a poem that contains the whole of life

He said, "Write what you know."

It felt like a lofty but limiting thing as I humbly admitted that I didn't know much.  He just laughed and said that he never heard words more false.  That is where he left me.

I went home that night and sat at my desk and I realized I wanted to write the world.  I had words to fill the deep vast and vacant spaces within my heart and I bore a heavy sadness, which I now realize, at least for me, is the greatest inspiration.  And so I thought about all of the things that weighed heavy and the sadness that threatened the spaces of creativity that were beginning to come alight and alive.  As I considered it more, it wasn't so much sadness that was pervading my thoughts and feelings and overall demeanor, but rather worry.

It was then that I decided to list all of the things I was worried about.  The list came up rather short and contained a few people and a few unknowns.  I wanted to call them and have them assure me everything was okay, but what was really the good in that?  Would that really relieve the worry within me?  It was more cathartic to crumple the list and toss it in the trash.  I prayed.  I asked God to give them peace and hope.  I prayed that I too could experience only a peace that comes from Him.

He answered my prayer because it was then that I began to think a bit more clearly and the words that were bubbling up were not tainted by worry and sadness.  Now, I do think great words can come from worry and sadness, but that isn't the place where my words were coming from and I feared that if I wrote what I knew, it would never be honest and true if I were to write from a place of worry.

Then I began to type.  I wrote words that felt sincere and unforced.   They flowed freely for hours upon hours. As I began to run dry, I remembered something he had said to me earlier that night, so I began to write an email to him.  Subject line: "Write What You Know".  I started with a single line, "This is what I know..."  and then proceeded to copy and past what I had written that night.  With no hesitations I sent the email and climbed into bed.  Sleep came fast and easy.  The writing had brought such profound release that I was able to let go of the day and resign myself to a dream I may or may not remember.

The next morning I expected a reply.  Surely he would be waiting for my email.  Surely he would have read it by now.

Nothing.

Days later, nothing.

Weeks and months passed.  Nothing.

I could not forget that I shared with him the truest words I had ever written.

Did they require comment or reply?  I suppose not.  The point was to put them "out there", to follow the challenge he set forth, to not only write what I know, but to share it. For some reason, in that season of my life, it had only felt right to leave my truest words in his hands.  And that is where they remain.

After such an outpouring of truth, it seemed for a time that words, sincere and true eluded me.  What I wrote from then on felt to be a bit forced, lacking in the originality of an honest look at life and the world around me.  I didn't know what to write anymore.  And so I let it be.  I still would write, even when it felt so undesirable and uninspired.  I did not give up on the effort.

Before the new year began, I went through the usual pains to clean and organize my little nest.  I wanted to rid the clutter that had accumulated in 2015.  I went through a desk drawer stuffed with old mail, letters and magazines, dumped it all on my bedroom floor and sat in the midst of it.  As I worked my way through what to keep and what to trash I came across a note from him.  It was a crumpled post-it, one in which he wrote on when we shared a cup of coffee together. I probably had the thing in my possession since June or July.  On it was scribbled something I couldn't quite make out, damaged by a splash of coffee, but then followed these words: "there is no specific time in your life in which things are supposed to happen."  I could only vaguely remember the context of our conversation, but I was certainly remembered why he had written these words down. He wanted me to have them so that I could carry them with me, and hold them in my hands when I needed the reminder.  The funny thing was, they didn't mean much to me at the time.  They felt like words intended to placate the disastrous direction my emotions were headed, and to be honest I felt offended.  But what useful words these suddenly were.  In emotional upheavals words like these hold little value or meaning, but on days of clarity they suddenly make so much sense. 

I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor surrounded by paper, cards, letters, trash and keepsakes and I felt a burden lift.  I resolved to keep everything.  I gathered it all up and placed it back in its proper drawer in a slightly more organize fashion and then I texted him.

What do I write when I feel uninspired and have no distinct direction?

I didn't expect a reply.  I just wanted to send the words out into the universe hoping for some kind of answer, tangible or not.

My phone buzzed.
He had replied within the minute.
I held my breath as I read his text: write a poem that contains the whole of life.
I sighed, displeased.

He replied again.
I gathered myself up, trying to eliminate any sense of profound expectation before I read his next text.  Exhaling as I read: the world is awake, pulsating and pounding, thumping and throbbing with the thrill of life. just write what the world offers you.

And that was all.  And that was enough.

The night is alive

briefly aglow with 

the candle of hope.

The moon-beholders and 

the star-gazers; they

find their buoyancy 

in vast and scattered landscapes 

of speckled black and white.

This is the thrill of life:

A vast expanse of natural beauty

and the eyes and heart awake enough to see it. 

I keep this poem of sorts posted behind a clutter of notes and news clippings above my desk. 

It is not worthy of anything more than a simple reminder that for me it contains the whole of life. 

on feelings and intentionality.

an old gem compiled from words and pictures from glamour magazine

the term feeling has a myriad of different definitions. they are as follows: an emotional state; a belief, especially a vague or irrational one; the capacity to experience the sense of touch; a sensitivity or intuitive understanding of...

i find the idea of a feeling being a vague or irrational belief to be the most fascinating classification of the word.

feelings are a mystery to me at times.  where they come from, how they come and go, the way in which they elude and often haunt...they are intriguing little devils.

i've written before about my inclination towards feelings and how they often dictate much of my person.  according to they myers-brigg inventory i am a 100% feeler.  feelings tend to rule my being.

because of that it often feels as if i am on an eternal mission to capture good feelings.  i know where they come from. good, pure, joyous, peaceful feelings are a result of time in nature, of puppy cuddles, of sweet intimate time with someone i care about.  these sorts of feelings are also the result of reading a good book, or watching a beautiful film or being near the ocean.  they are the result of a run or any form of endorphin inducing exercise.  they come about after a massage or really good rest and relaxation especially when it is much overdue.  good, pure, peace-giving and joy-filled feelings are also the result of someone's care and compassion, someone's kind words, or someone simply taking notice.

the problem with feelings is that they are fleeting.  and it is often the ones that hurt us, that cause us sadness, despair and loneliness that we tend to dwell on.  not everybody is dictated by their feelings, but i think that many are whether they realize it or not.  it is hard when all the feelings that one can seem to capture are those that are of a darker nature, no matter how vague or irrational they may be.

when i was 18 i wrote out a to-do list for my life.
it was highly idealistic.
i dreamed of so many things...graduating from college, going to graduate school, getting a tattoo, having a place of my own, writing a book, getting married, traveling to another country...and i felt, in my heart, that they were all possible.

at 18 i wasn't bogged down by the feelings associated with adulthood...i was a youth that still had so much faith and hope in this world and in my life and what it could be.  things such as finances, the hard work of university life and post grad academics, the permanency of ink on one's skin, the promise to another human being of forever no matter what, the discipline of writing, the cost and need for a good partner when traveling abroad, the fear of living in a terror ridden world, all of those things, they didn't factor into my decision making and my feelings.  at 18 i just didn't understand it all.

it was a beautiful ignorance in many ways.

but now feelings seem to dictate all of these desires, choices, hopes and plans.  sometimes feelings become the battle just to get through the day to day.  i've noticed i've classified almost everything in my life according to my feelings about them rather than the truth of their realities.  and wow, it is such a very skewed perspective.  i cannot count all of the times in the last six months when i've muttered to myself, "i don't feel like it." 

but sometimes, when i pray,  when i really lean on the Lord for strength and understanding,  i have the courage to stand up and declare, "to hell with the feelings", and i do it anyway.  and often what results is magic.

but when i let the feelings dictate my existence, i find, day after day, month after month, i am no better off than i was at the start.

feelings are unruly and while the pursuit of good ones is certainly worthwhile, the banishment of the bad ones isn't necessarily so.  for, in some way they all serve their purpose.  i suppose the question that plagues me is whether i will continue to let my feelings...whatever they are, be the ruler of my existence, the determiner of my joy, the overwhelming factor in my decision making?  it hasn't worked out all that well for me, necessarily.

so i began to wonder how do i tame the little devils and instead choose to walk in trust and joy, no matter what? 

i don't know if it means working to the root and instigators of all of these feelings that so easily overwhelm and entangle me in their mess. 

because my feelings inform so much of who i am and so much of what i do, i think it necessary to go back to doing the hard work of figuring out my feelings and the thoughts and words and day to day events that act as their instigators.  it is something that is easy to suppress and just get by managing them and numbing them in the day to day.  but that is no way to live.  it is definitely no way to grow.

so, in 2016, i am committing to the work of feeling.  to the effort of thinking to get back to the root of the feelings.  in 2016, while it is still new, i want to be committed to the idea of being kinder to myself and speaking truth over my life.  in the same way, i would want to be kind and speak truth over others, i want to be intentional in doing with myself.  it is a feat that requires the utmost focus.  it demands the necessity of daily time for reflection, which means not turning to those things which make me shut down or off, but instead chasing after that which calls for an honest inward look.  that is, accountability, nature, and time in the Word and prayer...things that i must also be intentional about to see truly happen on a daily basis. 

my self-worth is such a fickle little indicator of my true being.  so much can strip or give me value in my inner being.