Hungry Hearts

(It took about 15 minutes to get this down; piecing together some stray thoughts scribbled down in my notebook this past year or hibernating in my memory somewhere. I was hesitant at first to get it out this soon, and I had this apprehension that it might still be too raw and rough-on-the-edges what with very sparse editing done. My stuff usually sits a bit longer at the backburner of my mind or my pc before I get back to it and say to myself "I'm ready to give this part of me away..." But sometimes, those spur-of-the-moment, light-bulb-above-your-head kind of episodes deliver what I consider my favorites. So far this is one of them…)

You drink yourself to numbness;
Smoke yourself to ashes
You hatch your escape with pills;
Flood your veins with delusion
You spend yourself to bankruptcy;
Work yourself to exhaustion

Warped vision from a twisted mind
You imagine with the world, everything’s fine
Money ladder keeping your feet above ground
On a corporate merry-go-round
Your teacher, your mirror is a magazine
Chasing after shadows, chasing the wind

Lonely, won’t you sit beside me;
Pain, aren’t you my friend
Contrition, come be my companion;
Hunger, have your home within me
There’s no need to disguise
Sorrow, you can make me wise

We are broken because they fell
We fell, so we are broken
With wounds wide open,
and scars screaming what we don’t tell
Shame rides the back of souls
Picture-perfect or decrepit, all are bent

Silence all distractions, don’t gaze away
You’re not what you wear
Though you pretend not to care
Don’t be afraid to look inside
In the darkness and the mess you tried to hide
Be still—stay; don’t run away

Lonely, won’t you sit beside me;
Pain, aren’t you my friend
Contrition, come be my companion;
Hunger, have your home within me
There’s no need to disguise
Sorrow, you can make me wise

Shun all the noise, take time to cry
Embrace the solitude and the silence you dread
Gentle arms of mercy you’ll find instead
In this selfish cave we dwell
We’ve been hiding so well
When all we really want is to be found

Sated with the world yet never filled
Now surrender, soak in the real hunger
Let grace slake your thirst
In His love let your soul immerse
When nothing satisfies, don’t go too far
Hold out hungry hearts, that’s who we are

Lonely, won’t you sit beside me;
Pain, aren’t you my friend
Contrition, come be my companion;
Hunger, have your home within me
There’s no need to disguise
Sorrow, you can make me wise

(September 2007)

catch a teardrop

He
catches
my teardrops
in His nail-scarred hand
and rests my weary head
on shoulders that
bore a cross

(07 July 2002)

Seeing Blind

What is the beacon of faith when you can see ahead?
What is the beauty of mystery if there’s nothing hidden?
What is the freedom of truth when the Word is forgotten?
What would you say if you are allowed to scream?
What would you reason out if you can live a dream?
What would you give if you have nothing to lose?

Tossed like a feather,
Going under the weather
No one to comfort, solitary
in the sometime island that is me
I am my own mother
in this crevice by the sea

Mind whirling in confusion
Are all good things but an illusion?
Plot my escape from the daily grind that rushes
my soul; I’ve sat too long in the ashes
Though numbed by worldly noise,
I set to find my voice, to hear the Voice

Ponderous thoughts ceaselessly entering
my mind; can’t take reasons that are paper-thin
Only the truth, I want nothing less
I will keep the child within
It is my ticket to meekness,
to see the show called Kingdom coming

Even with jaded senses,
I grope in the darkness
Let me see the Light
That ignites and sets me ablaze
To burn, to be consumed
And not perish

Assume nothing, question everything
Faith is proof; trust is the ground I stand on
I will not sink in the mire of disbelief
I can go on without seeing
I can move on without looking
I will arrive

What is the beacon of faith when you can see ahead?
What is the beauty of mystery if there is nothing hidden?
What is the freedom of truth when the Word is forgotten?
What would you say if you are allowed to scream?
What would you reason out if you can live a dream?
What would you give if you have nothing to lose?

Presumptuous

You think you know it but you don’t
If I didn’t say it, it probably isn’t
You go about telling people’s futures
but I could never live by conjectures
Where’d you get your psychotherapy?
Can’t penetrate my mind easily
Don’t need to be constantly happy
on the brink of being lonely

You think you know what’s going on
Wanting to ask someone on the phone
Why don’t I just tell it straight
I just hope you wouldn’t faint
(No, it isn’t him; and definitely not a her!)
But why bother?
I could only think of a few
Do you want it to be you?

You think I don’t know what you’re thinking
Waxing sympathetic yet really condescending
I want to wipe off that knowing smile
Get ahead of you by more than a mile
Blow off all your chances
Of nailing these puzzle pieces
They try to shoot me dead on my track
Like I’m the neighbor’s pesky kitty cat

You think you know me but you don't
I like to keep the guessing game going on
You choose what to believe
Though at times I wear my heart on my sleeve
I’m as free as a child
Now and then I like to run and hide—
Hide so I won’t be found
The entire world is my playground

(17 December 2006)

Promised and Broken

I was promising, a precious promise;
Now I am simply a broken promise—
A promise not kept…
Will they say that Adonai broke His vow?
For the things they do “for Him”,
The deeds they do “in His name”,
will He not pay His “debt”?
Light of truth dispelling
the deep darkness of slumber,
It rouses me and I awaken—

So this is all that it came to be,
Living the dreams that my Maker dreamed for me;
It has come—sooner than later; a time when
Hearts and not just vows will be broken
For the promises they promised themselves,
For the dream that is about themselves
To be lofty and crowned with fame
Isn’t this anything but a game?
My eyes refused to be transfixed on what it can gain;
For my path must lead only to the glory of His name.

Though I was nursed in their bosom,
And nurtured in their womb,
I am not theirs.
If I could forfeit my life for them
to have theirs, why wouldn’t I?
But I am not my own, I was bought at a price;
I was ransomed with the most precious life.
I am not the captain of my soul;
Rather, I am the captive of Him
who has freed and gave me all.

Paralyzed, it seems I can’t move on,
Yet neither can I go back—I’m too far gone.
I’m kindled, I’m stoked
Let not the flames into embers be silenced
Instead, I have become a warrior
against despair and hatred;
A true lover, a blazing arrow in His quiver
A name etched in my stone forever
I, riveted and smitten
For Him, now I am truly broken.

(28 April 2006)

40 days and 11 months

Striving, spending life,
Precious breath squandered to sow strife
“Let my way prevail
Don’t mind the children, let them wail”
Pulse pounding, chasing a wind
To push their sails, make them supreme
Dragging, sinking unaware
In a mire of pain the world can’t bear
Trembling mountains, raging waters
Dying forests, sweeping tempests
While they hail there own powers
Each one wanting to make conquests

You are free, your freedom fully paid
Negotiated, dealt with in His cross
Peace talks, peace is silenced
To say how long, how loud
Must blind eyes stare and mute voices shout
Until deadened hearts awaken
And wave white flags toward heaven
Crying “here Holy One, look where You have trodden
Pour out the balm of Your comfort
The tonic of Your mercy
And once more, heal the encompassing air
Whose breath all the peoples share”

(25 April 2006)

Screenplay*

There is nothing wrong with me.

Though I sense people around me think so, aloud and in my face or quietly behind my back. I feel God beside me—leading me, holding me, accepting me…I’m at peace.

All the circumstances that He authored or that He permitted to be written in my life, I see as punctuations and exclamations interwoven in the script of the current act of my life—a play in the theater that is the world. And God is the Scriptwriter, Director, and Producer. He is also the special Audience whose approval I covet above all. The rest of the audience I also love in varying degrees. I would appreciate any approval or applause but if their “bravos” and “hurrahs” would drown my Playwright’s still small voice, the world’s cheers would ring hollow anyway and the entire point of being in a play and up a stage would become meaningless.

Who knows the Scriptwriter is also speaking specifically to some of the spectators, including my kinsmen, friends, colleagues, strangers. After all, He took part in the play in that mystery and miracle called 'reincarnation'. He entered into the lives of His actors as the Hero who rescues His people from tyranny and oppression of the enemy.

The script composed in His own hands, never fails to point out that the obscure tale narrated in this play, which is my life, is actually just a subplot (subsumed) in the unfolding magnificence of the main story—His story—the real grand theme of history, the thread that weaves together the fabric of all events, both great and little known.

The script is handed to me—the actor, one page at a time, and occasionally, one line at a time. From my limited perspective, the script sometimes baffles me, upsets, and riles me. There are instances when it stumps me why I delivered a line or rendered a scene in a manner befitting a lifetime’s worth of remorse and disappointment. But then every act and scene, every line and dialogue is subject to the Author's proofreading; I know that Adonai can write forgiveness, redemption, and grace in the following scene, act, or play. Perhaps the editing will be today, tomorrow, a few days or years from now…for I have been assured of the last act and the triumphant ending of the Story.

*(written 26 August 2006 as part of a 3-minute intuitive exercise in a writing workshop)