Nervous Quotations

Standing atop the tallest turtle, Yertle, I think I own the sky. Nothing could be so high as I, I smugly reply to the wind, which turns me around to see a mountain-top nestled within the mighty clouds. Well, and then again, perhaps my head has been misled, and it’s time to climb again.

This weekend, this week, is beyond my comprehension I think, at 2 in the morning. I think the whirlwind of events is more the cause than the hour, but I suspect that little makes sense to my addled brain at 2am, even were I not on being set aflame, with teary eyes, pumping heart, nervous fingers, and lungs remembering what breathing is. So this is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper.  (TS Eliot, Hollow Men)

You think, as you walk away from Le Cirque des Rêves and into the creeping dawn, that you felt more awake within the confines of the circus.
You are no longer quite certain which side of the fence is the dream.
(Morgenstern, Night Circus)

Let your gentle spirit be made known before all men. The Lord is near. (Philippians 4:5)

To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation. (Yann Martel Life of Pi)

Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can. But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two of no importance, and gloom is but the passing shadow of a cloud... (Yann Martel Life of Pi)

You would rather face a life without me than to have me choose a life I would not choose for myself. (Scalzi)

And for you, Em:
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
(Mary Oliver)

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
(Mary Oliver)


I don't know what my life is at this time, but here are some quotes that I've left running through my head. Some are relevant, others just for thought. There is much to be found in the world, even when you think you know everything.

You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month and yet, after a hundred years, they can still surprise you. (on the topic of hobbits.. or perhaps anything)
(Lord of the Rings)

http://benjaminwblog.com/2014/06/nervous-quotation/ 

Thoughtful Thursdays

Blossoms of bliss breeze into burgeoning mists, billowing the day away. The horizon's a sunset lei, all carnation floret and orchid violet, a concealed twilit sky - cosset me in, oh, blanket of grey. Jasmine and trillium score my dreams in musical white and gaudy greens. In the morning, only wisp tails remain, ghosts aghast at blooming dawns, and fleeing, fleeting as ballooning spiders on gossamer trails.

Thursdays, Thor's days, though  scarcely as galvanic or striking as lightning, occasionally not unlike lying between a god's hammer and anvil. Today's music was broken, dissonant, merely a noise of decibels ground out in hours and ticking time.  A pandora's box of living, a burning punishment for a theft of fire.

The mornings are chilly, though the sun still slants through the sky. Fall is more agreeable when enamored with the symbols than the inclement weather, and expecting chills that eventually transform blankets into the womb of dreams, a warmth I'd rather never leave. Waking in the mornings, greeted by a night still charged with darkness, where is diligence and motivation? My scrawlings in my journal tortured and illegible, like crow claws dragged through ink. Why is a raven like a writing desk? Nevermore.

Tomorrow is my little brother's birthday. Happy birthday, little fellow. I'm ever praying that you turn out greater than I, faithful and true, honest and kind, a gentleman and a scholar, a believer in great and good dreams. May your tomorrow and all your tomorrow's tomorrows possess an irrevocable destination without falter. When you misstep, learn still greater things from these than even your triumphs, for this is the human experience. Test boundaries, for many exist only in imagination, and beyond those fences, illumination resides. Be ever wise.

Here are a couple of quotes for thorough Thoreau Thursdays.
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.

What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals.

I just wanted to write something worthwhile, and sleep isn't forthcoming. My muse is shivering and huddled near my heart, and my fingers are still typing. Sometimes, I just can't write anything I like. Tonight is such a night. I drank ginger beer (no alcohol... just ginger. who do you think I am?), ate stir fry, read, and sat before my computer, tabula rasa. I'm not thinking - am I,still? Oh, you silly sophist brain, sleep. Maybe tomorrow you can write.

Words from Winnie the Pooh

Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

~ AA Milne - Winnie the Pooh

I'll admit a certain fascination with Winnie the Pooh as a child, though the Heffalumps and Woozels terrified me. There is something positively frightening about every ignoble character in every childhood movie I watched that forced me into watching from around corners. I couldn't watch the flying monkeys from wizard of oz, or stick around for the cheshire cat (still creeps me out, even in the book a bit), or numerous other baddies that rattled my bones with fright. Luckily, most childhood movies provide easy musical and visual cues (thunderstorms and minor chords) for indicating a scene wherein the villains are present: "time to hide behind mom" cues.

But I was looking through some Winnie the Pooh and stumbled across these gems. I love rivers, the snaking waters slithering down hillsides and mountains and stretching lazily across the plains on an adventure into the seas. Sometimes I remember these when playing Pooh-sticks on long hikes, or just when running along the riverbanks, or crossing the Columbia into Oregon or Washington, or when canoeing or kayaking, remember that I know everything needing knowing. It is like Keats said, though nature speaks fewer words:

'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all  

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'

~Keats - Ode to a Grecian Urn

In those moments of beauty, watching the rivers and the mountains and the trees, all at peace, do I need know anything else? The Lord is near. 

And the second quote, which shames me sometimes in my busyness or impatience. It is like Abraham, when promised a son that is not forthcoming in many years, loses patience with God and goes in to his wife's maidservant. Sometimes that same quality of impatience is upon me, and I, without waiting on God's timing,  make a fool of myself and miss the mark. ...there is no hurry. We shall get there some day. Paulo Coehlo (author of the Alchemist and Veronika Decides to die - the latter is where this quote comes from) writes, "The two hardest tests on the spiritual road are the patience to wait for the right moment and the courage not to be disappointed with what we encounter." I'm forever leaping too early, or too late, and rarely listening to the whispering and shouting, beckoning and patient voice of Yeshua.  Wait. Listen. Leap into the arms of God.

I conceived a sunrise poem this morning, which I've temporarily named, "The dawn of day in beauty". In it, I discussed some of these ideas in verse, and I rather enjoy how it came out. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, a glad morning of fellowship and friends. I'm ready for the week, though patiently so. Let's go.

Comme ci comme ça

The more I see of people's lives, the more I'm dazzled by each person's fantastic defiance of expectations.  I see a couple people who are, at first glance, so similar: sporting, outdoorsy, lovers of good books, outgoing, competitive, *swedish*.  I think, "those two are like twins! They are so similar!" Then, as I interact with each, alone and in tandem, I realize they are so different as to be beyond belief. He likes soccer and running sports, she all sports, especially football, soccer, and ultimate frisbee; he enjoys day-hiking, and she prefers backpacking and long hikes; he endeavors to understand all the rules in games so he can compete with authority and knowledge, while she tends toward sneaky strategy and feisty competition. He's a hopeless romantic and she owns no jewelry, wears no makeup, dislikes receiving gifts and is ambivalent about dating.

What did I see at first that was so similar? It's mind boggling the difference I see now! Perhaps I'm simply unobservant, or perhaps this is simply the nature of persons, the marvel of creation. At the atomic level of being, God made us unique. I think this is why the tragedy in Death of a Salesman always breaks my heart. It is the tragic lie we swallow so heartily: "you are not important; you are a dime a dozen." It is the most malicious of lies, that which (thank you Obi-Wan Kenobi) is true, from a certain point of view.

But it is not true. The more I see, the more I realize that if I knew all God knew about each one of us, I could not but love everyone with all my heart. I would sacrifice myself for any one of them, knowing the trials and obstacles each has faced, bringing them to this point of life, and knowing their thoughts and reasons. It places things into perspective if I get angry or short with anyone (hopefully I don't). "What was life like in their shoes, today?" Or this past week, or year. 

Well, that was a series of thoughts that might be long essays if I spent more than a couple sentences on each.

I was planning on a Sabbath day, a rest from activity at home. "Introvert time" if you will. Of course my hopes were stymied. That's fine though, I still had a good (if not the most restful) day. I did have the whole morning to myself and I got to read a book (Fellowship of the Ring). It has been weeks (June 26th I think, waiting in line to have my book signed) since I've read a book in one sitting, so I'm thankful I got that opportunity, finally. I did not have time for writing that short story. I wrote a little more of the Jak "Ragnorak" story, and perhaps detailed a little for myself of the Harold the Walrus story, but I wrote no stories about clouds or not-people. Sorry, P. Next time.

A person who won't read has no advantage over one who can't read.
~ Mark Twain

With that, I think I'm going to surrender writing, and go do some reading. Maybe I can read two books in one day. How magical would that be? So much for writing a short story tonight. Shikata ga nai.

My Hope is in the Lord

Zephaniah 3:17 The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.

Shabbat Shalom, everyone. I admit that, sometimes, the busyness of life prevents me from taking needed Sabbath breaks. "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath." I used to believe this meant that as long as we *could* keep going, Sabbath wasn't requisite. This is true, in some sense. But if you ask any authentic Jewish man what the most sacred of holidays is, he won't answer Pesach (Passover) or Yom Kippur (the day of Atonement), or Rosh Hashanah (feast of trumpets), but the Sabbath.  It was the first holy day, set apart from the dawn of creation.

Another interesting point is that "holy day" and the word for "festivals" in the Bible can be translated appointment. I was reading an interesting book on Messianics (Jewish Christians), and it mentioned how the festivals and holy days were greater than simply vacations from work, they were, and are for many Jews still, appointments with God. And the Sabbath is the greatest of these. I wouldn't miss a dentist appointment, or a doctor's appointment, or even an appointment for a phone call, but, many weeks, I so blithely ignore an appointment with God? I go to Church, I read my Bible, I philosophize about theoretical Christianity, and, when possible, I try to share my beliefs, but there is something intrinsically fantastic about an appointment with God.

I'll explain it this way. I'm something of an introvert.  5 years ago, when taking the Meyer Briggs test, I scored over 90% in all my categories, one of which was introversion. Years later, my score has dropped more towards the median point, a bit, but suffice it to say that shyness understates my original introversion. I was downright petrified of group situations. So in Church, the times I most feared were greeting times. A whole bunch of smiling faces mingling and sharing tiny tidbits of their lives - not my favored activity. It was almost a nightmare. (this has all changed to some degree) Once I started talking to any individual, I immediately felt more comfortable, as if I'd entered into a zone of communication, and fenced off outside elements. So yes, stamp me an introvert and ship me into a corner with a book. 

In the same way, giant group Bible studies and open-speaking scenarios frighten me. I'd rather talk to individuals, small groups (small = 2-3). I'd rather interact with people on a personal level, so why not God? I like the idea of Sabbath because I can choose a personal appointment with God, I can meet with God with friends, I can rest in a meditative contemplation of a divine who has tucked me under his wings, congratulating me for a week well done.

There aren't many weeks where I'm destroyed by the end. My job is gentle, and I've time in my life on the side for writing, reading, playing in the great outdoors, friends, and so on. But I still desire a specific time where I can rest, Sabbath, in the Lord. I can appoint a time where it's Yeshua and I. And when the week is tough, and there appears to be no path of escape, no solution for problems, no winning an intractable situation, God speaks those words from Zephaniah into my ear. And then I always hear my favorite verse: "Let your gentle spirit be known to all men. The Lord is near." (NASB)

Let your hope rest on the Lord, He is near. Shabbat Shalom.

I want to climb (see) mountains again, mountains, Gandalf

I'm not one for favorites, generally. What's my favorite color? All the greens of the trees and blues of the seas, the oranges, crimsons, violets of summer sunsets, the first daisies, trilliums and snowdrops come spring, the color of distant mountains, each season of sky from icy winter blue to gentian summer, coffee and spring-sky eyes, emeralds, amethyst and precious jewels, the color of twilight filled with countless stars and an archaic, fae moon.
What's my favorite number? Number of what?
Favorite time? 1224, 1248, 1111, 1234, 248, 1144, 1122, 1236, 1020. I don't know. What is a favorite time, anyway? My favorite time is time with people, time with everyone I love dearly.
Favorite pair of pants? Shirt? Shoes? I have 1 pair of shoes, a few pairs of pants, and as many shirts as P last gave me because he felt like I needed more clothing.

There are some things I do have favorites for, though, things over which my partiality gets the better of me. The one greatest example that's been stuck on my mind all day is mountains. I have a favorite mountain. It also is one of my favorite Sabbath locations, places of prayer, and a place I climb whenever possible. Matthew knows of it - he probably introduced us, Si and I. Oh, I so desperately want to visit, to scamper up its steep incline, racing towards the summit, and seeing everything stretched out below from Seattle, to the Olympics, to Mount Rainier, to the Cascades, and the entire valley in between, with the Snoqualmie river and each tiny town stretched along its course.

One of the beauties of this land is that I'm surrounded by mountains. Less than an hour drive probably brings me to the mountains on either side. So at least I don't suffer as Bilbo does. I'm already seeing mountains. Now I just want to reverently scale them.

Tolkein
The wind was on the withered heath,
But in the forest stirred no leaf:
There shadows lay be night or day,
And dark things silent crept beneath.

The wind came down from mountains cold,
And like a tide it roared and rolled.
The branches groaned, the forest moaned,
And leaves were laid upon the mould.

The wind went on from West to East;
All movement in the forest ceased.
But shrill and harsh across the marsh,
Its whistling voices were released.

The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,
The reeds were rattling—on it went.
O'er shaken pool under heavens cool,
Where racing clouds were torn and rent.



“Ah, Teneriffe!”
By Emily Dickinson

Ah, Teneriffe!
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages — pause for you —
Sunset — reviews her Sapphire Regiment –
Day — drops you her Red Adieu!

Still — Clad in your Mail of ices –
Thigh of Granite — and thew — of Steel –
Heedless — alike — of pomp — or parting

Ah, Teneriffe!
I’m kneeling — still –

Walking the Week

The word of the LORD came to me: "What do you see, Jeremiah?" "I see the branch of an almond tree," I replied.

The Lord said to me, "You have seen correctly, for I am watching to see that my word is fulfilled."

One of my father’s favorite Bible fun-facts is that God is a punster.  I remember loving this, and probably telling all my elementary school friends.  Even as a child, maybe particularly as a child, I had a greater aptitude than normal for levity. Sometimes we need levity.  Perhaps because of this penchant for the comic, I find I am rarely a stressed out personality. Not many things actually bear down on me (I actually imagined a bear falling from the sky, hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy style), or cause me undue angst. This isn't to say there are no chinks in my armored psyche, but that most trials I slide through without panic.

This past weekend, I swallowed stress, consuming like a fire.  I kept trying to burn up more stress that A possessed, hoping to bear the load on his back, and provide him some healing warmth in return.  Upon my return, my body was not ready for the abrupt cessation of anxiety, and panicked. I spent all day wandering the house, likely burning miles of useless meandering into the floors in circles, loops, or aimless pathing. I couldn't even sit still for five minutes without standing up and racing around my imaginary track. With the amount of in-house speed-walking I managed, I’m certain I walked at least 10 miles, spending nearly 8 hours of work walking around the house, killing energy I did not possess. For the worst part of this was, I couldn't eat. I ate 3 bites of cereal, 4 blueberries, half of half a bean burrito (yes, a quarter), and a couple bites of an apple.  My general thought pattern was, “Lord, please Lord, help me crash, help me eat, what’s going on, why can’t I stop, why can’t I even eat blueberries?”

That last question is important. I can always eat blueberries.

Then I crashed.

Today was different. I slept almost a full 9 hours before waking up, and an entire restful day stretched out ahead of me: no work. My car was broken from this weekend of travel, and needed significant brake repair, and so I drove my car to Les Schwab, and asked them how long it would take for fixing.  They said by 11 o’clock in the morning (2 hours) they would call me. So I walked the 20 minutes to Chapters Coffee, and sat down to read, write, relax my day away. If my car had not been broken, I might have been half tempted to drive to my favorite mountain and spend the day praying at the peak.

But my car was broken. The point is moot.

I read for a while, wrote for a while, and, come 11, decided I might go on a walk until they called me. So I walked up College towards my church, and past it towards the playground. It was a sunny summer day (90 degrees, brilliant blue sky), and children were everywhere.  I would have stopped and enjoyed the sunshine for a while, but apparently the park was being renovated, and construction noises and voices drown the environmental ambiance and destroyed the serenity of the park. I walked on.

                I traipsed up and down the street 4 times, advancing a block uptown each time, simply looking at the houses and yards, charmed at Newberg’s cute lawns and diversity of homes.  It was now 11:20, and still no phone call. No problem, these places are always delayed, correct? So I walked into the disc golf park and lay down for a bit, reading some more beneath an umbrella pine with long, fuzzy needles, the sunlight streaking through its branches in strings. The small valley of the park was filled with a beautiful yellow-green grass under the firs lining the edges of the creek snaking through the park.  The rhododendrons and small shrubbery guarding the path on my right were golden in the nearly noon rays, and everything was awash in light - even the creek mirrored brightly from my hilltop vantage.

                Another half hour passed, and still no call. No matter. The day is lovely, and I’m getting hungry. I’ll walked the 20 minutes to Les Schwab and checked in, asking how much longer it might be until they checked my brakes.  They were not sure, but they hoped another couple of slots opened up in the shop soon enough. Maybe an hour?

                Longer than I’d hoped. I was rather expecting a Sabbath nap to fully heal myself regarding sleep, but maybe I would just get a late nap? Might as well enjoy the day, right? I walked to Fred Meyer, and took a long route, taking me nearly half an hour. Once there, I bought some light lunch: an apple, some juice, some carbs, and cashed a check. While eating, I began wandering back towards Les Schwab, assuming by the time I arrived, surely they would be checking out my car. 

                I arrived back at Les Schwab shortly after 1, and they said it would certainly be less than two hours until they could check out my car and determine what might be the matter. Not even fix it; investigate to see what needed to be fixed. Well, good times. I was stuck anyway, so I figured I might as well walk around some more. I walked from there to my last place of residence, and wandered around in that neighborhood for a little before walking back towards hoover park. After a while more of walking, they called me at 3, saying they’d checked out my car and it would be a little over an hour until it was fixed. I lay down for a while in the green grass, watching the turtledoves and starlings. After a half hour or so, I got up and began the trek back towards Les Schwab.  It was now 4, about an hour after the call, and they were still putting the final touch-ups on my car. Soon enough, I paid and left.

All the while, I could not get my mind off my mountain. How much more exciting would it have been to walk a mountain instead of 10 miles of small-town? I wish I had pictures of the mountain-top vista for contemplating now, but the only time I ever brought a camera, all I could photograph from the peak was the tops of the clouds beneath me. Soon enough, mountain, you will be mine.

I feel a lot better now: a number of full, giant meals behind me, sleep, a mountain of plums, figs, and apples in the fridge. I’m ready for the week now – unstressed and prepared for conquest. With God on my side, I’m unstoppable.

Kahlil Gibran

When you love you should not say,

"God is in my heart," but rather,

"I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course

Weekend Words

I don't know what this weekend was. A beautiful mess? I spent all weekend at a wedding in SoCal for one of my very best of friends. Normally, I find time for writing every day.  This weekend was blessedly chaotic in artful and heart-wrenching ways. I laughed until my sides ached, cried salt towards the sea, regaled fairy tales of chandeliers into A's listening ears, was healed and lent healing, was broken and prayed for God's soothing, loved, lived, listened, thrived.
Words of poetry surrounded me surely as the ocean mighty, whose waves cried against my feet each dawning morning. Burgeoning words blossoming as first flowers after forest fires, violet, gold, and crimson in an efflorescent wildfire. And no time for journaling, for sewing seeds and reaping some glorious paean of writing following a nearly ideal weekend.
I'm bubbling over with words, but I can't even begin placing them down correctly. I'm shy on sleep, my metabolism bristled against my despairing circadian cycle and staunchly refused all food all weekend.  Every night, we stayed up late and shared a desperate joy, a last gift whose spiritual offering was not just for A, but was equally a gifting unto ourselves. I want to write. I want to shout and write poetry and scream and dance and live and run around in circles until I wear silly holes in the floor. My heart is ablaze with love, and where art thou now, brother?
Change is this: an end and a beginning. I craved an important piece of this ending, and an earnest christening of this new beginning (A actually broke a wine bottle in the car and spilled wine everywhere. There is some "christening" pun being made here, certainly, but I'm whistling innocently with measured nonchalance). Hugs and photographic memories, heart-wrenching words that followed me all weekend - I'm full of words and empty. I'll never find time for writing everything this weekend meant to me, and I suspect I couldn't. It meant everything to me, and always will. It was sanctified, a holy communion.
I wrote a couple of poems trying to capture my thoughts, and ended up with 6 broken haikus, 1 sonnet (Elizabethan), 1 free verse, 1-ish metric adventure, and nothing worth repeating that adequately captured my feelings as this weekend captured my heart.

These words have soared with me on my journey into normalcy, whatever that is, as another beautiful exemplar of this weekend. I don't know why I put them here. That's how cognizant I am of my current thought process.

The Prophet - Kahlil Gibran
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.


And I come back, remembering two different worlds. Sagebrush and succulents, a saline seaside where sands and shores mingle, and roll uphill into a tanned and sunny world. Palms and aloes dominate the fauna, gulls, pigeons, turkey vultures, and herons the fowl. Adobe and sun-bleached or sandblaster woods are boxes leading into the hills above the ocean. The worlds as like as green and grey, and colored in like pallet, each in exquisite fashion.  The mightiness of the sea, here, in the southern lands, and the mountains, evergreens and trees, here, in the 45th, a green belt of verdant flora with scarce a pace of dirt between where brush or shrub clamber skyward, greeting the sun's harp strings. I would miss my world, though the greatness of theirs burns brightly in my heart. But when the mists roll in over the mountains, and the dewdrops trickle down tulip petals and along the efflorescent hydrangeas and rhododendrons, and each blade of grass prisms the light into tiny rainbow droplets - I know I am home.

Thievery

"Now, no matter what the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft... When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness... There is no act more wretched than stealing, Amir." (Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini)

I've been contemplating this quote recently. One of the travesties our church has perpetuated is the concept of pride as mankind's favorite vice. The problem is that pride is exactly what many within the church are missing. Though I hesitate to embark down this road, our culture often inflicts a lack of self-confidence upon us, through media exemplars of physical and intellectual perfection, through perfectionism and spiritual guidelines with impractically set goals - I just remember that line in Howl's Moving Castle where Howl says, "I see no point in living if I can't be beautiful." It isn't that pride is a virtue, nor that pride isn't potentially harmful, but that a large population suffers from a lack of pride. Perhaps the church shouldn't preach an abstinence of pride, but a presence of pride in the right places.

So when I discovered this theory on theft, that our greatest transgression is stealing, I latched onto it immediately. Lying is theft of the right to truth, murder the theft of living and relationship, abuse the theft of freedom and joy. Patriarchy steals fullness of life as much as sexism and racism, transforming normalcy into an eternal obstacle course, a trial instead of merely living. This too is a theft.

This appeals to me, for salvation is a reclamation of what has been stolen from me: a chance of relationship with God. My sins steal away the intended goodness of creation, a little natural perfection ebbing away from this world. I feel as a devil, stealing from God's ensemble, an orchestral performance of fluid beauty stolen away by my incessant whining caterwaul.  

I pray I may steal no more. No more stealing from people who've rights to create, to live, to live, hope and dream. No more stealing from God, and no more stealing from myself. It is a time for reclamation, and a time for giving.