Keeping Pace with A Restless Mind

So I guess this is how it always starts

I click play on the tube; a somber tune flows through generic wires into my ears

The kick drum kick-starts my stagnant heart and a steady beat begins, this is the start

Ear-drum’s on point now, matching every pound of the sound, my heart collects it’s rhythm,

Like a river, it flows through my veins, makes it’s way to brain; no longer am I the same

The switch has been switched, the light has been lit, my thoughts begin to take shape; in the form of a snare, a steady piano tune and a sultry voice hitting every single note as if it was programmed

But underneath these smooth words lies a tangle of roots, like the rose that pushed up through the concrete;

roots that take root in the fact that I’m not rooted in the mindset of surrendering.

Surrendering my worries, my fears, my questions, my hopes, and my anger to something greater.

[….]

Slowly, bass thumps in my head, and I’m back on my bed, pen in hand, dark strokes on the letterhead.

Jotted down notes that have kept time with the beat, and just like that my thoughts have taken shape.

The moment simply ends, flat-lines and I’m out. Rhythm fades and my heart returns to the norm, yet with the vines still tangled underneath my chest, I am bound to hit repeat. 

No Response.

“Your daughter is dead!”

“Your daughter is…dead.”

He just lets me scream. As if what I’m yelling to a blank page

“Do the words I’m saying not register?! I CAN YELL LOUDER!

She is dead.”

But I get no reply. I continue to yell.

It’s a vicious cycle.

Just as my throat cracks, and my voice goes dry, my tears flood it back to life.

And I yell again.

And again.

Over and over and over and over and over.

And over.

Someone woke up this morning, without a daughter.

“AND YOU JUST LET HIM WALK RIGHT IN THERE AND DO THAT!

I do not know why…MY GOD, it is so hard to believe that you are good when life vanishes!”

He continues to receive my tear-drenched, mumbled screams in perfect peace.

Maybe that is why I continue to yell. 

“There are times when the Lord is actually honored and glorified by our anger at Him, in ways that He may not be by an attitude of unruffled ‘trust.’ Job provides a healthy balance to the traditional picture of the bloodless, gutless, cheerfully suffering saint. At the very least, anger means that we are taking God seriously and treating Him as a real person—real enough to arouse our passions. Angry prayer is not to be recommended as a steady diet, perhaps, but it is certainly preferable to lip-service prayer. Doesn’t artificiality in relationships belie a far greater hostility than the honest expression of deep emotion? In the prim and proper prayer lives of many devout folk, a good old-fashioned temper tantrum might be one of the best things that could happen. In the courts of Heaven there is a place for the primal scream.”

Here I Stand at the Edge of the World

Here I stand at the edge of the world

I don’t know whether to jump off and…

Never mind, it’s not a matter if you’ll catch me,

But rather, do I want that? How badly?

My feet stay unmoved

At the crossroads between your outstretched arms, waiting on my jump,

and my own plan

Which, I have to be honest, always find a way to crumble

So, on and on I mumble

To myself, to you, to the world, to the heavens

To anyone out there that can give me an answer

Back and forth

Forth and back

The waves look a lot like my thoughts right now

It’s dangerous…what isn’t?

Mistakes were made…(iffy on this one) forgiveness?

Here’s the truth…this is a mess

Eventually these conversations get to God

Am I praying hoping he says no, or waiting for a nod?

Maybe I should rip my voice box completely out?

That way I can never veer from his path…

Right?

Here I stand at the edge of the world

I don’t know whether to jump off and fall into your outstretched arms 

An Untitled Letter.

Dear whoever you may be,

With every bone in my body I want you

I long for the day when I no longer have to search above and below

I’ve been fed lies about you,

I’ve seen photoshopped versions of you that frankly, I don’t ever want to see again.

But despite all this I know you’re beautiful, I know you’re true, I know you’re…

Somewhere.

But, here’s where it gets tough to continue with this mindset

Every time my heart is gripped,

My conscious races in on the scene and everything that was,

Stops.

Without fail, it always concludes by explaining this as just another unfortunate mishap

Somewhere along the lines of ‘too soon’ and ‘slow down’

But with each ‘maybe next time’ sentiment

I sense myself giving up.

Patience is a virtue, but it seems that all I’ve been is patient.

I don’t know who you are but I’m dying to find you

You have come in mirages in the past

And I have hung onto those

Thinking,

That just maybe, I had made it.

But the goodbye always sounds the same

Return to square one.

So, now what? I hear the knocking

And it’s at the front door of my heart

Should I let it in?

Because I know if I don’t, well…

I’ll just watch the chance slip through my fingers

Might as well cue the reset now, a start-over is looming

Of course, this all would be much easier if you could just fall out the sky

I see it on the silver screen.

But I’m told this rarely happens in the realness in which we live

So I try and initiate first

In the hope that,

Wait…scratch that.

In the shear miniscule one billionth of a chance that MAYBE

I’ve finally struck gold

That MAYBE this will be the time that I can look back on and say

‘I knew all along’ and boast in the fact

That the simple little phrase actually ended up working for once

Up to this point it’s just been wishful thinking

Which only leads to more crumpled paper in my already full trash can

So, is this the time?

I’m tired of thinking

‘this is it’

‘The one’

These phrases are old now, walking around with suitcases about to burst with extra baggage

Apparently, love is only real until it’s over.

Hey love! QUIT sending your doubles to my door.

I’ll foolishly answer each time.

I want to talk to the real you.

Sincerely,

Me.