Lord in your mercy

hear our prayer

as these words that we repeat

occupy our mouth

and focus our attention

on repetition

on something known

so that as we are busy

we might not have time to take care of ourselves


Lord in your mercy

hear our prayer

as we come to the table

set from all time

for all time

for all of us

and even for me

to do something known

Let us eat. Let us drink.


Lord in your mercy

hear our prayer

so that newness

does not simply look like new things

what is fastest and shiniest

but rather the most familiar

that turned but a hair

to reveal

that we have so much to learn today


Lord in your mercy

hear our prayer

as we fit our bodies

and ensure our bodies are fit

so that we do not become flabby

or more horrifying

become lame

Let us hear anew

that weakness was scary to you

in the garden

and yet you blessed us as you were broken


Lord in your mercy

hear our prayer

as clouded days

where we do not feel so much like moving

threaten to tell us we missed out on all opportunities

that would have made us worthy

Let darkness be as light

and let us not lean so heavily upon our choices

so that we might believe they be our salvation

or our condemnation


Lord in your mercy

hear our prayer

as we try to understand

that the order of things is no order

as a thousand years is no time at all

that in giving we can receive

and dying we are raised to new life

Let our today be seen as grass

as we see all you have created

and all whom you have breathed upon

as worthy of our respect and love


Lord in your mercy

hear our prayer

that confusion and shame would not be passed on

from that which is confusing and shameful within us

but that we might be met in our pain

satisfied in our lack of knowledge

comforted in our sadness

and calmed in our anger

Let us learn to speak

of what stirs inside

so that what works so hard inside

might be spoken to


Lord in your mercy

hear our prayer

Just shaking ice from my fingers
Pulling the leaves from my brain
If it stings, it's working
Like my old face wash

Cleaning my glasses I find that there is much to clean from my glasses
I never saw what was there
Though it was relatively close to my eyeballs

O how I wish to take part in something grand
Though I am slowly believing that it is not possible to realize that one is taking part in something grand
It seems as if closing the book is what allows the final judgement to sink in
That we were in something great and we never realized

So how can I look around and know that what is taking place is taking place?
Aren't we always going somewhere else?
On towards next?

Today must hold something that I can inhale
What is special about sitting here trying to write again?

Thinking of key words that might trigger great movement:
-Kiosk
-Epic

Well, I guess it's not so many key words
and reading them now doesn't feel so moving
And the second one is essentially a synonym

The ability to sink into what is now
To descend into peace knowing that I am not becoming okay
But I am okay

Easier said than done (catchphrase)
The art of rest
Of not having to prove anything

And hoping that I will be able to hear the things that will hit soft spots:
The desire to create
The desire to focus attentively
The desire to grow more gentle
The desire to exist out of strength
Just a few

Bring me to the brink of my abilities
Let me be taken to the edge of what I feel I can grasp
And then let me rest

There is something exciting about recovering
From thoughts telling me that I will be consumed
And in that moment
Trusting I don't have to conquer

Because my reflexes tell me this is all a competition
And I have to beat everything in the whole universe

So where I am sitting means absolutely nothing anymore
And what I write right now means nothing
Because I am concerned about nebulae being more spontaneous than myself

Apples and oranges probably
Those concerns will certainly slip through my fingers

And back to earth
There are people all around me
And they, being capable of so much I do not know
are probably my best shot at experiencing adventure

And I, being people too
may not be as stuck as I sometimes feel

In a world of light and movement
Wind blows the seasons into quarters
Tempting and retracting
Settling into something called warmth
Not hot or cold
Just warm and temperate

And here is what we like
A warm place
Not hot or cold
Just warm and temperate

And yet our visions of our future
They cannot be simply warm
Because warm is what we like
Where we are
Where we stay

But movement requires a taste
A taste for what is hot or what is cold
And a desire for change
A desire for the seasons

And if we do not move
We will certainly have our couch
That we have always had
That has the dent where we always recline

But the world, of light and movement
It does not save dents
Because it heals where it has been stepped upon
Changed, but not destroyed

Death and life
The earth, receiving again that from whence it came
Prepares the soil

And we like the life part
Not the death part
We're scared of the death part
Because it's written within us to protect the life part

And we think that death means we didn't protect life
But this is not so
Because life has a season
And if it stays on its couch
It ceases to be what it is
Movement

And time is movement
And in it exists all things
It cannot be stopped
Yet it is not the enemy
But rather the eternal reminder
That we are grass
Here today
Maybe not tomorrow

And so in my frailty
I desire to stop it all
Stop the seasons from changing
So I can begin to steady my grip
And stop feeling so nudged

Yet whatever I hold onto
Is moving as well
And it will live and die
Forcing me to accept hot and cold

And in this
Somehow and somewhere
There is quiet comfort
Though I forget it every thirty seconds or so
As I see the life and death of my inner peace
And I am forced to remember
I am one dependent

Shall it be, how it is, and thus world without end?
Old words, ancient, but not exactly reassuring
As proverbs lays forth the ends of the wicked
and even the righteous
Is this how it should be, how it is, and thus world without end?
Walking streets, looking at eyes, who can tell the ordinary
even the extraordinary?
Yet as days unfold, it appears there are common and uncommon
Is this how it should be, how it is, and thus world without end?
Gold lies in ten houses while ten thousand catch rain in buckets
and drink only what is caught
Thirst is poverty and alms are forever sought
Is this how it should be, how it is, and thus world without end?
The lonely lie in bed hearing reminders of how they're forsaken
startling awake at neighbors opening the gate
and entering to see their loved ones
Is this how it should be, how it is, and thus world without end?
Chairs, tubes, beeps, serums, sweats and hallucinations
Nourished by magic, ever dependent and broken
And the mystery behind eyes may never be known
Is this how it should be, how it is, and thus world without end?
Bloody streets and angry rocks, in the name of God
even hatred for hair or nose
Bullets settling scores and scores always unsettling
Is this how it should be, how it is, and thus world without end?
Family secrets and unspoken rules for who has the right
even the capacity to speak
Falling into roles and adding on a sandbag for good measure
Is this how it should be, how it is, and thus world without end?
In spring rains come, and then they never stop coming
In summer cool winds push waves into angry eyes
washing home into memory
Is this how it should be, how it is, and thus world without end?
Party lines and picket lines and clever lines and votes
Toss in morality and religion, now decide who you are
Or you will be decided for
Is this how it should be, how it is, and thus world without end?
These are things I do not know

Time runs along
distilling the familiar
until a faint taste upon our lips

Running to our western windows
we catch final glimpses
of all we held near

Nodding our head
knowing these days would come
we put on our jacket

The past has run cold
closeness is far
and we strain to see its embers

But now it returns?
since longed long enough
it all came back!

But no, it's different
changed
unfamiliar

For beams
in eastern skies
fracture the horizon

And what we see
only clearly reflected
is that the dead buried their own

But turning we see light
growing from lifeless earth
nourished from yesterday

Stepping into the unfamiliar
we feel the warmth on our face
and remember that life not always sets

And the cycle continues
challenging us to remember
that this we've been told before

And knowing that tonight life will descend
and dusk will silence what dawn revived
we resolve to remember that the sun, it also rises

Bigger conversation
Loftier explanation
Lost in keeping up
and scrambling for comprehension

Scrapping who we were
cause now is better than ever
And the piano plays
the repeating bridge
Never arriving

Anticipation builds
and builds

and

builds
and



And it never turns over
We were waiting
but we'd never heard the chorus before
and we'd thought we'd recognize it

Sounds so strange to our ears
So far from what we think we'd choose for ourselves
But we just pushed the chords
yet could not feel our fingers

But the crowds clap their hands
filling our heads with applause
and we smile like we meant it
but inwardly
our eyes dance
to the right
to the left
knowing
we can't repeat

And so we are
to them
Something bigger
Something loftier
Capable of keeping up

But to us
But to I
and to me
We're all just scrambling for comprehension
Praying for the ability to encore

Sit down, do not let your mind race too quickly. Recognize what you have have neglected and all you would like to accomplish. Oh, but don't worry, there is always something big around the corner. And you find yourself collapsing once again. So, get comfy and blow your expectations to bits. Who you thought you would be, who you thought would be around. You aren't and they aren't. So swallow hard and blink slowly. Breathe deeply and sigh a silent sadness. You are who you are, you are where you are.

Put the speaker in your ears and turn up the volume if you want. Drown out what you see and go where you think you should be. What they do not understand is that you deserve your castle in the sky. It's all them that don't understand. What a waste.

You're dying, you realize as summer comes. Spring is new life, summer is the scorching of beauty, fall is the world stretching, and winter is death. But, now summer is death. The reminder you should just love life. But it's not that simple. Nothing is. Don't be simplistic. Don't make me smile. You don't understand. No one understands. I am too unique.

The seasons are all the same. Nothing moves. Death is life and beauty is fire. Existence is dial-tone. So, put on your fancy shoes and comb your hair. And for God's sake, brush your teeth.

Walk. Walk slower because there's nothing you're too anxious to get to. Watch. Watch your step because there is a split in the earth. Crack. Crack your bone back into place, because something just broke you.

Walk! Walk! Walk!

But you can't. Moving yourself is impossible. So you wash your face with salt. When all else stops, the torrents behind the wall push through.

And it was all for this. So that you might mourn your slippery hands that are unable to hold on. And the months, years, and seasons, they all lacked sense and so does today. But crying doesn't. For some reason, the release seems proper, appropriate. And you can't stop it, and that seems appropriate too.

And so today is the day, maybe once again, where weakness is proven the most human. And strength must now be given, because all you can do is dampen the earth.

Now, receive. Be yourself, and do something unique. Open your hands.