How far will I go to change my life? How far will I go to help enhance the life of others? Not just friends but all whom I come into contact with. Compression occurs in life, and happy endings are not indicative of a life in pursuit of Him. However the rewards are heartfelt and spirit affirming.
How far will I go? If needs must, I will cut open the roof and lower down the issue.
Saint Irenaeus said the glory of God is man fully alive.
The latency between morning state and being awake is my life. I have no interest in rules, I have no interest in exclusive faiths, I have no interest in religion. In a book called Malachi, the writer urges those who profess to live a life of hope in Him, to maintain a consistency throughout their whole life. Not just a linear consistency but a holistic one that covers every facet. I want to live exactly the same life with or without the scaffolding of structure given by work, friends and family routine. Only when I am alone can I know this. Do I still choose life? I want to explore being alone as I am sure that within the separation comes the identity. Am I truly this man, or is there something more, something less? I want to be fully alive. I want a consistency in my life, that follows Him and yet allows me to be me. Unique. I seek that arena. A space to find a hand shake from divinity to humanity. My faith is that space. A place to explore safely and to engage securely with Him.
A memory of an M.Night film with Samuel. L. Jackson pleading, ‘they call me mr glass.’ In so many ways I feel we all are born in a brittle, fragile, breakable state. Born into a distorted world, with our hearts glasslike. There are broken shepherd staffs in Zechariah, too brittle for use. If it can be broken, then it can be put back together. If it can be snapped then it can be restored. Often being broken is the start of a true restoration one that develops into a stronger, less fragile, less brittle heart.
As well as a brittle heart, being born into this world brings upon me an unavoidable bag of crimes. My birthmark is death, instantly limiting my time on this planet. This is why the virgin birth is so important to me. Someone being born outside of the rules, means miraculously that person escapes the weight of the world. The bag of crimes that compromise and entangle our lives. The virgin birth fulfils a promise. It has a past. The virgin birth means the world has someone living in it who is outside of the worlds distortion. This is important to me.
In this book called Malachi, God reminds me that He loves me, He reminds me that He was present in my history and is in my future. He reminds me that He loves me. He loves me. God loves me. Me.
I had a notion, a long time ago, that wisdom came with age. Maybe for some that is the case. In my life, the years that raced past me thus far have brought a little experience and scant discernment. At 37 years old I was still living with coping mechanisms of a nine year old. Living with holes in my life, like all, my childhood needed to be understood and digested.
One of the wisest decisions I have made in my life was to press stop, rewind until the beginning and press play. There was no secret of life to search for; simply unraveling my childhood and the consequences that had on the rest of my life.
To my surprise, in that place is where I found my first bread crumb of wisdom, not in pursuit of philosophical answers, or the study of truth. I began to loosen the hold of life by becoming a child again, comprehending what it meant then and now.
When I read Proverbs 2, which speaks about pursuing the Kingdom of God being better than a fat salary, I connect with the words. I left a high salary for a low one and found something worth more. Someone once said that to seek the Kingdom of God, one must become like a child again. In my life that has been the case not just in realising a child-like faith but in the comprehension of my past in the context of who I am now, and why I am now. In the pursuit of Him, I obtain His guidance. From that moment I have never looked back, and never will.
I swapped it all for a precious pearl.
Morning people, Afternoon people, Evening people, Happy people, Sad people, people people, lonely people
slippery people, shady people, beautiful people, hungry people, rich people, poor people, hurting people, broken people, people who break, people who hurt, innocent people, guilty people, fast people, slow people, funny people, honest people, angry people….
all
my
kinda
people
There are paper bags full of emptiness para-gliding down my street. Evaporating vacant content underneath taxi wheel arches. They distribute their print. Was this their makers doing? To feel the weight of purchase once expanding their seams, to have their bellies emptied out prior commission to swimming kerbs. They are more offices to let than derelict buildings. Unemployed Trojans on death row, drinking rain and para-gliding down my street.
So much to be scared of. How did the clowns gain control? It hurt just a little bit when the sliced and packaged it. Don’t want to be man trapped, don’t want to be shrink wrapped. Black market. In a long black trench coat, two hands around my throat.
I hate the system we plug into, suits, value-less goals and sales targets that profit from money that’s borrowed.
I love life, the time in between the work, the laughter, the meal times, the meal times, the meal times.
I cooked food tonight.
The perfect playlist. Does it exist? Can it be done? Not talking about any random collection of similar genre music. No. I am proposing a continuos selection of music like a chosen food menu, complementing the previous and preparing for the next. Units of time parameters. The 15 minute perfect playlist. The 1 Hour playlist. The 7 minute Playlist.
Spent over an hour talking to friend on iVideo/iChat. What a wicked find. We mused on technology, Life and that his band are playing in Milan for Fashion Week.
The plan is coming together, well there are at least two of them. The plan, is a blueprint for a better way of life. It’s taken me most of 2007 to get here, and here isn’t even near the end. However it has been a long process, almost there. Last orders at the bar, Suns coming out, where we going for breakfast? Carlito gets me every time. Raise my autumn glass to all who engage with life.
Bless you all
Good things come. Quake with me. Listen, wait. Come with nothing prepared to say. Come expecting to be inspired, to hear, to speak. Relationships freeze. Left in a sterilised hospital chiller. Stack O friends shoved in with ice cream and peas, Mr Wilson’s blood and a tray of ice cubes. The door won’t close, can’t close. Lose the blood, spill the peas. The garden was tamed not by me, she was surely beaten. Surely the roots know the futility of growing? We are humans, we land on the moon. What is a weed? Why doesn’t it give up?
A funeral for friends.
A beautiful evening, packed with old friends and new friends, Manic’s, Ed Harcourt and Doves.
Firesuite washed over me and the South Bank. A feeling too tremendous to contain, so I let it fly.
