Never Too Much You can never have too much Patience. Can you? You can never tire of love? Will you? You can never get sick of peace Grow frustrated by it? You can never be too kind. Throw up at the thought of it? Have too much self-control. Can it make you sick? You can never have too much of the good things. and the good things can revive you like a living spring.
Handcuffed by the Past How could you think we would forget? You sinned have a fatal flaw broke all laws and now your daring gives us pause. You want to be forgiven redeemed and released but we will keep you imprisoned in our negativity. We will keep you in your place remember your disgrace no second chances with you ut us a cold case. We may not be God with no right to punish but by god! We wont let you flourish!
Yep this sums up exactly how I am feeling right now. When I get up in the morning and want to go immediately back to sleep. Then even worse, spending the entire day trying not to fall asleep, because if you do, you know you will spend the nigh tossing and turning and wondering and regretting. So for now I am tired of being tired, but what to do?
I have also been the one to find every reason why I am so tired. I self-diagnosed vitamin deficiency, boredom, stress, a lack of motivation to do anything productive and currently, chronic fatigue. The last one I had to look up, and I still am not sure how to explain it to myself much less someone else. However, I was told this about two years ago by my doctor at the time, so I guess I can still use it.
The point is, I am tired and I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe if I get out more – wait, okay let’s rethink that, or not. OR, let’s just give in and laze about all day everyday, until another sensation stings me and I am surprised into wakefulness. Let’s hope. Maybe if I think about the consequence of being this tired, it will act like cold water and shake me out of my stupor…….no nothing.
Oh well, so I guess I will have to take each day as it comes, until something excites me enough to get my blood pumping my heart racing and my eyes wide open.
Song in My Heart So faint and distant it comes from a ghostly realm where dreams go to die and are no more. It beats out of step behind a moldy door left to fester and perish no oxygen given a place where no hope liveth. But the song the song is in my heart covered under all the cobwebs have almost pushed it out into the cold... Then sings my soul... The song hangs on clings to the last thread of stubborn will. Or maybe a Spirit? But I must bring forth this song. Oh the song! From generational curses I must unearth this song. Oh the song! From death and hate I must dig up the song. Oh the song! The song the song! It refuses to die. It changes shape and space but it remains the same. A symphony of strange sounds proclaims its immortality. It rushes out from the dark places, requires me to sing victory. Because this song will never die neither will I. It is perfect it is true it is faithful All this also I must be too. I must find my new yellow brick road to claim my song. Lost to me But never forgotten, stolen but able to be restored. My song- only I can sing it - the right way. Oh the song!
Break All the Narratives Before you can break those chains that cling lovingly break all those narratives. All those time you would be confused wondering why things just could not turn out right. Why the curse had followed you from Eve's womb. Stories told of you to you about you but never by you. stories which condemned you before you even tried. They sought to bury in the petrid soil of hopelessness - where you were told you belonged. Never your story never you. it does not matter. It does not matter that you had to claw your way up. That at your slow progress you shed all your feathers. It does not matter that two turned three and three five and five seven - perfect score. You have changed the narrative. Replaced the broken empty vessel to carry all the wisdom you need to carry the water that restores. When no one can help you it is okay. Okay to walk alone okay to say goodbye to all that would entrap you. It is okay to stop listening to the stories that do not define. Okay to stop telling them as if they were family heirlooms. It is okay to forge a new story - one where you are the director and writer producer and teller. to finally break free from the web of the lies you were told to be.
No One Left Behind Before now I had to let you go. Till now You carried your own load. From then You mended your own wounds. That time you bobbed and weaved hungry dead destroyed broken. And now a hand reaches out to you from now the light beats out the cold Here now your moment arrives to prosper. A moment strength lifts you high new renewed filled mended restored. The cold slips right off nothing touches you there are no gaps no hole for forced entry. gathered together like sand grains pulled out to sea we cling together finally free.
It may be that you are feeling suffocated by the uncertain buble in which you exist. You may feel buried alive unable to see how far gone you are, but knowing you are about to run out of air. How can you crawl your way out of this mess?
It surely will take supernatural powers- powers you don’t have. So now what? Well you may have a small plastic fork from that dinner you did not consume. It look feeble, almost ready to break, but hey, it’s all you’ve got. But no, it cannot be that you must use this feeble tool, so you wait. As you wait for your saviour you begin to get delirious. You forget that the space you occupy is so confining that you begin to stretch, only to be reminded by the sudden collapse of your lungs; what to do? Oh what do you do?
You spent so much precious time dreaming of being free, of stretching wide and far, of being carefree. It almost becomes too late and it will be too late, if you don’t get going soon. As you lay there inactive undecided and immovable, there is a constant sticking in your back – sharp enough to pierce your skin and draw blood. Suddenly you wonder if your first die from losing blood or affixation. Just when you embrace the possibility of one or both, cold water is poured on you one last time. Enough to wake you up. You must take this reprieve. It’s all you’ve got. You reach for that weapon and realise it is that stupid fork! But it’s all you’ve got.
So you start digging, trying to make your way. It takes hours, upon hours. Days upon endless days. Little by painstaking little you make progress. Will the earth cave in, swallow me whole? Well you have to continue, either way you will die, make no mistake. So you continue, your harms get so weak, you can barley – but you must continue. You dry to wet your lips but you realise that you are so parched that your tongue has grown tiger like papillae and you draw blood. But you must go one, this chance is all you’ve got. As your blood seeps in front of your vision, you wipe it and continue, there is no time to mourn the loss of life. You must contine.
Frazzled to the bone, no surrender you see a small hole. The aquifer that contains you is ready to release you. You dig enough so you can pour out, to see what lies beyond.