about the shirt my hatred wears, and why i'm not a fashion co-ordinator...
how gallantly i fail,
noble sacrifice, knowing loss inevitable,
rushing without hope,
charging with blood suspended,
pulse shredded,
red tinsel
dangling like traitor's feet
from a sharply
held breath,
oxygen baton casting about
for the downbeat
of victory,
the gasping wet discovery;
whoever loses his life
will find it.
he comes not to bring peace,
but a sword.
i come to devour that sword,
and taste the flavor
of my
peace.
not my finest work... a little labored, a little inconsistant... but the message remains intact. falling on christ's blade, falling on his spoken ideals, this prince of peace with a tongue like a sword... no wonder his words consistantly leave me wounded and bleeding, as he robes himself in the blood i gave for him... and this is peace?
but i am still at fault. to a degree.
the things that i can't change about myself are often in direct conflict with christ.
i have begged. i have pleaded. i have offered anything to him to just take away this small but potent aresnal of self-inflicted weapons with which i can't seem to stop cutting myself, just the removal of one would make me less of a casualty to god and more of a potential disciple. but god, omnipotent, omniscient god, who theoretically has to understand how badly i require freedom, who knows how much this is tearing me apart, who "knows how to give good gifts to his children", who promises that "all those who ask will receive"... refuses me each time. and still i try to love him, still i try to quell the anger, the occasional hatred, the disgust in the knowledge that someone has the cure but will not cure me, would rather leave me diseased for reasons i can't possibly comprehend.
and that just makes me more resentful... the fact that i feel i need to understand, when really, i don't... the fact that God is perfect and his actions, whether or not we like them or comprehend them or even acknowledge them as being directed toward us, need absolutely no justification (again, all in theory). but here i am, the pot, demanding the potter explain his seemingly shabby handiwork. this earthen jar doesn't hold glory well, there are leaks everywhere, when it's under the tap it seems full, but the moment it's pulled away for even a second, the illusion of fullness evaporates, and the water spills on the floor for christ to walk on, or turn into wine for the dogs to lap up, wondering all the time why it tastes so much like vomit...
and now i'm rambling, because i don't know what to say that will make me okay with this, with any of this. i want to be fine with losing the wife that god promised to me. i want to love god despite how miserably all his plans for my life have turned out so far, my fault or not. i want to hope for more than three seconds at a time. i want to be able to accept myself regardless of what might be in my head, or even in my heart. i want to be okay with the fact that i've screwed up countless times and will undoubtedly continue to do so. i want to be okay with who i am, and who god is, and who we might one day be together.
but i'm not.
i'm a coward, and it's easier to hate because of wrong than to love in spite of it.
to what end, anyway?
posted by Corus Aquilo @ 10:33 AM
1 Comments:
Corus,
You are so eloquent! Notwithstanding, the tortured mind behind this flow-etry. I have clicked the "next blog", up on the right side of my computer, for over an hour, and found nothing of note. Random silliness, gratuitous pornography, self agrandisement! I had no idea that there was a place where "freedom of speech" existed in such profusion! Yet, there was a "calling", from your blog. Whether meant, or somewhat of a kindred spirit, I don't know. I too, struggle with the concept of GOD. Although, you'll see, I cannot yet, refer to HIM in any lower case manner. My belief is there, yet, my understanding of how HE directs this play, we have no other choice, than to call, LIFE, is nil. Also, I'm disabled, then, I thoroughly complained of having to endure the type of work I did (before I became disabled), and now that I am, and have no opportunity to work. I wallow in self-pity, and constantly complain that I have nothing "worthy" to do!
Can you imagine the waste of life? The lies we tell ourselves often enough, that we begin to believe them ourselves? Man's state is selfish, and pitiable, why? Because we learn from other flawed humans. Why isn't it automatic that when we are born, our first conscious thought should be, "what can I do to help"? Again, "what can I possibly do to help someone else"? Even if, maybe, we just gathered our thoughts into some form of cohesive message,for others, who have the feelings, but are unable to articulate them, even to themselves, so that they may see, they are not the only ones that feel this way. Disjointed, useless (that is the way I feel most of the time), and not really willing to step out and change anything. Because, that would be actually motivation, or clear consice thought? You made me see myself. When others my age, and aquaintence, die, I think "why not me"? I'm ready to go LORD! Yet, am I? Why don't I help death along, then? I rant about my doctor, to any one who will listen, I exaggerate about my perscriptions, I'll say I am taking 15, when it is closer to 9, or 10. Now, I have given up on all of them, I've stopped taking all of them, (except my insulin, I'm stupid, not crazy)! What do we want? What do you want? What do I want? Would we be happier if, we were: the most beautiful, most healthy, most sought-after, most brilliant, wealthiest, most intelligent, creature on this man's earth? Would we be less prone to pity ourselves? I lump myself with you, and I apologise. I so don't know you! Or your life. You see what someone might get from reading your blog? Just like what someone would get from reading my own. You may not appreciate this either, but, I lost my father when I was nearly 12, I grew up in a family of 10 children, my three older siblings had different fathers than me, and my six younger siblings, and I had the same father. My mother never re-married, but had "boyfriends". She died before we had grown-up, and we all felt we were orphans. I had an IQ of 149, (in the 6th grade), and hated myself for it. I was continuiously afraid of dying. I used to wish I were retarded, so that I wouldn't feel things so deeply!! I lived, "in books", and in relationships, they were all disasters. I gave birth to my first child, at 17 years old. I was pregnant by one man, but named him for another, (which caused my son a great many identity problems in his future). I "died" on the delivery table, due to never having pre-natal care, and yet, I lived (through eclampsia toxemia, which is a killer. My (39 year old) son, is fine, now)? Doctors claim this was a miracle. I went on, in 1971 to marry, (badly), and gave birth to two beautiful daughters, who have since done marvelously, despite the hell their father and I, put them (all),through. As far as employment goes, I worked with dysfunctional children!!!!!!, all my working career, as a counselor, and later, as a cook/counselor, at three different "group-homes". As a co-worker?, my previously abusive husband! (go figure). This employment ended with my going blind,in 1997, from cataracts, due to diabetes, (but), after surgery for lense replacements, I went back there for two more years). And, now, I'm separated from my husband of 34 years, due to my illnesses. He couldn't care for me, and work too! I have been close to death, three times, due to high blood sugar readings, and now suffer with neuropathy, osteoporosis, cataracts,(returning), and am in constant pain. It would take many many words to explain why I feel I am losing faith. I hang on, because I know that it could have been worse! Now all that to ask, "Is there a lesson in all of this"? Your life and mine? Our lives and others? GOD only knows.
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