I try restraining it, but to try without will is, I’m coming to realize, ineffective
My efforts are unsuccessful, and I end my pursuit to command things
Things I’m not meant to control
It’s done; I let go, and regret what I’ve already tried to do
I cry and pray and wonder
Why do I crave power that isn’t mine, so that I relinquish power that is?
What gives us power? Who gives us our own power back?
I’m shaking and falling and losing myself on top of this creature.
Understanding flashes in front of my eyes and I realize its truth.
I need to submit. If I submit, I’ll be free.
Revelation. I’ve read the line before, but it finally means something.
Tonight I feel like I finally understood a little bit.
Now I am sleepless, but it feels better.
I choose not to sleep, not because sleep won’t come to me, but because I refuse to come to it. We’ll find each other eventually.
I refuse to allow it that unbridled control it has exercised over the weakest of us.
Why sleep when I feel rested and impelled to do more important things?
I choose to be sleepless. That is, only for tonight. I won’t become a fool who denies his body what it needs forever. I am not a rebel.
Sometimes, and only sometimes, one side takes precedence, and gives life back the other. At least I hope it will. I suppose I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow.
He expected her to be on time and she expected him to understand when she showed up late. By understand, she meant accept her lateness without showing her the slightest trace of annoyance. But while he tried to understand the reasons she was late, he could never accept what he saw as such blatant disrespect. He didn’t feel it would be truthful or fair to her to act as if nothing was the matter. He knew however if he expressed displeasure at the lateness, she would become disappointed and angry with him. He did not wish this, because overall he liked her and wanted to please her. The unfairness of this circumstance and his own powerlessness to do anything about it would give rise to a burning fire in his gut, a species of rage that frightened both of them, as soon as the clock read 5pm when they were supposed to meet and he could not see her car in the distance. When she arrived half an hour later and found him in this condition, she would then retaliate with a stinging retort exposing one of his shortcomings, infuriating him even more. There would be an awkward silence and then they would begin the tutoring session.
Little blue boxes piled up one on the other: that is what she sees. And in each box are orange fires that whisper and cling saying don’t let me out don’t let me out. Pyramids of boxes are born out of boxes: one box stepped on another boxes hand, one saw toes coming toward it and shivered inside itself. The one seeing doesn’t utter a word, but the alphabet lingers around her corners, pinching them to make them right. At some point everyone stopped moving, except the fires in their hearts, bent heads of waiting flames. So patient you wouldn’t think they could be any other way. But it’s painful, this perpetual entrance, painful that you see it as the darkness, that you believe in lifeless fires that can burn like a photograph.
Inspired by the collaborative approach of “The Nature of Us,” a group that was gathered in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan last week underwent a collective writing process after studying an important message. A sentence inspired by the study was written on a piece of paper, and handed to someone to write a second sentence in response. The paper was then folded down to cover the first sentence, and handed to another friend to respond to the last sentence written, after which they folded the paper over the previous sentence for someone else to write a sentence in response to their own. This continued until 17 individuals had anonomously each contributed a line.
No one knew the original sentence or could see the whole poem until the paper was finally unfolded and read aloud at the end of the night. The final product illustrates the collective unity of thought of the group that allowed for a coherent poem to be written as many threads came together.
We are part of a process that is fundamentally organic in nature.
Because nature, after all, is the mother of all organic growth, right?
And nature is the counterpart of spiritual realities.
However, one does not ever know his path in life.
In life, our life, one life, all life, ever
Look forward, go forward, be forward, forever.
It’s a good vantage point to look back and see how far you’ve come
While also having a vision of the future.
Okay, I’ve got something to share, but I don’t know if it’s any good. I don’t want to say too much about it; just want to explain a bit about what I was trying to do with it. Not sure I got the point across adequately. It’s not really finished, but hopefully you’ll kind of get the basic idea. I wrote this, like, really really fast. I was at Starbucks on Wednesday and I sat myself down and literally wrote it in, like, one and a half hours. So, it’s gonna be really rough in parts, and there are a few sections that don’t quite work, so I’ll have to work on it some more obviously. Just ask me if you have any questions about it after.
Her eyes are piercing, but warm.
They connect to mine in an instant, and she sees past their cloudy guard
Hers aren’t eyes that can inspire worry or hurt, no.
They are warm
Like keys they unlock
They sense and perceive
Though weeping themselves, she smiles
Her unyielding token of faith