Not understanding constitutes the magic that drives us to the forest; rich with vertical stories as tall as Merton’s seven storied mountain. We can’t explain what can’t be conquered, what shouldn’t be reached, the echoes that can’t be heard.
Yet, somewhere in that unexplainable, sleeps an answer. An answer that will wake when the sun rises. The sun that never sets; the one that shines eternal. Edison would bask in this everlasting sun. This certain brilliance that lights the way to our happiness. The light in all of us.
And after this, who shall say a God doesn’t exist?
At the end of a day, a religious one such as today, I try to remember that all religions and non-religious “belief systems” are tied by a string made of the same material. These fibers form a basic pattern, in the form of symbols, consisting of—a calling, a pull, a need for something “else”, a goal, a journey, an all encompassing love. All of these play a part in the story that is life. The story that binds us all. It’s up to us to keep that story going. It’s the antagonist, that continuously tries to create obstacles while in the midst of that journey. It’s my belief that in the end, the antagonist NEVER wins. In the end what ends up winning, is life, the way it happens…which is precious and purposeful and above all - mortal.
You know the one, the small town girl with the big city spirit. Her smile comes alive at the stop light. Red and green signals stare through her see-through brilliance she calls a dress. But ask her if she knows happiness. She'll tell you all about helplessness. She'll struggle as she speaks, stuttering through her breathe, wearing fear on her tongue as it slips from one man to the next.
And then...she'll disappear, borrowing your big city spirit, for a taste of happiness. Forever praying that you'll want the small town girl to return instead.
some of us are born of roads
bare footed, clothed in lonely hearts.
forever hiking through nightmares,
paths of burning pangs,
longing, seem necessary.
unraveling majestic farms
of our carnal sins, serenading us
along trails guiding us to earthly waterfalls.
Travel tames the wild mares. If you let them go, they'll return to where the heart makes a home.
in the end
there are no swan lullabies.
no memories of uncomfortable stories,
to bring us comfort.
no bitter-sweet last minute offerings
of secrets, no final surprise.
no last chance at an unfamiliar hope.
not a smile for unsung bliss.
no church bells to harmonize
a timeline of glory, agony, defeat…
not an embrace to leave us
warm and loved. only a body removed.
a soul left somewhere for the living to rescue.