My ideas about myself change as I get older. I am not sure they get deeper, but I do know that has I age, some false and perhaps some inflated ideas that I have about myself are changed, or perhaps busted is a better word. The old saying that the truth sets you free, is true; no doubt about that, but it has to be experienced to be believed. Less territory to defend that way, which can get old and tiring pretty quickly, really a waste of time and energy, life is simply too short. A fragile ego
The man walked into the room,
The tension could be felt heavy on the air,
No one talking, each looking down,
Drowning in shame, or so it seemed.
His breathing shallow and sharp,
Looked around and then with cautioned entered,
Not understanding why they were all waiting,
Looking guilty or perhaps just nervous.
One stranger sitting in the middle of the group,
The rest fanned out on either side,
Some held papers,
Others just had their hands clasped,
The name unusual not often seen,
I see it at least three or four days a week,
Near Heritage High School, here in Conyers Ga.
Her name on a good sized sign, resting there,
Also there are assorted items,
One being a stuffed bear with bright colors.
She was a High School student I guess,
Never read about who she is,
Or how she died,
Does not matter really,
She is not just a story anyway,
Seeing the spot always makes me pause,
About her family,
You see the shrines everywhere if time is taken to look,
Sometimes they stay for years,
At others, months, or just weeks.
Memorials of those taken suddenly without warning,
One moment riding, or driving,
Singing or listening to the radio,
Or maybe less innocent pastimes,
Or just arguing,
What people do in cars.
Then in a second
An ending horrible,
Sometimes with fire finishing what was started.
Some shrines have crosses,
In coldness deep,
Where light has never been,
Nor is it welcome.
In the bottomless abyss
The domain of death
Both the seeding place of sin,
One with its fruit,
Complacent it held man captive,
In a moment,
It happened in an instant,
Death shaken from its slumber,
The realization its time is over,
For in its deepest center
The bottomless abyss shuddered,
Light illuminating it
The skepticism and suspicion of the past four decades is giving way to an acceptance that Christ's resurrection is the only explanation that makes sense.
BY TIM DRAKE
REGISTER SENIOR WRITER
April 8-14, 2007 Issue | Posted 4/3/07 at 8:00 AM
SAN DIEGO — If the so-called “Jesus Family Tomb” proves anything, it’s that efforts to discount the resurrection continue. It’s a mystery that remains a stumbling block for many.
Last month, the Discovery Channel aired James Cameron’s documentary on
Within the tomb is only darkness complete,
Its entrance sealed with a large stone,
Only cold the companion of what was once a man,
Now just icy meat,
Bloodless from its tortuous death
Its body scarred from scourges,
Skin ripped deep from the 40 minus 1, lashes.
Surrounded by absolute nothingness,
Part of the abyss of death,
Hungry for all life,
Desires and dreams.
The fate of all, the outward reality of what is within,
Death in seed for
Time seems to be speeding up for me; faster and faster, each year. I know this is a common perception; still at times it is disconcerting. True some days can seem to drag, yet when the month is done, it all seems a blur to me. Sort of like a NASCAR race, the cars going round and round, the miles piling up, racing towards the finish line.
My dad’s generation is dying off fast, only three left from his family; three out of eight brothers and sisters remain. One died just last week, he was 84
When I look into my own heart, I often see that the source of much of my suffering is my desire to find some way to control the world around me. People, things, events, it does not matter, for after all does not reality revolve around me? Well I guess in some way that is true. The only problem being is that the same is true for everyone else. Each a god of sorts in universes small, but nonetheless real, with its own history, wounds, angers, loves, and the bottom line, unique interpretations
It is the shattered soul that Christ draws near,
The deeper the abuse, or neglect ,suffered at the hands of others,
Those also consumed with self-hatred;
These share in the true sorrow and horror of the cross.
It is the souls of the rejected the downtrodden
Show to us the suffering Christ.
Nothing in life can keep God’s love from flowing out
Into the bleeding lacerated hearts of those crushed by life.
Those who do evil are also close to God’s heart
Who else can see the depth of
It started out as a quiet day here; I was in the back office working on the computer, when suddenly I heard my named called “Mark come here!” So I rushed out to see what was going on. In my line of work it could be anything. When I got to the main sitting area I saw that Leo, one of my charges seemed to be having a seizure; his body was very stiff, his head turned to his left, looking up with a fixed hard stare, that was not focused. Now Leo has advance Alzheimer’s, a disease that he contracted
The cosmic war is fought within the human heart,
Good and evil,
Love and hate,
Greed and generosity,
The list perhaps endless,
Live as neighbors often isolated one from the other,
Either one or the other in ascendance;
When in fact both need to be in balance,
For chaos to be held in check.
Dark and light when separate become grey,
When together the bright green of growth and hope arise,
Inner conflict leading to resolution
If allowed to run it proper course.
Funny how certain memories stand out, moments saved from the oblivion that the majorities are slated for. The reasons for them standing out are not always obvious. For instance I have one memory of fighting my mother over a baby bottle she was trying to give to me as an infant. It was a glass bottle, filled with apple juice and I simply did not want it. Why on earth would I remember that? Other memories are easy to understand why they make a mark in consciousness’ that will not go away. So let u
Life is a gift soon over,
At times this is a comfort
At others I am terrified,
Still other times I just don’t care,
Moods come and go,
I am not sure they really mean anything at all.
I know this,
Life should be enjoyed,
And also we should not be in a hurry to go.
We are here once;
Then it is as if we never existed,
Soon only a fading memory,
Then not even that.
I think in the end it is worth it.
Each has an impact not understood,
It is the seeds
Every since I have begun writing about 6 years ago, the texture of my life has changed. I always disliked writing up until I was about 50, when I started to debate with others who had different beliefs than me, in certain yahoo clubs. Something by the way I am not very good at. I really do not like arguing or debating, though both certainly have their place; even if minds are seldom if ever changed. When younger, I used to from time to time sit down and write pages of ‘stuff’, but then simpl
I like to kid myself
That my heart is loving
Open to others.
I pray for all,
A least I think I do.
It is when rage comes
Another side of me wells up
That makes me cry out,
“Lord have mercy”.
Loving is not what anger brings,
But a barrier
To compassion and empathy.
When will the time come,
When free my heart will be,
To fly from my blind egoism,
Easily offended taking affront,
At what others say or
Silence can be deafening,
Of what it will whisper of things true,
Expressing the depths,
The inner conflicts laid bare.
Truth hard to bear and without Mercy,
Or so it seems at times.
The prospect of new life,
The fruit of self knowledge is something feared,
Leaving what is known behind.
Birth is a painful ordeal,
So much like death,
Perhaps they are both the same?
Winter stills fights the coming of spring,
Cold nights opening up to very warm days,
The insects in such profusion after they awake,
Are not yet here,
Allowing unimpeded enjoyment of the reborn beauty
So powerfully making itself known,
This explosion of life and new beginnings.
Some trees still sleep,
Soon they to will awaken, exploding with green,
A color so common,
Yet whose refreshing beauty never tires the eye.
Sadness lies deep within my soul,
Gently seeking to introduce itself,
Inexorable in its ebb and flow,
Or windows for contact.
Like stones slowly raising the water level,
As one by one they drop;
So is sadness,
As one event after another,
Something so common in life,
Seeking a true open response.
To be heard and felt,
Something foreign to me,
Apart from the brief safe peeks I allow myself,
Music, often th
The heart shatters at times,
Each time changed;
No middle ground.
Either it opens more to life
Or closes evermore unto itself,
Careful how others are treated,
For in wounding others, we wound ourselves,
Christ also weeps,
It is our wounds he carries.
The child was out playing one day,
His mother watching from the bench,
So beautiful and innocent the youngster,
His life peaceful with loving parents,
Extended family who loved and treasured him,
As young children are.
It happened so quickly, so sudden,
One moment all things were well,
When she looked away for a short time, then,
It was as if the earth opened up and swallowed him,
He was gone.
Frantic the mother ran looking for her beloved son,
Nowhere to be s
The local emergency room, is a place I know well,
Many there remember me;
I often accompanied someone, or another there.
While there waiting,
At others, perhaps praying,
Or gathering wool, in my already wool filled head,
The sounds of the ER almost never stop;
Background noise that I have never learned to tone out.
The cry of very young child,
Or perhaps screams would better serve,
Is an experience heart rending
Something I never get used too,
In the gentle increasing coolness
Of the early Spring evening,
Accompanied by the whisperings
Of a cool refreshing breeze,
I slowly walk around the small pond,
It’s water like glass,
Reflecting the deep lightsome beauty of clouds
Ever gently flowing high above, over its smooth surface.
Haunted by happy memories,
Of events long past,
Swimming with the ease of youth,
Now gone these many years,
Happily so, for life is better now.
Blessed be all who read this,
Without exception all are welcome.
No matter what you believe
Or the evils you have done,
Your wounds however deep,
Or the pain you yourself have sown,
At this moment it does not matter.
The Eternal knows you,
The why’s and the why not of your life.
Hatred, or anger,
Is no obstacle,
The ocean of infinite love is bottomless,
Without beginning or end,
Who can comprehend it this reality.