The Klutzy Song

I finished a song today and being "praise day" or "singing religious songs day" I thought I'd unleash the words to the world.

The Klutzy Song

raised by a people who believed they were strong
taught that security meant I belonged
the price of admission was always too high
the demand that I make something of my life

outwardly failed in so many ways
inwardly struggling to see better days
the people around me can't see past their pain
cry out like drowning to be saved again

why is it they think I'm responsible
that I know what's up and can settled their scores
I'm only human exactly like them
just a jacked up tool in a perfect plan

You, you want me
Lord, you want me
klutzy and needy though I am
you want me

in this quiet place I stand though I know
storms are ahead and there's one way to go
struggles all ahead pain's in the past
I'm not giving up til we meet at last

You, you want me
Lord, you want me
klutzy and needy though I am
you want me.

It’s Messy

Over and over again the message that I have no control over other people’s decisions bats me on the nose. What was perfectionism in me wanted to become the director of my life. I pushed it away. I had to I was working in theater where deadlines trump perfection. But the relentless deadlines did something to me, though they dismantled perfection they also drove me to blindly hurtle through a series of crises without allowing for recovery. This driving was a form of breaking. I no longer had control. My boundaries were violated routinely. So, I said, no more.

Maybe I’m retreading old ground. In my experience every time a path is re-walked it becomes a different one by virtue of the experience gained from the first time. If I can go through this mindfully, without focusing so much on myself, perhaps this struggle will end. What I mean is this life long struggle to know my calling.

I know I’m called.

But I don’t know where.

I harbored envy toward those who seemed to know better what they were doing. Those who seemed to be prospering without the amount of struggle I experience. This envy has been with me for a very long time. I see that now. Its anger has kept me from enjoying people. Intellectually I see this but my emotions are lagging. So I struggle to be around my “successful” friends. I want to be a good friend. My wound gets in the way.

At this point confession is the only remedy.

So yes, I have been a jerk because I wished that my life were easier the way I think yours is. I have been a jerk because I wanted control over things that I have no business controlling. I’ve also been a jerk for hiding my thoughts and feelings, which lead me to mutter things under my breath and maybe say inappropriate things to people you don’t even know.

I didn’t want all of this to come out in the heat of some emotional upheaval. So to exercise the little control I do have I write this. By posting it publicly I know strangers will read this, and they should. Some of my deepest hostilities have been directed toward strangers, innocent people who have no idea why I’m so angry.

I will continue to struggle with this. In the struggle love and empathy are born.

It’s messy.

Save Humanity

The reason people are having issues with wheat now has to do more with environment than heredity. As time goes on however our bodies will change to suit the environment and this tendency then will be hereditary. This may already be happening.  After all it’s the adaptable not the strong who survive.

What changed to make more people wheat intolerant? Oh, I don’t know, could it be GMOs? I mean genetically modified stuff doesn’t look like classic wheat on a molecular level. It also has all the markers of a messed with substance. Like unusual proteins. So some bodies look at that and go ATTACK! 

I wish science would slow down and consider the big picture. That could save humanity.

Intentions Furrow the Brow

Wallowing on beds so greedy
she was lack of mother greedy
children raised the needy greedy

Fine she called now swine she called us
orange we feel now red she’d take us
down the river now who would save us

How intentions furrow the brow now
and attentions are withheld now
to establish greatest need now

Pregnant with wind
give birth to dust
with us
suffer

now

Sloth/Workaholic

As I thought about a creative way to explain how sloth affects our soul a sheet came to mind. Sloth binds awareness making movement difficult. What I mean is that its attitude is, don’t bother me with whatever you have going on I’m comfy here. The full picture is like this:

You are asleep someone wants to wake you up. They call to you. You roll over. They call again. You roll over. They yell they bang pots they set off fire crackers. You continue to roll over. What you didn’t realize was that your sheet, that nice sheet, has now got you tangled up. When you finally do wake up and see, oh I don’t know, the equivalent of a gun in your face. It will be pretty much impossible to move because you are mummy wrapped in this habit of rolling over. That is sloth.

Why are you rolling over? There are many reasons to do this. 

The opposite of sloth is what? Workaholims? I’d argue that workaholics are sloths in another disguise. The distraction of trying to accomplish, keep moving, is rolling over. If you can’t stop and deal with yourself or what's really going on that’s the same thing as never trying in the first place. You also end up dead.

Both ideas, classic sloth and workaholism, leave you kind of hungry. Because really who has time to eat if you’re busy or really asleep?

I’m talking soul level stuff.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” Mat.5:6

Help Me But I Can’t Tell You How

Was it really only two months ago that I left? I feel like more time should go by that I should sleep a whole lot more before embarking on anything again. But by the second week of empty freedom I knew it couldn’t be long before I would try again.

All the good that has ever come from me was not me. My efforts always fell flat. They were less than worthy.

The thing I realize now is that I can’t forget my heritage nor should I. My heritage is to heal, to repair; all that I dream of is refuge and healing. In all my little problems and wanderings I find myself in the role of wise councilor. Had I ever listened to myself, I might know what to do with myself now.

There is music in the back of my head so faint when I listen hard it goes away. It worries me.

For me passion has been hard to define. It was so close to me enveloping me it was the air the earth and I couldn’t name it. It woke me in the dead of night it was suggestive it played with my hair and I couldn’t hear it. It burrowed deep down to the core of my being it fought my decisions and I felt it. No, it is still an unexplainable thing and I call it love.

Love is never what you think it is.

Those boys seem squint faced now. I don’t understand. The day I caught them fighting their eyes had been round. I had seen clearly what had happened but I couldn’t touch the core the secret that hung between them. They refused to talk. My powerful imagination wanted to fill in the blanks to tell the whole story. Maybe, maybe they, but I stopped my conscious self. There’s no way I can know if they won’t talk.

In the night the images and thoughts went round and round. They tried to fill in, to solve, fix, heal the situation but what could I really do? I didn’t have any answer.

The same is true for my friend who was placed under my special care through circumstances I wish had never happened. In my mind I tried the impossible to know what I couldn’t know. Of course I failed. When we are commanded to heal the sick it’s not what you think. We are given power but we cannot possess it. When we are assigned people to love there will be pain. It isn’t our love that is spent just as it isn’t our personal power that heals.

I struggle to let go. Leave the real work where it belongs. To be only the conduit of divine light not the possessor of it. I’m leaky.

I also need the light to be on me. I am wretched without it. Hard and lonely places have been my lot for decades, yeah, I can say that now, decades. I have fought and come out bloody ever time but never really healed. Not completely anyway.

The truth,

The truth is, spiritually I was the one who refuses to quit the one that would die on a battle field but had never learned when to ask for help. That’s what I was, a Loan Ranger. Hah! What was I blind?

I know that I need. I know that I am weak. I still don’t ask enough. I wander from place to place seeing if eyes will meet mine if hands will reach out to lift me up. The reason I can’t ask as much as I should is twofold. First I am out of practice. More importantly though is the words. There are no words when the opportunity comes.

“Help me but I can’t tell you how” is a frustrating message to deliver. I struggle with it. It hurts me that I have a hard time saying out loud what I need, because without this communication I will never heal.