Dream of the Sky

Wait.
Tonight the world falls silent. 
Beneath this cloud of thought, tucked soft
amid the breath of wind and sigh. 
I strain to fly and finally reach
the soaring platform of the sky.
Oh, friends that walk upon the land,
look upward, gasp and wonder now
--
just as I wonder how you stand
so firmly there without concern
and fondly stride upon the earth;
I always wish that I could learn.
I'm of the wind, for what it's worth.
--
On waking, for a moment I
remember that I touched the sky 
and, finding tears, I understand.
I'm bound again upon the land.
Tonight the world falls silent.
Wait.

This Day - and baby elephant art

like any other day
the motion of moments swiftly press
proceeding onward like the wind
unseen but for the changes brought
by blend of vapor, cold and hot
vacillations, captured, transform the sky
contrasts hasten, more or less
like any other day

---

This poem can be read bottom to top as well, though it means the same either way.

---

In other news, we had our first Christmas celebration of the year, enjoying time with my brother and sis-in-law who came to visit. I am so grateful for every chance to see them. I was finally able to give her the baby bib I made for my impending niece. So now I can show it to you, also.

I'm especially proud of it because there was a cherub stenciled on the bib in grey, for someone who uses thread instead of ink ... which isn't me (neither the stitching nor the cherub). You can't see any of the grey, and it looks nothing like a cherub. Yay for baby elephants!

An Author's View

He was simply a blank canvas of a child, at first, stepping into the world that has been growing over the past five years to experience life within it, for my sake as the writer. I wanted him to encounter the worst and the best of life and to need growth desperately. I hoped he would become an explorer and mature into the politics and culture so I could learn it from the inside.  When Des is finished testing the foundations, I hope to know enough to write a "real story" in this world, or perhaps several.

Des was too content, once he built himself a face and a position in life. He wasn't satisfied, but more happy than he expected to be. He needed to move, so I removed his comfort, broke his small world, and altered his perception of himself. (Who knew the problems we all have would become so literal? I certainly didn't.) He must go through the suffering and loss in order to become more than he was, even though I'm still trying to think of a way for his friend not to die ... because the thought brings back my own regrets.

But service to a kind master and Des's unexpected friendship with the sickly daughter of the house, together ensured that he would remain content and anchored in his place. He wanted to forget his beginnings, and ignore the chains that had lifted him into position as a pawn in a larger game. And if she hadn't died, he would have slipped back away from growth. He needed soul-searing regret and an ideal to pursue.

I'm often like Des, content to be happy and floating along in safe waters, without a clue about or even a desire for the future God has planned for me. Gradually he is teaching me that it may be a future of turmoil and unexpected challenges, but through these experiences he helps me to grow and become more whole than I could be otherwise. It is a combination, though. Experiences. Attitude. Most importantly, it is the focal point set before the heart as it's moving forward into uncertainty. The mark. The goal. The ideal.

And this focal point is what Des must discover, the center of the world that has been gradually growing for his exploration. I haven't framed the government or charted the culture yet, but I have lived the mysteries of its spirit as they grew in the midst of life's questions and the answers I'm only just learning to glimpse.

I hope to communicate to your heart and draw in your mind, just as the best stories have always done. But above all, I want to illuminate the story of God's work as I have seen it. And so, I must grow as I write. Please be patient, and enjoy exploring this world with me.

Just a warning, though. I'm still learning how to write consistently. You're getting raw overflow without much planning because it is easier to keep writing when I project ideas to an audience. If there aren't real people to connect with, I have conversations between the various aspects of my personality ... and talk to God a lot ... and I'm confident you're his answer to those conversations. So what I'm saying is ... you're essential for my growth as a writer. I couldn't do this without you ... even if "you" are intangible, unknown, and exist in a future moment.

Your presence is a gift. Welcome to my world.

Despair - Des

Des peered around the courtyard as they ran through, hoping to see any indication of normality. All remained far too still, except for a high-pitched wail, rising and falling, irregular and wild. Deep voices formed a steady counterpart to the sound as they followed it, straight over the carefully groomed lawn without regard for the crisp stone paths.

[This is part three of Des's story.]

--- Read Part 1 --- Read Part 2 ---

Jonas stood waiting near the corner and gestured for them to keep away before hurrying out of sight. The voices rose and fell until, at last, the wail slipped into the recognizable sound of sobs.

Despair gripped Des as he realized some tragedy had overcome the high walls of protection surrounding Melly’s home. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Hope of repairing the damage he had caused was slipping away, and along with it the strength that had brought him this far.

He tugged his arm from Darin’s loose grip, dropped to his knees, and knelt beside the corner, ignoring Darin’s whispered reprimand. He could hide behind the long hedge as he had many times during his games with Melly. He wouldn’t be seen. He had to know!

Darin gripped his tunic, which ripped further, though the tug was gentle. “Kid, they shouldn’t see you just now.”

“They won’t!” Des whispered his explanation. “I got to know what happened, sir!”

“Can you be silent, kid? No matter what?”

Des stared up at him. Could it be Melly crying?... “I ... I gotta see, sir!”

Darin sighed and shook his head. “I’ll come along, kid. Is there room in those bushes for me to hide too?”

“Uh … hmm …” Des wondered how much stranger this day could become, but nodded before leaning forward. There ought to be room, since Erb always left himself a passage to easily trim the hedge.

Jonas caught sight of him as he peeked around the corner and raised a hand slightly before looking past him and dropping his hand with a shrug. Everyone else was standing or crouching around a huddled figure on the back stairs. Their backs were against the hedge, so Des scuttled forward to creep along the narrow passage. A rustle behind him reminded him of Darin’s presence and he glanced back.

There was just enough room for the Guardian’s shoulders between the wall and the branches. Shaking his head, Des hurried forward. He had never thought a Guardian would skulk in the shadows. There was a thinning in the branches just ahead, a perfect place to peek through. Des balanced on his knees and thrust his face into the opening.

Melly’s mother looked up at the captain, her face streaked with tears. “But why?” She buried her face in a corner of the cloth she held, bundled against her heart. “Why would she jump?”

Des gasped and felt Darin’s hand cover his mouth, firmly. No sounds. Not now. But … he saw it then, Mellie’s favorite ribbon trailing from the bundle of cloth, her embroidered slippers tumbled in gray dust on the steps, her ring caught in the gaps between the stones.

Darin clutched him close, his hand still tight against any sobs, but Des didn’t care if they heard his grief, if only he could pull the screams free of the knife shaping them. With a groan, he welcomed relief as a wave of darkness emptied his world.

----

To be continued.

Where I Come From

I am an imperfect individual who has been captivated by God's grace.

If you read my writing or know me personally, you will see my flaws, sins, and idiosyncrasies. You will also see God at work, if you pay attention, since he has promised to assist all who belong to him in both willing and doing his good pleasure. He says he laid out good works for us to live and will enable us to complete them. He will never stop working on us, and will demonstrate his character and grace in our lives in many ways.

This is where I find the courage to blog.
This is why I live.

I don't expect you to agree easily and hope you don't think I claim perpetual right. I only discover and test truth like anyone, and am likely to always live upon some perspectives with which you disagree. There is always a process of learning and growing, meaning there are changes day by day. Wait and experience the outcome with me.

Some of my beliefs will only become stronger no matter what circumstances or opinions may be thrown at them, because God has placed ultimate Truth in an unassailable position. My own opinions may seem just as firm, but I trust they will break if ever they conflict with him. It seems obvious that God is great enough to separate me from my false assumptions, just as he is great enough to ensure Truth rises victorious over all attacks.

Disagree or agree with me as you will. God teaches us all, and none of us know everything. Some of what we think cannot work together fits perfectly under his control, and some of what we determine must work will never fit his design. Because we are all in this place of discovery, I must trust God to work in and through you (even if you don't believe in him) and ask you trust him with me, also.

Whether I fall or stand cannot change who God is. It is he upon whom I depend to create value in my life. I may falter beneath the judgement of the world or the church while encountering shaky confidence in the truth I long for and a deeper realization of my sin.

Yet I am reserved for the final judgement before God, and there is the true unveiling. My evil and error will burn in his presence, while the purity and truth he promises to invest in me will remain unscathed. Because Christ has claimed me, no matter what burns away, there will be treasure left to his credit.

I pray you can see it already.

I'm always encouraged to see the way God works in the lives of others. There are many people, past and present, who I admire because they live in the presence of Christ. Rather than wasting time envying them, it has proven more helpful to trust that he is also at work in me. My life will be different from theirs, as they are significantly different from one another; but where God is at work the story is always worth telling.

I feel called to be transparent, not because there is no evil within, but because the goodness of Christ is greater than my sinful, weak, and foolish eruptions ... and he exposes them for what they are. See what he does with my life, yet look to him for wisdom, strength and courage. Live wholeheartedly within his presence.

Caught - Des

 ---Read Part 1 First---

“Grab his feet!”

Des squirmed, but his shoulder caught on a stone in the too-tight space. “No!” He felt a hand grip his heels, clutch tight. “Ow!”

A swift collection of additional bruises and bleeding sores later, Des found himself set roughly on his feet under the stern gaze of three muscular Guardians. Melly’s bag dangled from his fist like a blazing beacon of guilt.

Sun-blackened hands settled on his shoulders as one of the Guardians knelt before him and Des bowed his head to avoid the piercing green eyes that seemed to reach into his soul. Could they really read minds? He thought of the other rumors he had heard, that they drank blood in the shadows and this was the source of their immense strength. Tears blurred his vision. How could he have thought he might save her?

He had never had a chance, not really. Taggar had been mocking him with an impossible task, again, and now he had lost Melly’s trust for nothing.

“Said they’d destroy Melly,” he muttered, knowing his words would slip away unheard, knowing they wouldn’t make a difference.

A light blazed bright for a moment and he brushed away the tears with his fist. What had they done now?

“Poor child,” muttered the pale Guardian as his partner raised a glowing sword.

He choked on his scream and broke from the grip on his shoulders to stumble back against the wall. “Don’t! Don’t want to die!”

The sword descended with swift precision, sliding through his head as though it were made of porridge. He waited for the feeling to strike, for the veil to slip through and sift him to dust. A deep, burning pain erupted in his eyes, consuming his face like fire. Gentle hands caught him as he fell.

“We’ve purged the distortion scales, child. This method is painful, but we’re in a hurry. They were twisting your perception, and we need the truth from you quickly. Think, now. Who did this to you, and why?”

Des opened his eyes to find the dark one stooping over him. “I won’t fall to dust? But … the sword! I’m not dead?”

“Unusual.… You saw the sword?” the pale Guardian kneeling nearby shared a meaning-filled glance with the dark one. “Our swords heal, child,” he said softly. “We restore the broken whenever possible, but it is your choice now. Will you choose to tell the truth instead of the shadow’s lies? We cannot prevent you from returning to your old ways, but we can help you build a new life if you ask. Quickly, now. Your friend Melly is in danger because of you.”

“But I was trying to protect her!” Des heard the words as if for the first time and glanced down at the bag, now resting on his lap. “I stole her mother’s jewels!... But … it was to help her?”

What was it Taggar had said? It had made so much sense at the time. He was going to save Melly from … from what?

“Taggar said Melly was in danger....”

The pale one nodded.

“He said her father is a bad man, I think. Or was it that he was dangerous?… I think,... anyway, they were going to make him pay. Yes, that was it! And Melly … oh … They’re going to hurt Melly!”

He jumped up and clutched at the dark one’s hand. “They said they would hurt Melly if I didn’t bring the jewels.... But this hurts her already! Her mother trusted her! Oh, why didn’t I see it before? They used me! It was all a lie.... It’s always a lie. Why do I believe them? Oh, sir, please help her!”

“Quickly, Jonas!” said the pale one, brushing his hands against his tunic and taking the stained bag from Des. “I’ll return these, boy. Darin, you bring him as quickly as possible. We will run ahead.”

“Yes, sir!” The dark Guardian turned to Des as the others ran back down the alley. “You’re pretty bruised, kid. You think you can run?”

Des stomped firmly. His ankles ached and his whole body felt like the time Oref and his buddies had used him for punching practice, but he would run if it killed him. “Let’s go.” He stumbled forward, hoping his legs would obey, as the Guardian loped ahead. He tried to infuse his voice with confidence. “You Darin? I’m Des, sir.”

Darin looked back to nod, then paused to grip Des’s arm. “I’ll help you along, kid. You’re a little shaky.”

It felt like forever before they arrived at Melly’s front gates, which gaped open like a conquered fortress.

----

Continue to Part 3.

Escape - Des

Des dashed down the alley, full speed, stumbling over the low walls of children’s games and the tumbled fortresses of city rodents. His heart thundered as he gasped for air over the piercing ache that threatened to break him at every stride. Melly would forgive him. He gulped back a sob, unwilling to release the bag enough to scrape the tears splashing into his ears with the wind of his escape.

Behind him, the shouts of his pursuers grew louder as they turned the corner. Too close. If they caught him, Melly wouldn’t forgive him. If they caught him …

He crashed into the rough stone of a boundary, scraping the skin from his bare shoulder where his service tunic had already torn during that first slide down Melly’s wall into the street. No, she would lose everything, Melly would, and her pain would come in her realization of his betrayal. No, no forgiveness unless he could get away … unless he could complete his mission.

A pile of crates hid the tunnel, his emergency escape route. They would be waiting on the far side, full of their treacherous promises and safety for Melly. Safety for him, perhaps, though he had known all along that this was less certain. Too unimportant, as he had always been. He glanced over his shoulder. The alley remained empty down to his last turn, giving him a chance. No, he was too unimportant for safety or protection. This was why he had been chosen; even his truths would seem insignificant in case he might try to betray his benefactors.

Chosen? He ducked between the boxes and slid into the gap between the stones of the wall, filthy with damp and scum. Not chosen. No, he had simply been the nearest disposable child of the right age and expression when the chance had come. He froze as the pounding of footsteps approached, unable to crawl deeper into his hole without making a sound, unable to stifle the wrenching need for more air. Caught between alternate betrayals of his secret, as always.

Too many secrets for a worthless boy. He clutched his treasure close and buried his face in the soft scent of quiet and hope, already tainted by back-alley filth. So easy for even a nothing to stain and destroy beauty. He waited, silent at last, stilled by the depth of his breaking, and listened to the scrape of booted feet and voices as the pursuers paused, all too conveniently, beside his hiding place.

“I saw something moving next to these crates, sir.” It was a deep, cultured voice, full of authority--the voice of a Guardian.

Des cringed back, wishing they could guard him, too. How wonderful to feel protected by them as Melly had always felt, instead of this wrench of fear at the mere sight of their polished boots. Cautiously he slid further into the cramped tunnel. He had grown since the last time through and it had been close then. If only he could have run to the gate. Pushing the bag out in front, he slid into the gap between the foundation stones, his fingers still tangled in the fringed strap.

Wood scraped against stone and a man shouted. “He’s got a tunnel down here, sir!”

 ---

Go to Part 2

Channels of Water Rumored to be True

I receive the gift in the mail on a grey day, Rumors of Water by L.L. Barkat, and tear away "from Amazon" knowing how undeserved is the credit on the mailing label. Finding the heart beneath the thick skin that protected its way to me, I brush my fingers over the cover. A heart on paper, but I've listened to the rhythm in pixels of blog and email for longer than my short memory can define.

I already know this gift is going to mean more tomorrow than it does today, and that it will change the way I see ... like all good books do. But I am confident because Laura breathes in the presence of God and her words are touched with significance as a result. And, after all, this is one of those bright gifts ... the desires I pray for in secret then watch as they form, a tangible touch of God manifested so clearly in a gentle offer from Laura. "I wonder if you own Rumors of Water [...] a small gift ..."

And God takes small gifts of loaves and fish--and, these days, our words too--and multiplies them. I've already seen her words multiply in other lives, and now it's my turn. I open the cover and promise myself just a chapter for now.

Laura begins with a story about not-writing. I have felt the hesitations between words that gap so wide whole books fall through the spaces and never make a sound. And even though I've heard this first story before, in pixels dancing, it pours out of the paper alive with scent and a rustle of sound to carry me along into new discoveries, until I realize I've gulped the entire book in a single swallow.

Well, now,... I look around, grateful for a family that knows how to feed itself.

I think that I will have to read it again, bite by bite, but already there is a feeling that something has changed. It's so strong that I feel the need to mention it to Laura in the midst of  "thank you" ... a strange place for such an excuse or evasion. "You make me feel as though I could write a book, though I have told myself to be content with the blog and art for now."

All those stories falling into the spaces between words. It's too much to expect to blog, write poetry, create art, care for family, AND write a book, especially the fiction that has called to me for years.

I've always told God it's too much to expect anything from me. He has been pretty insistent that he doesn't necessarily expect FROM me ... but that he has every intention of pouring through me whatever good thing he desires. It's a lesson that grows larger and deeper with the learning of it.

So, I'll blog these stories, I suppose. After all, I've already blogged several books worth of poetry, a book or two of memoirs about God's work within, and an art book. There is probably more tucked into the archives, long forgotten. If I consider this blog a sacrificial altar, I suppose I can lay some stories on it, too. We'll see how many there are and how long they might be.

I'd "blame" Laura for this ... but the truth is, it's been coming for a long time. Still, she remains the channel through which God poured the liquid push that threatens to set my stories in motion. Rumors of Water into a channel of life ... Thank you, my friend. When you see green shoots of words, or even leaves to rustle through in search of fruitful thoughts, remember God used you to nurture these things.

In Darkened Cage

I fear to reach and touch the dreams
that glisten in the sun,
afraid to try and breathe the Sky
(it's not for everyone)
upset to find my fingers caught
within the webs of shame,
expecting failure,
not making a claim.

Where are the songs that I would sing?
The words contained inside me seem
like birds within a darkened cage.
They close their wings and slowly age.
Oh, Courage, could you make me wise
and build me braver, lose the sigh
of never learning to build skill
and wilting deep without a will.

It's time to open up the doors,
and see if I could ever soar,
it might be pride to even try
to cry the tears caught deep inside.
I wonder if I've buried them ...
those tiny birds in shadow cage,
in missing letters, yellowed page ...
Raise up these wings and if I fall,
there's still a song to tell it all;
I trust the Wind to hush the tune
or carry it and softly croon.

---

This is an old poem I found among my drafts. I fixed it up a little to share since I'm finding the answer to it, now ... an answer I felt would never come. The doors are open, heart-wings feel the touch of wind, light bears warmth and strength between the bars, and I see the sky brighten with dawn.

Do I merely dream of flight or truly fly?

Consequential

I broke the world with my fingernail.
I think
it cannot be coincidental detail.
The resulting explosion was too vast,
oh,
and nobody is left for me to ask.
How else could all life on earth fail?
I think
I broke the world ... and my fingernail.

Belong

When you touch the painting of life
does it breathe the scent of warm hope
within the canvas-weave of events
where heart binds to heart in never ending
connection ... my dear ... does it linger
in your recollection ... that motion
of presence unseen past thick layers
of dread, hate, grieving, desire and more
shaping each boundary and what
they are for ... imagine the artist at work
... all is well in his presence,
though some deem it hell ... do they
know the rhythm of good in the song
where love builds the willing ... yet all
still belong

What if ...?

What if we couldn't ignore our soul conscience?
What if our lies only heightened our pain?
What if reality shocked through the dreams
that we hold up as shields against the right way?
What if we lost all our selfish pretenses?
What if our evils were blatantly clear?
What if our treasures were burnt up around us
and we finally saw what flawed trash we hold dear?
What if we felt every consequence, wholly?
What if our words cut our own hearts as well?
What would we do if the evidence clearly
exposed our intentions? Would life be hell?