You took me in the light of spring
you broke me in the dim of fall
and now that I have learned to sing
you think that you can have it all.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Piano keys
956.
Gold and shimmering--
I wept tears.
It was a human shape against a crystal sea
when the great light came over me.
957.
Not until the sun rises, warm and orange, gold and shimmering, over the crystal sea, can I see the darkness of the night before the dawn. I slept--was unaware--when the kingdom came.Silence crept into my vision. Shame bleed into cold. I drank the honey of the glamorous and became like the mud; heaving, hiding, hoarding--the silence--was I exposed--uncovered--unknown--a face in millions. I hid because I was naked.
Gold and shimmering--
I wept tears.
It was a human shape against a crystal sea
when the great light came over me.
957.
Not until the sun rises, warm and orange, gold and shimmering, over the crystal sea, can I see the darkness of the night before the dawn. I slept--was unaware--when the kingdom came.Silence crept into my vision. Shame bleed into cold. I drank the honey of the glamorous and became like the mud; heaving, hiding, hoarding--the silence--was I exposed--uncovered--unknown--a face in millions. I hid because I was naked.
Understand
Be close enough to me that
you can feel
the colors in my heart.
Be close enough to me that I can feel
the color inside you--
and understand.
you can feel
the colors in my heart.
Be close enough to me that I can feel
the color inside you--
and understand.
Stillness
Hush blue bird
flutter not your
sorrows--
ruffle not your
feather tresses--
for stillness is inherent in
the heart when trapped with patience.
Motion is a thing of earth--
not for one in flight.
flutter not your
sorrows--
ruffle not your
feather tresses--
for stillness is inherent in
the heart when trapped with patience.
Motion is a thing of earth--
not for one in flight.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Apocalypse Now
It is strange, but for some reason, the apocalypse keeps coming up in my life. I hear about it on the radio--a multitude of Christians who listen to JQ 99 believe that Christ is coming again, soon (not a unique disposition, as Christians have been expecting such a coming every generation since the crucifixion), movies are being made about it, but most creepishly--I've been having dreams about it.
The first one was steeped in the book of Revelations. I dreamed that the world was in chaos, and amid the blunder and bustle, a man was sacrilegiously handing out large portions of the sacred host. "Who wants more bread?" Crumbs were everywhere, and arrows seared past my face as assassins attempted to shoot down the Pope. I grasped at the arrows--catching them in mid air, and breaking them in half. Despite my best efforts, the Pope was brought down by a splintered piece.
A couple nights ago, I dreamed the earth was being wrecked by giant hurricanes and tornadoes and my family was forced to flee our home. We left in the van with only a couple of our possessions. Not long after, my parents vanished, and Erika, Ansel and I were forced to act as parents to our little brother, Weston, and a baby that I found. Hiding in the confines of an abandoned house, we shrunk before multiple explosions--staying away from shattering glass and falling dishes. We were exhausted with terror--then finally, after a cataclysmic explosion that pounded the earth to its very molten core, the terror dissipated--burned away like fog by daylight. We rose to the window and beheld a calm ocean where there had once been a highway, and across the ocean was the most beautiful castle I'd ever seen. High towers, silver stone walls, sparkling mist, and a moat of clear sea. In an instant, we blew over the water as feathers in a breath of wind, and clung inside the castle in perfect contentment and shining joy.
The first one was steeped in the book of Revelations. I dreamed that the world was in chaos, and amid the blunder and bustle, a man was sacrilegiously handing out large portions of the sacred host. "Who wants more bread?" Crumbs were everywhere, and arrows seared past my face as assassins attempted to shoot down the Pope. I grasped at the arrows--catching them in mid air, and breaking them in half. Despite my best efforts, the Pope was brought down by a splintered piece.
A couple nights ago, I dreamed the earth was being wrecked by giant hurricanes and tornadoes and my family was forced to flee our home. We left in the van with only a couple of our possessions. Not long after, my parents vanished, and Erika, Ansel and I were forced to act as parents to our little brother, Weston, and a baby that I found. Hiding in the confines of an abandoned house, we shrunk before multiple explosions--staying away from shattering glass and falling dishes. We were exhausted with terror--then finally, after a cataclysmic explosion that pounded the earth to its very molten core, the terror dissipated--burned away like fog by daylight. We rose to the window and beheld a calm ocean where there had once been a highway, and across the ocean was the most beautiful castle I'd ever seen. High towers, silver stone walls, sparkling mist, and a moat of clear sea. In an instant, we blew over the water as feathers in a breath of wind, and clung inside the castle in perfect contentment and shining joy.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Dear Officer 958
Thank you for issuing me a ticket at 11:27am, today. Because of you, I have learned something very important about being a law abiding citizen and a responsible adult, though I don't quite know what it is.
Perhaps the lesson I learned upon seeing the yellow-green ticket flapping cleverly beneath my windshield wiper was that I am a flawed human being. Turning the curious paper envelope about in my hands, assaulted by the bold all-capital text: PARKING TICKET, I was struck with the stench of my own humanity and found myself face to face with 21 years of baggage. Instances of fault that I had refused to acknowledge, and anecdotes illuminating the ontologically wounded nature of my tattered-21st-century-soul, danced like pigmies before my less-than-20/20 vision. I swore. And then I wept. Oh God, I am not perfect. I am not even sort of perfect. I have joined leaugue with the millions and millions of Americans who have felt the tug of shock at the sight of an isued ticket and have cut their veins to satiate the law. I am one of the soiled, one of the careless, and most importantly—one of the ticketed. I see myself clearly, now, as you must have seen me through your cop eyes—dirty, like my oldsmobile, and absently blinking like the parking meter I left unfed. Damn my careless ways. Damn my failure to feed the slots with a couple of quarters. (They presently weigh heavy in the pit of my purse.) Oh that I had fed that metal throat and listened to its tinkering swallow!
I hope the inclosed check will assure you that your streets are now $10 safer—now that you have helped to correct a potential-parallel-parking-menace. Rest well, I am a new person. Reflecting on the matter, I suppose the lesson learned upon the ticket issuing at meter #6027 was no less than a spiritual experience. I hope you, officer 958, are inspired on some kind of level as well. I have only the warmest affection for you, so thusly I shall bid you a good day, and a prosperous career.
Yours Truly,
R.M. Pineiro (Grand Rapids Citizen)
Perhaps the lesson I learned upon seeing the yellow-green ticket flapping cleverly beneath my windshield wiper was that I am a flawed human being. Turning the curious paper envelope about in my hands, assaulted by the bold all-capital text: PARKING TICKET, I was struck with the stench of my own humanity and found myself face to face with 21 years of baggage. Instances of fault that I had refused to acknowledge, and anecdotes illuminating the ontologically wounded nature of my tattered-21st-century-soul, danced like pigmies before my less-than-20/20 vision. I swore. And then I wept. Oh God, I am not perfect. I am not even sort of perfect. I have joined leaugue with the millions and millions of Americans who have felt the tug of shock at the sight of an isued ticket and have cut their veins to satiate the law. I am one of the soiled, one of the careless, and most importantly—one of the ticketed. I see myself clearly, now, as you must have seen me through your cop eyes—dirty, like my oldsmobile, and absently blinking like the parking meter I left unfed. Damn my careless ways. Damn my failure to feed the slots with a couple of quarters. (They presently weigh heavy in the pit of my purse.) Oh that I had fed that metal throat and listened to its tinkering swallow!
I hope the inclosed check will assure you that your streets are now $10 safer—now that you have helped to correct a potential-parallel-parking-menace. Rest well, I am a new person. Reflecting on the matter, I suppose the lesson learned upon the ticket issuing at meter #6027 was no less than a spiritual experience. I hope you, officer 958, are inspired on some kind of level as well. I have only the warmest affection for you, so thusly I shall bid you a good day, and a prosperous career.
Yours Truly,
R.M. Pineiro (Grand Rapids Citizen)
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Ancestors of Fish
It is a thin line between failure and success. Indeed, it is chalk-like, smudged, transient--much like the human condition. Human. Flawed-mortal-wounded-ugly-frightening-beautiful-feeling-living-breathing-Human. I am a member of the human race, capable of pity and empathy, thusly separating me from the animals and vegetation. If I weren't divinely created by a God, I would merely exist as a bundle of accidental nerves and fibers, which somehow mutated on its own to form...me. That. Is. Depressing. I cannot accept the idea that my friends' genetic material originated from freakish crawling fish and soullessly developed over millions of years to be the beautiful creatures they are today, demonstrative of complex emotion and contemplation. The light bulb did not invent itself on accident. Neither did human beings. You can recognize, easily, who values you as a unique, beautiful piece of creation, and who merely views you as specimen of inconvenient chance. I choose to utilize the former lens.
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