Lately, I’ve walked into the door of things, waiting for a voice. Holding out for what will come to me.
And it will come, I say to the bird. It will.
But inside I worry that I am not in touch with It. With what You want me to say.
Wait. I hear wait. But break my fists against my own chest. Breaking into impatience.
Still. Stay still, and it will come.
Tonight, I grabbed a beer after listening to various iTune podcasts, searching for something to speak to me.
Learn Hebrew. Listen to various theological arguments about Jesus. Who was he? Christ? Son of God? Rabbi? Heretic?
Carl Jung’s Red Book delivered today. I flipped through, read:
“The years of which I have spoken to you,
when I pursued the inner images, were the most important time of my life. Everything else is to be derived from this. It began at that time, and the later details hardly matter anymore. My entire life consisted in elaborating what had burst forth from the unconscious and flooded me like an enigmatic stream and threatened to break me. That was the stuff and material for more than only one life. Everything later was merely the outer classification, the scientific elaboration, and the integration into life. But the numinous beginning, which contained everything, was then.
When I have spoken to you.
When I spoke, you listened. Signs dripped from the trees like honey. Nothing kept me back from the speak of you.
Listen, today I walked toward myself, unknowing. Unaware that I was walking toward her, I said, let me be filled. Though I thought I was empty. Though I thought I could leave and not be missed.
Just last week, I said to You:
My chest won’t stop hurting and I’m convinced I’m killing myself.
Part of me worried because part of me doesn’t care..
People think I’m happy all the time, but I’m hiding from my demon.
If I was better at things I’d have killed myself by now.
I’m able to see the child in you. I can’t see the old in me, just sheet rock.
If I said “I want to die” most people wouldn’t believe me.
And You answered back:
The closer we get to speaking the truth
the closer we come to whatever it is that says,
And if Truth Matters then it is not all for nothing.
Sometime that’s all I know for sure.
Ashamed, perhaps, but myself was answering in you. And today, I see the land of myself, open in flower before her own prayer.
Thank God I am not “better at things” or higher than the ground You placed me on.
So I listen to podcasts, waited for signs. Though you say they drip from the trees like honey.
The man I’ve never met texts me as I drive from the 7-11 after buying a beer, thinking “what have I done today, but search the web for God and avoided hearing You?
Man: Getting drunk and thinking of poetry
Me: Me too. I can’t write anymore. Doubting if Jesus was the son of God or just a prophet.
Man: So glad I met you.
Me: I’m glad I met you, too, though we’ve never met.
Man: Jesus was a great presence in the world. We are all sons and daughters of God.
Meanwhile, my iPod plays Chopin, and I am drinking a beer in my parked car, outside my house, thinking, I should be writing.
Facebook status update, in between sips of beer. Feeling lighter than before. Perhaps I am Jesus, too. Blackberry messenger smiles, notes a friend said something.
“I’m sure there’s a reason you’re not writing right now”
I respond: yes, writing is about faith/waiting.
And I think, why am I so impatient? Who am I to want the words to come to me?
So I say, be grateful. “God speaks in texts, too, apparently”
And just then, a buzz.
Mom texts, says:
Do you remember the Dr. in Fort Worth that did your sinus surgery?
Me: Jay Palmer. He checked my hearing levels, too. I’m 30% def in my right ear. Maybe that’s why I was so loud as a kid.
Mom: What do you mean, “was” so loud?
Me: I knew u were going to say that! He also said that’s why I’m sensitive to low frequency noise. So I wasn’t lying when I said I could hear Austin’s music from my room! LOL
Mom: You are a mutant.
Me: I’m “special” like in my poem about as a kid I thought the ringing in my ear was angels, turns out it was from years of ear infections. People love that line. They laugh.
Mom: Still could be angels. You never know.
Me: Prob is angels. I liked to think I was Isaiah. I named all my beta fish Isaiah as a kid. Who does that?
Mom: did you know Amber?
Me: Yes, I went to school with her, why?
Mom: Amber was married a yr ago and was living in Illinois. Her husband was out of town last night. She had an asthma attack and asphyxiated. She called 911 but it was too late. She’s brain dead.
Me: Oh my God!
Mom: They harvested her organs and pulled the plug this evening. Pray for them and stay alive!!! This is every parent’s nightmare.
Me: I will stay alive as long as God wants me to stay alive. I will pray for them. I love you.
Mom: I love you too.
Chopin still on iPod. Still in my car, Blackberry buzzing, my head in a lightburst.
The man I’ve never met texts again, now, says:
I’ll be going home soon. Home…I could fade away.
Me: You won’t fade, but dialate into joy.
Man: That would be perfect. I am hindu.
Me: You are you and perfect.
Man: You the same. I am ok with no longer suffering.
Back in my room, thinking about Amber, the text messages, the lines reaching out. No longer suffering. Harvesting.
Not that I am fulfilled by today, but the day is fulfilled by me. Step toward the door you’re most afraid of. Wait. Soon, the breath is last and in it, as Jung whispers in the corner: “the numinous beginning, which contained everything.”
Just last week, I wrote to You:
If I was better at things, I’d have killed myself by now.
But I am not better, I am nothing. So the current keeps me listening. Text me, God. Text me that life is not mine, but Yours.
Seems you’re listening, You say.
Just last night, I thought, why not do it? Why not hurt myself before You as an offering?
Of what? You said.
I already have you.
But I think I’m more than that. Think I’m more than this breath.
Take it away, or let me have you, You said.
For I will speak new things you have not heard.
I guess I wanted to die because I thought I wasn’t needed, really.
Die, then. But keep your body here.
Write on the walls, in eternity, I have no name. This is dying. Into me. The Universe, Child.
Truth. Text me.
Of course. All you had to do was ask.