Transition

It is A part of life.
Apart from life, I strolled through the forest picking at leaves I thought were ready to fall into my hands. They were not ready for me. I watched as others on the promenade picked the exact leaves of their wanting. Some trees bore fruit plenty with seed. They quietly moved onto their carved out path. I kept picking- rip, pull. I thought if I could just get out of this rut, I would clutch the light. The dusk dimmed my vision, and I no longer could see my brother or sister near by. I knelt, the cold soil pressed on my knees. A genuflection in reflection on my past. But up ahead, I saw the stone. It was gently placed on my path, a cornerstone. It had always been there, but I ignored it until now. Slate and grey with age, it proffered hope. I rose, picked up my feet and ran to it. And as I removed the leaves on the vine wrapped around it, I knew that I need not try to pick a future that was already planned. “Trust me,” I heard the stone whisper. I leapt, faithfully. And in front of me I saw my portion, my purpose had materialized in the field..behind me I left my consuming fear. Using an olive branch, I scribbled and wiped away the line that was drawn and sat in the peace before me as I basked in the promise of tomorrow.

Self See-Saw

I sat upon a cracked red see-saw and gripped the handle tight.

My gaze wandered and landed on the person seated across from me who would keep me from flight.

She looked strikingly familiar, mirror image wearing black.

And as my legs pushed off the ground, she rehearsed to me these facts:

Less pride,more humility

Less jealously,more self love

Less complaining,more appreciation
Less saying, more doing
Less hating, more loving
Less talking, more listening
Less fear, more confidence
Less uncertainty,more conviction
Less busy, more focus
Less stress, more renewal
Less inhibition, more freedom
Less convention, more openness
Less waste, more conservation
Less consumption, more sustainability
Less lust, more desire
Less resentment, more forgiveness

Less excuses, more reasons

Less doubt, more belief

 

 

I couldn’t believe and I began to doubt, that she had just spouted these words I had forgotten about.

These ways of life sprinkled here and there, would be my guide to keep me in the air.

Revel in this Sunday

There’s something about the mannerisms of the water, the way the pretend waterfall flushes ferociously into the pool and how I long to lap in its intensity. This is how my Sunday is unfolding. I rose this morning battling the same urge whether to stay in bed just a little longer, or make this disobedient body catalyze its biochemical processes. I love Sundays, they always bring light and warmth, both spiritually and physically. I’m graced by the gentle guidance of the church goers. I am filled with good eats and delectable conversation. I cocoon myself by evening in a chrysalis of literature-non fiction to placate my inner scientist, and fiction to appease my creative junkie needs. I top off the night with listening to my sister’s inadvertent inculcations of serenity and patience that stream from her piano playing. I am fulfilled.
I yearn for simplicity and complexity at the same time. The brashness of Monday and its premonitory ways have further increased the value of Sunday. Perhaps a literary stretch, but it seems to be named the day of sun for these reasons.
As it comes to a close, I bite down and savor the richness of today. How blessed I am to receive another gift next week. Every 7 days, habitually and reverently I will meet it. Sunday always waits for me. I bring my trite complaints, body-aches and taints yet still I am embraced dutifully and joyfully each time. Press on,lightly, and you’ll find that your Sunday awaits you.

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Church Kids

This is a pretty deep part of my life, I hope you find something in it. I welcome comments and criticism. I am still enjoying this journey of poetic writing.(December 31,2012 and March 11,2013)

Church Kids

We binge on the sweet taste of hope from the bosom of the bride of Christ, the church.
The supposed holy union between an imperfect humanity and a blameless son, man.
We are raised to think dutifully, like disciples disciplining ourselves with ball and chain, tied to a game of thrones, of pious overgrowns, of adults wanting us to become what they had never known..thrown
into these beautiful addictions, scriptures, prescribed to save us from want, greed and selfishness, to bring us from dust to inheritance of blessing..
I’m guessing, only at the foundation they so surely entrusted us to connect with, a place to call home where we could meet kids and get accepted.

Why do others berate us because of our name?
Is it from the bible thumpers, who thrash with stickers on their bumpers, and wave silently as the hurting pass by?
Instead of thrusting love, they deliver judgment disguised in the form of God’s word.
It was written therefore it is so, that’s what they say.
“Your sin is sin, so go ahead, disobey, for one day you will face The Lord in dismay.”

Well I say to hell with religion and its division. To denominate, to give away in a specified unit, or rather to name away, is what we have done.
To separate the congregation into aggregative stakeholders in the kingdom, instead of redressing and stitching together the purified bride adorned in white.

What conscience have we? Where was hope lost?
What place have we if not but to gallop in reverse to the throne of God, to revere in the adolescence of crying out his name in need.
When will we push beyond the onset of the born again honeymoon phase and face the obstacles of maturity, fearlessly?

It is I who is a victim of this Christian tide that ebbs and flows. It uses saltwater to leach out the pure, unquantifiable desire to be like him, and neatly replaces this desire with the fake incessant want to be righteous.
But, the tide eventually releases. I am now washed clean. I roll out onto the sand, a survivor.
I am a harbinger, an advocate. I am an emissary of the way, the truth and the life.

We are the salt of the earth, by our very nature sprinkled to preserve the beauty of humanity. It is a calling, to which I will swear my life. And despite my utter failures and inevitable lapses, I will prevail. Not by my own hands, but by those which were nailed for me. Those feet that once walked the streets as a sojourner were crippled upon the stripped wood for my sake. My Adonai, Immanuel, Elohim and my Savior.

Death will not do us part.

The Beauty of the Blog

I was caught up in family and friends, the ever long silent fits of laughing that keep my face in permanent scrunch mode. So much so that I didn’t blog on Friday.

I then remembered that the beauty of blogging is in its innocence. My friend Lauren, a fellow blogger, told me to just be genuine. I have decided that I don’t want my blogs to be warranted by a certain day of the week. I want them to almost be posted out of proofread impulsiveness. This blog is supposed to be raw emotion, a staircase of thoughts, and a display of the greatness that others are achieving.

This is a promise to myself, to not over-think and beat my brain to a pulp about what to write. This is a promise to you, once more, to stay true to myself and share what’s on my heart.

Until next time, ciao!

First World Problem-The Soft Pretzel

As my sister and I hurriedly sifted our way through the throngs of people at the mall on Saturday, we couldn’t help but end our adventure with a soft pretzel.

Who doesn’t like soft pretzels? Warm, fluffy bread, salted to perfection, malleable and pliable to the touch. Perfect for whoofing down, or enjoying in small bites. Not to mention, they come in 10 different flavors, but with a huge letdown in the two kinds of dip, cheese or cinnamon glaze.

So as we waited in the line that was so lengthy I had time to go to the farthest bathroom and back, I observed the workers behind the stand. Glistening, like the pretzels they were about to butter. Half-smiling in panic because they couldn’t make the oven cook fast enough for the demanding pretzel fanatics that couldn’t decide if they wanted garlic on their sour cream and onion pretzel with cheese on the side. Did I mention they were sampling old-fashioned lemonade? Meanwhile, I was informed that my garlic pretzel would take about 7 mins because they ran out. 20 minutes later I wrestled with and grudgingly accepted this realization:

1.I just paid $4 for a piece of bread, cost of a whole loaf? $2

2.The cheese dip was the fake cheese, like worse than nacho cheese!

3.Twenty people and their twenty kids got their pretzels before me…and I was left with a brown pretzel that left the impression of a full clove of garlic lingering on my breath.

Pretzel

What I’m really trying to say is that we have a problem. I have a problem, you have a problem, the workers have a problem. Why was I growing so impatient and uncomfortable because my soft pretzel wasn’t prepared on time? Why was I giving in to the consumerist, “I buy and eat because I can” type of mindset? We become so complacent in our ability to quickly satisfy our hungers, the physical and the like.  I call them “first world problems.” They are complaints about incidences that in retrospect really aren’t a big deal. 

Next time you go wait in line to buy your soft pretzel, ground yourself. Think about where you are in that moment(the mall, consumerism at its finest), and who is surrounding you. Be grateful that you have the chance to appease your soul, but don’t get used to it, otherwise that flesh and spirit man of yours might grow uncontrollably.

I write this as I am eating ice cream, I’m no saint, and I’m definitely an inclusion in this blog 🙂

 

Top 10 Hug Types

It’s rather fitting that I write about hugs right before Valentine’s Day. I hope you get the giggles just as I did when I started thinking about how many different types of hugs occur daily.

Let’s define:

hug(trans v)-\ˈhəg\-
a. to press tightly especially in the arms
b. to hold fast: cherish
c. to stay close to

(Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary Online)

Panda Hug

WELL here’s my top 10 ten descriptions of hugging experiences:

10. The Lanky Arm Hug- When you have that friend who has incredibly long appendages and they sort of octupus wrap them around you and really, you’re just getting a face full of bosom.

9. The Same Height Hug- When you and your friend are level in the shoulders and you can’t figure out who hugs over top, so after a sideways glance you just man up and see who is an inch taller..

8. The Back-Pat included Hug- When your friend decides that maybe you needed a pat on the back today, but in reality you’re thinking get your hands off me bro haha.

7. The Side Hug- Well this one is self-explanatory, but you should know if you get it, she/he just wants to be friends, or you need deodorant.

6.The Pelvis-in Hug- Well this is awkward, but sometimes people commit all the way to that hug, cause you’re so huggable of course.

5. The Under-the-Armpit Hug- Well this one is like getting the bottom half of the bagel, it’s not as good as the top half, but you just gotta face it. Warning, it may get uncomfortable and sweaty.

4. The Booty-Out Hug- Basically this person is saying hey I don’t know you but I’ll give you a courtesy hug, booty sticking out so they can back out quickly.

3. The Too-Long Hug- We’ve all been there, either you held on too long, or they needed a lesson in basic hugging, but this one gets awkward. I tend to get held longer by elderly folk..

2. The Too-Tight Hug- You would think since the main definition of Hug is ‘to press tightly’ that this would be acceptable upon occurrence, but you’ve either just gotten help digesting your lunch since they squeezed you so hard, you’ve expedited the entire hugging debacle, or someone just really wanted to make you never forget that huggin’.

1. The Just Right Hug- (A sigh of relief) These are always so welcomed and satisfying. You’ll know it when it happens, but there’s really no formulating the perfect hug into words.

So HUG it Out this week, and Happy Valentine’s Day! ❤

HUG

TGIF

Well this is embarrassing. I almost missed a Friday post 🙂 but thank God it’s Friday, it’s been quite the eventful week. My post is coming tomorrow, I’m breaking my own rule, don’t think I wasn’t thinking about it all week.

Breathe deep, it’s the weekend. Try something new on your Saturday, and delight in the rest and relaxation that Sunday is sure to shine on you.

Leaves

This is a recent poem that I wrote on one of those nights where I found myself falling awake at 2am. I’d like to hear your interpretations. Writing poetry is pretty much novel to me.

January 23, 2013

Leaves are falling, calling, for change, for life to rearrange, shift, and swift. Please, it’s almost spring, and we cling to the promise of annual renewal, of exercise and bucket list approval.

A leaf with its dead veins, that once were run by pressure, hydrostatic. Pressure, emblematic-of the force to become someone, to careen through curves of restriction and challenge, and to not rest upon the laurels of ones before. It’s this pressure that feeds ambition, yet can be drained by parasites. Tricky parasites are they, sucking the courage we finally had to disobey, sucking our supply of confidence we finally arrayed, and letting us hold on with just enough to stay focused so we can produce, and fight recluse. In that way our exhibition is their requisition, and furthermore, their commission.

So after the benediction that we are given as we fall from the tree of life is finalized, we litter the ground with our wounds. Search for other wounded, others not spoonfed but soon led, to the gates of reality and to the marks of transient fallacy. And although those are opposite, they conduce this plot, this thought-that wind, in all it’s cursory movement, may lengthen its flows to pick up these lows,low lying people, but not lesser than equal. Continue on to the sequel, the second turn around, to burn this ground, covered with carbon, into a grey canvas. A palette of black and white, so that it can absorb all of you and you can reflect all you need. The movement of air around you, inside of you, enlarging you, and an exchanging of gases, in fast passage, reprieving you again that you will fulfill a call to arm yourself with love, to bury yourself in predilection to give, to heed to the call of life on your back and on your body, and run resolutely into the abyss of potential legacy that awaits your seizure.