the wind through the trees

a night sky so scantily clad, it was almost as if the moon were seducing me into outer space. i forgot the smell of cold, fresh air, riddled with pine and crestfallen snow. seldom were moments like these to come upon my path, but they lasted an eternity when i was in them. an engagement was to be had, not the formal kind where two lovers are to be wed; no, this wasn't so. it was an evening to find myself, paradoxically as it came to be, lost. intertwined and wrapped up in a euphoria of memories that never were, and hopes for a life that would never be. for i kept seeing myself as people i'm not, nor have the capacity or ability to become. i found myself in a reckoning of accepting who i am, finally after all this time, and not who i thought others meant for me to be. and she was still out there, wooing me through the bitter black of the open atmosphere. i would know her closely some day, and soon, as my hope could only be bridled as much as soon meant.

i could now feel the cold bite through my clothing and wool coat that draped my body in warmth shortly before. i reached for my flask, and twisting off the lid, i slowly found myself reflecting on actual memories of actual things and how moments stole people from me, and how people stole life from me, and how life stole love from me because of people in those moments. they're all faded now, and as the chilled bourbon hit my lips, it warmed me inside. not for the substance and effect, but for the kind times i did have with my kin, those whom i still to this day call brother. it was a warmth that i hadn't felt in quite some time. it was irreplaceable, and gave me the strength to bridle that hope even longer past what soon was meant to be.

the melodies of Chopin soared through the wreckage of my mind, Nocturne in e-flat to be exact. my boots crunched through the snow, and sunk even deeper when i stopped to gaze into the moon.

the only thing i had said aloud that eve was "Sarang, seriously. Come find me."

this is kinda what I thought it would be.

Fly on, right through, maybe one day I'll fly next to you.

I haven't written anything in quite a while. I'm sitting at my desk, in my office, with the green wall and stacks of books, in my new house, all by myself writing this with a galaxy's worth of thoughts.

A nice word exercise to express how I feel right now: firehose, torrential, lightning bolt, exhausted.

I've come to a place where the XY and Z things I thought I wanted, and really took a heartfelt stab at, are now all ether in the past. So, the reality faces me - I need to know what I want next. That's kind of a hard place to get to, since I have XY and Z things I need to take care of with my home, personal provisions, etc. The more you grow up, the more I see how you grow up. The more I grow up, the more I feel the extreme luxury of day-dreaming up passions and scheming ways to get what I WANT, instead of going through this or that to get what I need accomplished. All that to say, I feel like a dad, but a dad in a house without a wife or kids. I've got all the terrible puns, all the eye-roller jokes, all the cuss words and cynicism to last 4 generations of more me.

Some things make me want to cuss and spit. Mostly junk mail and bitchy people. Other things make me really want to dance before the Lord in rejoicing and relish the great love of God in my life.

Here's a list of what I don't have on the docket:

A wife
A colander
A stircrazy popcorn maker
A blu-ray player to watch Star Wars or Lord of the Rings, or even Kill Bill vol 2.
A copy of Kill Bill vol 2. on blu-ray to watch.
And that's it.

Sucks

It's hard to go to bed without Teddy. 

A rush of real and raw hit my life. So many things at once, so many bumps on this road that showed what really spills. Some of it I'm glad over, others, most of these spills, I'm gravely ashamed. 

I had like 800 Million thoughts. I want to stay home and watch all the Star Wars movies, I want to leave in the wilderness for a while, I want to make out with the babe God has made for me, I want to distill my own brand of hooch, I want to smoke with Bill Murray and talk about owning an island. 

My heart hurts more now than it ever has, but, that's life. God has a plan, I never once doubted his goodness, I just saw that difficult doesn't mean bad. What should I do next? The next right thing. Even if that means the next unconventional thing. I've grown incredibly tired of people around me having fickle commitments, and not having their money where their mouth is. I guess the hard raw stripping down to my soul made everything seem, well, exposed in a new light to me. 

I gotta laugh, love people, keep doin my thing. I won't be stopped, especially by myself. 

I know why people don't like me either - I hit that nerve that makes them realize they need to leave their comfort zone. And I only do it to those whom I love, because I really do care, as cliche as it sounds. We are in a war, and soon I'll stop saying things, because heads are gonna roll. 

I am a million miles from home. Days, months, years, who knows, but I'm not done, I can't fully rest, and this war will rage on. But there are moments when everything seems so clear. Carry on. Pilgrim, you are not alone. 

Sorted Dissaray

My eyes are bereft of rest

And the ache of my heart crept back

This sudden realization that all I want seems so far away

What happened? I feel like I woke up and everyone had a plan to change without even telling me. This hot and cold transfer didn't do anything good, and now I have this Truman Show sense of paranoia. 

It makes me want to scream. The big bad wolf is just lurking past the tree line, and he's watching my life burn to the ground with a crooked smile locked from ear to ear. 

My Russian nesting heart keeps shelling up and locking away, and I don't say what I mean to say. It's a problem. 

I am satisfied and things are good. I'm a liar and things are better. I am in denial and still drive home alone. I am wandering aimlessly through capsized ships and deep sea monster boneyards. 

Deja vú to future happenings of undesirable circumstances, and I snap out of it with tight fists, remembering to take a deep breath and know that it isn't real yet. 

These are my bad dreams. 

Room 342

Another Friday night spent in a hotel room.
Another weekend away, and Monday is just around the corner.
The weeks are flying by, there isn't any time for anything it feels like.

So, here I sit in my room, at not my desk, with a jarring headache. I'm in the middle of projects, damage control, looming deadlines, new campaigns, after a long, hard, freezingly painful day, and all I can think of is how I want to record these musical ideas that haven't left me since I left Salt Lake. All I can think of is Moby, how someone a while ago said I had the confidence and creative vision of Don Draper (independently of them knowing I like that show, and him...as much as a Christian can and should like someone like Don Draper...), and that I want to be in my own bed and be home reading my books.

It's nice to go to the bar and order whatever, and say "charge it to my room".
I wish all of life were like that, but then again, I'd be foolish and the dessert wouldn't be a sweet treat anymore. Everything would be vain, more than it is now, and the thrill of the chase would be rabbits and foxes eating each other with no order to red tape and formalities.

What I mean to say is, it's a hell of a situation. Everything is taken care of, because I am forced to have my life remote from my life, and it's a nice luxury, but pales grossly in comparison to actually being home, and actually being with those I love. All I want is to be around and look you in the eyes and hear you talk and smile because it's all so real.

The Calvinist

A poem by John Piper

See him on his knees,

Hear his constant pleas:

Heart of ev’ry aim:

“Hallowed be Your name.”

See him in the Word,

Helpless, cool, unstirred,

Heaping on the pyre

Heed until the fire.

See him with his books:

Tree beside the brooks,

Drinking at the root

Till the branch bear fruit.

See him with his pen:

Written line, and then,

Better thought preferred,

Deep from in the Word.

See him in the square,

Kept from subtle snare:

Unrelenting sleuth

On the scent of truth.

See him on the street,

Seeking to entreat,

Meek and treasuring:

“Do you know my King?”

See him in dispute,

Firm and resolute,

Driven by the fame

Of his Father’s name.

See him at his trade.

Done. The plan is made.

Men will have his skills,

If the Father wills.

See him at his meal,

Praying now to feel

Thanks and, be it graced,

God in ev’ry taste.

See him with his child:

Has he ever smiled

Such a smile before,

Playing on the floor?

See him with his wife,

Parable for life:

In this sacred scene

She is heaven’s queen.

See him stray. He groans.

“One is true,” he owns.

“What is left to me?

Fallibility.”

See him in lament

“Should I now repent?”

“Yes. And then proclaim:

All is for my fame.”

See him worshipping.

Watch the sinner sing,

Spared the burning flood

Only by the blood.

See him on the shore:

“Whence this ocean store?”

“From your God above,

Thimbleful of love.”

See him now asleep.

Watch the helpless reap,

But no credit take,

Just as when awake.

See him nearing death.

Listen to his breath,

Through the ebbing pain:

Final whisper: “Gain!”