Written from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
What happens when you follow a dream, only to have it plucked from your grasp and torn into shreds? It’s true, you know, that sometimes people miss out on their dreams. Sometimes the heart’s desire isn’t fulfilled. What happens then? What happens to one’s sense of poetic justice in the face of such idealistic collapse? The dreamers aren’t very skilled at recovering from the shock. It’s not in their nature to contend with such ugly truths. A poetic soul is grieved at the loss of beauty inherent in an unrealized dream. The beauty fades, the beauty dies. What is life without beauty?
Can you see the way I’m pining for something more? Can you see how my longing has turned into something all-engrossing, something that won’t be ignored? I’m not sure how to say the things I want to say. The thoughts are big, too elusive for me to catch. But the important thing is to try, to catch the fragments of light that come and put into words what we can. Then we will have a starting point, then we will find a way to build into something more.
Love is always on the tongue. Love is always in the heart. Your senses are clear, clean – like crystal-glass – easy to break, easy to see right through. If GOD had wanted me to be a happy soul, He would have made my heart of sturdier things. But now that He has not – what do I make of that?
The heart so full of longing that it spills over like the sea – a rough-and-tumble CRASH of wave upon wave, onto the shores of a distant land. The horizon never meets the sky – only appears that way. A long-appointed kiss, delayed until the waiting can sustain itself no longer – an explosion of desire on the cusp of the world, the edge of the ocean.
How can we explain such things?
Find me someone who knows the way to peace and I will show you the makings of a perfect man. The sun shines warm on the face of those who keep their heads high, and their humility grounded – mostly because there are too many things to infuriate the people who live life in complicated ways. The simple will prevail.
Star of the sea—
Find me
a place to call my own.
The waves are crashing,
the wind is free—
All I wish to be
is me.
…
What windy days, what burning questions in need of watering down. I can’t find how to bring it all together in a meaningful way.
My GOD is inscrutable to me, I cannot hear His voice. I am lost at sea without a compass to chart my course—no map to guide my ways. How will I contend with reality in the face of such illusion? How will I move in the absence of anything to tell me to “walk this way”? My faith: a little string of kelp caught in the rudders of our ship, dangling and swaying like crazy to be set free.
How am I to persist when I haven’t the faintest clue what is up and what is down? The emptiness of losing the Friend who has your heart inside His own – how can you put the desolation into words? My hand is weak, my mind is numb. Save me from the thoughts that drown.