Intoxicated by your smile
Enraptured by your sultry glance
Immune to my advance
It drives me wild
I touch you, and run my hands down your side
Up and down, back and forth,
You are a stunning bride
With your long legs and veluptuous thighs
I am alive, just holding you
Holding me, I can see
Why the stars dance and comets prance
And you are good
The tilt of your walk
The stutter of your talk
The scar on your breast
Unearth the death and unrest you’ve been subject to
In all your flaws and idiosyncrisies
I can’t help but see
That you are . . . perfect
It’s funny. I’ve never really done poetry, but I’ve dabbled with it here and there – as a means of catharsis when I’m feeling ultra-nutty. This is probably the worst poem I’ve ever written though . . . but I give myself grace for its inherent imperfection, because it was an experiment.
My friend Ken (who graciously set up my stay at LivingStone Monastery this weekend) suggested that I actually try to write some poetry outside of being in an overly-emotional state. Now, I’m a firm believer that the best art (at least to me) is birthed from raw pain, and that deep place that none of us ever likes to go to. The “dark night of the soul” has been the muse for some of the greatest art ever created.
But there’s something to be said for letting art come from other places. So I’m practicing that, and seeing where it takes me. Beauty can be found all over.
But getting back to this idea of perfection . . . I’ve been thinking a lot about that recently. Mostly after buying Santiago. See, I wanted him to be nice and shiny for all time. Now, logically, I know that’s ridiculous. But I think there’s something lodged deep within our souls that longs for perfection. And it’s a good thing. It’s a God thing, I think.
About 2-3 weeks after buying Santiago, I noticed a small scratch on the front driver’s side panel. Literally, my heart sank. It was all I could think about for 2 days. My new car. My BRAND NEW car had been marred. And it was a teeny, tine scratch. Practically imperceptible. I was showing Jonathan the scratch the other day, and he could barely make it out even as I pointed directly to it. But *I* noticed it. It was . . . imperfect. And You may think I’m joking, but I seriously was depressed about this every time I thought about it.
It was a very spiritual thing, I think. It was exposing my need to hold onto perfection. In essence, I think it’s a soul-cry for God. A cry for things to be better – to not have to die and decay. It’s an echo of Eden reverberating in my bones. I think it’s beautiful really. It drives me to want Him so much.
It also drives me to seek for and construct this Kingdom of God. This is a concept I’m REALLY starting to finally understand. It hit me today as I was listening to Matthew preach on this radical “way” that Jesus taught. My internal shout was “holy SHIT! I’m starting to see this!” I mean, this is REAL. Whoa.
It hit me all last weekend in my time at the monastery, as I was finally able to get a chance to read through “The Secret Message of Jesus”. It’s not a groundbreaking book by any stretch. It doesn’t speak of anything “new”. But it just puts the Kingdom in such conceivable, functional terms, that I see this string of perfection and returning to Eden laced all throughout Jesus’ words.
And it hit me as I reflected on my life, and the things I’ve been facing. This second time down at LivingStone was quite different. I had peace. A peace that I was on the right track with Jesus, and that I was seeing how this Kingdom was being enacted in my own life, and changing me. And despite the fact that I have no fuckin’ clue where I’m going, or how to get where I need to be, I have this AMAZING peace about the presence of Christ in my life, and this ever-clearer picture of what this Kingdom of change and restoration and acceptance and reconciliation is all about. It’s . . . beautiful.
What a great way to celebrate Easter. To remember what this death was all about. To remember that this beautiful disaster of a crucifixion is about hope for a better reality – here and now. Praise God.
And praise Him for answering prayers. About this time last year, I was feeling desperate for a discipler or mentor of some sort. And here I am a year later, and I have several. Ken is definitely one of those guys. Thank you so much for speaking with me for THREE freakin hours! I know you’re a super busy guy, but I am indebted to you for giving me some perspective on life.
Anywho . . . I hope you’re all out there living and prospering. And if not . . . what the hell are you waiting for?
P.S. Shout out to John for hosting me this weekend at LivingStone. Thanks, dude! I was hoping to get more time to talk to you . . . but I guess I’ll just have to come back again for that