a city

And then I looked…

And I saw a cube…

Clear as glass, transparent as crystal,

pearls and jasper and onyx

And they sparkled but not in the sunlight

[because there is no sun]

But in the glory

and the bright might have hurt my eyes

[but it didn’t]

And there was no more curtain

[it’s torn in two]

And there was no more division

[for the former things have passed away]

And there was no more sacrifice

[behold the Lamb looking as though it had been slain]

Immanuel is there

His name is what He does

God dwells with us

here comes the bride

They say the wedding day is the bride’s day.  They say that she is the queen, the head honcho.  And to be honest, they are probably right.  Have you ever seen a wedding magazine marketed to the groom?  “How to lose your beer belly in time for the big day!”  It’s just not the typical wedding magazine headline. 

So, we’ll let the bride have this day.  But when she walks down the aisle, watch the groom.  Watch the man about to pledge his life and love to this woman walking toward him.  Then tell me it’s not his day too.

set before the king

I was in the garden, minding my own business, hanging out the clothes to dry on the washline.  I could hear the king and queen squabbling.  They squabbled better than they ever ruled.  If Their Majesties spent half as much governing as they did fighting, the kingdom would have been the most fortunate of all kingdoms.  But, no.  The just kept fighting.

I stood there, listening to them jabber on as usual.  He was screaming about money, she was screeching about something she ate.

“Oh, give it a rest,” I muttered. 

That’s when that great ugly bird bit my nose.

fire hydrant

The sun beat down in unrelenting heat, scorching my nose and the tops of my shoulders.  The ache in my throat burned from lack of fluid.  My tongue started sticking to the roof of my mouth.

I looked down at the asphalt under my feet.  There was a small stream of water trickling on the ground.  I followed it to its source.  A red fire hydrant, burst open, spraying water everywhere.  I dropped to the ground and opened my mouth wide.  My head snapped back from the impact.

When you’re drinking from a fire hydrant, sometimes you miss some water.   

struggle

“Just one among many, you're drowned out by the thousand who have taken siege of this house.”

The darkness speaks so loud sometimes.  A writhing, seething mass of pains and hurts and fears.  Some  crash their way in, splintering the doorway.  Some slink in, snaking their way through hallways and rooms.  Some merely walk in, brash and confident.  And they just stay and stay and stay.  And they speak so loud and bold.

It’s my house.  I can’t make them leave.

“Help,” I whisper, plead, beg. 

And the drowned One rises, no longer dead, and the darkness flees.  Gone forever.

variable

They aren’t good enough.  The words just aren’t good enough to express the feelings that threaten to overwhelm me. 

Sometimes, I’m getting dragged into sludge and fear and black.  Feeling about to split apart from belly-aching terror or loneliness.  And a snake coils itself around my heart and squeezes and crushes and kills.

And the words aren’t good enough.

Sometimes, I’m soaring high above the clouds and into the sunlight.  Feeling full up with an orchestra playing excitement and joy and love.  And an explosion of fireworks fill the night sky with color.

And the words still aren’t good enough.

sawing logs

They say that not getting sleep leads to all kinds of problems.  That it causes your body to hold on to fat because of a spike in cortisol.  That it leads to decreased cognitive function.  That it weakens your immune system.  That it can increase stress because the body isn’t able to repair itself and the brain isn’t able to process data.

they say they say they say

But sleep just takes up so much time!  Time that could be used for other better things.  Time that wouldn’t be wasted or used up.

Can’t I just sleep when I’m dead?

Synesthesia

Synesthesia (n):  a sensation produced in one modality when a stimulus is applied to another modality.

The dictionary definition is boring, clinical, dry, uninspiring. 

But the experience.  Oh the experience is unlike any other.  The sharp metallic sound of blue.  The anger of the number seven.  The sweet taste of Thursday.  The amber hue of certain notes when played by cellos.  The gentlemanly nature of the letter V.  The color of a barking dog.

It’s almost like breaking the fourth wall.  A shattering of the perceived universal reality becoming my own special understanding.

Maybe in heaven, we’ll all be synesthetic.  

food rainbow stories

Once upon a time (because all good stories start like that) there was a little girl.  And she loved chocolate.  She dreamt in chocolate rainbows.  She basked in chocolate sunshine.  She sang chocolate songs.   She didn’t eat anything except chocolate.

One day, she tasted broccoli.  And she loved it.  And now she dreams in chocolate broccoli rainbows, which is just a little strange if you think about it.

The End (because all good stories end like that). 

Wait.  You thought this story was going to make sense?  Just because it’s a good story doesn’t mean it has to make sense.  

When I grow up

When I grow up, I’m going to be a princess.

When I grow up, I’m going to be an airplane.

When I grow up, I’m going to be a ballerina.

When I grow up, I’m going to be a Jedi.

and then we grow up. and we’re not what our children-selves thought we would be. 

and we’re short-term claims adjusters and administrative assistants and quality assurance technicians.

we’re chest-deep in debt and lost and confused and kind of a little scared.

And I think we still want to be princesses and airplanes.  Because who ever heard of a scared airplane?

culmination

It’s not goodbye.  I promise it’s not goodbye.  It’s not the end.  The show is over but it’s not the end.  It can’t be.

I like you too much to lose you to time and space.  I know how these things work.  “Call me!  We’ll set something up.”

But then life intervenes.  And other stories start and our feet start to travel along other paths.  Good paths but different.

I’m not ready to say goodbye.  I’m not ready to see the lights go out.  I’m not ready for the slow fade of our friendship.

Please.  The show must go on?

ad lib

Remember that time when you were in the spotlight?  When the audience was shrouded in dark and the light was hot and bright on you?  And the lines that you had memorized for months, the ones you were always reciting in the shower and on your way to the grocery store and as you fell asleep, flew out of your mind?  When your mouth opened and there were no words ready to come out? 

So you made something up.  You created your own words.  And the show went on.

That is the story of my life.

Sometimes, I hate it.

Manhattan Jungle

honnnnnnkk  scrreeeech  swervetwistturn

Footsteps. Times a million. 

Up and down.  Left and right. 

I pass 52^nd Street.  I see you from a distance.  Leaning against a building, shaking your cup. 

clink clink clink

There’s a tattered cardboard sign at your feet.  Homeless Vet.  Need $$$ for food.  Thank you and God Bless.

I stare back down at my phone.  Imaginary texts take priority.  You’ll probably just spend the money on drugs or alcohol. 

Footsteps.  Just my two. 

Walking straight past you. 

Don’t make eye contact.  Straight ahead.  Steam right past.  More imaginary texts. 

Please don’t call to me.

I’m sorry.

production

The adrenaline rush is like nothing else. 

The lights only heighten it.

[in addition to the temperature]

The music only amplifies it.

[in addition to the noise level] 

The costumes only increase it.

[in addition to the sweat factor] 

For months, we’ve been planning, singing, memorizing, dancing, creating. 

And it all culminates in those few hours in the dark and the spotlight. 

So much time, effort, devotion, thought. 

And it all crystallizes in those few hours to a diamond point. 

A sharp adrenaline rush that takes us soaring to the heavens. 

Why do we have to come back down?

a terrible thing to waste

They say a mind is a terrible thing to waste.  I believe them.  Lord knows I’ve tried to conserve mine.  To hold on it and never let it go.  My mama never let anything go to waste.  Cucumber peel salad was a special dinner at my house growing up.  Also eggshells were used to exfoliate.  We never let anything go to waste.  So when they said a mind is a terrible thing to waste, I completely agreed.  Because you know they usually know what they are talking about and I don’t think that…OH LOOK! A BIRDIE!! 

What were you saying?

when i say run, run

That trill of the violin gets me every time.  That foreshadowing of what’s to come.  How could a violin sing so eloquently of sorrow and heartbreak?  Of sentiment as a chemical defect?  Of love as a dangerous disadvantage?

Do we need a final proof before we get to the final problem?  Is caring truly not an advantage?  Are all hearts truly broken? 

You stand there, smoking your smuggled cigarette.  And you’re wrong.  You know you’re wrong.  The violin speaks for you.  And you can’t hide it any longer.

Falling is just like flying.  And I’m watching you fall in love.

the greatest generation

We are the greatest generation. 

We have disregarded the inalienable rights of those around us in pursuit of our own.  We have exalted technology to its rightful place in the heavens.  We have slept in tarpaulin tents in city parks to make a statement.  We have blockaded harbors and ignited smoke bombs in the subway, demanding that the world be handed to us on a silver platter.  We have conveniently forgotten the weak and helpless thanks to the apps on our phones.  We have moved beyond objective truth.  We have ushered in a new world.

We are the greatest generation.

caught in the in between

There’s that invisible barrier between the two of us.  You’re in an alternate reality.  Saying words that aren’t yours, doing things are that aren’t you. 

I can see it in your eyes.  You’re not who you were twenty-three seconds ago.  You’ve erected the barrier and slipped away.  Your shoulders are bent differently.  Your mouth twitches a little bit.  I can see you looking toward me.  The lights catch the sparkle of your teeth.  Your shoes squeak against the wooden floor.  The music starts.  I’m hardly breathing.  You’re still looking toward me.

Don’t. 

Don’t break it.  Don’t break the fourth wall.

oh may i then in Him be found

Someday, when Light splits the sky, when Truth rains down in justice, when Life destroys Death forever, we’ll stand there, you and I.  We’ll stand in front of the Power and the Glory.  He’ll decide who is right, who is wrong, who is living, who is dead.  There will be no words, no excuses, no weaseling.  Just the fear of the Glory and the hope of Heaven.

He’ll say to some “Well done, good and faithful servant.”  He’ll say to others “Away from me for I never knew you.”

He is a great and terrible beauty. 

He’s coming.

Be ready.

On the Shuttle to Nowheresville

There is a force inside me.  I can’t resist it.  A deep primal urge.  I can’t ignore it. 

I find myself creating something I do not want to create, crawling into a place where I do not want to be. 

I liked my life.  I liked the taste of the green leaves.  I liked surveying the world from the brown branches.  I liked listening to the birds singing next to me.  I don’t want to be hidden.  I don’t want to be shut away.

The darkness comes crashing in. 

Chrysalis is such an ugly word. 

What if this kills me?

respektor

Your fragile beauty struck me.  I watched you stand there, bright in the spotlight, blinking out to all of us.  You wriggled on the piano bench like a four year old, ready for her piano lesson.  You told us you were nervous.  You adjusted your skirt seven times (I counted) before your fingers touched the keys.

But then they did.  And you weren’t fragile anymore.  You were a pillar of strength, a force of genius, a torrent of power.  I watched you, enthralled and enchanted.  The beauty was dark and terrible and I could not look away.

Don’t stop playing.

the great white way

If life was a musical, I’d like to think I’d be Dolly.  Or maybe Kathy Selden, singing my heart out.  Or maybe I’d be Ginger Rogers and dance the night away.  We’d all know the songs and dances.  We’d sing in the rain or fiddle on the roof.  We’d hang out on the west side telling stories and I would never be on my own.  Instead, we’d all be popular.  Together, we’d all be good men, just like Charlie Brown.  Be my guest.  Join the seasons of love. 

But life’s not a musical.  Sometimes that’s enough to kill the music.

compass

“Let’s go this way.  It’s fine.”

“No, I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be going north.  The way you’re going is south.”

“No I’m not.  I am going just the way I want to.”

“But that’s south.”

“It doesn’t matter.  I can go this way.  It’s fine.”

“But the compass says…”

“Screw the compass! This way is fine!”

“I don’t understand.  If you don’t follow the compass, if you don’t pay attention to what direction the compass is pointing, you’ll end up lost.  Aren’t we supposed to go north?”

“Who cares? As long as I’m happy, I’m ok.”

“Are you?”

Google, mighty Google

How many teaspoons are in a tablespoon?

How far away is the moon?

Why is it dark at the bottom of the ocean?

Google, mighty Google, knows

When was Mary Todd Lincoln born?

How old was Ghandi when he died?

How do I make a website?

Google, mighty Google, knows

Who holds the MLB homerun record?

Where is the best chocolate made?

What is the smallest bird?

Google, mighty Google, knows

Why is my mom dying of cancer?

What if no one ever loves me?

Where do I go when I die?

Is there a God?

Sometimes Google isn’t enough

once upon a ti...

My muse is sick.  She usually has ADD, that’s nothing new.  But she’s scatterbrained and forgetful today.  I don’t think she’s combed her hair recently.  I think she’s hungry.  Maybe she’s just tired and that’s why the words keep swirling in inky black clouds in between her fingers and puffing through her hair. 

Poor thing.  She thinks of all these great phrases and stories and plots and ideas but she’s too lazy to see them through.  She’s got the one percent inspiration down.  The ninety-nine percent perspiration not so much.  Because, honestly, it’s way more fun to just pretend genius.

Happy Nurse's Day

“I could never be a nurse.  I can’t stand blood.”   

Honestly, it’s not about standing blood.  You really don’t see much of it. 

It’s about how much you can stand poop and wiping it off someone’s rear over and over and over.  It’s about how far your bladder can stretch before you get two second together to pee.  It’s about holding someone’s hand while they are crying despite the fact that your other patient’s blood pressure needs to be addressed and you still have to document on all five patients. 

It’s nursing.  It’s the best job in the world.

Honestly.

A Near Life Experience

“Dada! See what I makeded you!”  My little daughter holds up a piece of paper, covered in colorful scribbles.  I bend down to look closer.

“It’s beautiful, Madison.”  What I really mean is “You’re beautiful, Madison, and I’m so proud to be your dada and I think I could just watch you be you forever.”  But of course she doesn’t know that.  She simply smiles up at me.

“It’s for you, Dada!”  She thrusts it into my hand then scampers away.

“Open your eyes!”  Someone screams into my ear.  I open them and see the grenade lying on the sand.

twinkle, twinkle

That night the power went out, the stars shone so brightly.  I mean, I guess they always shone so brightly but I was just never able to see them that well.  The dead light twinkling at me, from eons and light years away.  I know they are just great big balls of gas whirling around in space.  Heat and light fighting against the cold and dark. 

I don’t care what science says.  It’s magic. 

The streetlights flickered once tonight.  I almost wished the power was out again. 

That night, I saw four shooting stars. 

                                                                    Each time I wished for you.

no use crying

What was it about you and me and all of this that just didn’t work? 

Was it something I said?

Was it something you didn’t?

The pen flew across the paper, scratching in the silence of the coffee shop, the girlish scrawl filling up the pages.  Her tongue played the corners of her lower lip.  Her eyes filled with tears.

Suddenly, the table shook.  “Oh! Excuse me!”  But it was too late.  Coffee, light with milk and stevia, spilled all over the words, black ink running with brown liquid.

She put down the pen and slowly reached for a napkin.

Tomorrow's Shadow

I’m afraid of ghosts.  Not ghosts from my past.  No.  Ghosts from my future.  The specter of things that may or may not be.  The wisping shadows that call to me from down the road.  The shimmering mists who hold out their arms, inviting me to join them, to partake of their story and splendor.

I used to cherish these ideas, the happy plans of my many tomorrows, full of cheerful sunshine.  Now, they frighten me.  The darkness has set in and the moon illuminates them for what they really are.  The future ghosts.  They are calling me. 

I’m terrified. 

Judas Body

I couldn’t walk this morning when I woke up.  Again. 

I put my feet on the floor next to my bed and tried.  But the muscles were so tight.  And the pain was so severe.  My dental hygienist looks at my teeth every six months.  Tells me that I grind my teeth at night.  Maybe I do.  But I mostly grind them when I’m trying to walk.  When I’m grabbing at the walls and my desk chair in a desperate attempt to keep moving.  As if clenching my molars will give my legs strength.

My body has betrayed me. Again.