moment, I was in a bit of a panic. My fear, the great clog that had closed off my throat was caused by the fear that an ex had found me. This is no ordinary ex. You see, my mind raced not to my high school sweetheart who used to mix tapes for me—I still owe my love of The Doors to him—but to another ex who was a convicted felon. The charge? Stabbing someone with a butter knife. Yes, in some sort of jealous rage, the butter knife was thrust deeply enough into the former girlfriend’s chest to cause hospitalization. I know how to pick them! Anyway, I thought the CD was a little warning of sorts—I was told by my psycho-ex that I would one day wake up to find myself in a coal mine shaft in West Virginia.

Luckily, when I searched further in the envelope, I discovered that the CD was, in fact, from my pastor. He had been praying for me the previous day when a song came into his head, so he felt compelled to make me a CD. Here are the words:

Someone is tossing petals in a stream
Somewhere someone is standing at the foothills of their dreams
Someone got a paintbrush, is painting over doubts
Someone opened up his eyes and saw the sun coming out
Someone was captive and found the courage to get off
From a boulder in the well, somewhere the rain has stopped
Someone is finding the place where they belong

Everyday is summer somewhere in the world
And the summer boys are headed for the falls to kiss the girls
With their impatient hands groping honey breasts and curls
They are filled with desire
And high in the hills there’s a baby being born
As forgiveness and peace wash over bruises and sores
People bridging the distance over nettles and thorns

Everyone aboard on the merry-go-round
Some things will rise up so that others come down
If the devil don’t dance, heaven won’t shine
It’s a mighty thick haze and it’s a pretty thin line
If the faucet is tightened up the love won’t flow
If the love isn’t bright enough the corn won’t grow
If the night isn’t dark enough the moon won’t glow

A rich man counting money, a tired man counting sheep
While the safe man counts his blessings, the hungry man has beans
There’s a million people praying, raising up their eyes
To what turns out to be the same god, the same sky
We are slightly scared of death, a little bit afraid
So we celebrate everything we can think to celebrate
We shall sing out loud to keep the hounds away

Everyone aboard on the merry-go-round
Some things will rise up so that others come down
If the devil don’t dance, heaven won’t shine
It’s a mighty thick haze and it’s a pretty thin line
If the faucet is tightened up the love won’t flow
If the love isn’t bright enough the corn won’t grow
If the night isn’t dark enough the moon won’t glow

Prisons will crumble and governments will fall
It’s the order of freedom to be preceded by walls
Cause the truth would be worthless if no one ever lied
So we carry our shame in the interest of pride
And we have all these questions to make us go roam
And we’ve got all this distance to make us come home
As the sun burns, a child learns, the tide churns, the world turns

Everyone aboard on the merry-go-round
Some things will rise up so that others come down
If the devil don’t dance, heaven won’t shine
It’s a mighty thick haze and it’s a pretty thin line
If the faucet is tightened up the love won’t flow
If the love isn’t bright enough the corn won’t grow
If the night isn’t dark enough the moon won’t glow

How beautiful is it to think of our love as a faucet? If the faucet is turned too tight, the love doesn’t flow. The love isn’t bright enough, so the corn won’t grow? Beautiful. Simply.

No need, apparently, to be afraid of the psychotic-convicted-felon-butterknife-stabbing-ex!

I love my pastor, and I suppose he has redeemed himself from telling me Sunday that he knows I have a heart now because I was holding a baby. Yes, Dave, I have a heart, and for some reason, God keeps letting you touch it again and again! Jerk.

I started a post about the new year on New Year’s Day, but I didn’t post it, and I didn’t complete it. I said, “I start every year looking back to the previous one.” I don’t want to start every year looking back to the previous one. I want to start new years by looking forward to the freshness of the coming year. We spend too much time looking back, but I think that reflection can be healthy. It can be healthy when we look back in order to look forward with new eyes, to realize that God brought us through the sea of shit we were wallowing in and into a new and healthy place. So this year I did look back. I looked back to see a sea of shit. I looked back to see the benevolence of my professors as I once again sorted through my life to find that I want to finish my PhD, and to see that they had compassion on my lack of commitment to my classes and to my scholarly endeavors. I look back to see that my family believes in me and in my efforts to better myself to better the world. And I can look forward with new hope, new vigor, and a newfound joy. I look forward knowing God’s love.

I was looking back through a little written journal I keep, and I found this poem that I started. It isn’t stellar, but it is a start. The form is called sestina, and I love it, but because of the repetition at the end of each line, they are really difficult to make interesting. This one was practice during a sermon or a lecture.

A homeless an hunched over. Loathing
pulled his back curved. Gruff
faced, over clothed, and no grace.
The street- his master
concrete and wind more powerful
and he by God orphaned.

Small, dark child orphaned
by AIDS; mother and father objects of loathing.
Their past was powerful-
The child’s present gruff-
A disease- their master.
For them, there is no grace.

God give us grace.
We have become orphaned.
We have made everything our master.
Saints: You should loathe
your bodies. Their words gruff.
You, God, are powerful.

Softness is powerful
as the hardest transgressor succumbs to grace.
His actions formerly gruff,
soul previously orphaned,
body wrapped in loathing
of his master.

We cannot serve two masters
no matter how powerful
we are. We will grow to loathe
the one and seek grace
from the other. We will be orphaned.
We will grow gruff.

Is life a bearded man, gruff?
Who is your master?
How have we ourselves orphaned?
How can we be loved powerful?
Is the precursor of divine grace
self-loathing?

Our loathe for self makes us gruff
and our grace becomes our master.
Are we powerful because we were orphaned?

I am not sure where I was when I wrote this, either mentally or physically, but I can say that I am much more full of hope than I was then. But I think there is something to the idea of grace being powerful. Grace and love.

EDIT:
Stuff from my other, old, defunct blog.

I finished teaching my first two classes, and they went pretty well. I would be lying if I didn’t say I LOVED IT! I had forgotten how much I loved this teaching thing. Wow. I think I have incredibly diverse classes, which is amazing. I have a variety of ages, ethnicities, and backgrounds, which makes for much more interesting discussions than having all the same type of student. I look forward to seeing their first assignment and learning about who they are and what makes them go ’round.

So I am preparing for class tonight and I hope to be able to stay awake.