‘Rooftops’

Constant and repetitive dreams are to be taken as messages. This one, of my Proclamation, I will take as a personal goal.

I’ve met someone different – different in faith, different in speak, different in breath; and I can’t read him. He is quiet and reserved to those unknown to him, short in words to those not like him. And he has a killer smile. He’s the type you can describe “in a nutshell,” the same nutshell I haven’t yet found a way to crack. I have to know that if and when I do, he will be made aware of the preference that is the creation he takes part in.

And since he will be new to the art and beauty of worship, I will take him to my Proclamation, in which we will sing Culture songs and see His presence.

Someone

I sift for a husband
who will value our existence as a deep,
rich blue – as auroras -
defined in perfection.

Someone who will cherish that I cringe
when gifted red roses, that I
rather Pulp Fiction
and stroll through cemeteries
for inspiration.
Someone who will memorize
the shape of the scar above my left eye
and the story behind the one
on my right thigh.
Someone who will order me vanilla,
always,
over chocolate.
Someone who will read the rings in my eyes and know
to dim the lights
accordingly.
Someone who won’t
resign to conformity -
Someone who will see fields of poppies and be reminded
of battles and soldiers,
and of my love for coloring words
and carving sculptures.
Someone who isn’t afraid
of swimming with sharks and barracudas,
and jumping off bridges
and deaf cascades.

Sifting,
in the river those cascades lead to,
for a husband.
Someone who will trace the ink on my back
with kisses,
and feel my breath
through all the ‘us’ he reminisces.

In the Image

Everything man can make is a representation of what is known to man. Because of this, novels are like lives–man lives and creates his novel in the image of his life as God has created us in His. And the life of the novel goes like this: Each section of the novel will have its own beginning, middle and end, and each section then becomes the beginning, middle and end that is the novel. All because the life of man goes like this: Each stage of man’s life will have its own beginning, middle and end, and each stage then becomes the beginning, middle and end that is life.

And here ends my beginning.

Ends

You are unappreciative of ends. It’s because ends require a recalculation of feeling toward something you have already assigned feeling to. That messes with your mind. And if you don’t have enough time to attend to that change, you start to panic and to argue and to take your panic out on the people who least deserve it because they are the ones that show up when you panic.

The end blows over and a new cloud sets in. That’s when you realize how silly it was for you to panic in the first place, so you have trained your mind for future changes. And this time, as another end bursts into you with the rest of its E.N.D.S. team, you stand aside and watch it search every nook and every cranny, every fluff in every couch cushion, every cover of every book, every square of every toilet paper roll until it finds your night light. And as soon it does, it apologizes for its intrusion and walks right out: a new beginning has saved you from panic. This new beginning has decided what is to become of you during this end.

But what of the final end? The end to all ends? What will become of us?

That’s just it: there is no end. After all, there is no team to burst into me, no night light to depend on to save me, no guarantee that night light won’t go out again. And this promise of the end of ends is a gift from life, true life: the breath that was breathed into me when I first saw light, the breath that was breathed into me when I first saw Light, and the breath that will be breathed into me when I first see Light. These three – my one end, my only end. To end all ends.

I Am a Good Person, But I Am a Selfish Person

When I’ve been warned that what I am about to do might ruin me, I do it anyway because I know that if it works out in the end, I win. I won’t win in power or riches; I will win in righteousness. But is it righteousness if I did it so that I may win?

That possibility of winning, however, is the shadow of all light. Everything I do, whether it will ruin me, I do in the name of love. Should a friend cry out in agony, I will put myself in his place and send him to the comfort of my former state. And I will suffer what he suffered and hope that he may see the sacrifice of a disciple of Christ. And those who do not know Him I pity, because He is the reason I have heard that cry in agony and He is the reason I will take that place of suffering. And I know that because I have heard the cry and taken the place, I will be rewarded with the sight of Him, and that is my win in righteousness.

Darling

Defense mechanisms can be overwhelmingly strong, but when you see someone you love, someone you miss, someone whose heart makes yours ache with joy, you drop those defenses. She says, “You should have seen him this afternoon. Your flight didn’t come in until nine, but he was ready to go at two! And he just stood in the doorway looking mighty nervous.”

Soon as I showed them all the clothes and shoes I’d brought them, he tried them all on. She says, “So handsome! But save it for your birthday tomorrow night.” So he did.

I told him to wear black shoes and his mother handed him a pair. They were a little tight and he didn’t like them but I told him I did. So he wore them.

And the poor boy doesn’t know how to roll up sleeves properly. He said he didn’t care and that he liked them that way but I told him I didn’t. So he let me fix them.

And his smiles are warmer and his hugs tighter, and his love and care deeper than they were before.

Those You Love and Who Love You

When I was seven, my mom told her cousin to take me to her friend’s house. She kept refusing and I had no idea what was going on or why my mom was so pushy about wanting me to see that place, until I got there: A small bare cemented hallway between houses and at the end, a tiny circular space with open doorways all around. Inside each doorway, a small room with a toilet in one corner, a mattress in the other, and seven people to share it all.

I like to think I don’t take things for granted. The truth is I almost always do. I know the repulse and disgust I have felt after eating too much rice and beans, yet I open my fridge, push aside salads, meats, sandwiches, and fruits, and still say there’s nothing to eat. I know the effort it takes to fish out buckets of rain water from the big can in the backyard and heat them so I can shower, yet I leave the water running when I brush my teeth.

So when you leave half your dinner plate untouched, think that somewhere in the world, at that very moment, there is someone cutting an ear off a horse to share it as a meal with their family. When you complain about your poor cell phone signal, think that somewhere in the world, someone’s father, husband, brother, child is killed by communism and she’ll never hear word of the truth. And when you see yourself surrounded by family, friends, those you love and who love you, savor it; because somewhere in the world, someone has never smiled.