Page 15 of 66

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Rust

With a grumble and groan,
the trembling tower
clung to its “fifteen minutes,”
for well over an hour.

Eventually the strain
of holding itself high
brought the tower to its knees,
revealing the sky.

Now the steel Samson lies exposed,
and the vultures pick it clean
until a skeleton of rust
is all that remains to be seen.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were metal, weaken, and decay.*

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On compromise

When people talk about compromise, I get the impression that they mean splitting things down the middle, 50/50. But I’ve been giving the idea some thought lately, and I’ve come up with my own interpretation.

I was speaking with a friend on the topic recently, and told her that I don’t like the idea of compromise meaning splitting everything 50/50.  Doesn’t that kind of thinking create a system that’s open to abuse?  Couldn’t someone take a situation and say, “I’ve given you five things today and you’ve only given me four – so you have to give me what I want now.”?  Alternatively, what if we have a bad day and need more than 50%?  This model doesn’t account for that at all.

Instead, I told her that, to me, compromise means accepting that sometimes you have to split things 70/30, or 30/70.  Some days you need to give someone your 10 out of 10, and those days you don’t get anything.  Other days, you’ll need the 10 out of 10 yourself.

I told her that I think compromise is being graceful about accepting the ebb and flow of a relationship.  Compromise is acknowledging that the word has nothing to do with fair, and everything to do with respect.  Compromise means caring for someone else, but it also means caring for yourself.

If someone only takes but never gives, that is not compromise.  Those we love sometimes have periods in their lives when they need us to give more, and that’s OK.  But make sure they reciprocate.  Do not feed someone who is always hungry for more.  Do not share with someone who never shares.

Instead, seek out those who give joyfully, and respectfully request.  Offer your best, and be mindful of what others offer you.  Don’t be too proud to ask for help, and do not destroy yourself in the process of giving aid.

That is what compromise means to me.

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Indigo

The King
was quite well loved,
and his mourning kingdom
laid him to rest in the evening.
Farewell.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were twilight, mourning, and an end of things (ending).*

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The deal with the Devil

I once had a conversation about why an all-powerful, benevolent God would allow for the existence of the Devil – and it was interesting, so I thought I’d share.  Though that was years ago, the essence of that conversation remains with me.  So this post is not a properly quoted and cited paper, but a story blurred by years, my own imperfect memory, and my penchant for theatrics.  I beg your indulgence.

“Why does the Devil exist if God is so benevolent and powerful?

I saw a movie once called ‘Constantine’ that starred Keanu Reeves.  And I wouldn’t call it a great movie, but I enjoyed it.  But there’s a quote in that film that really got me thinking.

‘What if I told you that God and the Devil made a wager, a kind of standing bet for the souls of all mankind?’

Now, admittedly, this is a strange thing to find inspiring, but I’m not the type to ignore good advice – not even if it comes from an unusual source.  Because what if God and the Devil made a bet?  Why in the world would they do that?

As the story goes, the Devil fell from grace because he rebelled against God.  The story of why changes depending on your source, so I’ll decline to make any assertions there.  Ultimately, it does not matter.  The Devil fell, and opposed God.  And that is his nature.

But what of the nature of God?  If he is benevolent, why does he allow someone as wicked as the Devil to prey upon mankind?  This is even more confusing since God’s all-powerful nature should allow him to easily best the Devil.  Yet, he remains.

In the film, the characters assert or make the assumption that God and the Devil are engaged in a war, and that whomever gathers the most souls will win.  To that end, the Devil tempts people and God tries to save them.  Mankind is in the middle, both the victims of this war and the trophy.

But what if it is not that simple?

God is supposed to be benevolent – or all-good, to follow the ‘all-something’ descriptions of Him.  He is trying to save everyone.  That is why most people wonder why he does not simply smite the Devil and destroy him forever.  But to that line of thinking, I ask this question:

Whom is in greater need of saving than the Devil himself?

The Devil was once one of God’s most treasured angels.  But even though he fell, God’s own son tells the story of the prodigal son:  the story of a wayward son who returns home after selfish choices lead him to misfortune.  Yet that son is welcomed home with celebration, for his father is simply happy to see his son alive again.

Is the bet between God and the Devil not about who wins mankind, but an attempt by a father to bring his most wayward son back into the fold?

Because of that, it may seem like we are mere pawns in this game.  But I disagree.  We are not victims caught in the crossfire.  We are not the chips on the table.  We may be pieces on the board, but remember the pawn is far more powerful than it appears.  It can become any piece in time.  And so are we, in my opinion.

I think we are paladins, and we fight to save the world.  But the world is not merely buildings and roads.  It is not just trees and grass and flowers.  It is countries and cultures.  It is people.  And for every soul we save, we keep one more star in the sky from falling.

But is not the Morning Star the greatest star of them all?  But who mourns its fall?  Who would try to hang it back up in the sky, against all odds?  Who would forgive all grievances and welcome even the Devil back home?

A father would.  For the prodigal son – oh yes, a Father would.”

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Amber

“Give your lady a stone
to make it a happy home” –
or so I heard,
from those “wise and matured”.

But my love was unsatisfied
and claimed umbrage for her pride,
because she wanted to dazzle
and said my stone looked frazzled.

So the lady departed,
leaving me broken-hearted
holding a stone with a legacy
greater than her love proved to be.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were a woman, a stone, a memory/fossil*

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On Faith and charged objects

Have you ever had something that means…just a little bit extra to you? Whether it’s a lucky shirt, a favorite song, or, hell, even a lucky pair of underwear, these objects seem to make things go our way. Maybe we do well on a date or an interview, but something always seems different when they’re around.

I call these objects “blessed objects”, or sometimes “charged objects”.

I call them “blessed” because their effect is to bless our lives. We feel stronger, more confident, better when they’re in use. And because of that, we seem luckier when they’re around. But I call them “charged” because this effect is not inherent – it’s something we make ourselves. Maybe we have a good day, and attribute the success of that day to something we’re wearing, a song that made us feel pumped up, or maybe a book we were reading. But whatever the object or the reason, we have a good day and associate the reason why to this object. So the next time we want to have a good day, we put the object into play again and believe it will bring us luck.

Maybe it does, and the object gains more of our faith. Maybe it doesn’t, and we look at the previous successes as flukes. Perhaps we just exhausted all the luck of that particular object, and need to find another.

But at the end of the day, we can find another, and that’s important. These objects are neither unique nor miraculous – they are something we can create on our own. It is our faith in them that gives them power. And knowing that, we can choose to create objects when we have need of them.  That’s the way magic works, the way rituals work, and the way faith works.

Faith is a great currency of the soul. While we may not be able to move the world like magicians in stories, we can do wonders with enough belief. If we have a hat, a shirt, a tie that we KNOW is special, we will feel more confident while wearing it. And as the saying goes, confidence is sexy. It’s attractive. People like confidence, and the confidence we create with this belief can carry us just as far as any spell from a storybook. It will open doors, charm managers and dates, and it will inspire.

I participated in many rituals in my life. I have made a candle on the summer solstice that was meant to strengthen and inspire me. I’ve said a few words and destroyed a cup and a photograph to help myself get over some people. I’ve woken up early on the weekend to eat bread and drink wine in the hopes that doing so will save my soul.

Whether or not they work is a matter of some debate. But each and every one of them meant something to me. I believed in them, and that faith gave them power.  And the knowledge that I was the one doing this gave ME power.

And taking back that power is the reason why I wrote this post. Because anyone can believe in a miracle, but the one who explains a miracle… Well, now I feel a bit like the guy who ruined a magic trick. But I’m also the guy who’s telling you that you can make your own magic, perform your own miracles.

So go out there and do something amazing. You are powerful beyond measure, and limited only in the depth of your faith.  To borrow someone else’s words, which have meant a lot to me:

“Believe in yourself. Not in the you who believes in me. Not the me who believes in you. Believe in the you who believes in yourself.” *

Have faith, and you will do wonders.

 

* From the animated show Gurren Lagann, spoken by the character Kamina in episode 8

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Gunmetal

Fresh from the forge,
they still carry a spark,
if you look closely you can catch them
smoldering in the dark.

Steady under starlight
mirrors reflecting the moon,
but they hide from the intensity
of the sun overhead at noon.

Tread carefully in their presence,
unless you wish to learn
the swiftness of their ire
and how cold their fire burns

For whether eyes or guns
or ruthless will,
mark my words well:
all of these can kill.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were eyes, weapon, resolve/ruthlessness/full of intent*

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Ivory

Ivory is a color
that comes at quite a cost,
a history worth lamenting
all the lives which were lost.

Every life is sacred,
whether great or small,
but all creatures feel the fear
when a titan falls.

So be mindful of the dark harvest
farmed from each and every head,
and I pray thee to remember
that ivory’s ringed in red.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were elephant, tusk, and blood/death*

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Teal

The ocean rises, rich with rain
filled to the brim with heaven’s pain
whose tears were so great that they fell
to rise again with every swell.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were ocean, rain, salt/tears.*

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We do not treat love kindly

We do not treat love kindly
in these modern days;
we stumble around blindly
trying to find our way.

We put women on a pedestal
and claim to give them awe,
but the moment they start to fall,
they’re crucified for their flaws.

Male culture lauds the fight,
cheers heroes from the stands,
but what waits on his wedding night
for a hero with blades for hands?

It’s time to leave the path;
we must blaze a brand new trail,
embrace our flaws, release our wrath –
the price is too high for us to fail.