Be anxious for nothing...

And Paul said, "Be anxious for nothing....", an unassuming but powerful message, or perhaps latent order for us to live peacefully. As I try to absorb the intention of his four simple words, I pause in disbelief of my current journey....a stark and defining contrast to the multitude of prior years, moments and minutes that were shared in union, a permanence of souls somehow now departed...like a ghost in the breeze before my steps...

Time for a walk...a journey through the wilderness, striving with each step as much to find myself, as to lose myself, with the One that created all of my madness to begin with... 

In my humbled state, I stumble upon an abandoned shelter, seemingly emptied of its contents, warmth and purpose, exposed to the moon light, the darkness... and the sun in equal and absolute measure. The wooden door slightly ajar, I step forward in mild wonderment...

Only a cold anvil sits alone in the center of the room, some archaic metallic tools lay nearby...
A dim light from a nearly extinguished and weary torch draws its own conclusions as to the presence of my steps herein... Alas, there is still light, I whisper nervously to myself, looking down I counter this positive thought with my truest belief as if I was ever meant for much more than failure or loss...or to be alone in this lifetime... I shrug both moments off my frame and reach for its cold dark surface.... the anvil resonates with my soul, its dense purposeful anchoring provides me reassured strength in these moments...

I unsheathe my mind from its weighted and worn scabbard....and pray in silence.
Thoughts flutter through the air surrounding my breath...I see her face and a tear masks my sight.

As I scour back through the tangled entrapment of thoughts, memories, and final moments in her presence, I am left wanting...

Left trying to understand why again I am lost and alone, why again I am away from the only love, the only heart, the only soul that has ever moved or known me completely...

I can only surmise that it is time for me to pickup the tools and sharpen my iron...
To release the lies, the deceit, the fear, the nervousness, the anger and the pain....
To be more in this lifetime that I have allowed myself to become...
To rely on His path as my own, to find the elusive way of peace so that I can truly love others...

To quiet the belief that I need to please, that I need to be anxious, that I need to worry, to wonder, to live in fear of loss and despair....that anything is ever lacking.

As I open my eyes to the reality of my loneliness, I feel her spirit in my heart.
I smile inwardly as the final words of my prayer roll from my lips...

Be anxious for nothing.....

Be ready for anything.
Be grateful for everything.
Be humble before God...

Just be.

Moments Between....

I sit bewildered and dismayed at the course of my life, the unsettling weight of loss and tragedy upon my heart. I reach out my hands into the darkness and feel nothing, the outlines of her body, her soul and her spirit departed in kind from my presence. I long for her sounds to fill the echos and waves around my mind, to sort through the filters of the world to find her resonance, her inflections, her unique and heart-warming voice....

Andrew...

My name will never be spoken in the same tone, the same method, the same perfection...

I allow my head to fall, releasing the weight of moments that have transpired before me in recent days. My hands and heart are saturated, soaked in the uncommon blood of circumstance and the waters of my tears, which have been left flowing from the pools of anguish and departure...

My mind races back to the specificity of my words, my actions, my deeds in every single instance of our last moments... The scenes play out in technicolor reality upon the surface on my soul, the performance playing in infinite loop, wrapping around me with its tangible reels, snapping constantly and consistently against my weakened frame...

I still see her face, her smile, her eyes, her hair, the perfect contours of her body and the refuge of her voice.... I feel her presence before me, within me --- even when the air between us has known no greater silence...


All of these brash, vile and caustic comments cut vividly across my heart, my soul in those moments... like a fresh blade in a drug addict's unsteady hand, the trauma was lucent, was in full display... for I was drenched in the blood of our demise, soaked from the anguish, stained from the riveting violence that I had just unleashed...

Bleeding out...

To bleed is to both purge and perish, equal parts anguish & admonishment. I stood steadfast and unwavering in the chilled rain, weeping blood down my side in the darkened night air. The pathways around my immediate stance all leading down to the center of the concrete parking lot into the metallic grated abyss. Down, down, down we go into the bowels of hell I supposed. Figuring in that moment, the irony swirled around the conflicts waging around my head. Undulating between wearing crown and thorns, I am both hated and revered. This has not changed for a lifetime. Undaunted, I dare not attempt to locate the source of my dribble, my bloodshed. It all seems so routine by now, so expected, so deserved. My walk has never been about glory for its own sake, happiness for its own gain, or believing that the light of the day will lead me home. Blood lost on so many countless souls unable or unwilling to stand beside me when the darkness falls. Intentions, interest, intrigue and intimacy are insufficient. I am far too damaged, too flawed, too disjointed. The murmuring of my tainted path, my journey, piques curiosity, pity even consolation. But not love.

Love has evaded me, perhaps for my own skill in its mishandling. Perhaps for my deeds done in the name of love, the auspices of its shroud, the sanctity of its masquerade. I have never witnessed the mercy of its presence when I stand bleeding. At times from my own hand, from my own words. Other times, just an inconvenient truth that I was not going to be valiant enough to rescue their souls...from both themselves, their own choices and to provide them with better moments. I am easy to give up on and place back upon the shelf in the antique village, no one else the wiser. Means to an end at best for most....At my worst, a soul to bide the minutes with a faded glory scarred and weary athletic frame and at my best, a thought provoking, wise enigma of sorts a bit too whimsical, too angular for anything more a passing friend. Bleeding, I am left alone to relish in the scent of my own demise.

The walkways enlighten with the crimson current and I smile, both from intangible blood loss, and my own sickened belief that maybe this is my penance once again. I care less to terminate its flow as the passing minutes tick onward. I am prepared for my judgment, my day of resolve and reckoning. I have loved, and attempted to have been loved by others in this lifetime, at least as much I can comprehend the concept. I have both drawn blades of steel and cloths of comfort to those who were bleeding before me. It is bewildering dichotomy to live with such memories of my steps, the grounds in which I have traversed.

I feel weary and weak, succumbing to the fervent reality that my choice is clear. Heal yourself, so you can love yourself and others or continue to bleed out and perish in my own recklessness. In my weakened state, I muster my voice and plead out to God, perhaps undeservedly, as other believers have for centuries..... Heal me Father.....if it is Your will.

Heal my walk....

For now, I continue to bleed...

Out.
of.
Time?

Not.
Out
of.
Faith.

I am weary...

Say Something

As I peer back through the layers of memories, moments and madness that has encircled the steps of my life over the last 3 years, I pause. The soft music plays gently behind me and immediately it captivates me, hynoptically and without remorse. The words echo, "Say Something..... I am giving up on you....I am sorry I couldn't get to you." I hear different voices signing the same lyric, all now departed ---- lost in time. My mind races in reverse, in pure technicolor magic. I see myself, my dreams, love and life scattered across a field of uncut grass and a maniacally displaced harvest. I cannot connect myself to the steps once taken, the path once so obviously carved, the stones that I crossed to reach where I stand today. Like a waterfall that no longer flows with life, I remain in silence, love removed from the source, no longer foolishly fed by those afraid of the rapids that my journey offers. I pan slowly back to the present, silence the melodic dogma and accept the moment of realization that my choices were not in vain, and I never requested their presence nor their approval of my worthiness. If they gave up on me because I could no longer enrich their lives with a smile, neither a promise of eternal security in this lifetime then I pity their discord and their shallowness.

I smile softly. For the first time in years, I bask in the wonderment of what the future and my choices hold.

Say Something. I will not give up on me...

Stillness & Silence...

When darkness appears, the still solitude void of thought brings inference.
The metallic click of the obedient second hand languishes with a profound hesitancy.
Every minutia of sound and echo is magnified within our placid & reflective state.
The bustling radiance of the day is reduced to a mild whisper beyond the arid field of thought.
Stillness magnified by its own summoning to the forefront of the stage, bows gracefully but remains unaware.

Reaching across the bed frame, outstretched hands instinctively map out the nearby terrain.
Boulders of formed cotton stitched precisely into delicate patterns cloud the nape of the bed.
Empty pockets of solitude trap my emotions and besiege the delicacy of my idle existence.
Gone is my soul mate, her warmth and her gracefully steady hands and angelic outline.
Her physical body departed, her loving spirit ever present in this place.

Dream softly, my love.

Dream Softly....

A little light reading before my nightly prayers at bedside.
Good night. Dream softly.

Sitting here in the Darkness...

Pushing back the cloaks of heavy laden dreams with eyes too swollen to close, I sit, pray and think of what a transforming and hellish week it has been. My body is still conforming to a week without sleep nor nourishment. I physically am still battling for my vigor, but my heart is healing. God has truly touched my heart, my soul and my existence in this time. I had lost track of feeling His presence, His strength, His perfection. Being beaten and shaken by every fiber of my roots has transformed me completely.

I cannot shake the moments where I allowed the devil to infiltrate, steal and destroy. I wept tears of sorrow but that same vessel that once contained and overflowed with my despair will know joy in equal measure, in this lifetime. I trust a faithful God will deliver on His promise. I am living in peace, with no more distractions, mistrust or torn moments between relationships or commitments. I have finally broken my shackles, my weights, my regrets, and fear of the past and live completely content in the moment and what the present with God has to offer. I have come clean and been purified by trusting and obeying His word that the truth would set me free...and it has.

God has provided me a renewed heart, a changed spirit, a softened tongue. I consider every single second of time, calculate every individual muttering with precise knowledge of its weight and measure. I no longer believe that anything but the essence of love and God's promise is permanent. Moments are vital for in them we must recognize that we are the purveyors. We decide if the good or evil wolf will be fed. We decide the fate of our lives in each breath, in each tear, in each word we summon forth from our ravished hearts and scarred human experiences.

I see through His eyes and recognize the gift. The gift of each second, every sliver of time. For how we value every precious one of these units reveals and reflects how we value our relationship with God. I now see people with compassion, understanding, kindness, patience and the understanding that I did not embody Him in my actions, words and deeds.

I fall to my knees each morning and every evening and have already made this a daily habit. I pray asking for His strength, and I praise Him for another day of life before bed with words of love, faith and hope on my lips. I cannot yet dream softly and I may never know such a perfect restful sleep without my soul mate, but I still feel her presence, embrace and tender heart, even from a distance.

May God forgive me and continue to use me for good.
May He heal her heart, her injured spirit and remind her of His promise and restore her peace, happiness and salvation.
I lift her up with praise on my lips and a longing but thankful joy in my soul. God will honor our faithfulness, our obidience, our trust, and our unyielding faith.

Believe that you can still live in love.
Until my final dying breath.
On my word, before God.