Paper Thoughts

I wanted to take a second and say thanks for all your warm responses - they are greatly appreciated, you and your kindness.

I'm sitting here tonight, enjoying a couple of my cravings (cigarettes and chocolate milk) and wanted to transfer some thoughts that I kept on paper to this media. I would like to share some more of me with you.

. . . . . . .

I am set up straight once again - a madman in his playpen. this paper shines bright in front of me - full of all the nothingness it held before. And I am wrought with aging thoughts. First, let me light a cigarette.

There has been much troubling me lately. About God and the universe, about myself and others, and generally speaking, concerning these words now sprouting. You do not believe me? For me it is the case that words grow into existence. A thought is planted and there are signs and symbols provided. These function as light and water. The thought grows soon enough, and with enough meditation and care, the thought will blossom and produce fruit. These words are such fruit. I only pray that they are ripe for the plucking. "I have 95 things I ought to say to you."

Firstly, let me show you my world - as Ana Maria has noted, to deny the dirt is to deny God. I sit here tonight, smoking my blue Marlboros and listening to an Over the Rhine show on CD. I am a few hours away from work (and come to think of it only a few hours till it come again) and I bear the marks work has left upon me - work clothes, a smell of labor, and perhaps the slightest furrowed brow. I have the taste of bitters and grain lingering in my mouth. This is the stuff that lubricates my pen.

Shall we now delve into the more essential matter? I have said that I wanted to let you in. Did I not? to share myself completely and unencumbered? I have had many thoughts lately, and quite honestly, I have been itching to tell them to someone, anyone, with a listening ear. I miss honest conversation, even though I may steal snippets, here and there, with my father.

I am not me.

There's a thought for you. I want to talk about the first half of that sentence, in specific ~ I am. Now, if you are any sort of Christian you'll probably note that this is the name of God. If you don't believe me check the Exodus story - when Moses asks the burning bush who to tell the Pharaoh who he comes in the name of, the bush responds, Tell them I am who is call I AM sent you. Also, YAH-WEH in Hebrew directly translates to the verbiage, I am. In my mind, this is a very powerful thought - it has been for years. But what does it all mean? Well, I've had a thought.

On this great ball of rock, hurling through the universe, lives a creature called humans, and there is one distinct, undeniable trait that well all have in common. Now, I'm sure that you're wondering what kind of cliched trait I'm going to come up with, but it's not some sort of emotion or any other illogical pondering. What it is, is consciousness. We are the ones who are at every second of every day of life screaming I AM! Without this ongoing exclamation would we cease to exist? yes. We do it unconsciously as taking breath. In fact, it is with our very breath, with the beating of our hearts that we claim our existence. It is the will to live.

Another bee put a thought into my bonnet, specifically Richard Linklater in his film, Waking Life, where in one skit a wizened, old man was saying that there is but one question in life, and that was the moving from the 'no' to the 'yes.' He goes on to say that our entire lives are spent with God posing this question, "Come and join me in eternity forever" and with every breath, with the very beating of our hearts, we deny Him. But the hook is this - every life ends, and every man must die. I am at this very moment.

Because of your impurity, and trust me, the Bible is drawn - God's law is drawn - that in every man exists impurity, even (especially) the righteous man. And that is why there exists a bridge between man and God -- Christ, who died for all man's sins. Whether you asked him to or not - the deed is done.

Go and sin no more.

* * * * *

Now before I stop and read this, (for I am a vain individual, and which always tends to cease my writing) I wanted to say a few more things - less academic things, maybe, as Suitcase is being sung beautifully by Karin. Connected to the prior thought for sure, and maybe a little more about dying.

I have felt my own mortality quite a bit lately. And not just because my Uncle Floyd's passing, for I have lost people in the past and grief is an emotion familiar to me. But, getting more to the point, I have felt somewhat disconnected from this world lately. I am sure it has something to do with my recent move back to Sidney. But it's more than that. I have lately felt that the world is made up of a pack of lies - of signs and symbols and little else. Now, I understand that this is all part of going through a major life change. I know because I've done this before, however, it doesn't seem the same.

I could expound to you all I've lost. I could tell you all I've gained. But I honestly don't know that it would do any good. I will say that I miss Chica - more than I thought I might, even if I have been a bit distant with her. In truth - my distance has been selfish, and mostly to distance myself from too much pain all at once. When I hear her voice it cuts so deeply into my soul that I do not know how to bear it. The thought that she is over 800 miles away sickens me. The very thought brings tears to my eyes right now. I wonder how you would do if I asked you to cut off your leg and send it 800 miles away to live happily ever after?

And this brings me to 800 other questions that have been unable to be answered for 800 years and the knowledge that I must be ok with it all.

You're my water

You're my wine

You're my whiskey

From time to time

You're the hungar

on my bones,

All the nights, I sleep alone.

God, forgive me of my selfishness, and for my sever vanity. Let me see all the beauty in this world - for Autumn is fast approaching, and Autumn is my favorite season of life. Forgive me of my insecurities and for my natural faults. Let me be unafraid. Let me be free from spite and guilt and worry. These are the things I ask of you. In the Lord's name I pray.

amen.

. . . . . . . .

It is late now, and the night is reckoning me. Perhaps I've shared to much. (too much to be read anyway, HA!) I'm not sure if all that will scare you off, or draw you closer, maybe. Anyway, I'd be grateful if you've read this far - or if you've faked it.

you can fake it, I'll never know. heh.

along the path,

-d.

Confessions

I do have some, you know?

The first, and foremost, being that I've stopped sharing myself in this space. Mostly because when I met a few apples over the past year, the people stopped being strangers and started becoming people that I cared about - more like friends, even family. Now even those of you whom I have yet to meet seem more real. And the more real people are, the more judgmental they tend to be (at least in my mind.) And it's not that I'm calling you judgmental -- it's just that I have a tendency to keep myself from the ones that I care about. It's completely my fault - none of your own.

of course, I haven't shut myself off completely. Now it's more likely that you'll get those 'toothpaste reports' that Melanie wrote about so long ago - I went to the store today, because I needed toothpaste. . . That's never what I intended. Originally I liked the idea of publishing a journal because some of my best writing came from my journals. There have been numerous occasions where I'll pull a thought, or paragraph, or even a single line from a journal entry and that will sprout into a poem, story or song. I liked the way the words flowed from me - without censor or editing. There is a natural beauty that lies within.

So, I'm here confessing this - hoping that it will lead to change. And don't go saying - oh, taliendo, your journal is fine. It's not. If you don't believe me, go back and see some of the earlier entries, before I met and starting caring about you fine people. I've let it censor me, and I an unhappy about that - so thing are going to have to change. I don't want to say "expect to be shocked" or anything so full of vanity. But I will warn you that the mind is wide expanse of terrain - much of it covered in shadows.

My first confession.
. . . . . .

There have been signs and wonders in my life abound lately, and it seems that there is life present in all things, even death or the very real possibility of it.

My Great Uncle Floyd died last Friday. He was a good man, lived a good life and has gone on to meet his maker. At least that's the way he saw life and the hereafter. Two dies prior my Uncle Rick had a massive heart attack and was care-flighted to Lima Memorial Hospital for a quintuple bypass surgery. He is once more breathing on his own, and I'm sure taking the time to hit on nurses when his wife isn't close by. A week before that, my Great Grandpa Eddie Kimbler was in the hospital for chest pain - turns out it was a bad case of indigestion and he's doing fine, especially for a 94 year old man.

These are the pains of having a large (if not oversized) family. There are many blessing along side any discomfort you may feel - you may have to trust me on that one.

And so I've taken the time, or rather my uncle Rhino took the time, to open up the word of God and read from the book Ecclesiastes. God, how I had forgotten how much I loved that book. I've read it and reread it until my mind hurts. I even found a study Bible to see what the concordance might have to say about seperate parts and found the writer telling the reader that we should discount parts of the book. Why? - because it is so full of doubt. It discounts the promise of an afterlife - and questions if there is any meaning to life whatsoever, here on earth.

And does so beautifully - poetically.

And I suppose that it echoes all the doubt that has been crawling through my head for the last couple of years. It's comforting to know that men of God suffered from the same iniquities as the rest of man, the same iniquities we suffer from today.
. . . .

Well, the light in the living room just clicked off, meaning that it's 2:05 in the morning. And I'm so tired that my body hurts. I did want to close this on a positive note, saying, I'm ok. really. I would even venture to say that I'm more than ok, better than ok. Life is slowing down, or perhaps life has always been this slow and I'm starting to learn that I can't run so fast - that when you try to run through it, you just end up falling over and hurting yourself.

So, I'm walking the path -- trotting when I don't watch myself -- and I would love it if you would come walk with me for a pace. You know, if you get bored, or tired, or you just want someone to talk to. I'll see ya then.

-d.