Venn diagram

All of the pain that was done to me
All that was robbed from me, that I never learned
About loving, about living in family, and real relationships
About being a child
About being wrong
And still being loved
About struggling as a man honestly, and accepting less than perfection
All the touch I never felt
And comfort I never received
These things I never knew that I never knew
And the tears I never cried
Belong in the first circle.

All the pain I have done
And continue to do
Which was only my fault
All the love that was rushed
By my angst of aloneness
All the good love starved of presence
By my anxiety of sitting still
All the trust I have shattered
And hearts I have dropped
Pain I have caused
Sincere promises I have failed at
Excuses i've given
And demeaning of myself;
Plus a future of only the same
Because I am "not healthy enough yet for a relationship"
And thus never yet have been
Even throughout attempting bonds
I thought could meet both our needs
These fill up the second circle

And I in my tears
Am in the intersection
Seeing for the first time both
Stricken by both
Mourning both

Mourning the loss
Of a self never known, and never presented

Of the holes in my heart
I have bled onto others
Staining what I wanted to keep

Of the irresponsibility
Of so many choices I have made
For wrong reasons, or simply at the wrong time

Of a hurt that is living today
Given birth through me
That my truest intentions cannot change
Because I in this state
Can create no other.

No child,
No family,
No true love
Only pain

What I was not handed
I cannot pass on
And never will be able to of my own power


So Abba you may decide
What miracle to grant me
For I am destroyed just as I destroy
And am no more
Than the splinters at my feet

A Better Bride...

re: A Better Bride

Thanks Andy,
ever since yesterday I am getting cetain kind of giggle at the thought
of loving God in that way,
like a challenge is being presented. Get's the fire going ya know.
and of course you can use my letter.

I must admit I feel the sense of divine femanine and am humbled and
opened to new feelings and opportunities. But still, I retreat back to
thinking of God as the mean parent, and me trying to be all I can be
for that image and also more so rebelling against it.
As I was reading that I kept thinking what courage it was taking to
love God this way, actually there are parts of me saying "you can't
love God that way, it's wrong!"

But there is a more tender part that is also longs to have that
relationship, actually tears are coming up and that presence of knowing
is coming up as I write this, how could a person offer this and yet I'm
so convinced that that is where I will find it, maybe I need to aproach
Jesus as a soon to be lover. Once again courage comes to mind....




A Better Bride

I am getting married tomorrow.

The suits are bought. Date is set. One year ago I started paying off the ring. Each payment, each month, I have readied myself deeper to be merged, to shed the solitary freedom into which I was born, and to let my life join with another. I have readied myself, and my soul has expanded to encompass a broader two.

Three weeks ago, my fiancée called it off.

But still, I am getting married tomorrow.

I have found a New Bride.

See, I was ready to be married. My soul had expanded, and was ready to be stretched further by the negotiations of partnership. Upon the cancellation, my heart plummeted, threatening to pull the fabric of space-time back to a collapsed grimace of torture and self-agony. The void was built of absence, within my ready-to grow soul. Rather than return, I decided to fill that void.

I found a New Bride.

In the next two weeks, I had two propositions. Both, from outsiders, urgently needing citizenship. One has a child. One is a loner. Both, the substance of fantasy: two of the most stunning, fabulously sexy women I have ever seen. One Japanese-Hawaiian. The other, a Romanian who looks and sounds Italian and is called Argentina.

So which did I choose?

Neither:

I found myself a Better Bride

Tomorrow I am going to Church. I will walk in, silently. The room will quiet; I will ready myself. And after the processional, my Bride will enter. Down the aisle. Step by step. I have been preparing, for a long time. She will take Her place next to me. We will begin Our vows.

Tomorrow, I marry God.

* * *

When I text message God, I don’t have to wait for Her to get back to me.

Or worry that my message is obsequious, intrusive. Her response is instantaneous, and She’s always glad to hear from me.

I am not alone driving home anymore. My New Bride is with me. The moment I drift lost in my own little world, I look over and there She is, hand on my arm. Reassuring, knowing. That when we get home, we are going to make mad, passionate love.

The thrill of marriage is in the sharing. Someone who will excite at the discoveries I made, the wonders I find. I celebrate Scrubbing Bubbles^(TM), and any new products or methods that make cleaning the bathroom that much quicker and easier, and more likely to get done. I think my partner at the time had a hard time sharing my excitement. But my Bride is right there, knowing just how cool it is.

If She tells me to slow down, take a rest, She doesn’t do this from a judging distance. She has sidled next to me, and I rest my head.

God can feel the depth of the music I found, tune into the layers of syncopation, mastering, genius of my new CD. The value is not lost on Her. She’s right there with me.

God has Her own shit going on, a life outside our marriage. And she’s dedicated, involved. She gets her shit done in a day. But she’s got it under control. She fixes it to be home when I pull in, if she wasn’t already working with me. She helps me take a load off, then we share about our day.

She’s confident, but realistic, about how things went. And some days, it wasn’t the greatest. But I believe in what She’s doing. And when She’s preoccupied with the pain and suffering that slipped into the world that day, we cry together on the kitchen floor.

She doesn’t do the laundry for me. But better, She does it with me. She helps me see the joy of sharing every step of the path.

And She knows how I like to be touched. With warmth, confidence. She could pleasure me – and Sometimes she does. But in Her touch there is love, which warms through my flesh and heals my soul. Every night from now on, we will share deep, warm, luscious kisses.

Someday, to keep me fresh and alive, She will invite another woman to share our bed. She’s not a jealous Lover, so long as I’m keeping Her first. So she will find a beautiful, amazing lover to come and soak up some of the Love We share, and together we will have an incredible threesome.

There is no predicting what life will be like. What fates will draw us, and where. But I am enraptured, enthralled, and I will follow Her anywhere. This is a soul-connection, felt from before time. We will never die. For every death helps me shed and merge closer to Her. Every shredding of body, or rending of soul. The more I bleed, the more openings there are for Her to cover, wash. I fear not death, when I will patiently, finally dissolve. Her cup, with me, runneth over.

the body rock

looking down
as I'm lathering up

my round, fully engorged calf muscle

more healthy than i remember it

clear, flowing lines defining my thigh
rather perfect

fondling between my toes
isn't it intersting - i think -
that this is the part that will waste away,

deteriorate, dissolve.

my body,
that i had forgotten about.

Forgotten to look at
while I have used it.
It became a vehicle,
not an object.

It actually,
becomes
nothing

when we focus on a goal
our attention on the working.
I can feel it, daily.
Eyes closed,
from the inside.

But I cannot see it.

When I slow down
when I notice it failing, struggling

when I think about it
Then it comes back to me:
an object for my focus.

A problem, to be solved.
Just like all those years worrying
about its shape and form,
Is it a body that will be attractive when older?

Is it a body that someone will want to have sex with?

A project, to perfect.

A perfection reached only when I forgot about it.

Tariq tells a story. He is incarcerated. He held thirty cops at bay by gun in a mall parking lot.

The end of three days on the run.

The end of ten years in hiding.

In his story, while running, his description adopts a telling tone:

"I was running. I was flying. I was flight.

I hadn't eaten in days. My leg was hurt. But then, there was no pain or hunger.

There was no body driving that van. There was no van.

Just me and the road."

His body dissolved from the picture
when he was entirely focused on escape.

Our bodies will dissolve when we die.
But can we make them do so before then?


We cannot perfect our bodies by focusing on them.
We cannot improve them by taking pride in them or worrying about them.
We can only make them best when we forget about them.
Focus instead on your goal.
Let the body dissolve from your story.

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust.
Do not store up your treasures here on earth.
Because when we focus on the form of the body, on the earthly things, they only become heavy.
They become worse.

Instead, store up your treasures in heaven.
Feel your body from the inside. Feel your flight.

Your body is the temple of heaven.
So enter into it.

We cannot change our bodies by focusing on them.
Nor can we change the world by focusing on it.
Focus on your goal
an un-earthly goal.
Do your work for the growth of heaven.
Focused on heaven.
Your body will be perfect.
Earth will become perfect.

Creating the kingdom of heaven here, by you.

Don't look at your body: feel it.
Don't look at the world: feel it.
Be in it. Experience. Connect. Without your critical mind.
For the kingdom of heaven is among us
hidden beneath the forms

Close your eyes
Bring heaven to the forefront.
Create it
by feeling it.

I love you.

rocketship love

People with a strong attractive power

can end up attracting themselves.


The roots of narcissism

and chronic self-analysis

are one in the same.


The energy, as attention, goes out into the world,

But before it reaches its target,

It gets drawn back

-like by gravity -

to its owner’s own attractive energy center.


If we are sensitive, our returning attention

encounters all the minor imperfections

of our developing selves. Thus we

self-analyze.


If we are numb, our returning attention

sees only the attractive energy center

shining through. Thus we become

narcissists.


Either way, the owners of strong energy

are trapped

by their own attractive power



This is why so many well-meaning, compassionate, talented yet insecure people

can be accused of being self-absorbed.


They will remain absorbed in themselves

until they can help their energy escape their own gravitational field.


There is an inner way and an outer way.



The outer way is to find something outside yourself that dominates your attention, that attracts you more than yourself.

For some, this is a lover. For others, it is a cause.

Anything you can find to devote yourself to

Can help to draw you out of yourself.


However, this is an imperfect world,

with wonderful, yet flawed lovers, with imperfect causes.


The self-critics can find things wrong with all of these, too,

and thus drift between lovers, between callings,

on an eternal pursuit to satisfy themselves

which is really a pursuit to forget about themselves.


That is why there is an inner way.



The inner way is to keep your attention from taking off

Never letting it get far enough away to turn back and see yourself.


Instead, ground your attention inside for a while,

in the feelings of your body, in the validity of your heart.


Hence your energy gathers inside,

Adding rocket thrusters for the blastoff.


Finally, when you turn your attention back to the world again,

it can escape your orbit,

and penetrate through the superficial flaws or perfections of others

with a sight that can see into THEIR hearts

and find new orbit there.



Then your attention does not have to return home again - not right away -

Because it has found just as much to attract it

in the hearts of any other.


When your attractive power has been added to

by the presence of your mind inside

Your vision will pierce through the atmosphere of imperfections in the world.


You can finally see and enjoy the world,

rather than yourself.


You can live and love freely,

as you choose.

Thought I was an angel

I thought I was an angel

because someone’s eyes

saw the Beauty shine through me

This time I believed them

and remembered the blue and white light

shining through me.

and remembered Jeff Buckley

the breeze of heaven in his voice

And I asked: if an angel,

why these problems?

I must be a weak angel

And I answered: of course;

an angel is strong only when connected to his Father.

If God is the sun, the angel is a lens:

God shines everywhere;

the angel focuses that light on a particular point.

An angel’s job is to burn God’s love

through the paper wall around people’s hearts

A fallen angel forgets.

A fallen angel loses track of his Father.

I think we are all angels.

I think we forgot.

I thought I was an angel,

Today I forgot.

turkish submission

dark presence enter

but never approach

you leave him alone

the fear of you wakes him

it's after the dream

held from scream by paralysis

malice escapes while

your memory shakes him

***

exhaust and back sweating

from imperfect pride

now a dark hour¡¯s walking:

I passed on the ride

chagrin, growing weakness.

try walking less taxing,

that way that you learned

try imagining home,

just an hour returned

try praying the sweetness

so recent discerned¡¦

it¡¯s a walk

but its more

like a spiritual question

the answer we have

only three miles

to stalk

it¡¯s his dream

but its more

like a spiritual quest

for the power

the dark spirit

to rest.

***

with hands crawling climbing

his dreams finally culminate

reaching and ripping

his body from flesh

with a fresh chill to still

his soul deeper inside

he confides the discovery:

peace beyond reach.

=

this is

God¡¯s earth before me

not three miles ahead

but here in this bed

of imperfect turf

and I am with God;

my new home is anywhere

whole at the center

since three days before

when I took his advice

against reaching and ripping

my core; this hole

into which Christ could pour.