When the light comes in.
When its rays and shadows lie on your face, a moment captured in a picture
Yeah, you know the one.
THAT is my peace.
May 2, 2016
May 1, 2016
Sun
Will you call when the time is right?
When the storm has settled and the rains cease to fall?
They keep telling me the time isn't right, but all I hear is your voice. All I can see is your kind eyes.
This was one of those nights: Those sleepless nights -- Ones filled with angry tears, pleading prayers -- One of those nights meant for frantic writing, late-night typing, and lovers votes.
I once read about a man who only wrote when his heart bled, when it was no longer pumping the same red blood. It never seemed to work any other way.
Why is it during the weakest, most enraging of moments that the strongest speeches and the loveliest art produced? Perhaps it's only to make us work harder, to become stronger, to remind us of our own strength, our capacity to never stop.
That man's blood wasn't red.
No.
It had turned icy cold for the night - reminiscent of that blue blood that would stench so of nostalgic rage.
So, gently taking her hand, he fondly looked down and planted a kiss, and that's all she needed for she was tired, and that was all she needed to sleep.
When the storm has settled and the rains cease to fall?
They keep telling me the time isn't right, but all I hear is your voice. All I can see is your kind eyes.
Breathe.
This was one of those nights: Those sleepless nights -- Ones filled with angry tears, pleading prayers -- One of those nights meant for frantic writing, late-night typing, and lovers votes.
I once read about a man who only wrote when his heart bled, when it was no longer pumping the same red blood. It never seemed to work any other way.
Why is it during the weakest, most enraging of moments that the strongest speeches and the loveliest art produced? Perhaps it's only to make us work harder, to become stronger, to remind us of our own strength, our capacity to never stop.
That man's blood wasn't red.
No.
It had turned icy cold for the night - reminiscent of that blue blood that would stench so of nostalgic rage.
BREATHE.
*silence
And then,
BREATHE!
PLEASE breathe.
...
I WANT you to breathe.
I want to breathe, he said.
He wanted the whole world to breathe.
He hated the chains of his past, his birth... that seemed to mercilessly bind him!
He despised the circumstances of his inheritance, his misfortune, his luck.
What he wanted would seemingly always slip out of his hands!
She had become dear - extremely dear - SO dear that he could read her even when she did not speak... for she didn't like to speak when her blood was blue... but the beautiful thing about all the unfortunate events was that she completely understood him.
Perhaps he did not know it at first, but he soon realized that maybe she DID weep at night, and maybe she DID care because there was truth... You know, the truth that remains no matter what you do to it... The truth that remains the same forever and ever. She understood him, and that IS the truth.
The man seemed to always know what to say. He was used to reassuring her, for he had done it for months and months:
So, do you know what he always said in response?
So, do you know what he always said in response?
It was this:
OF COURSE you will. There will be a time. Take heart. Take care. You're beautiful, and beautiful things always grow.
Such was the calm that this blue-eyed man brought to her anxious heart, for he only wanted the best to soothe her frequently distressed soul.
How could she repay him?! How could she let him know when her tongue refused to move, her mouth afraid to open?
I want you to feel so pungently how I feel - for your heart to be filled with so much empathy and understanding that it bursts at the seams!!! - WITHOUT breaking, she said.
No!
How could she repay him?! How could she let him know when her tongue refused to move, her mouth afraid to open?
I want you to feel so pungently how I feel - for your heart to be filled with so much empathy and understanding that it bursts at the seams!!! - WITHOUT breaking, she said.
I want you to close your eyes and know how my heart breaks 10000x's the amount of tears streaming down my tired face on any one of those nights!
I want so many things, but time does not permit, and I'm ice blue...
So, gently taking her hand, he fondly looked down and planted a kiss, and that's all she needed for she was tired, and that was all she needed to sleep.
March 1, 2016
This week, I read Jeffery R. Holland's talk, "Bourne Upon Eagles' Wings". Even 20 years before he was made an apostle, he was already a remarkable speaker. In it he tells of his experience at the Utah State Penitentiary, where a group of inmates gathered to celebrate their graduation from an LDS-sponsored Bible study. Elder Holland goes on to talk about the impressions he received from attending that commencement, but my favorite part came from an inmate. I will quote him here:
"For that person striving to live righteously, this mortal existence is a testing time indeed. The faithful are plagued with the temptations of a world that appears to have lost itself in a snarled maze of ambiguity, mendacity, and threatening uncertainty. The challenge to live in the world but not of the world is a monumental one, indeed.
Our second estate is indeed a probationary state. The choices we are called upon to make every day of our lives call forth the exercise of our agency. That we fail so frequently to think and do that which is right is not evidence against the practicality of righteous living. We do not falter and stumble in the path of righteousness simply because we do nothing else, but because too often we lose the vision of our relationship with God. The incessant din and cackling ado of this turbulent life drown out the message which asserts that, as man is, God once was and that, as God is, man may become.
If we will not dance to the music of materialism and hedonism but will remain attuned to the voice of godly reason, we will be led to the green pastures of respite and the still waters of spiritual refreshment. All the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune this world can hurl against us are as nothing when compared to the rewards for steadfastness and faithfulness. It would behoove us all to fix our sights more consistently upon the things which are everlasting and eternal. This world is not our home.
Those are lines from the valedictory address at the Utah state prison, May 23, 1974, given by inmate John McRell, who is about fifty years of age and has been behind bars for more than half of those years."
Our second estate is indeed a probationary state. The choices we are called upon to make every day of our lives call forth the exercise of our agency. That we fail so frequently to think and do that which is right is not evidence against the practicality of righteous living. We do not falter and stumble in the path of righteousness simply because we do nothing else, but because too often we lose the vision of our relationship with God. The incessant din and cackling ado of this turbulent life drown out the message which asserts that, as man is, God once was and that, as God is, man may become.
If we will not dance to the music of materialism and hedonism but will remain attuned to the voice of godly reason, we will be led to the green pastures of respite and the still waters of spiritual refreshment. All the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune this world can hurl against us are as nothing when compared to the rewards for steadfastness and faithfulness. It would behoove us all to fix our sights more consistently upon the things which are everlasting and eternal. This world is not our home.
Those are lines from the valedictory address at the Utah state prison, May 23, 1974, given by inmate John McRell, who is about fifty years of age and has been behind bars for more than half of those years."
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