Archive for the 'Love' Category

Page 2 of 2

A Thousand Years Until Morning

A thousand times today, I cried. Overwhelmed with sorrow and pain and brokenness for you, for me. Swollen with grace and mercy and forgiveness, and the power of hope for the holistic restoration hiding behind a fortress of dust and shadows. Taxed with the difficulty of cataloging and archiving memories and nightmares and dreams and ideals. Overflowing with passion and love for your soul, for you. A thousand times today I fell apart, like a sand castle built, and rebuilt a thousand times too close to the water’s edge where a thousand waves, each rushing right through me, unstoppable, tore me into a thousand pieces in a thousand moments while a thousand times I prayed for you.

I just needed a hug, today. From you. Nothing more; not sex; not a patronizing touch; not a half-ass’d squeeze out of obligation; not an apologetic excuse for an embrace unavoidably tainted by exhaustion and fatigue. I needed to know that I’m not bound to isolation; that I’m not alone in the painful despair and helplessness of solitude surrounded by plastic and metal, noise and fuzz. I needed to know that forever meant to you what it means to me: that time is programmable and the future has been carefully carved into our stony path we climb together.

I needed a BIG hug, today. Not a technical motion defined as a “squeezing tightly in one’s arms,” but the sort of embrace that envelopes who I am and swallows my soul and presses against me fitting into every curve and corner of my frame with the maximum surface area contact possible that screams to me, “Oh. My. God! I want you and I have you for the rest of my life! You’re beautiful! Don’t you let me go! Don’t you EVER let me let go of you! We’ll die if that happens…” I needed a hug from the beginning.

I wish to be held as if nothing else mattered; as if the networks and their parasitic, unquenchable distractions were a myth and the dishes were already done and the kids were in bed, asleep; as if morning’s breaking light was a thousand years away and dusk had just bathed your skin and washed your face with silver and all the light I could see was coming from the fathoms in your eyes, haunting, peering into the deepest cracks in me as if to beg of creation, from the Creator himself, with the whisper that beckons for the glue of eternity to hold me together. I wanted to bury my face in your shoulders and sweetly kiss your freckles, suffocating in your hair as your scent wraps itself again around my sieving heart and replenishes all that leaked out today.

Yeah, I could have used an embrace along those lines a thousand times today. Let me fade into sleep for a thousand years with you in my arms, protecting you from all that seeks to destroy; from all that hunts down goodness and faithfulness; from all the shadows that try to squelch the light.

“God, I would like to feel wanted again, please?” I begged.

“Patience. Loved, you are.” is all I heard.

Atomic Number 79

I just can’t sit still lately. I can’t think straight for more than a few minutes at a time. I’m extremely, unduly anxious and my head keeps teasing my heart, tormenting it, making fun of the sore spots and tickling the scars… you know, the smooth parts that have *healed* and are thick and tougher than spit? No big deal right? Except that they are overly sensitive under the slightest pressure. Bring on the punches. I can take those all day. In fact, let’s fight… kick me, jump on me and I’ll barely notice. But dammit, don’t… don’t you dare brush up against the ghosts of these stripes, exposed, weeping, floating just above their graves… it could destroy me.

We’ve been learning lately @flatironschurch about the worthlessness of worry and other choking weeds of life. I never really considered myself a worrier, until we started in on the “Green Thumb” series a few weeks ago. Of all the words to use and ways I could describe myself, the phrase “restlessly anxious” had never, ever crossed my mind. Now, it’s about all I can do to go from one minute to the next peacefully inside. My wires are tangled and transmissions feel incoherent. I feel like a nervous ball of light overheating, bouncing off the walls. I’m not even that sure of what I’m so bunched up about… I’m fearful of losing love; of being blind and left for dead. Maybe it’s just the iron doors I used to hide behind are rusting and corroding in the orbiting sodium light drawing me in. My eyes got adjusted to the lack of such brilliance. It’s startling. Maybe these keen movements inside me are just lifetimes of dormant vapors thriving towards this light, with the single desire to be ignited. Refined.

An amalgam of metallic sodium and mercury lies at the coolest part of the lamp and provides the sodium and mercury vapor in which the arc is drawn. The temperature of the amalgam is determined to a great extent by lamp power. The higher the lamp power, the higher will be the amalgam temperature. The higher the temperature of the amalgam, the higher will be the mercury and sodium vapor pressures in the lamp. An increase in these metal pressures will cause a decrease in the electrical resistance of the lamp. For a given voltage, there are generally three modes of operation:

1. The lamp is extinguished and no current flows.
2. The lamp is operating with liquid amalgam in the tube.
3. The lamp is operating with all amalgam evaporated.

The first and last states are stable, because the lamp resistance is weakly related to the voltage, but the second state is unstable. Any anomalous increase in current will cause an increase in power, causing an increase in amalgam temperature, which will cause a decrease in resistance, which will cause a further increase in current. This will create a runaway effect, and the lamp will jump to the high-current state (#3). Since actual lamps are not designed to handle this much power, this would result in catastrophic failure. Similarly, an anomalous drop in current will drive the lamp to extinction. It is the second state which is the desired operating state of the lamp. [1]

I’ve nothing to offer up to appease this nervousness aside from frequent petitions to the Light within the light to hold me together as this unsettling energy runs rampant, twisting my back and crushing my shoulders with its dust. All I know is that my heart feels like it weighs three times its weight in gold and not nearly as valuable. I think it is funny that gold is stuck in between platinum and mercury on the elemental scale — platinum is resistant to corrosion, does not oxidize and is strong and brilliant; and mercury is poisonous, it only hardens at near freezing temperatures and is used in facilitating light. But gold… gold is so soft and malleable a single ounce can be beaten into about 300 square feet, thin enough it becomes translucent radiating in a green-blue glow of filtered light.

Breathing takes slow, focused effort. My heart hurts. Quite literally. There are not many specifics. It just pounds in my chest trying to make its way to the surface, I think. Will you be there to tend to it, to catch it when it jumps out? Is this what it feels like to be alive? Why does it sting. I’m giving it to you. Again. I’ve given it to you. Your hands are soft and cool, gentle, safe. I trust that you’ll know what to do with it because I can’t see past it.

[1] Wikipedia: Sodium-vapor lamp

Core Breach

Every time I see pictures of you, the memories explode and I can’t keep the smile down.

Beauty aside… in a fraction of a second, a snapshot of you floods my core with everything you are and all that you are to me in what could take infinite yellow stickies to jot down.

Panic At The Disco… Or, Ravens Are Awesome!

It’s the end of a long weekend riddled with perpetual house cleaning, kid-tending and playing and refereeing, rocket building and turning our sofa into the mountains of Mars, and this new “storybook” blog template. I’m too tired and too fuzzy to pump out any really amazing prose. The weekend has trampled itself into hibernation with such an obnoxious fit forcing the sleeping giant, Monday, to awaken… I’ll just post today’s delightfully haunting requiem — in that it keeps jumping up out of no where way — that has held me anxiously and whimsically in custody. By today I mean Sunday. It’s not Monday until I wake up :)
Continue reading…

Beauty Runs Deep, and Apparently… Green.

Last week, Jen picked up (rented, for free) some movies from our local library. Libraries rock. One of the movies was a DVD of “The Incredible Hulk.” No, not the Ang Lee theatrical version (2003), and no, not the Louis Leterrier version with Edward Norton (2008). We’re talking the dynamic duo of Bixby & Ferrigno here, the early years…

I sat down with the kids and they watched it with me. They loved it.

During the second episode, The Hulk saves the blonde co-star from peril just after he rips apart a house and he’s carrying her in his arms “sideways” (like how my daughter always asks me to carry her up the stairs at bed time) and she’s just starting to come around from being passed out. She looks up at The Hulk (knowing already that he’s really David Banner) and has a soft look in her eyes; he’s looking down at her with his cromagnon uni-brow and that familiar blank expression.

The Hulk: Saving the Girl.

The Hulk: Saving the Girl.

My five-year-old daughter says with the deepest sincerity, “He’s handsome.”

Now, she’s very sensitive and it took every fiber in my core to keep from bolstering out hysterically until I realized that she was dead serious. As a general rule, Jen and I try real hard to not taint our kids minds with our own jaded perspectives and experiences. It was awesome to see in her face and hear in her voice a pure un-sarcastic thought about beauty. She has nothing to base her perspectives on that would disallow such honesty to shine right through. That’s what I got from her statement.

I told this story to Jen in Zoë’s presence and like me, Jen had to fight hard to hold back bursting out with laughter. That is until she saw Zoë’s sincerity too. Then Jen had to translate for me what her comment actually meant. You see, being not a female, I am somewhat ill-equipped to grasp such things on my own. “A person becomes beautiful when they take care of someone.” Jen’s explanation of what went on in Zoë’s mind blew me away. You see, at only five years old, my daughter has the capacity to see right through the outer appearance of a creature (or monster) like The Hulk and see his actions of love for the woman he saved, and to Zoë that’s what made him handsome. She saw his heart and applied that to his appearance and she did not see a monster.

Imagine if we could all find this sort of honesty and truth with ourselves and with others at the level of innocence found in a child.