we the people

i sit beneath the glowing neon sign, that hangs in the window, as it flickers twice and then extinguishes itself. the day is done and the people are heading home to be with their wives and kids. to feed their dogs and watch their tv shows. to eat their warm dinners and sleep in their warm beds. to put aside their responsibilities and rest their weary souls until another day begins. their day is done and mine is just beginning. my shift has just started. and right on time the men in uniforms show up and tell me to get on my way. i don't resist and i slowly gather my few earthly possessions. i don't blame them, it's their job and im used to it by now. history has a funny way of repeating itself. most cultures have those "dark centuries" that they try to brush under the mat. the continually occurring theme of the native people of the land being forced out. but the government never fails to make up for the inconvenience by so graciously giving the indigenous back a little land that was already theirs. the australian aborigines have the outback. the native americans have reserves. african slaves were actually taken away from their homeland to be given a "home" on a distant plantation. and here i am today, the same kind of unwanted resident, told to vacate the premises and roam my native land as a foreigner, we are just pushed aside in a more socially acceptable way. history has a funny way of repeating itself. we are the displaced. we are the down-and-out. we are abandoned. we are vagabonds. we are homeless. and i know that stare all too well. the judgmental glance and disgusted look from passing strangers. therapists dress it up as xenophobia, it's curiosity, it's sympathy, it's harmless. but really none of it bothers me, it's a stale stereotype, it's nothing more than the product of a conditioned society. but that's how i want it anyway. when no one can find beauty in you, it becomes effortless to see beauty everywhere you look. in a warm smile, in a handshake, in a genuine conversation, in a good laugh. if only they knew about the life we lead while they dream safe and sound in their homes. by day this place belongs to them but by night this city is ours and these still streets bear our names. the cool breeze whispers our freedom. just like the knights of old rode their majestic horses out to save the damsel in distress, so we too ride the midnight subway through the land to protect and to conquer. it may not be as romantic as the medieval tales of history but this train is our ever valiant steed and this city is out beautiful damsel. we are the watchmen. we are the night guards. we are the explorers, charting a new course. each night we take one step deeper into the dark places nobody else would dare to go. just living a simple, yet fulfilled life. and we aren't always looking for great pity, we may just have a little more to offer. history has a funny way of repeating itself. jesus of nazareth was a wanderer, expecting nothing and giving everything. ghandi was a nomadic preacher of love and hope. siddhartha gautama became a vagrant wanting nothing more than knowledge and asking for nothing more than a listening ear. history has a funny way of repeating itself. as the sun rises we hand the keys to the city back to the general populace as we say goodnight. take care of her for us, we will back tonight.

the collector

he lives in a run down one room apartment big enough for a fold out couch and a leaky bathroom on the corner of 2nd and main. the kind of place where the floors creak because they are tired of holding those that tread their backs, and the walls are simply held up by the infinite layers of paint applied by tenant after tenant. the kind of place the government slaps with a "condemned" sticker in order to build a new strip mall. it is there that he makes his home in between obscurity and madness. every night he falls asleep to the prayers of a single mother wasting away as she scrapes by to keep her five children from starvation, and the desperate cries of the heroin addict tossing back and forth in the violent terrors of another withdraw. and every morning he is awakened by the smell of cheap tobacco that drifts in through his open window, his signal to begin his quest again. he isn't looking for anything specific, just something special. he has no expectations just anticipation for what's to come. this is his profession. this is his calling. this is his passion. this is his life. he is a collector. call it abstract. call it childish. call in unrealistic. call it eccentric. call it a chemical imbalance. that's not what he would call it. to him this is all there is, and it's all that has ever truly mattered. with his eyes firmly fixed to the ground, he scours the ground for anything he can find a use for. nothing is too ruined for him. vestigial buttons covered by mud and soggy leaves that their owners saw no use in keeping. half torn and frayed shoe lace that had met a tragic end in a bicycle spoke. a shattered light bulb whose filament grew weary from burning so brightly. a crumpled love note clinging for dear life to the grate on the street while its ink and poetry spill down into the gutter below. misplaced nails that fell from the workman's belt, unsure of what they were ever meant for. the litter that we so eagerly discard he, just as zealously, finds a home for. he is the collector. restoring purpose to that which seemed to have none. giving meaning and value to the broken and worthless. content with his haul for the day he heads back to the disaster he proudly calls his home. as he comes to the corner of 2nd and main a smile spreads from ear to ear as he looks upon his neighborhood. the kind of place anyone else would wisely go out of their way to avoid for fear of crossing paths with the wrecking ball. but to him this is heaven. he opens the termite infested door and finds a safe place to keep his work until morning. tired and worn out he pulls out the slice of bread with the least amount of mold on it and settles down for the night. he lays his head down to rest and the familiar sound track plays over. a mother trusting that her pleas will travel all the way to heaven, unaware that her words have only a wall to traverse. and the empty groans of a junkie unaware that hope is closer than a fix.

prince charming

we have proudly arrived at the day when all the ends are justified by the means and a deep grave and a few eloquent words are all we need to bury the killing fields. self-indulgence and self-destruction converge at the place where integrity became too difficult. what is a man? broken promises? bruised wrists? the fleeting shadow by your side? is it this self-seeking, blood thirsty breed we see before us? back turned to those he loved, arms open to an ever elusive mistress, pupils dilated with lust. or have we forgotten what constitutes a man. meant to stand, meant to fight, meant to protect. but now we are all too busy looking for the cure for the pain we have caused. anything to purge that guilt that clings so tightly to our conscience. have no fear, apathy has rooted itself firmly in the void we swear is our heart. truth be told, i can't say i've felt it beat for anyone but me. we would stand up for what we believe in but we have conveniently lost all conviction. we have left our beloved brides searching for restoration in the wreckage that remains of the alter that we have no intention of putting back together. and we abandon our children to search for validation in a spineless and absent role model. since when did forever mean, "when it's easy for me?" and when did daddy become as offensive as profanity. sure boys will be boys if we never expect them to be men. this is where we need to draw the line. this will not be our legacy. we will look north and find our design. we will be what you deserve. we will be men.

look at what i did

sometimes i think we forget to find fulfillment in the small things in life. we are too busy looking high and low for the next big miracle that we forget to allow the subtle beauties of life take our breath away. the times that make you realize that life has so much value. and the little things that bring us face to face with the amazing intricacies and the very fabric of being human. tonight i had one of those nights where i think god was trying to whisper another one his sneaky lessons into my ears in the midst of all the chaotic static i fill my life up with. i went to pick my younger brother up from his art class just like any other wednesday night, but little did i know the little brother i dropped off would not be the same one i was going to pick up. i in fact was picking up a junior pablo picasso.

my brother loves his art class and he's really good at it. it's a great chance for him to just have some time for himself. he's the youngest, and as such there's a lot that he can't do himself and im sure living in your brothers' shadows can be irritating. hand me down clothes and hand me down rules from sibling to sibling im sure can take its toll. but art class is his and only his. its his time to shine and his hour to create something that had not existed previously. its a pretty simple art class and the other projects have included an array of portraits, watercolor on canvas, and constructing a birdhouse, pretty much just fundamentals. and that's what i expected tonight, but when i walked in i hardly recognized the little artist that grant had become. on a normal piece of white construction paper laid his most epic masterpiece in his short lived career.

in the foreground sat a peaceful red cabin buried in amongst aspen trees that stretched up into the sky. it was as if the branches tore a hole in the sky that the snowflakes on the canvas fell from. and in the background sat a picturesque scenery of mountain ranges. i was astounded by his diligent attention to every tiny detail. this is a kid who can't concentrate on his math homework for ten minutes but can crank out a work of art like it was nothing. i didn't know what to say, i was taken aback. the first sound i could make was something that somewhat resembled a "wow." i asked him if he did all by himself and he just stated in a very matter of fact tone of voice, that of course he did. the teacher said it was one of the best she's ever seen and she even took a picture of it to brag about later.

i couldn't stop raving to him about how great i thought it was and on the ride home he was so proud of it that he held it up to the window so the passing cars could see what he had made. then when we stopped at a light the lady in the car next to us looked over and my brother shrunk down, embarrassed, nervous, vulnerable. this was his heart and soul on paper for her to judge. slowly i looked over to see her response just hoping she wouldn't shake her head in the name of childish immaturity or something like that. but as i looked over a smile slowly creeped across her face. i told my brother to look and as he saw that she had approved, he began to beam with satisfaction and confidence.

the unbridled potential of human nature is remarkable. sometimes we forget to let the people we love just amaze us. we think we know all there is to know about someone and then they always go and prove us wrong by blowing us away all over again. it was a good reminder to simply love and be amazed by those around us and to remind them of how proud of them we are. trust me, there's plenty to take pride in.

ill do whatever i want, im a robot

in a world where nothing's remembered unless it's famous we would sell our souls just to write our names on the sidewalks of glamour before the concrete dries. we know our promised land awaits and we will do whatever it takes to get there. it doesn't matter how many necks we have to snap or back we have to stab, nothing will hold us back from our chance to shine. friends are just a commodity after all. you may not know who i am and i can't say im really too sure either but it's the price you have to pay to be as adaptable as i am. it's really a simple game, just become whatever they want you to and forget having a definable identity. like the moon has mastered the lycanthrope so the limelight has become our manipulator. we pledge our hearts to relativity in order to avoid conflict. we soak our hands in grey and our lives are dripping in ambiguity. is this what it is to grow up? sometimes i doubt my own maturity because im still hiding under the sheets of my childhood. im not afraid of the dark, im just afraid of what's in it. have we turned the lights out so we can sleep or just to hide the monsters we have unleashed? this is the life we have chosen and this is the path we walk. what we thought was bringing salvation is actually the harbinger of our destruction. we have escaped the reach of the lion just to be greeted by the jaws of the bear. in all this mess we have forgotten our primal need for veracity. not everything is black and white but this color isn't as beautiful as it looked at first. it's starting to fade and so am i. this is the place i always find you. unwavering and standing true while i kneel on skinned knees with my face in the gravel. you are unchanged amidst the hoax that i have to live for. with selfishness deeply entrenched in my heart, you are the catalyst for life.

nothing more than words

this morning i read a passage from the book of ezra that on most days i honestly would have just glanced over (while probably thinking about something to do with myself), closed my bible, and gone on with my day, but some reason it really made me think today. my fleeting attention was caught by something inside of me that resounded with the passage. the stark contrast between king atraxerxes' understanding of god and ezra's brings out a sad truth about human nature.

first this is an excerpt of atraxerxes' letter to ezra, notice how he refers to god.

" You are sent by the king and his seven advisers to inquire about Judah and Jerusalem with regard to the Law of YOUR God, which is in your hand. Moreover, you are to take with you the silver and gold that the king and his advisers have freely given to the God of ISRAEL, as well as the freewill offerings of the people and priests for the temple of THEIR God in Jerusalem. With this money be sure to buy bulls, rams and male lambs and sacrifice them on the altar of the temple of YOUR God in Jerusalem. You and your brother Jews may then do whatever seems best with the rest of the silver and gold, in accordance with the will of YOUR God. Deliver to the God of JERUSALEM all the articles entrusted to you for worship in the temple of YOUR God. And anything else needed for the temple of YOUR God you may provide from the royal treasury. And you, Ezra, in accordance with the wisdom of YOUR God, which you possess, appoint magistrates and judges to administer justice to all the people of Trans-Euphrates—all who know the laws of YOUR God. And you are to teach any who do not know them."

atraxerxes refers to god as "your god, or the god of israel or jerusalem." throughout ezra the king acknowledges the god of the israelites as a powerful and supreme being worthy to be praised and obeyed but makes it very clear that this god is not his god.

now compare atraxerexes' distant relationship with god to that of ezra's.

"Because the gracious hand of OUR God was on us, they brought us Sherebiah, a capable man. There, by the Ahava Canal, I proclaimed a fast, so that we might humble ourselves before OUR God and ask him for a safe journey for us and our children, with all our possessions. I was ashamed to ask the king for soldiers and horsemen to protect us from enemies on the road, because we had told the king, "The gracious hand of OUR God is on everyone who looks to him, but his great anger is against all who forsake him." So we fasted and petitioned OUR God about this, and he answered our prayer...Then the priests and Levites received the silver and gold and sacred articles that had been weighed out to be taken to the house of OUR God in Jerusalem."

ezra also refers to god as the god of jerusalem but also as his own personal god and the god of his people.

sometimes i wonder if today we can have the same view of god that atraxerxes did. do we think that because god is so huge or so holy that we have no part in him? do we ever think of god as too far removed from our reality that he is irrelevant to us or that our lives don't matter to him? i know im sick of listening to lies of the legalistic priests that live in my head. and im tired of looking up to god through these deistic eyes. for some reason we as humans have this need to explain the incomprehensible. we try to tame and confine god so we can understand him and even manipulate him. we build little god-shaped boxes that we can tuck god into and make ourselves more comfortable with who he is. but god knows no bounds, his very being has no beginning or ending. but still we try to tell god who he is. and we are not the first to do this. the human race has been doing it since day one, and god still has not been tamed or controlled. god is the ultimate paradox.

how can the god of the whole universe be the god of my heart? how can god be both completely just and all merciful? how can something invisible surround us everywhere we go? how can an inaudible god still speak to his creation? how can god hear the cries of all his people? and perhaps the most profound question of them all: how can a holy god love the sinful people that turn their backs on him everyday?

the god of ezra, the god of jerusalem, the god of the israelites, and the god of all of creation is the god of you and he is the god of me. and he is still breaking rules that we set for him. he wants to be the one we turn to and call "our god." and all this is has come to pass in his endless and exceedingly abundant love. he has done too much for us, for us to still think of him as just another religious icon.

the paralytic('s) faith

I'm sick of weeding through the social propaganda and I'm done wading in this substance less tide. I want something real and I want truth. And I don't mean the kind of "truth" we are fed and told to believe from day one. We come into the world and our first gasp of air is saturated in deception as the nurse holds you up like a trophy, "Aw, look it's so beautiful." And she says this while you are kicking and screaming in all that blood and bodily fluid. Satan himself could not have forged a more blatant lie. A newborn baby, just like this life is not beautiful. Well at least in the classic, Disney princess way we say the word. It's real and it's raw. It's vulnerable and it's exposed. And therein lies the beauty that this life is full of. We just have to look past all the lies to find it. But sadly we are often content to settle for the easy answers rather than wrestle with what's right. We start to compromise for what's comfortable time and time again and it eventually takes its place as truth is our hearts and attaches itself as the parasitic passenger in our lives while deep inside we starve for reality. And the scary thing about human nature is that when we are forced into survival mode we will devour the first thing we can get our desperate hands on, thus continuing the primitive cycle we are taught to fear. So the question must be posed, what is real? Look around and tell me if this is what you want. Is any of this real? We sit back and let the men in suits do the thinking for us. What is our purpose? Do we have meaning? What is there to all this flesh and bone? Everyday we decompose into a higher species that can fend for itself. Are you real? Am I? If I cannot love anyone more than I love myself than let me fade into obscurity, the unwritten pages of some fairy tale that sits collecting dust on some shelf too high to reach. But something tells me we were meant for more than simply existing. I only live when your breath fills my lungs, I'm only alive as my heart beats with yours. You are the absolute. You are the dream that carries me into tomorrow.