Thoughts

I don't know how I feel.
Things throw me off so easily, does this automatically qualify me as weak?

The Reality of Life is.........

Some people just don't love you as much as you love them.

Finding myself again

Put your boots and courage on.....

His appeals come through the conversations of good people, or from sermons, through the reading of good books; and there are many other ways, of which you have heard, in which God call us."- Saint Teresa Avila

you.

I sat and starred at the white foam taking various forms at the top of my beer, I wasn’t paying attention anymore, my mind had wondered off. It was early for a Friday and I was already tired and the beer wasn’t going to stay cold for much longer, soon my mind would be forced to the edge of the plank and my back would feel the sudden sharp prang of an ugly sword, subtly persuading me to jump, change subjects from white foam to something much more dangerous, myself. What was it about being distracted that was so beautiful?
Standing on the shoulders of time, an infinite skyline appeared. The bright lights of my achievements caste heavy shadows onto the avenues of my youth. The small side streets were littered with insignifcant pot holes and broken gravel. Years of thoughts and feelings tiled the rooftops of houses and painted the thick, course stucco of buildings that hadn’t faced the redemption of age. The once rounded corners of my mistakes somehow looked more harsh, squared, my memory had deceived me.
All around was a life, my life.
Memories good and bad.
Strangers and lovers.
Days, nights.
Smells, tastes, sounds.
Every aspect vivid, vying for my attention, my eyes could not focus. Focusing was risky but soon, I wouldn’t have a choice. What would I have to look at? What would I have to feel? It had been such a long time since I had dug into myself; dug into my past, felt, in any stretch of my imagination, I couldn’t find it possible tonight. Suddenly it seemed late for Friday and I felt all too awake.
My stomach twisted into heavy sailor knots, anchored in tension as my eyes began to narrow on a particular season of spring it was much different those that had come before it. Autumn had given its perfect yield of heartache and sorrow, leading the soils into a perfect confection of sandy tension and pensive clay. Winter blanketed the ground with innocent icy layers of truth. As the days walked away from winter and into the premature stages of spring, the ice melted and slowly trickled, penetrating down. Spring began with its shoulders back and it’s head up, alive.
This solid ground set the path of your secure steps walking into my life.

Hallowed heartbeats inside a most empty chest; blood thick like syrup enlaced with tiny disappointments, failed efforts and vanquished dreams. A mind that cannot assemble unto anything but the unanticipated circumstances.
The very seems unraveling; each thread being pulled to breach its deepest point of weakness and vulnerability.
A pair of hands desperate to clutch the weight of a heavy head.
Feet that could not find their way, eyes clouded simply with sadness.
Body parts of a girl that can’t work independently, let alone together.
Broken but still working? Broken but still working. Broken but still working. Broken but still working.
What’s the use of this sort of girl?
Where’s her purpose?
Who wants the best for her?
Who worries after her?
Who can make hands weightless; pull them in affection towards the sky?
Who can illuminate wooly paths?
Who can take a heart and make it dense?
Who can take something that’s working and broken, fixing it to be whole and stop?

Life

Life is ALL grace