The Sensualist

"The sensualist, I'll allow ye, begins by pursuing a real pleasure, though a small one. His sin is the less. But the time comes on when, though the pleasure becomes less and less and the craving fiercer and fiercer, and though he knows that joy can never come that way, yet he prefers to joy the mere fondling of unappeasable lust and would not have it taken from him. He'd fight to the death to keep it. He'd like well to be able to scratch: but even when he can scratch no more he'd rather itch than not."
-C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

Lord, fix my eyes on what is true, for it is only the light that can truly satisfy, and only you know the full dynamic of what satisfies the human soul. Give this to me I pray.

The Physician

The secrets of fitness.
All the fitness he requires.
Is to feel your need for him.

So here I sit, tearing this picture. I carefully stare at each piece as I rip it off, trying desperately to engrave in to my brain what it looks like and where it fits. The years haven't treated the picture well... it's dirty and faded. In need of being restored. Some wonder why I have held on to it for so long, but they did not see what I saw in it, and I can't forget how beautiful it once was. The logic is enough to drive me mad... that the best way to restore the picture is to tear it up, walk away, then maybe put it back together in the future.

What about the image? What if I can't remember where the pieces fit? What if it is never restored? What if I lose too many pieces in the move?

As hard as it is, you feel it is the only way... and it happens to be what the doctor has ordered. How I pleaded with him. I could merely hide the picture in one of the darkest corners of my basement... He looked at me, and in the most heartfelt, loving tone, delivered the bad truth... that I will never forget the beauty, and as long as the picture was in my possession, I would always go back to it. I would look deeply at the remnants, trying desperately to remember the detail and the beauty.

I know He is right.
And as absurd as this situation really is... maybe down the road, I will have the courage to try to put the pieces together... and who knows, maybe it will be more beautiful than ever.
I'd like to think that it might.

This is me

The best thing for me...

Such a wild thought. Such a wild gesture... The conversations I have with my daily latte always develop in strange ways... But this path was wild. Most importantly, ground was covered that can't be taken back... So I have to keep walking, not absent of tears.

Today, I have really come to realize that I'm unique. Actually, I'm freeking weird. My goals, values, and choices have developed in to this unique lifestyle I enjoy... and all too often I fail to acknowledge the creativity I have poured in to all this. How clearly this expresses me. What I do. The people around me. The causes that I love to pour in to. The depth and intensity of conversation that I so love... and equally, the things I hate. The places that bring me no pleasure. The many activities I would rather quietly sit out of than participate...

Please understand that I'm not being judgmental. This isn't about what's right and wrong... it's simply a matter of what is "me" and what isn't "me"... and I'm weird.

So, although I'm not sure what "the best thing for me" looks like, I know that it won't look like most other things... it's going to have to be much more obscure... maybe even weird. But I believe that heart exists.

Therefore, I pray for the courage to be myself, even to the fault of indignation. At my own embarrassment, I want to act out my being with as little shame possible... knowing that I don't quite fit in to most places. And that's okay... because this capacity to love within me is far to great for me to give up.

The Uprising

The reality of it all comes crashing down on me once again. Why can't I learn this one lesson... Why does freedom get blurred so easily?

Freedom is NOT the power of choice, and I can finally prove it. Because every choice I make in my freedom, does not make me more free... so is it the freedom to choose that makes me free, or is it the choices I make out of freedom that make me more or less free. The answer is clearly the second. The conclusion is obvious - Freedoms power is only as strong as my ability to use wisdom based on the truth. And therefore, my freedom is confined to the extent of my bad decisions.

As trapped as I feel, the truth is not easily shut up. Murmurs resound through the ranks from the generals to the front lines of my soul. Rumors keep everyone on edge as I attempt to dissect the unsettling reality of my struggle. The rumors speak of an uprising. An insurrection is about to occur. The truth is always at work stirring a mutiny within me... I pray the insurrection will succeed.

After scrapping with the ferals and the tabby,
Let you brush my matted fur.
How I'd knead into your chest while you were sleeping.
Shallow breathing made me purr.

But I can't remember the sound that you found for me.
I can't remember the sound that you found for me
I can't remember the sound...

Virtue had to leave. Leaving meant walking from hard situation, and in to another. Maybe harder. But the longing was unbearable. It brought him to a desolate back lane... a place where few creatures could find any hope. But he thought to himself, "beyond the despair, there may be a hope... and if I listen carefully, I might hear the sound."

Some moments are so overwhelming... but this I know, that the desires and cravings of my soul are there because there is something that can satisfy. Only one knows the full dynamic of these cravings... the same one that said, "man should not live on bread alone, but every Word of God."

Sometimes we need to leave a hard situation, and enter one that is far scarier. Not because anyone is to blame, but because a thought enters your head, "how long can I go without hearing your voice?
and ... what if I never hear it again?"

So desperation called me out... The separation is heavy... The winter is cold and lonelier than I remember... but the voice has never been so clear.

I hope you know that I'm sorry it got too hard...
and I hope you know that I miss you.