On the Juke: Volcano Choir

An old love revisited. Repave by Volcano Choir has been playing on repeat. I really enjoy Justin's dedication, in whatever projects he tackles, to poetic lyrics that connect and lead to reflection... plus production that kills. Specifically today, the song "Comrade" has been moving me.

"Comrade"

by Volcano Choir

Like I didn’t know it

Choking on the pulp of it

Semper Fi

You kept me on your long line

Tugging in the whole time

Keep shining on

And that silent head grip

I can’t do it no more

The honey bin

The bunny's in

Is telling you there's a countdown

Oh, damn your eyes

To add that one a long time

Standing in a straight line

Said it'd be a tall climb

Said that we could go back

Said that we could go find

Terra-forming!

Said that we were coke blind

Drinking in dramnesic

Tore out the comrade

That's a comrade, making a comrade offer

That Ticonderoga shit

Made my mind and my heart all split up over

The floor to the jackpot

There's a floor to the jackpot

Where'd you rise?

You don't even lie to me no more

They say you ain't a comrade

Still, I'd know you'd come back

For a folly-ridden Romeo, you break down the fortress now

Standing out in public

Stained with your conscience

I know that you love me

You are just lawless, son

Give it another fortnight

Eye to eye the culprit

Just rid the fucking pulpit

I ain't giving you another full ride

Underneath the combine

Said it didn't bump you right

Habitual falling right?

Poetry Hour: Entry 18 - Obnoxious

This is a stream of conscious poem with a little editing. This is my mind processing the feeling of being perceived as "obnoxious" even though no one has ever told me that before that I can remember. I realize I cook up these negative definitions of myself by myself, drawing conclusions that may be entirely false. All this is also mixed in with a lot of other feelings as well, which makes sense since this writing really is stream of conscious; my brain is, in a way, regurgitating a lot that is welling up within me. This is my mind aflutter in that realm of reflection. 

obnoxious

slow down.
too loud
too loose
high mood
high noon
and i'm liquified
and i'd just die
on the tile floor
pushing a little more
for your yes
for your mess
for this glass
for a laugh
or a few
it's not new
it's my mood
it's the moon
as it shifts
and i switch
back and forth
wanting more
but needing less
as not to stress
myself out
or to shout
far too loud
in this crowd
so you'll hear
that it's clear
i'm here for you.
but us two?
slow down.
i'm everywhere
as each hair
stands on end
as i bend
backwards towards
sliding doors
marking this
a foreign bliss
or maybe that
a syndrome flat
hiding forever
being clever
but never knowing
what we're not showing
so i'm loud
with a shroud
too loose
high mood
high noon
and i'm petrified
that i'd die
'neath these eyes
and darker skies
of your rejection
and the inflection
of your taste bitter
that you'd fit her
better
while i'm still fettered
to you.
slow down.
quiet now
see how
the silence fixes
and transfixes
them to me
how i see
and i'm intriguing
and now they're bleeding
for more words
have they heard
i'm a mystery
i'm very interesting
i'm a bottle neck shut
i'm a bursting virgin slut
seeing everything but
you.
slow down.
can i listen
to this transmission
calling me to forget
and never let
anyone break me
fallen fake pleas
of social indulgence
of self-control quenched
fears of man
fears of hands
reaching for a rung
already strung
with falsification
and dirty damnation
that leads to sadness
and a sort of madness
akin to the sin
we all fall in
and must renew
and must pull through
so i'm trying my best
so i'm beating my chest
at the screaming of death
and the final breath
of truth.
slow down.


may 14, 2017

Poetry Hour: Entry 17 - De La Lune

de la lune

death at the lips of the ocean

and the tides responding to the call of the moon

receding

receding

receding

there was nothing i could do

may 8, 2017

Poetry Hour: Entry 16 - Split Ends

I have manufactured many a poem over the last year, most all written and edited and comprised on the Notes app I have on my phone. (I know. How lame. How millennial can you get.) I am hoping to edit through these poems a little more and make a second portfolio (after the first, She Sips in Silence) called Girl in Slow Motion. From this compilation, I have already shared some poems on this blog: "My Darkness", "Buried Alive", and "heaven over water" to name a few of the recent ones. Now I share another one; one that I just wrote the other night.

This poem deals with letting go. Letting go of things that are necessary to let go of, as hard and painful as that is. Letting go forces growth. It is the rose that is nipped away. It is pruning. You can see the beauty that once was, being satisfied and thankful in that, but recognize that to cut away is the best thing to do, ultimately.

I haven't done a lot of this sort of thing in my life, I realized. I see now that that was, and has been, a big factor for my anxiety. I try to keep alive things that are already dead, or near to inevitable death. I try to grasp and control so things are kept neat and tidy in life, in relationships; so that things don't fall apart; so that there is peace; so that there is happiness. But that is not life often times, and I cannot hold all the world in my two hands. I know more now than ever how it is so important and healthy to let go... when the time is right. And it's a delicate balance. To know "when" involves a lot of wisdom and discernment. I think (and what this poem deals with is) that I am learning just that: cues of when to hold on and when it is time to release. It's a thin balance. I hope to continue working on it as the year rolls on.

Split Ends

The whisper of scissors cutting my hair.
A quicker inward gasp, swallowing the air.
Pieces of me left in fragments on the floor.
They are the dead, the past, and what for?
I am healthy now, new and light.
Yet it seems, somehow, not right
leaving trickles of me behind;
letting the sun-drenched be declined
and without the roots that once held life;
eradicated with a sudden, screaming knife.
It’s a shock that takes you by surprise.
It’s the surface for the newly baptized.
It’s a letting go of what needs to leave
and finding that there’s space to breathe
in a world once wrought with a me
that is no longer. This is nearer to free.
This is stronger. This is the new pain
that molds the layer I was meant to attain.
This is the baggage left there, unneeded;
That is seen and, rightfully, well heeded
as I walk away from those silver silken sheers
that I once hated. That made everything clear.
That I appreciated as they did me a favor
and allowed me to not hold on and savor
what was threatening the good to come.
The new beginning. The sinking and rising sun
and the knowledge that I am okay.
The hair is left there to be swept away
so the ground can meet her next decay.

Poetry Hour: Entry 15 - Heaven Over Water

heaven over water

a white moon hangs in the black night sky

the all seeing eye

tells me

i know 

don't worry

everything is right

Poetry Hour: Entry 14 - My Darkness

My Darkness

These are my darkness.

Of the warm tears falling down my cold

cheek.

A raven fluttering its wings

over night filled with tender dreams.

These are my darkness.

Of the cares never received, only perceived,

hopelessly.

A blister cold beneath my teeth

that clench down the truth I scream.

These are my darkness.

Of the hands grasping, stitched upon my

knees.

A restless pleading that would send me

outward to take hold other hearts beating.

These are my darkness.

Of feeling and being so unseen that I'm

deteriorating.

A camera capturing a high speed

decay, overlooked and fascinating.

These are my darkness.

Of the blurring eyes and face pixelating

slowly.

A girl who's easily forgotten and forgetting

that she was loved once sacrificially.

These are my light and my darkness.

Of the blood and body that is actively 

dying.

A promise not felt currently, poignantly,

but exists, nevertheless, eternally. 

Poetry Hour: Entry 13 - Buried Alive

A poem like this deserves context. Maybe so people don't freak out and send help. Please don't. I already have that.

Though this poem is dark, I'm alright. I assure you. However, the feelings are real and the words come from a place of depth, of meaning, of fear, of human condition and weakness.

I had a spiritual high very recently - not two months ago. But with a high such as that, I worried during it what the dry season afterwards would look like. I know these things come in waves; I was bound to come down sometime... I just didn't know how far down I'd fall. 

Well, I couldn't help it quite honestly. My anxiety from the past began to come back and this time with a friend called depression. I believe this poem kind of describes what it's like within it, at least for me. It sounds similar to when I wrote about my anxiety attack, because it is similar. They are different though. I've never been, at least in my adult life, in this place before, as low as I am. I would say it's a lot of apathy towards myself paired with the onset of random sadness, mostly occurring when I'm alone.

Now, to end, hear this: my current condition doesn't mean I love God any less or am trusting him any less than I did when I was on top of that mountain with him. That's not what depression or anxiety is. On the contrary, we two are pushing through this. I am yoked with him and I look forward to see how he works, because he is so strong and so good. So very good. 

Buried Alive

It's getting harder to hide. 

I'm falling apart on the inside.

It's a speeding car without breaks

heading straight 

for a brick wall. 

Maybe if you were to call 

out to me I'd break free; 

finally flee 

from this speed 

and just slowly bleed 

in your arms. 

But I'm not pretty enough for you to want to save me; 

I've got nothing in the way of charms. 

So I'll just crash like crazy 

and hope I don't cause any harm.

It's in a shell I recoil; 

a breathing corpse grasping at the soil. 

I'm in a body unwanted, 

soul haunted 

with pain and grief. 

Maybe, for a moment brief, 

you would attempt to see 

the depth of me 

that lies 'neath 

the shroud of my teeth 

gleaming bright. 

But my smile has always been a kind of release for them;

I've given every inch of my light.

So I'll keep my sorrow hidden

and hope they aren't feeling my fight.

It's suffocating, the ground -

the dirt so thick you can't hear a sound.

I'm choking on rocks in my throat;

my lungs coat

with the dark grave

that slips and begins to cave

in on the hollow bones 

shaking alone

in my skin;

the air growing thin

without you.

But because I still lie alive in this body of death

I find a longing still lingers through.

So I'll savor every single one of my breaths 

and claw away to a surface new.

On the Juke: Julien Baker & Phoebe Bridgers

Julien Baker, with Sprained Ankle and Phoebe Bridgers with her three song album Killer, pairing with her single "Waiting Room" seem to musically intertwine in my mind. These two distinct people with two distinct albums seem incredibly akin to one another. So simple, yet so unique. Not much in the way of sound experimentation, but rather in a guitar fueled desolate beauty. These two women seem to embody the heart of folk in a haunting sort of way.

In my own opinion, and maybe this is just from my lack of this particular ability, the best sort of writing is the writing that can capture a very poignant idea in the fewest words possible. Poetry often does this. To have a unique experience, record that through words, yet still have another person or even many people connect with it because of their common humanity is a beautiful thing. These two women seem to do just that with their music.

Through their individual hard times, the emotions and memories conveyed through their simple sounds and simple lyrics are genius, really. Complicated situations are broken down into mere clips, mere fragments that convey an entire story, an entire relationship or injury, situation, whatever.
Though they don't have a lot of music out, this leaves listeners hungry for more. It's the sheer, raw sadness, depression, love. They wreak with depth of emotion, touching on some of the barest human experiences one could have, exploring the lowest of the lows, screaming out for the highest highs.

For me, in this season, coming out from a serious spiritual high, they are a cold warmth over my contemplative heart and soul. If you're willing to feel, put their albums through on your queue. Just remember: open your eyes and hold your nose - you're about to dive real deep.

P.S. Both of their albums are available on Spotify, however if you want more from Bridgers than just four songs, check out her Soundcloud page https://soundcloud.com/phoebebridgers

Photo courtesy of https://julienbaker.bandcamp.com/

Photo courtesy of https://www.facebook.com/phoebebridgers/

Genuinely, Deeply

Genuinely, Deeply

A Love Story

There’s something beautifully potent in the letting go of self-focused desires and transforming and conforming them to Godly, selfless desires. It’s also one of the hardest things you can do.

I used to think if the desires I once had were never fulfilled that they were selfish desires, maybe even wrong desires, because they were not granted to me.

This was the picture I had in my head:

Jesus and I are walking on a dirt path carved through a wood. (That’s how I always see my walk with God.) There’s a beautiful mountain clothed wilderness in the distance ahead and we’re underneath a canopy of trees. To our left and our right is the dense forest, and often times in our walk there will be smaller, less paved paths leading out into the darkness of that density. Me in my wandering mind, I often take my sights and my thoughts off of Jesus and where he is taking me, and grow curious of the alternate paths leading into the darkness. I will sometimes pause our movement so that I can go explore that other path. I used to think that Jesus would watch me from that main path and wait to pull me back onto it after I had seen my fair share of what he doesn’t want for me. Like the sheep in the shepherd’s crook.

Surprisingly, only recently, I changed this picture that I had always imagined.

He doesn’t stay on the path where the light is while I run to the darkness. No, he walks with me wherever I go. He will push away the branches before my eyes, dip under the trees, jump over rocks with me in my wandering. He will be my brightness. He will be the light in the choices I make to show me things I need to know. And these wandering paths were never not what he intended. To acknowledge his omniscience and sovereignty means that he knows every step I’m going to take before I take it, and allows me to go forward in it. So he’ll show me what bitterness looks like, he’ll show me what heartbreak looks like, he’ll show me what grief looks like, he’ll show me what joy looks like and love. He’ll show me abundant love.

But he still protects me. He is still my shepherd. He will still yank me backwards because he loves me very, very much. Like, “Whoa, whoa there child. Too far. Too far.”

And though I take paths other than the nicely paved one I always pictured, each wandering marks another milestone in my journey; a journey that has been set out before me. Every stumble I take, every puddle I step in, every thorn that scratches my cheek will teach me how to dodge the next one. And he’s standing next to me pressing me on. He will still lead me where I need to go because he knows this wilderness well.

All this is to say that I see my choices differently these days. Whatever choice I end up making does not mean I will be abandoned. “Either way, I’m with you,” he says to me. I will still sin and I will still make mistakes, but his presence does not leave me because I am redeemed by grace and mercy and love. Such love. And so I am comforted.

//

Everyone everywhere has desires. And there are some desires that can be truly, downright selfish. Others can be partially self-focused. Others can be, well, others focused.

The heart is a very powerful thing. I don’t know if I’ll ever quite understand my own. It does what it wants sometimes without my permission. It can be very frustrating.

I think I fall in love with a lot of people. And I don’t mean romantic love, though that can certainly happen. I fall in love with men and women alike in the most platonic, yet passionate way. I think in my life there has been a pattern of me loving people very deeply. Sometimes those people love me back very well. Other times they hurt me very much, because I expect things from them what they never guaranteed to me. I guess I just hurt myself.

But more recently the lines between romantic and genuine, deep love crossed at some point. And that was kind of my worst nightmare. To love someone so deeply in such a short amount of time, and have really confusing feelings amidst it all is kind of hard to deal with. It makes any sort of risk in friendship that much scarier.

And so, of course, I didn’t want feelings. At all. I didn’t want any sort of love at all if that meant that I would not have any love in return. Which was what was happening. I was not being loved equally. I was being loved hardly at all, as far as I sensed and understood. Though, it very well could’ve just been an expression of  love that I’m not used to. I digress.

It would be so much easier for me not to feel anything. I prayed very fervently for that; for a sort of simpler love to arise so that I might be at rest. To become acquaintances with mutual respect. That sounded nice.

So I continued to pray for either a change in him or a change in me. I just needed to be rid of this weighty fullness of love I had. Where I held his soul, broken as it was, and loved it still. Where I saw his passion and kindness and wanted it still, but couldn’t stand it if it meant I would be left alone with it. Honestly, I wanted to be loved back in the way that I so fully loved, but was not receiving maybe even an inch of that. Who wants that? Nobody wants that.

I even came to the conclusion that I just wanted clarity. Recognizing my depth of love made me truly feel that I just wanted answers. I just wanted to be either great friends, loving each other as a brother and sister with openness and honesty, or great lovers, loving in a limitlessly divine way. But I was stuck in an uncomfortable place where neither was being realized.

I grew angry with God as time went on. Why hadn’t he moved my heart out of that place? “Nothing is happening, why am I here?” Trust me, I tried very hard on my own. It wasn’t working. And he had done it before, in a slow process. He took me out of love, to a degree, and fixed my eyes elsewhere. But he wasn’t letting me let it go. He kept it in me and roots grew deeper still.

“Maybe I’m a little insane. Maybe this would scare the crap out of him if he knew. Maybe I’m silly and ridiculous. Maybe I’m simply not worthy.”

These were the fears that I held during this time because of my lack of self-confidence, because of my fear of love, because of my misunderstanding of love. These were selfish fears. I wasn’t seeing love as it should be seen.

Now I am writing this very vulnerably because my feelings have not subsided, and I’ve discovered that maybe they never will. But, there has been a mighty change within me that I’m still sort of working through that I want to share.

So back to my frustration. I suppose I am a very impatient being. I want answers right away before I actually take the steps necessary to learn them. I want the solution before solving the problem. I want to look in the back of the book for the answer so I can just move on.

Well, God wants me to actually learn.

I return to my picture. Say God is leading me to a river. I am exhausted; I just want to get there. I want to take the shortcut, he wants to take the scenic route. Not to torture me, but to show me what beauties lie on the long way to satisfaction. And to pick up some tools along the way to make drinking that water much easier. Tools that would not be found on the short path.

I have yet to reach the river, but I understand now why God is taking me on this road instead of another, easier road.
I don’t think I have all the answers, but I have some that have changed my perspective.

One of the days while talking with the Lord, instead of asking to have my feelings taken away, I asked why they were there. I thought through this long and hard, waiting for an answer.

Then I simply thought of him, the one whom my soul loved. (No, he’s not my husband, of course, but I’m being honest here. My soul loved and loves him very much. We don’t have to get married for that to be real. I told you I love deeply.) I realized in my rumination that I was being very selfish; I recognized how much he needed love. How circumstances in his life and trials that he had gone through made him cold to himself. He felt undeserving of love. He felt not worthy to be known.

He needed to feel love. He needed to feel known. And I was concerned about my own self and my own lacking.

And I received my answer:

“Love him like I love him, and that means relentlessly.”

There it clicked for me. I saw why God did not let me give up on him. Because God wasn’t giving up on him. He was using me and so many others in his life to call him back because he wants him so bad. God wants to cradle him in his arms and tell him he’s loved. So very loved.

And loving him relentlessly meant for me, that no matter what, I was supposed to love him. Plain and simple. That was my calling for this season. Whether he loved me back or not, I was supposed to love him and try to love him as best I could.  And pursue it. Pursue loving him in a very Godly way. Rather than wanting things for myself from him, I was just supposed to give love and pour it out, being sustained by God in me. My desire was now fully for his good and not my own.

And even if I feel hurt. Even if I would hope my soul could be loved like that. Even if my heart falls weak again, exhausted, I am still called to love: genuinely, deeply, relentlessly.

I talked with God further through this. I spoke with him honestly about what I wanted, about how I felt, about my struggles, about how this man pushes me away. What do I do? How do I love when I’m not wanted? I asked for something, anything to go off of.

And this God said to me:

“Intercede for him.”

Our great intercessor wanted me to intercede on his behalf. And so, though he runs away, I can still love him very well. I can pray for him specifically, with a heart that wants only good for him, joy for him, peace for him.

So, he’ll live his life. Give time to whom he wants to give time. Loving who he wants to love. But, no matter what, I’ll keep loving him and keep praying for him. I am his friend and that’s all I’ll be for now, maybe forever. And that’s okay for me. I am still Beloved. I am still called to love all people, especially him right now. I still have joy and peace. I am still whole.

Now, clearly, a lot goes on behind closed doors for me. On the outside, no one would really ever know this is all going on within me. And if he specifically were to read this, he’d probably freak out. I wouldn’t be surprised. If one of my close guy friends suddenly confessed a deep love for me like this, I’d be like WHOA WHAT. But, I’m not crazy. I’m human. And I’m a human with a very large capacity to love and I’m not mad about that. It draws me nearer to the character of God.

And one last thing before I go that I think is one of the other important things God showed me during this very trying season:

God loves every person on this earth. He loves them more than we can comprehend. The unfortunate part of it is that most of these people don’t love him back. Most of them choose to not love him, choose to slander him, choose to mock him, choose to steer others away from him. Not that this is true for me, but because of my unrequited love now and in the past, I see more acutely the pain God must feel when his children turn away from him. He wants people to love him back and he’s the only one who truly deserves it more than any other being. And yet, it remains unrequited. Not that he needs anyone to love him, self-sustaining as he is and full of love and joy apart from anything. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t desire our love. And that doesn’t mean he doesn’t stop loving us. He will always love us genuinely, deeply, relentlessly.

So I press on, still learning, still seeking, still hoping, and still truly loving with a love like Christ’s. How could I be disheartened? I have learned so much and have felt so deeply. I am clearly being molded by His sovereign, holy, loving hand. Praises be for that. I journey on.

And you too. Press on, Saints,

Olivia

“So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three;

but the greatest of these is love.”

1 Cor. 13:13

Poetry Hour: Entry 12 - Behold

Behold

Are you afraid

 because it would ask you to be 

vulnerable?

And in that 

vulnerability

you fear you'll be ripped to shreds?

That walking through those doors means

you'll meet with 

humanity:

the kind within yourself,

the kind within others.

It's the humanity that kills you;

that pushes you farther away;

that waves to you at a distance,

beckoning,

 telling you this is 

home

but you won't believe it.

Were they not kind to you?

How did they tear you through? 

So much so that you'd refuse even 

a friend's hand into the 

blue. 

What have they done to you?

That nothing, not even the words of an 

omniscient Savior

would persuade your

mind mangled 

with doubt; 

with fear.

To even come near and hear 

the truth.

Is it hard to face? 

How long must He chase

until you finally break down 

exhausted?

He wants you,

but it's still your choice. Do you 

risk your fear of people for the

hope of radiant 

love?

For the warmth of a 

soft hand 

and a 

soft word. 

What darkness has kept you 

from seeing 

light beyond brokenness?

It won't be perfect.

It will get messy.

But will you weigh the cost?

 How far will you 

wander lost without guidance?

With only your own mind navigating a 

world beyond your comprehension?

Break through these 

tensions

and pass the threshold.

Dig through the dirt and find

gold.

Breathe in, brother, and 

behold. 

On the Juke: Audrey Assad

God is doing a work in me right now. I mean, he is always working, that's for certain. But it is right now where God has been very visible. The Holy Spirit is moving and I am communicating with him through that very honestly.

The song "Good to Me" by Audrey Assad was brought to me last Spring. The timing was impeccable. In my trials, I recognized how very good to me God has been and always will be. I had a very difficult semester, with a lot of unknowns and a lot of anxiety coming from that.

Now Audrey is coming back again and making me weep once more.

She has a new album for 2016 out called Inheritance. But, because I never really listened to her before, I am just soaking in every song she has on Spotify. She has the voice of an angel so that doesn't hurt either. There is one in particular that just jumped out at me that I have on repeat that rings so true for me right now. It's called "I Shall Not Want" from the album Fortunate Fall. I'm going to put the lyrics here because they are poetic and just so needed. I hope they will spark something in you also.

I Shall Not Want

Audrey Assad

From the love of my own comfort,

From the fear of having nothing,

From a life of worldly passion,

Deliver me, O God!

From a need to be understood,

And from a need to be accepted,

From the fear of being lonely,

Deliver me, O God!

Deliver me, O God!

And I shall not want, 

No, I shall not want,

When I taste your goodness, I shall not want.

When I taste your goodness, I shall not want.

From the fear of serving others,

Oh, and from the fear of death or trials,

And from the fear of humility,

Deliver me, O God!

Yes, deliver me, O God!

And I shall not want, 

No, I shall not want,

When I taste your goodness, I shall not want.

No, I shall not want,

No, I shall not want,

When I taste your goodness, I shall not want.

When I taste your goodness, I shall not want.

I shall not want,

Shall not want.

Photo courtesy of audreyassad.com

Poetry Hour: Entry 11 - You're Picking Wildflowers

You're Picking Wildflowers for Her

I've been replaced,

yet I rest.

Fingers laced with another, time will open

your eyes.

With the rising dawn it will fall upon you; a 

weight poured heavy in the night: 

She's not me.

 And she never will be.

And you'll realize it selfishly.

And I won't be in her eyes. And my mind won't

be in her mind. And you'll wait for

me to come, in the moments with 

the sinking sun, 

and I won't be there. 

You pick wildflowers for her

to place in the vase of the void within you

where I once stood blooming. 

A bouquet

made of all the days you wasted us away 

in a careless decay. 

Lean into her, 

with legs tied tight to hold on to the thing

you mindlessly create. 

Her skin will wear thin in what feels like

a moment, so hold it close

and hope it lingers longer than what 

your wisdom would warn you. It'll make you

feel again. 

And I'll pray. 

And I'll ask for the Son to

shine brighter in the end, making amends

amidst this chaos. 

That an eruption of beauty would undo me

and my anger. That the inevitable tears

will wash us all in 

something sweeter. 

And that the fragrance you paved

would fade to a 

misted memory

glanced upon with the knowledge of 

something greater. 

QOTD: Personal Revelation

"Speak that I may see thee."

J. G. Hamann

"When J.G. Hamann enunciated the revealing paradox, 'Speak that I may see thee', he opened a window on the mystery of personal revelation. We do not truly know the other unless he or she opens him - or herself to be known. Knowledge of the other is mediated by all the five senses, but the saying rightly indicates word and sight as the central. What we say and how we present ourselves - for example, in the way we dress and bear ourselves - are at the centre of the way we make ourselves known to our neighbor."

The Authority of the Other, Colin Gunton

QOTD: Rendered Powerless

"Satan's ultimate weapon against us is our own sin. If the death of Jesus takes it away, the chief weapon of the devil is taken out of his hand. In that sense, he is rendered powerless."

John Piper, Future Grace

Link to Article: How to start a poem? 5 easy steps.

"I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty"

Edgar Allen Poe

This summer I interned with a blog that is a dedicated resource for writers like myself. I was able to contribute one article that can be helpful for anyone hoping to write poetry.

"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words."

Robert Frost

Here is the link to the article if you'd like some tips on how you can start writing poetry now, or even improve your own writing if you've been working at it for awhile. Poetry is for everyone, and I guarantee that if you take the time to learn and practice, it will only benefit you in the end. 

"Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is only known in private."

Allen Ginsberg

Poetry Hour: Entry 10 - Porcelain

porcelain

break my neck, crack my spine,

i am merely a fly drenched in wine.

pour it down porcelain,

blood stained rich and divine.

my back hunched from the weight

of the meaning, of the voices of my 

enemies screaming, teaming up on me

and i lie bleeding. blue light

beaming in the dark. aged scents

pull me deeper, draw me into the 

sleeper that cradles the creeper,

the shadow looming in the dark. a

cloud in the corner, a cave in the 

ceiling peeling away at my skin. he 

draws me in. again he grins at my

sin and lifts my limbs weaker. do i 

answer? what can i say to this

cutting cancer that keeps me

reeling? a feeling of wretched

worthless withering. slithering he 

comes down from the corner and

meets me, greets me with a 

crooked finger, a touch that lingers. 

putrid, i melt with decay; all good

deeds of the day wasted away. i am

an insect; rotting flesh filled with 

this infection of filth that floods

every fiber of my blood with stain; a

brain born brimming with blame. 

pour it down porcelain. 

pour it down porcelain.

pour me down porcelain. 

On the Juke: James Blake - "The Colour in Anything"

Spotify can seem like a blessing straight from the fingertips of Jesus sometimes. In my mindless perusing, Spotify informed me that James Blake had come out with a new album, this to my surprise. I like him as an artist, and his previous albums, "Overgrown", "Thunder" and his self-titled album had me enraptured. So of course when Spotify notified me of this apparent new album I clicked on the link faster than you can say, "OH HECK YA."

Now I will concede that Blake has a particular (maybe even acquired?) taste, especially when it comes to "The Colour in Anything." Coined as having an "indulgent length," the album is, like much of his other works, incredibly soulful and romantic; it requests listeners to partake in a sort of magical journey that I would recommend mentally preparing for before embarking upon. It seems to me to be a bit more ambient and experimental, which I am not always in the mood for, to be honest. But if I'm doing homework, writing, or even on an evening drive where my thoughts can get lost on the seemingly endless road before me, he's really quite perfect.

Favorite song on the album? By far "I Need a Forest Fire", which was released as a single before the full album release. A collab with Justin Vernon and James Blake? Ye duh it's gonna be good. It's most definitely on repeat for me. I also thoroughly enjoy the piano driven song, "f.o.r.e.v.e.r.", which gives off major Sam Smith vibes. It is a surprising rest from the mega-modern electronic playfulness present in most of the other songs on this album. It's really truly beautiful and may make you cry a little bit.

So give James a listen, if you're up for a little bit of an experimental, artistic trip. If that's what you're into, by all means, listen forth. 

Photo courtesy of jamesblakemusic.com 

Link to Video: "Pilgrimage"

The short film I mentioned in Poetry Hour: Entry 8 this March is now completed and posted online. "Pilgrimage" is a short, 90 second, film by my friend Austin Puckett featuring a poem I wrote based off of a quote by Thomas Merton. Follow this link over to Vimeo and watch it a few times. It's definitely worth it.

Relent Again

Allow me, friends, to be vulnerable with you so that we might come together in our mutual redemption and brokenness. Let me share my reality so that you might enter into it with me.

I will begin my confession here (and bear with me, it's a little lengthy):

It was a normal night at home. I was on the couch with my mom watching a movie. A colorful, graphic, horror-thriller Guillermo del Toro movie, to be exact. I had gone through most of the movie being just a little unnerved by a few of the scenes (if you don't know, I am terrible with blood. Just terrible.). Near the end of the movie, and I'm talking like less than ten minutes left, I felt my heart begin to pound. I consciously recognized this and decided to turn away and focus on my breathing for a moment. Little did I know then that only minutes later my mom would be yelling my name at me from above because I had not only passed out, but my body began to contort backward. I awoke hazy, ears ringing, confused. My mom immediately turned off the movie, which I was disappointed by because I wanted to see the end - clearly I was very into it - and gave me water to drink. I lay on the couch chuckling, apologizing to my mom for "scaring the crap out of her." I mean, just imagine you're in the height of a scary movie, laying in the dark, and you turn around to find your daughter looking like Emily Rose, exorcism mode, body contracting on the couch. Terrifying, to say the least.

This event happened a few months ago. I didn't think much on it after the fact, if only to relay the story to friends, who responded with nervous laughter and slight concern for my well-being.

However, I still start my story in light of this event, the function of which is simply to note that our bodies tune acutely to our minds and emotions. If we don't slow for a moment, if we are too enwrapt, too overwhelmed, chaos may ensue. Our bodies may overcome our rationality and even our sanity.

I'm not necessarily foreign to mental illness. If I think on it, I've encountered more friends as of late that have dealt with depression and anxiety than ever in my life before. These young adult years seem to put an incredible amount of pressure on persons and it shows in the statistics. The eruption of mental issues is a serious and underrated crisis in this generation. That's saying something.

I had a posture of sympathy for this until recently. The friends I knew that had or have depression or anxiety shared with me what they had gone or are going through, and I understood as much as I could. But now I have empathy. I'll tell you why.

Weeks after this incident in my living room I found myself having that same feeling of breathless heart pounding. It came in moments of multiplicity - when there would be a lot going on at once and I couldn't carry it all. But there was one day where it all seemed to finally climax and collide.

It was throughout this day where I, again, felt my heart racing. Whether that was with anticipation or fear or lack of control, I can't say fully. A film project that I had worked on with my friends had come to its conclusion and I was to end my day with a pre-screening. I was running around a lot that day, doing many different things socially and academically. So, when it came the time for the screening, I was all aflutter with anticipation for the final product. Sitting in the small theater in our campus' production center, I didn't feel anxious. It was pure excitement and a bit of awe at the work that had been done. I was proud of my friends and so happy to see this video released to the world.

When we had finished the video, after watching it three times over, everyone in the room began to converse. Amass of people crowded together; so many people to talk to; so much congratulating. It was wonderful, of course, but my mind was abuzz. My heart was steady at this point, as far as I can remember.

I started talking to my friend Chris, who had a photography exhibition in our campus' art gallery at the time. After talking a good while, two of my other friends entered the conversation and we eventually decided to go over to the gallery afterwards to have a "private tour" of the artwork from the artist himself.

Though I had seen the artwork before, really contemplating the work alongside the person that made it was a lot to take in. Having the work focusing on a divorce and the effects therein was certainly heavy. Incredibly beautiful, but, indeed, extremely heavy. We stayed for over an hour, talking about each piece and the emotions that came along with it. My heart felt deeply, and I found myself, in the middle of it all, feeling lightheaded. I sat down secretly and controlled myself, breathed, and allowed my body to settle. I recognized then that my heart had been racing the entire time and I couldn't make it stop.

We stayed until almost one in the morning, moving from the artwork into friendly conversation. We laughed and enjoyed ourselves. I forgot about my heart.

Returning to my room, I realized how overwhelmed I really was. I moved from lightheadedness to dizziness. I needed to lie down. I was close to passing out again. I didn't. I decided to try and let sleep consume my mind, but I couldn't find it. I lie awake until late morning, only getting around three hours of sleep. My heart was still racing when I woke up.

The next day was marked by horrible fear. Fear that I couldn't shake. My heart still racing, lies started to swarm through my mind. I was overwhelmed with emotion I couldn't control. I was terrified of people. I was terrified of myself. I couldn't focus on any one thing. Midday I felt myself on the verge of tears. That I would look someone in the eye was risky. I could flood at any moment. I stole away into the library and released a few ugly cries, hid myself in the bathroom, cleaned myself up and returned to my study spot with friends only to realize I could not be around people. I had to be alone lest I breakdown in public.

My eyes pouring out, cheeks stained with tears, I walked to my room hiding my face. What was happening to me? I was so confused with myself.  I knew every ounce of truth yet nothing seemed to drown out the lies in my head - that I wasn't good enough, that I was filthy, stupid, ugly, that I was worthless. But even in this, the truth still whispered in the back of my head. I found myself in my room, my body wracking, hands shaking, tears uncontrollably falling out of my face. The truth wasn't sticking.

I looked at my hands. My hands were empty because I was grasping nothing. Every unknown was blaring in my face. Every fear I had about the people in my life, of my own future, came crashing down on me in those two hours of pain and anguish. My body was reacting; I could do nothing. Any sense of rationality was gone. My bones quaked and I couldn't stop them. This was anxiety in its deepest state.

It was after this, after the slow down and the reconfiguration of myself through the truth of others being spoken into me, that I found myself again. Stillness came to me lying in the sunshine with a friend who graciously held me in my weakness.

I had an anxiety attack.

What did this mean for me? What was my life to look like now? My new found fear, on top of all the others, was that this would happen again. Was I to live like this every day? Maybe. I couldn't know. I could only rest as much as I possibly could and remember to breathe. To pray and to breathe.

I am writing all of this now in a posture of, like I said, empathy. I now know what it's like to be sitting inside of yourself, doubled-over, wailing in pain because your mind is in every direction, and at the same time, in no direction at all. There are voices in your head that you know you shouldn't listen to, but you simply can't help but receive them. They sink in whether or not the truth is written on your heart.

So what can I do? What can I say of this? I want answers, a solution, but.... I know there are wise roads to take in light of this. To go to counseling, to a psychologist, to Spiritual Direction. Wonderful, wise roads that should absolutely be taken. But, however wise those roads may be, there are still some things in life, some battles, that cannot be fixed quickly. Sometimes you're going to have a bad day out of the blue and no amount of prescription drugs or talking can fix that.

I will say something now that I learned in Spiritual Direction that is straight truth. Truth that is a breath of fresh air even if you're drowning in the muck. I say this in repetition as if to myself, though it is true for all.

God is with me always. I mean always. Even in the darkest of states. When I'm curled on the ground, fetal position, crying my eyes out - he is there. He is holding me there, in my sorrow and in my pain. He does not delight in my suffering, but suffers with me. He wept at the death of Lazarus, though he knew he'd resurrect him only moments later. Jesus sees the effects of the Fall and weeps. So he sees how my body is reacting, contracting, aching - and weeps. He understands the burdens I bare and asks to carry them. My empty hands are empty because I cannot hold the weight that I've been given. Like sand it falls through. He catches it. He wants it all. He wants me to relent.

There remain days when my heart still races out of nowhere; when I have to catch my breath all of a sudden. I am living in a body that moves towards Death, yet am filled with the Spirit of Life. So I must deal daily with the toils of my flesh and relent again. Though my anxious heart still beats out of time, my God remains constant in peace. I will relent again.


Press on Saints,

Olivia

"At the threshold of a new day stands the Lord who made it."

Dietrich Bonhoeffer