Nightfall, or simply falling


the right word never arrives when you need it but i’m not sure i actually knew it in the first place.

the functional ability to balance resides in the vestibular system,
and mine laughed at me while i teetered on a boat dock in the middle of the night.

perhaps scorned that i tried to call it ‘the limbic system,’
the ironic Captain Memory,
or perhaps because i let go of its hand on purpose.

nightfall / simply falling / falling asleep

most everyone at some time or another
jolts out of sleep,
seized by the sensation of falling.

but that night i swear — my heart pounded so hard — i was buckling into a bottomless void at such a violent speed…

well i have my own theories,
considering the potential terror induced by the occupation of the inner-ear,
suddenly reconnected
out of context.

still haunted by what you said about falling.

it’s funny how we think that gravity is spiteful in the way it makes us keel and collapse,
when really we’re the ones trying to leave its constant embrace — only to find ourselves yanked back into its arms.

neither you nor anyone i’ve ever met has loved like gravity,
and i still wonder whether or not i should count myself fortunate.
some days i find myself envious; that attempt to hike Half Dome inflicted a day-long plague of thoughts about how much i wanted to hold your hand.

and when you did on the rainy streets of San Francisco — i could barely talk about it,
could barely talk about how sad all the art made me feel,
could barely talk about why i just needed to sit in the upper room of the bookstore and read poetry about coping with the death of loved ones.

nightfall / rainfall / or simply falling asleep

i just wanted to tell you that — every once in a while — i’ll fall asleep with the tears,
remembering the hollow withering i felt as i sat at his bedside and watched him die.

and i just wanted to tell you that — three years after the fact — the right words finally arrived.

Poem: Messiah

abandoned, alone, beaten halfway to Hell
stripped of his clothes, stripped of his pride
stripped of almost everything human
except for his pain.

out of his mouth came seven words,
seven words before he breathed his last —

forgiveness —
mercy —
despair —

out of his mouth came seven words,
seven words before he breathed his last
and finally closed his eyes.

the sacrifice met, by innocent blood shed.

eyes then opened to see
Sin’s Son meeting his gaze
weapons in hand
they battled for two days
gruesome, fierce, breathless —
before he wiped his sword clean
of Death’s cold blood,
ceasing forever its sting.

Third sunrise.

lungs enhale.

awake again.

Third sunrise, awake again,
upon his feet, he left the tomb
consoled sweet Magdalene
and found his friends, restoring peace.

One asked to see his hands
so he stretched out his arms
to bear them proudly
“Thomas, put your fingers in my scars.”

abandoned, alone, beaten halfway to Hell
he was
stripped of his clothes, stripped of his pride
they tried so hard to strip him of his life
but his scars are his glory
his pain a gift for those he loves,
the grave his way to victory
his battle the triumph for eternity.

Happy birthday, Grandpa

Today is March 17, 2012. Today is my Grandpa John’s birthday.

It is strange to know that almost 5 months have passed since I said goodbye to him.

And now you rest, you rest from your long struggle with Parkinson’s disease, a struggle that made my own heart ache. But may you know that when someone asked me what my Grandpa was like–I said, “He’s strong.”  

Today is your birthday. I wish I could spend it over at Cayucos and play in the ocean you watched every day. I wish I could bring you some sweet dessert for you to enjoy after breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I wish I could tell you all about my time at High Sierra. I wish I could hear you and my brother talk basketball. I wish I could ask you to tell a story–a funny one, so that you would laugh too hard to finish, face involuntarily crinkling up in a bright smile at each attempt. A gene I’m proud to have inherited.

I love you Grandpa, and I miss you.

“When I die, whatever you might say, don’t say I’m gone
Gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home.”

“God’s love for Osama” post by Josh Dies

In response to the varying standpoints on the death of Osama bin Laden, I felt the need to repost this blog written by Josh Dies. He poses some very interesting thoughts, and I strongly encourage everyone to read it. There’s also a pretty decent thread of discussion in the comments section.

Here’s a snippet of the post:

I was on tour a few weeks back when word got out that Osama Bin Laden had, supposedly, been shot and killed by US troops. Immediately, we were bombarded by a country in dark celebration.  Our (Showbread’s) immediate thought was that
someone whom Jesus had cherished (a human being) had been killed and that his loved ones were in need of prayer. But when you make an effort to lift the heavy cross of enemy-love that Jesus commands his followers to lift, it seems there are still many prepared to throw a few stones…

…This is one of the reasons I have decided to forsake all others and follow Jesus: his ways, 2,000 years later, are still too radical for the world to accept… even the ones who claim to be his followers.

You can read the rest of the blog here.

Enough to Let Me Go

Artist: Switchfoot

Album: Hello Hurricane

“If you love somebody, let them go. If they return, they were always yours. If they don’t, they never were.”

Maybe you’re a parent who had to watch your child walk off to a new life in college.
Maybe you’re a significant other who had to let the one you love go through a time of separation.
Maybe you’re a mother who had to wave her son goodbye before he went to join the navy.
Maybe you’re an older sibling who had to watch a younger sister find her own way to grow up.
Maybe you’re someone who had to hug your friend for the last time before they got on that airplane to begin a journey.
Maybe you’re someone who had to hold the hand of your grandmother as she said goodbye.

Maybe you, like most of us, have had to let someone go. And felt like your heart was being wrenched from your chest.

In “Enough to Let Me Go,” Jon Foreman couldn’t have depicted the heaviness of this human sensation any better:

Oh, I’m a wandering soul
I’m still walking the line
That leads me home alone

All I know
I still got mountains to climb
On my own, on my own

Do you love me enough to let me go?
To let me follow through
To let me fall for you
Do you love me enough to let me go?

Back from the dead of winter
Back from the dead and all our leaves are dry
You’re so beautiful, tonight

Back from the dead we went through
Back from the dead and both our tongues are tied
You look beautiful tonight

But every seed dies before it grows


Breathe it in and let it go
Every breath you take is not your to own
It’s not yours to hold
Do you love me enough to let me go?