Conversations with God.

Where are You? Why haven’t I felt Your words, or Your vision? Why have You left me here by myself waiting for the next inclination; to decipher whether it’s my own thoughts or Yours.

 

Will You show me? Will You sit with me?

 

I can’t hear You. I’m waiting; I’m listening.

 

Where are You? I haven’t felt Your words or seen a single vision. You’ve left me here by myself waiting for the next inclination; to decipher my thoughts against Yours.

 

Sit with me. Why won’t You sit with me. Why won’t You hold me. Why won’t You turn me the direction and point.
I’m hungry for Your love. To learn and live Your path.
Throw me a bone; lay down bread crumbs. I’m waiting to know where You want me to go – to fulfill my calling. Please sit with me.

 

I can’t hear You. I’m waiting; I’m listening.

 

I’ve never known my calling to be clear, I’ve never known it as such. Sit with me. Hold me. Show me Your direction; please point.

 

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Hear Me Now.

Hear me now; do you really want to know? Do you crave and question who I am? 

I’ll write it down, stroke by stroke – let the words formulate, float. 

Then, you may read and trace my mind, thought by thought – with seamless understanding. 

 

Envision me standing, talking –  expect me to explain aloud. But, don’t fool yourself; I’ll I trip, I studder. Go completely blank. 

This is normal, this is fine. Everyone stops and studders.

But the pressure of perfection consistently presses me and steals my words like a bandit.

The pressure actively presses me into corners and washes my mind clean. 

I fear that others won’t understand my thoughts, or be patient enough to wait…

 for my perfect combination of words.

It’s not a secret that my soul is on fire to express my thoughts; I crave to draw the world out – unfiltered by pressures of perception. 

Ask me to explain my world through a pen – ask me to stroke the keys. 

Read my words, and hear my voice through them.

It’s here you’ll find the most thoughtful me.

Alaskan Light

I love the endless light of Alaska – illuminating my dreams.

When I stand in the light, when I dance in the glow, I see myself more clearly – understand the world – distinctively.

The darkness seems to carry secrets – secrets known by none. We only see the light – the light of the midnight sun.

But, with the midnight sun, I share all.
I sing my dreams, hopes – endeavors.
I dance with my fears, failures.

So – I sing you the melody of illuminated nights –

I sing the song of the unsetting sun.
I dance for you, in the invisible shadows and embrace the golden light. Let us sing and dance without joys and sorrows in the unsetting, glow –

in the Alaskan light.

More of Less

I cry more here than I ever have elsewhere except for that one place. But we don’t talk about that.

I think more here – more about nothing. I think about sleep and the pain of waking up in the morning.

I’ve forgotten more dreams. Lost more words. Turned less pages

Here.

Than.

I ever.

Have.

Before.

It’s not a choice – how to feel here.

You – me – we all arrive with positive thoughts, feelings and intentions. One by one, they begin to fade. And we all become the same.

More.

Of.

Less.

The mind’s melodies.

Memories have melodies which dance from ear to ear with quiet ease. They are smooth yet enticing, loud yet restful.

But this one began faint. It grew strong then it dissipated like sand in the wind.

And grew again.

I listen: it is off-pitch, mangled within other tones just as a thrashed piano, slammed by an angry hand.

The melody of this memory send shivers through my spine. My body contracts.

I am slammed into reality by another beating of keys. They slam into my mind, from side to side. My hands cover my ears, hoping to be released from the pain.

None.

I seek refuge from the noise and my arms wrap around me. Knees retreat to my chest and my head presses against my legs. My upper body collapses over my knees, aching from the severity of pressure.

Who owns the hand on the piano.

Who has the audacity to cause such pain.

The sounds fade.

I release my body, and look up to the naked blue sky. I want to forget the pain, become deaf to the memories: the hurt, the fear.

But I can’t. I must listen; remember the moments. Good and bad.

They bind me to humanism: pain. What would I be if I forgot my memories.
Empty noise.

 

 

 

 

A Gruesome One.

My mind was full of recollection and thought as I washed my face in the water. The water was warm. As it rinsed down my body, my eyes shut. My hands smeared the soap from my jaw to my forehead in circular motions, gently cleaning every bit of my face.

I opened my eyes and saw the blood. I saw it dripping down my body to the shower floor. Traces fell down my chest and stomach and seeped between my toes before the water could wash it away. Diluted yet vibrant, it met the stream of water and fell into the drain. I watched it drip…drip…drip…for just a moment, then cracked the sliding shower door to see my red–smeared–face in the mirror.

Smeared from my jaw to my forehead, in circular motions, on every bit of my face — my nose bled for the third time that week.

Horrified, the door slammed shut and I stood under the water. I pinched my nose and exhaled from my mouth. What is this bloody world trying to tell me.

The Abyss.

In the midst of it—of the crashing lightning—I heard you tell me to breathe.  You said it in a smooth, deep tone. Your words repeated in my blank mind – in the spaces where my words generally fill. Your cold, wakening words rang in the corners and alleys of my quiet mind.

I lost my words, my intentions, my thoughts.

A breath, effortlessly, emitted from me and my lost, clouded words floated away into the abyss of forgotten thoughts.

I opened my eyes, saw you.

and remembered:

None are lost who don’t crave to be found.

And so, I did not speak.

And please, do not come looking.

You won’t find me;

I’m pondering the abyss of unspoken words.