Dam broke today.
God Damn broke today.
Can't fix what ain't broke.
Money won't fix it,
mama can't fix it.

manna, manna can fix me.

I think I think I think,
I'm thinking more than I feel and this is so strange.

I'm thinking that you are good, Hakkadosh. You are faithful, El Hashem.
So love me well, world. You are loving the King's.
Something like a Monarchy is wandering through my mind.

Elizabethan blood is boiling again. Rising hot to my ears and if I am not careful from my soul and out of my ill guarded mouth.
My heart is setting, the cement has been loose and wet and movable for too long.
Courage is hardening up. I will be unmovable.
You, who loves what I have to give and yet does not love the heart that gives it, you will make no more imprint. And your impression will not set.

Father lay hands on me, and press your heart into mine. Let that set, let that be immovable and solid, and let it show deep. Faithless friendships and lovers who seek no end, please pull their greedy hands from my heart before they're permanent. YHWH, I'll write your name in a thousand languages, over my skin and into my deepest parts. I want you written all over, your face your heart and your hands imprinted into this spirit of mine, reflected by this body of mine.

That's what I want, YHWH. I'll weave fabric from your words and comfort from covenants, and I'll wrap myself in them. They are royal robes, deep and wide and purple, and they fit so well.
I want Elizabethan blood tamed by your breath.
Lover of my Soul, this is what I want.

I have found that bicycles cure most ailments.

I am worried, because the pattern is starting again, and I'm a slave to it every time.
Sleep, and eat. And sometimes don't eat.
Just sleep. Sleep. Hide from all things in a safe place.
Hide from conversations and reality.
Sleep.
I am worried, because there is no one to pull me out.

monterray

As of now, I officially close the doors to any more shocking, upsetting, unsettling, and life altering news.
My heart won't take it, and for once I mean that in a very physical and literal way.

He's getting married.

I need an attempt at real articulation. Without speaking in whispers to myself. I'm learning a lot about myself these days. There are some things that have been told to me enough that I'm starting to believe them. And repeat them, and that is a terrifying thing. According to my Enlightened friend Jeremy, who knows nothing of Jesus and everything of community, says I'm a connector. Says I thrive when I'm facilitating relationships, when I'm a piece between hearts and voices. My friend Stephen, called me a catalyst for community. My own heart tells me I am happiest when people are thriving around me, and I have a hand in that. But the picture of my identity is so muddled. I do not see my worth. I do not understand how love works.

Here's where things look less pretty. My heart loves until it aches, and usually until it breaks. When pain walks into the room, I cannot turn a deaf ear to it. I see it in their eyes and bring it to the pit of my own soul. I break break break, cry, weep, retch, and grieve. It's black and ugly and it starts to tear me apart, and some days I let it. And I sink my own love into dark and despair. Lately, I'm learning how to hold it, grieve it, and then thrust it upon YHWH. HERE, you take it. I can't hold this, I can't bear this, I can't heal this. And then I can be ok, and the soiled mist lifts and I can breath again.

And here is where circumstances and a fallen humanity drag me into hard places. Sometimes, I love someone. And they choose someone else. Some other girl, some other ear to listen, some other soul to thrive with, some other partner in crime, some other friend on a dark night, some other friend on a bright day. Or maybe they just choose to drink in my love, and do not love me in return. And that is the greatest betrayal of all. I have been picked over. And I don't know what your hand in that is, YHWH. Sometimes, maybe you hear my heart ache and you move in my reality and help me, and provide a better way. You say, that person's heart was going to continue to hurt yours, and I'm your Daddy and I'm jealously protecting you. Or I'm jealous of your love for that soul, love MY being. And sometimes I think you hear my heartache, and you weep with me. And you say, I know my love, it isn't fair. But you can't manipulate someone else's choice. You influence and you beckon and sometimes you even command, but you cannot make a heart love me, or you. You cannot bend a heart to love my own. It must hurt for you, too. It must hurt much more than I ever could.

So here's my honesty YHWH. I don't think it's fair. And I'm hurt and I'm angry that life has not been just. That people have not been just.

And I am at a crux. I cannot continue on as I have. Something must change or I will throw myself under the feet of others as an unjustified martyr, and I will let their indifference or their selfishness kill me. And it will not be for your glory, and it will not be for your good. So I've got to learn how to love with discernment, and care with wisdom. Maybe somewhere along the line I will have to love with an understanding of my own worth. But right now that is muddled, because I look to people to instill my worth and they have spit in my face. So I turn to you, but I'm so bad at hearing truth. It has to melt through scars and burn through cuts, it has to wrap itself around my doubt and shout and whisper and hold and beckon and prod and persist. And sometimes, just a little gets in. I like those days. I like seeing clearly and living truly.

YHWH, i fear that my worth has been trampled and I've let my unbelief shape my reality. I am fearful that what they say and do not do is shaped my reality. I am fearful that the damage is done and my worth is ruined.

There was love and truth in words and silences tonight.

And if there's any proof that the purest love has no promise of marriage attached, it's between you and I. I would like to be bitter, to hold some sad song over my head, but the truth in your silences spoke more love than I could know.

And this is when I know that the Spirit lives.
Because it's all ok.
Because it's all actually ok.

Bicycles, and gin, and pipes, and picnics, and late nights, and early mornings, and real deep true forgiveness, and silence.
All these things are good.

Getting these letters in the mail,
Ink sinks straight to my toes.
I want to curl up with them forever.

I think I'll curl up with the gin instead.

She is strong, graceful, elegant.
Most of all, unmovable.

Some parts of me admire that stone conviction.
immune from one temptress, emotion.
Strong alone, without a man's helping arm.

I am a decision away from her.
Less moved I shall be, than before.
My heart has hardened to man's breath.

My back cold to their proposals.
None shall move my soul
as it was torn before.

None shall hold my hand,
and lead me into danger.
Into uncertain places
where I had run to before.

Strong woman?
With heart wrought of stone.
She has seasoned her life
to walk holding no arm.

I am a decision away from her.
Ready to close doors and look hard,
but I am not she.

I am made to open my heart,
hurt with another
and bleed for them all.
I have no decision to make.

I may walk alone, but not
with a hard heart.

I do not know who or what justice is.

Or If you, YHWH, are watching history fulfilled in each day of my life. Rather, are you watching and walking through this with me. Are you working in the mis-strokes of this painting into a picture that will reflect your glory in the end? You finish all works well, right?

Finish me well.
And I will fight you every step of the way.

When people play guitar, well when men do, and they do it well. I think I fall in love with him or the music for as long as it's playing. Muse, sweet sounding muse.

YHWH. I miss you. But that's silly isn't it? You're there. I'm here. But there and here are all really words I'm using for, now. You are. Now. And so, I think that makes everything ok. Peace has wrapped itself around my veins and lungs, and I can breath.

I can breath, I can breath. Hallelujah, I can breath.

I'm torn between too many things.

To pursue and to be pursued. What if our friendships rots away to nothing, because I am prideful and don't always want to be the one who pursues.

Or what if I should let it rest, if you've no heart to look for me.

Where's the balance? Because I keep running after and calling after, and you've left me with nothing but my imagination to cling on to. And that's a very dangerous place.

There are no friendships, always. I do not heal, because I've no strength to let things lie.
Deep aches hurt, I am hurting.
And YHWH, you aren't the only one I want to hear my story. That's the problem. I want someone with real eyes to look at mine, and real arms to shake me back to sanity. I'm selfish. And if I said I believed you were ENOUGH, I'd be lying right now. Because I've begun to look at how I actually live, rather than what I say I believe.

And my life says I believe you are anything but enough.
Let's change that.

I think I'm still beating, pulsing, moving, breathing.
Just a few sharp reminders that I am very much alive.

What's life without memories, and what are memories that do not move us, and what is moving that is not passionate, and what is passionate that is not painful?

Perhaps.

It's a Tuesday evening. I have committed to far more hours than Wednesday has to offer, and so I'm attempting to bleed some of those hours out of when I should be sleeping.

It's one of those nights where I'm sick to my stomach, uneasy and weak about tomorrow as much as tonight. It's everything. Head rushes blood, and stomach drops, and my arms tingle, and heart is shoved up against the wall.

I want to curl up with a strong arm, connected to a warm body. And live in celebration.
Where has the celebration gone? It's been poured out of me, bleeding for others. There is little life to pour out in celebration. It has all gone to interceding, and warring for you and for him and for all of those.

This is where I plead for restoration, for Holy water and deep magic to woo me. This is where I collapse at the foot of the well and drink and drink and find it hard to pull myself away.

There is much desert to be travelled, much more drash to find my cowdh. Much more seeking to find my sanctuary.

I think my head is confused and I'm sick to my stomach.
And there are waves of this.