11.28.2011
11.07.2011
Restoring the Lost Years
A few weeks ago we were sitting together as a family, watching old home videos. In the video frame we were all playing together at Chuck E Cheese... the girls were laughing and dancing, and I was there... but not really.
Hope for Ashlyn
10.28.2011
remembering to forget
Where life and death collide
9.29.2011
Reflections from the California Coast
8.30.2011
8.25.2011
To the Mercy King
The rear-view mirror still taunts me. The images may appear closer than they actually are, yet the scars have stories of being put to open shame; death by exposure was a salacious headline, and the red badge of courage could never be applied to me.
8.22.2011
Fully Present in the Presence of the Amen
It was almost midnight when she noticed it. The lightning was painting the southern sky, with flashes of cinder and smoke. She called me to the window, and then to the door… we walked outside barefoot, breathless by the intoxication of the moment.
For what seemed like hours, Jamie and I sat in the grass looking out far, far away. The lightning was so distant that we could not even hear the assumed crashes of thunder. She wondered how far away the storm was, or if the cold front was going to collide with our warm air in the mountains.
We began to reflect on our journey, home. This season is serving its purpose: to bring healing to the wounds of our last exit. We talked about the southern drift, and the distance from our roots in West Michigan. We wondered about the toll such a transition would take on our daughters, who still cling to the memories of sand-castles and sleepovers, neighborhood friends, and a church family that disappeared overnight.
However violent the repressed memories are, we hold on to the joy that remains. We have proved them all wrong. We are stronger than their whispers. We are unfinished.
And tomorrow, is a mystery. That door is locked and bolted shut for now. All we can do is celebrate the moment of our resurrection, and watch the heavens declare the glory of God.
8.12.2011
Still, Unsettled.
7.31.2011
7.18.2011
7.12.2011
Grace Comes To Us With Blistered Feet
6.24.2011
like a garden, unkept
like a garden that was once
6.12.2011
Hope
6.02.2011
Responding to Max Lucado
God is a good God. We must begin here. Though we don’t understand his actions, we can trust his heart.
God does only what is good. But how can death be good? Some mourners don’t ask this question. When the quantity of years has outstripped the quality of years, we don’t ask how death can be good.
But the father of the dead teenager does. The widow of the young soldier does. The parents of a seven-year-old do. How could death be good?
Part of the answer may be found in Isaiah 57:1–2: “Good people are taken away, but no one understands. Those who do right are being taken away from evil and are given peace. Those who live as God wants find rest in death” (NCV).
Death is God’s way of taking people away from evil. From what kind of evil? An extended disease? An addiction? A dark season of rebellion? We don’t know. But we know that no person lives one day more or less than God intends. “All the days planned for me were written in your book before I was one day old” (Ps. 139:16 NCV).
5.23.2011
Spread the Word
5.16.2011
First, Love.
5.02.2011
Thicker Than Water
For as long as I can remember, my sister Jennifer has been my best friend. Together, we navigated the treacherous hallways of new schools from the anonymity of previous home-schooling. We shared many of the same friends. I slapped around Troy Vuurens and punched Jim Foster, both of whom had made the mistake of disrespecting her in middle school. I played soccer and basketball, and she cheered with her blue and gold pom-poms.
4.18.2011
Rob Bell is my friend.
Body Broken/Blood Poured Out...
4.13.2011
4.06.2011
My Mission Field
3.22.2011
Falling Upward
3.16.2011
3.03.2011
Relentless Love
My heart is Yours...
I'll set You as a seal upon my heart
As a seal upon my arm
For there is love that is as strong as death
Jealousy demanding as the grave
Many waters cannot quench this love
Come be the fire inside of me
Come be the flame upon my heart
come be the fire inside of me
Until You and I are one...
3.01.2011
Deeper Than Wide
1.18.2011
The Healing House
The Healing House
Fifteen minutes from the Carolina border
There’s a rainbow in her eyes…
Tears fall freely to her sunburned shoulder
Farewell is easier than goodbye
Dear [Mariah] Grace, now give me your hand
I promise I’ll receive you well
Cling to this promise of a broken man
You caught me when I fell
Dear [Ambria] Faith, you seemed to have disappeared
Suddenly and without warning
When I needed you most, you reappeared
Heaven’s mercies ever pouring
Dear [Ashlyn] Hope, consider me captive
Without your embrace I’m over-reactive
Doubting and turning and perpetually learning
And Father’s Day you heard me pray
Take me home to the healing house
Running barefoot across the yard
Counting the distant, falling stars
Swinging trees and sun-kissed breeze
A grateful daddy on his knees
1.12.2011
eXodus church (the liberation project)
I could tell you that, in many ways, I'm not the same person I was several years ago. For better (or for worse) I'm probably less likely to give you my opinion or even suggest a concrete answer to the questions that haunt us. I am not as thirsty for affirmation as I once was, and I'm less likely to care if I'm invited to your table.
Although I'm still on a journey toward inner healing, I have come a long way from the train wreck that I caused three years ago. I've gone through the detox of silence, prayers of surrender, confessions to trusted pastors, and repentance.
The past few years have been, as you can imagine, the most painfully humiliating experiences of my life. But I have found tremendous freedom on the other side of confession, and I have been set free to live by the power of the Spirit of Christ.
After several months of praying and fasting, my wife and I believe that God is once again calling us out of our comfort zones. We have been through intensively counseling, and have sought the spiritual authority of mature believers who have agreed to walk with us, forward from an empty grave.
Under this spiritual authority, mentoring and coaching, as well as in the confidence of two pastoral accountability partners, I am stepping out in faith... Consider this our declaration of hope; the tomb is empty and the literal implications of Jesus' resurrection have propelled us to a new beginning.
Exodus Church is a new community of hope, born in a furnace of doubt and surrender. Jamie and I joining the anthem of the redeemed, in unity with several other families in the Asheville, NC area. Our message is simple: God is in the liberation business, and He is calling us out of spiritual bondage, to walk in the freedom of Jesus Christ.
Our website will provide further information about our faith, mission, and values. There will also be a link to listen to each of the weekly messages, (so our friends back in Michigan can follow along!)
Please pray for us as we are acutely aware of the spiritual attacks on the horizon. Pray for our marriage, and for the spiritual nurturing of our three daughters, for whom we dedicate this cause.
Okay, here we go... click here to see us go live!
1.03.2011
Again (For the First Time)
This morning I walked outside, and I felt the warmth of the sun melting the snow. However deep the snow, the winter can not last forever... However dark the night, the light is breaking in through the cracks -splintering fragments of wonder and new beginnings.
However broken the heart, a pulse invokes hope.
It is not quite spring yet, but something deep in the core of my being insists that she is coming. And she is bringing resurrection with her.
12.15.2010
12.12.2010
In the presence of all that is, love.
For some reason, I continue to ache for his family... searching for answers and feeling so helpless. Suicide, after all, makes everyone feel guilty; I wish I would have could have should have...
The other day I was talking to his father on the phone, as he described my friend's final few weeks. Some of the missing pieces of the puzzle began to sink into place, as the mystery of his spiral downward came to light. Through sentence fragments and tears, I listened as his father shared about a certain hopelessness that tormented my friend. As it turned out, he had committed a serious crime and had been living with the guilt and shame of his decision.
In broken chapters, I listened to the tragic descriptions of his final days: he had stopped eating, and had become sickly thin. At night, my friend would walk to a nearby wooded park, and lay under the moonlight. He would lay his head in the cold grass and claw at the cancer of his own self-hatred. My friend would cry rivers of salty tears, begging God for the mercy of divine forgiveness.
And in his final hours, my friend took a pair of scissors and plunged them through his own heart.
What if...
this were the end of my blog entry.
What if...
the credits were rolling
and the tragedy was over
and this was the conclusion
ashes to ashes and dust to dust?
_______________________________________________________
Every night as I drive home, north on highway 26 - there in the distant western horizon is a white cross. It reaches higher than all of the surrounding trees, and stretches to the sky overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains. Tonight as I was driving home, I began to think about the weight of shame. I brushed away tears as I imagined my friend collapsing in despair, and knocking on the doors of heaven for the ever-illusive mercy of spiritual::emotional::mental f r e e d o m from guilt and shame.
I remembered the heavy weight of my own depravity, the secret sins that only God knows. I considered the options of this world and found them to be shallow. I know what it's like to contemplate what my funeral would be like... or the intoxication of ending it all.
But it's there that I see a cross. An instrument of death has become a scandal of hope! An execution stake leads to resurrected life. I am graciously reminded of the God who wrapped Himself in flesh, and walked a mile in our shoes. Jesus knew what it was like to sweat drops of blood beneath the moonlight, with His face buried in the grass; He knew the weight of separation, there as His Spirit was being pressed like the olives in Gethsemane.
I love Jesus. The more I learn, the less I understand. The mystery of the cross remains the center of my surrender. Following (even at a guilty distance) is a spiritual journey, not a guilt trip! I love Jesus because He meets us in that moment of despair, with a nail-scarred hand of forgiveness. When we think all is lost, He shows up in the morning and invites us to breakfast. When we have been disqualified, He reinstates, recreates, mediates, and stands as our defense.
I believe that I will see my friend again. And it's not some cliche happy Christian sub-plot to a Sunday school lesson. I believe that one day we will be reunited in the Kingdom of Freedom, a place that transcends time and space. I believe that we will live in delicate harmony with all of creation's song: in the presence of all that is, love.
12.06.2010
The End of My Silence
11.22.2010
The God of Infinite Mercy
This was the dominant question, heavy on Peter's heart, as he approached Jesus for an answer. "But what about..." and "yeah, but what about in this situation?" Should we be a door mat for people to walk all over us and not fight for our rights?
Jesus' answer: 70 x 7
This numerical equation is the Jewish equivalent of, eternity. It is the same kind of language He used in answering the expert in the laws' questions about Olam Haba - "life to the vanishing point", or the foreverandeveramen.
What if He actually meant those words? Can you imagine if people actually took Him seriously in this command? That would really wreck your church constitution on disciplinary actions! It might actually mean that fallen people are still welcome at the Table, and sinners are embraced with amnesia, and grudges are expunged, and earthly judges are commissioned to sentence sinners to a life in communal confinement.
For all the times I have stumbled into the Heavenly Kingdom via Spiritual Bankruptcy, I am indebted to a Judge who does not keep a record of profits and losses. How can I say thank You? How can I possible say thank You enough?
Thank You for being my friend, when the bullets of criticism were fired. Thank You for standing as my defense, when professional religious people packed that side of the court room hurling rocks in the form of letters to a carnal impostor. Thank You for covering me with Your own blood, and washing me clean. Thank You for never giving up on me when everyone else turned away. Thank You for being the God of all-comfort. Thank You for being the Lion and the Lamb and the Tension between conquer and submission and fight and flight. Thank You for meeting me in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the Belly of the Whale, in the midnight hour; You whispered in my ear: "love still wins."
Thank You for Jamie and strength under control, and three little girls who could care less about organized religion and yet have a deeper understanding of unconditional love than most of the pastors in Muskegon. Thank You for my dad who, despite his unorthodox ways, has modeled for me what it means to be a safe place for people who are all screwed up. Thank You for my mother who still grieves my eXodus from home, and aches for her bloodline to be close. Thank You for Jennifer (Eric) who will war on my behalf if she so much as hears a whisper of criticism. Thank You for Janelle (Brian) who will give an earful to the management at the local YMCA if they hesitate to let me join their membership. Thank You to Jon (Sara) who continue to teach me how to love well, how to labor over the Word in worship, and how to model selflessness to our children.
This Thanksgiving I rest in this mercy, with uncontrollable trembling in response. That I have been forgiven (70 x 7) for my infinite sins, and I am being healed by the scars of a slaughtered Lamb who is returning as a Lion. I am, in every way, crucified and resurrected with Him!
Post Script :: I love You.
11.17.2010
11.08.2010
if i had more time...
and the aching is fading
to a delicate rhythm
of yes and maybe and
one day you will understand
the silence from a distance does not mean
that i have no opinion on things like
surrender and submission and you
and the all-consuming anger is a reminder
that if i don't learn to forgive
i will die from this poisonous rage
love wins
remember?
but sometimes it doesn't feel that way, does it?
sometimes it seems like judgment and betrayal has the last word
(or at least an encore performance)
just when i thought i had forgiven and forgotten
i'm reminded of your violent ungrace
and it meets me when i least expect it
like when i'm driving down the road
and i see a truck that looks like yours
if i had more time i would tell you that it doesn't matter
what's done is done and there is no undoing
and that's all there is to say about that
10.26.2010
Embracing the Absent Presence (Pt. 2)
With the loss of my job, we lost an entire community of support. We lost our health insurance, and our house. We lost our friends, and our ekklesiastical family. I guess they were busy dancing beneath the "One in Christ" banner at the local Christian music festival.
And in this loss, so too died my faith that God answered prayer. On bended knees, I had pleaded for His merciful presence. I claimed the happy verses; the passages that declared me redeemed and forgiven and restored in Christ. But my experience left me meeting a different reality.
So where is God when it hurts? The age-old problem of evil and human suffering and the debate of His Sovereignty, etc. is not something that this blog entry is going to conquer. Rather, I write to instill a few alternative options in viewing His presence:
1. God shows up in the most unlikely ways. He shows up spitting in mud and healing the blind man. He shows up speaking through donkeys and in the nakedness of an infant baby. He appears in the thunder and lightening and in the calm before the storm. He screams in a whisper, and whispers through the prophets. He triumphs by shutting the mouths of the lions, and appears as the fourth man in the fiery furnace.
God is present with a suffering humanity by His own journey to an execution stake. He knows the pain of betrayal. He knows the sting of divorce. He has felt the cheers of the crowd one minute, and the letters written from professional religious people to the judge - the next.
2. God shows up through the most unlikely of people. The King of Glory appears in the face of "Happy" the homeless man I met here on the streets of Asheville. Jesus said, "whenever you give a cold cup of water in my Name, you've given it to me..." - Consequently, Jesus can be found among the often overlooked, least of these. He shows up in a wheel chair, playing the harmonica and spreading joy to any soul within earshot.
God meets us in the pain, when you least expect it. Just when you thought He had forgotten you, He calls your name in the October wind. He taps you on the shoulder and offers a hug of comfort from a stranger on the street.
He shows up in the mail box with food stamps to feed your children.
10.23.2010
Embracing the Absent Presence (Part 1)
Which is translated from the Hebrew tradition: "God is with us."
Have you ever, in the midst of a ferocious storm, searched for the calming touch of the One who can quiet the winds and silence the waves? And in your calling out, found no answer?
Well, I have. And it has messed with my theology.
I worship the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. I celebrate His promise that He will never leave me forsaken or alone. I have encouraged my friends to trust the nearness of the Abba Father in the struggle of loneliness. After all, the Scriptures insist that He is close to the brokenhearted.
But if I were to be really honest, I have screamed out for his help; the waves have overcome me, and in my sinking, I am reaching. reaching. reaching.
And there have been times when there was no answer. Heaven was silent. Immanuel seemed to have been a nice flannel-graph Christmas story, about as real as reindeer and rooftops.
In my agony, my faith wilted. In heaven's coldness, my hope grew weary. In transcendent distance, God seemed to be an amnesiac, bi-polar mystery, with multiple personalities. Even His own autobiographical confessions articulate His paradox. Which is it, is He near or far, immanent or distant? Has He predetermined all things, or has He left certain elements of human freedom open for our choosing? Is He the Abba "Daddy" Father, or is He the Holy Terror?
When I read about the cruel suffering of the innocent, cosmic earthquakes, tsunamis that wipe out thousands of small children, and 4 million women and children forced into human sexual trafficking, I can't help but to wonder: Where is Immanuel? Where is this Divine Presence who has promised to be with us in the struggle?
I am learning to embrace the absent presence of the Resurrected Christ. I am learning how to pray differently; to ask for the Kingdom of Mercy to invade this hurting world. I am attempting to be content in the mystery of His paradox.
10.21.2010
10.14.2010
The Parable of the Lost Daughter
It wasn't until I had children of my own, that I began to comprehend the mystery of God's love for me.
As I think about the measures I would take to provide and protect my daughters, the parables of Jesus take on a whole new meaning.
What does the Heavenly Kingdom look like? It's like a woman who has lost a valuable coin. She searches the whole house and will not give up until she has found it. It's like a shepherd who knows each of his sheep, and at the end of the day - one of them has run away... The shepherd leaves the 99 to hunt down the lost one. Yes, the Kingdom of Heaven is like a Father who waits at the edge of the driveway for His prodigal to return...
A few days ago we took the girls on a hike up the trails leading to Triple Falls. Jamie carried her camera in one hand, and tucked Ashlyn in a pack to carry along. Ambria, as usual, stayed close to me as we walked the rocky terrain. Mariah Grace was running all over the place, looking for hiking sticks, noticing caterpillars, and searching for short cuts.
On our way back from the falls we all got a bit separated. After stopping for a drink, we realized that Mariah was neither with me, nor her mother. She was missing!
Jamie ventured back to see if Mariah had delayed in the trek home. I ran ahead, to hunt her down. I could feel the pace of my heart accelerating in its beat. My steps were hurried, and my mission was urgent. She was not around the bends ahead. Jamie returned and said that she was not back at the falls, either.
As I ran in pursuit of missing daughter, I asked fellow hikers on the trail if they had seen a little girl with a pony tail and big stick. "Yes", they said, "Hurry... she is walking alone back toward the road ahead!"
As I passed others along the way, they confirmed this report. I ran as fast as I could, trying to catch Mariah before she ventured out into the highway from whence we came.
And as I ran, I could sense the Presence of the One who reminded me: "Now you understand the heart of a Father. Now you realize the urgency of the search. What wouldn't you do to find your missing prodigal?"
I neared the entry point of the trail, near the highway overpass. And there she was. Mariah was standing alone at the edge of the road, waiting for me. She had wandered off from the protection of our group, and thought that she had been left behind. In her mind, she had to catch up to us. And when she arrived at the road she knew it would only be a matter of time before her Father would come to her rescue.
And in my embrace, she could feel my heart pounding in determination. I held her close to me as I carried her back safely. And I remembered those times when it was I who had been lost, and in the midnight hour - He arrived.
10.06.2010
Death and Deity
I am learning that the image we present to the world is the one we want people to believe. So we put our best foot forward and only post pictures on our facebook account that we want people to see. We delete the pictures that are less than favorable, and we highlight stories about our successes and our smiles and our norman rockwellness.
But that is not reality. The truth is, we all have pictures that make us shudder to look at. We all have a virtual trash bin of images that we keep hidden from the public eye. This image management allows the world to see only what we want them to see.
After the death of my friend Gina Carlin, I noticed that so many of her friends joined me in grieving her loss. We spoke in monotone regret-stained whispers, of her memory. We elevated her status to the point of sainthood, and bowed down her to deity. And as I caught myself in mid-conversation, the thought occurred to me that we have done her an injustice:
We do each other no favors by denying the brokenness that we all share.
I am not perfect. I take horrible pictures. Not every day is a full of walks in the woods with my wife, or swinging my daughters around at the beach. In reality, we argue at times - just like every couple I know. We yell at our "precious angels" for not obeying us immediately. We stress out over money. We avoid taking the trash out. We delete 95% of the pictures on the digital camera, and let people see the few that make us look better than we are.
But this is exactly where incarnation meets us; the Sacred collides with the common. It is in this very ordinary messiness, that humanity becomes holy. As we realize our imperfection it makes us weak in the knees - we bend to the One who extends the grace we need to keep going.
And when we are weak, then we our strong. When we realize our condition, and we are courageous enough to be honest about our brokenness, then the message of the cross takes on a deeper conviction to be lived out.
So we stumble and fall, we falter and rage, we deny and curse. But one thing remains constant, a Jesus who waits for us to answer the question: "do you love me?"
10.03.2010
9.27.2010
and the Tree is a witness
I'm still grieving her absence, and especially the circumstances that led to her exit. For the past few days I have been wrestling with questions and anger and now, profound sadness. She left behind three small children, and a million mysteries...
Confusing incidents, frantic phone messages, and an open investigation have led to the assumption that her self-inflicted fatality was incited by unspeakable hurt (guilt?shame?fear?) Perhaps she felt that she had nobody to lean into for support, and that she would have been abandoned by those around her when it all came out in the wash.
Suicide has a way of making everyone feel guilty: I wish I would have could have should have been a better friend, son, sister, mother...
and from this regret, I write these thoughts -
I am convicted and inspired to lead a life of perpetual communication to my loved ones, that there is nothing that can be done to make me turn my back on them. I am determined to be the kind of friend that will kick down the door and loudly declare that unconditional love crashes into the despairing heart! Our God meets us in the hour of suicidal thoughts and greets us with a gentle whisper. His Divine Embrace catches the salty tears as they spill out in confession, and His nail-scarred hands wipe away those heavy thoughts of self-harm.
"What can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus? Nothing. Nope. Not that. Or that either. Not even. No. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. What part of Nothing don't you understand?" (Romans 8:38, JLD translation).
_______________________________________________________
We've been worshiping as a family together at nice church here in Asheville. It has been refreshing to just be able to sit as a family, to hold Jamie's hand and to watch her worship. I can just sit in the chair and absorb the grace that has brought so much healing to my heart.
Every Sunday before the services begin, I walk Mariah down the sidewalk to the adjacent building where the children's ministries gather. She holds my hand as walk together, and I seize that precious moment to shower her with my promise.
When we turn up the sidewalk, there is a beautiful tree that greets us. It is a geographical reminder to say the following words:
"Mariah, we're near the tree now, and it's time for me to remind you that I love you. And that there is nothing that you could ever do that would make me love you any less than I do right now."
She usually rolls her eyes and shrugs it off, "I know dad. You tell me that *every* time we come to this tree..."
and I have to be aggressive in the telling, lest she might neglect the agape covenant. "Do you understand what I am telling you? There is nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I will never turn away from you. Even if you do something really bad, and it hurts my feelings. Or maybe it breaks my heart, I will always let you in. You are always welcome in my arms."
I want her understanding of heavenly mercy to be shaped by the annoying insistence that her Father says what he means, and he means what he says...
and the Tree is a witness.
9.22.2010
Come, Gather Round...
9.19.2010
9.14.2010
Graceology - A Mystery of Mercy
He attempted to capture and rape a teenage boy, who fled into the streets naked. This drew some unwanted attention, as you can imagine. The police discovered this holocaust of horror in his apartment.
Of course, the serial killer was sentenced to life in prison.
And in prison, he claimed to have "found Jesus". A few months later, he was beaten to death by fellow inmates with the end of a mop. But not before Jeffrey Dahmer "was reconciled" to God.
I don't get it. What kind of a theological system would make room for someone as jacked up as this psychopath? Who kidnaps, rapes, kills, and eats people? And what kind of a God would invite this kind of behaviorist into His heavenly kingdom?
A God of scandalous grace. A God who covers the sins of Mother Theresa and my three daughters. A God who sent His Son to be massacred on a Roman execution stake in the worlds first "Shock and Awe" campaign. A God who saves a seat at the banquet table for Jeffrey Dahmer, and me.
A God who meant it when He inspired the words: "Whoever is willing... Whoever is broken... Whoever is thirsty... Whoever needs 70 x 70 chances...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IjW7bezdddE
9.02.2010
On Finding God
Before I could even open the door, I could hear my three year announcing with all of her might; "Daddy, daddy! We found something...." and other [indiscernible] chaos. I climbed out of the car and they both began to lunge at me with hugs and kisses and the prideful exuberance of their discovery.
"What do you find?" I asked.
"Actually, we found two things." Ambria stated demonstratively. She held up a rusted horse-shoe that required both hands for the lifting.
"We found this lucky horse shoe..." she said. "And we found, God!"
I made her repeat her sentence, for clarity.
"Yes, we found this (holding aforementioned horse shoe) and God."
I glanced at Jamie for confirmation that I had heard her correctly. Jamie was walking over to join the conversation and suggested that I take a look at the sign Mariah had made.
The girls led me to the swinging tree, and Mariah pointed to a picture that she had created: "Here lays Jesus." it said, with a picture of a broken-hearted stick figure, unmistakably the Messiah.
All of this inspiration was detonated by the afternoon discovery of an old horse shoe in the rustic barn behind the house, and a deteriorating iconic relic of a very fading Jesus.
Having found God, they had decided that they would display Him beneath the tree. The invitation to an obviously hope-starved world was posted in crayon. Come and see that the Lord is good. Here lays Jesus. We found Him. For anyone searching for answers... He once was lost, but now He is found.
8.31.2010
writer's block
and my pen has lost its fire
and i'm not good at expressing comprehensive thoughts
but i've become an expert at staring at walls
and losing myself in the wonder of
august heat
country roads
and ashlyn's tears
i've been attempting to write about the rhythm of birth and live and death
and rebirth and life and death and rebirth and...
but it all comes out like a schizophrenic flood
of nonsensical psycho-pseudo babble
in fragmented sentences
hanging
gerunds and dang
ling participles
i feel like a traveling salesman
distracted by a garage sale
with an armload of seconhands
baffled at their rejection of my personal credit card
spitting on my palms, extending my handshake
pinky swearing that i'm good for the payback
what i'm trying to say is
i miss the old me.