|Dreaming Leads||8:35am saturday, 30th july|
|Where dreaming leads us, often, it cannot take us back home.|
Stranded, we are left to our own wits, and some of us will stay lost.
But still, we find we go where the vision calls, never learning....
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|Strange Noises||7:58am tuesday, 26th july|
|Strange noises in the night, even here, in the middle of somewhere... and I find I am found, no longer lost, and I wonder what that might mean. What do I do, now? Could it really be that it was easier, back then, when I was in desperation, praying that my heart no longer hurt, hurt with the pains of despair, with the anguish of he who has all but thrown life away? Christ picked me up from a very low place, but now I am finally beginning to feel secure in my faith — secure enough not to need to constantly beseech Him above to save me upon my dying. But back then, I had a plan, didn’t I? Step one: get myself saved. And now, now I find I didn’t think any further ahead than that. There are strange noises in the night, even here, in the middle of somewhere... and I momentarily flash back to the me who would have been so terrified of unknowns like this, who would need Christ so to calm his heart, for it could not be calmed in any way he knew how — and the desperate prayer of he who had become mentally unstable. But now, all I need do is wait a moment, and discern it is merely the neighbor, moving something around outside.|
I never planned for success. In my youth, I had great dreams, but I neither believed I would succeed or fail, as I really had no idea of the taste of either. Then came the troubles, and I understood very deeply what it was for me to dwell in the latter, to fail, and fail, and fail. Jesus Christ then came and saved me not merely in some faraway “next world,” but in this one, too, though it was by no means a short process. So long did it take, that years after I gave my heart to him, it snuck up on me: I suddenly find myself whole, and I really did not see it coming. And so, I ask, what do I do? For I am no saint, and cannot do the more drastic of paths He laid out, to sell all I have, give it to the poor, and go and follow Him. And I wish not to go back to the desperation of the lost. Do I wait, to see a sign? Or is it merely corruption in me that wants to see something like that (for He said He would only show the sign of Jonah)? Perhaps there is no easy resolution to this question. Here, perhaps the sign of life itself: now I have reentered the great stream of being. Now I have enough to go my way, and make something of myself.
Normality to me is strange. But I imagine I’ll get used to it. My stab at this (life) is maybe just to follow the Golden Rule wherever I go, and see what I would have done unto me, and do so to others. Other than that, I imagine the Lord would have of me something of which I as yet know not. But maybe I am finally ready to do it.
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|Fire||12:17am friday, 22nd july|
|There is fire in my mind|
that has never known the air out there.
It heats my soul
to the combustion point of my dreams,
and the kinetic energy of this fever in motion
burns away the chaff
of all my petty doubts.
I am as a torch in the darkness,
but in such a vast expanse
none can see its light:
shall I call it futile
the burning of the midnight flame,
or does my own feeling,
even a sole experience
vindicate the expense
of so much fire?
Nobody will ever know
how much I have churned inside,
how pyred my conceiving,
even as I write this,
for words are messengers that drop
nine tenths of the energy
they are meant to convey.
Or do you know, too,
what it means to turn into ash,
and as a phoenix
blaze as one’s true being?
As if I understand
that no one could ever understand,
of the fire that burns
that no mortal hand ever lit.
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|Visions of Heaven||2:02am monday, 18th july|
|I have had a vision of the coming of the Kingdom of God, of children’s crayons drawing upon the heart of existence, and I beheld those scribbles’ transformation to a real paradise of such innocence: blues and whites like the color of the sky, sketched by the hand of destitute babes of whom it is all the Kingdom is theirs — especially theirs. I have seen my place in Heaven, a resurrected spirit form made of storybook song, an incorruptible air that I might breathe, music that moves the soul to stratospherics. These were the good days, if I desire to recall them, and even in my deepest madness, there were days like these. In the midst of the darkest dark, an eyehole appeared where in flowed the light from far above, that never touched any polluted atmosphere, gold brightness of a warmth that spoke of good over evil, and an eternity of blessed life.|
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|Progress Report||5:12am thursday, 14th july|
|An informal entry, I guess. I have recently found employment with a company in California. I knew someone, who knew someone, and after talking on the phone for about a half an hour, I was hired. I work remotely here in Seoul, and it appears that the lead for this project I am collaborating on is working with people from five different places around the world. I am outsourced, too: I don’t make as much as I would if I were working full time in the US, but it’s comparable to a pretty good salary here in Korea.... And then the other big news item is that I think I am going to get back together with my ex-girlfriend, whom I broke up with last October. Actually, it was more a mutual thing — she pushed me far enough away that I wanted to end it. But a couple weeks ago, sitting in a Starbucks here in Seoul, who walks in but her, along with her English class? The second time that her taking English led her to me.|
As far as my madness, I’m getting stronger, I think, bit by bit. I am fighting any thought that I might be the son of perdition, as my psychosis is wont to press upon me. I am beginning to live by the faith that I claimed to have had, that I am saved — and anything that speaks to the contrary is not to be believed. Of course, what’s going on in my head is a little more complicated than what I’ve just explained, but this is as clearly as I can exposit what’s been going on in that deep dark place. But anyway, while I’m working, the madness tends to let up — very convenient, I know, but perhaps it has to do with having a schedule, a routine, feeling productive. And I am getting that again. Plus, having a squeeze is usually good news, too. So that’s what’s news here in Standland. Soldiering on, believing that I can make it (whatever that means).
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|Passing||9:23am sunday, 10th july|
|I am as airy as a passing thought, and leave no trace;|
and there is no need to wonder if any will remember me:
I am but a dream upon waking, slipping from all vision.
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|Magic||4:37am wednesday, 6th july|
|I have desired, in my time, to capture the flickering of shadows in the cup of my hand. To balance upon my fingertips the papers on theories of man, and to make them dance in the tune of the anima mundi. But I did not understand then — what magic really is. I imagined that parlor tricks that involved no sleight of hand, something to make one say “wow” without there being deception involved... a child’s notion of it was all there was to it. But I learned later that how anything functions at all, how one may achieve things by trying: that is the true magic. Einstein said that what was most incomprehensible are that things are comprehensible. I say that the corollary to that aphorism is what is the most amazing in the world is that we do not think this datum amazing: that things work. Not just any one thing, but everything. Wonders of the world there are so many we do not consider them wonders anymore. Ever think it? Magic only needs you to look to see it — everywhere.|
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|Perfectly Fine||4:11am saturday, 2nd july|
|And then there are days|
of perfectly fine —
ever hear of those?
I forget for these hours
of what might wait for me
in the wings, let not
the shadows dim my sunshine:
and how the sun does shine
still, out there, in
the real world: one might
think it is an illusion
at first, but when
the warmth stays, and the light
hides nothing behind it,
what is like those times?
When a smile
is just a smile, and laughter
hides no sinister intent...
no dream compares.
The times never last, though,
as much as you think
you can hold on
to such wind and windfall,
and one must move on,
to whatever shadow
waits for you to return:
you shall be, if those times
shall make of the harsher hours
better or worse,
to think of sunshine
when there is not but dark.
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