“You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.”
“There’s no such thing as a perfect piece of writing or poetry for that matter. Just as there’s no such thing as perfect despair.” So said a poet friend of mine I knew back in my adolescent years. He’s no longer with us on this spun little sphere. Well not in the physical sense. I miss him, more now than I did then. He was awfully real in a forsaken world full of fake.
It wasn’t until recently that I could grasp his full meaning, but even back then I found solace in his advice—there is no such thing as writing with perfection.
All the same, I quailed whenever I sat down to write. The scope of what I could handle was just too limited. I could write all day about the elephant in the room, so to say, but when it came to the elephant’s trainer, I was prone to draw a blank. Writing needs that kind of built-in accessory of a subplot, wouldn’t you think?
I have been caught in the web of this particular writing bind for quite sometime—twenty plus years to be exact. Now color me crazy all you would like, but that is a very long time.
If one operates on the principle that everything that happens to us can be considered a learning experience, then of course life needn’t be so damned painful. That’s what they tell us, anyway. Life though, has a way of letting pain dictate the steps in which we take.
From the day since I have picked up this pen, time and time again, I have done my best to live according to that philosophy. As I result, I have been swindled and misjudged, used and abused, day in and day out. I am though, one hundred percent guilty of doing the same, if not worse, to others. I have also done my fair share of returning these favors, in my own shameful way.
And yet still, it has brought about many strange, distorted, and wonderful experiences. All sorts of people have told me their stories, some I’ve tried to figure out on my own accord. Then they left, never to return, as if I were no more than a bridge they were crawling across to get to where they were so desperate to go.
I, however, have kept my mouth sealed shut. And so these stories have stayed with me over the years until I have found myself sitting here today, walking out, not necessarily wound free, but happily, from my very own existential crisis.
The time though, has come to shake it all off and tell my story.
This doesn’t mean, by any means, that I have resolved even a single one of my problems, or that I will be somehow different when I finish. There is a very good chance I haven’t changed at all.
In the end, writing is not always an overeager step toward self-healing, it is in my opinion, an infinitesimal step, a very exploratory move in said direction of promise. But in order to get to where I am to be—with writing I must lean into honesty.
All the same, writing with the bittersweet taste of honesty is very grim. The more I start to write honest with myself and my words, the farther we may slip into darkness, but of the dark, it is true, the only way out is through.
Don’t take this as an excuse. I promise you—I’ve been telling the story as best I have known how, and this I will continue to do. But there will always be more to add to it.
A story, like life, is much like a tree. Branches grow, and branches must be cleared. They keep growing and you must keep trimming. Some will branch out farther than you could imagine, and those are sometimes better off left to grow.
I can’t help thinking with hints of confidence—if all goes well, a time may come, years or even decades from now, when I will come to discover that my self was somehow salvaged and redeemed from these articles of my life.
The elephant in the room will then return to the veldt, and it is of my hope, that I may tell the story of the world through my very own eyes with words far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
So with that being said, sit back, relax, and settle on in.
Creativity involves breaking out of established patterns in order to see things in a completely different way.
Creativity is a shape shifter. It is something that is not defined with pattern. It carries with it, its own mentality. One moment it takes upon itself this form, the next that. Creativity involves breaking out of established patterns in order to see things in a completely different way. It is this bedazzling spirit that appears to all of us, yet is hard to identify its existence because there is not one of us that can agree upon what we read or saw as far as ourselves or our eyes are concerned.
Are the wielding of colors upon canvas, just as similar as paint chips and wallpaper? Is this evident of its creative existence? What about a pen versus paper, a rosebush bordered along a garden path? Yes and yes. What about the cooking up of love’s revolution? Why the hell not? Is it touching with delicate love the petals of a rose, or pulling off the Big Sweat of the swelling summer, or tying upon your line a pale morning dun because the trout see them better in the morning sun? Yes, yes, and yes. What about finding ones voice, or rearing a child towards adulthood, or better yet helping raise a nation from its prayerful knees? Hell yes.
Creativity is the tending to love like the orchard it is, finding the words that see fit. And when the cosmic thread finds its fabric, you sew the creative life that has been so graciously given to you. All of the above belong to the creative river of life. Creativity is the celestial river beneath the churning river of life, which flows from in and out of our souls.
Some say the creative life is in the living of ideas, some say it’s by doing, I believe it rests in the simplicity of being you. It is the love of something, having so much love for something—whether it be a band, a collection of words, an image, an idea, let alone be it humanity, that touches us in a way nothing else can. All that can be done to satisfy this craving is to create. It is not a matter of wanting or needing to, it is not a singular act of will; one solely must.
The creative force flows over the spiritual terrain of our soul looking for the natural hollows, the channels that exist within us. We become basins of belief, tributaries of truth; we are the shallow pools, the serene ponds, and most important the sanctuaries of sanity. The wild creative force flows into whatever garden bed we build for it, those we are born gifted with and those we have to dig with our own bare hands. We don’t always have to fill them, but first we must build them.
In lore, there is an idea that if one prepares a special spiritual place, then the creative force, or source of the soul, will hear it, sense its way to it, and call it home. Whether this force is summoned by the prayer of biblical proportions, “go forward and prepare a place for the soul” or, as in the movie Field Of Dreams in which a farmer hears a voice urging him to build a baseball stadium in the middle of midwestern nowhere USA. “If you build it they will come,” is a way of saying to prepare a place for the longevity of the creative force. It induces the soul to take the imagination to places that life could only dream of.
Once the inner river finds the estuaries and branches in our soul, our creative life fills and empties, rises and falls just like the seasons of a wilderness river. These cycles or patterns are responsible for the different climates of spiritual survival. Certain patterns of paths are the ones we must walk to get through the arid desert of the mind. Things are created; thoughts are fed, then fall back and die away, all in their own right time, over and over again. Creating one thing at any certain point in the river feeds those who come to the river, feeds those far downstream, yet even others in the deepest pools of imagination.
Creating is not a solitary moment. This is the clarity of creativity. This is its power. Whatever is touched by it, whoever hears it, whomever tasted its ingredients with the perfect balance, they sense it, they see it, and they are fed by it. This is why beholding someone else’s creative words, imageS, or ideas fills us up, and inspires us to do our own creative work. A single creative deed has the budding potential to feed this starving world. One single creative act can cause a river’s torrent to carve through miles of stubborn stone.
I have always thought of the following song’s inspiration as being that of creativity, more so necessarily than that of female persuasion. See you all soon. Thanks for stopping by.
Silence merely whispers at the edge of eternity, like a light fringe of foam at the lip of a wave.
He stands toward the stars, staring stoned with a suffered gaze. The thoughts that cradle his imagination are being spoiled with over processed knowledge. At least this is what he thinks, and this thought alone is diluted. This exact moment’s perception of himself clenches at him like the white-knuckled clasp of a man gone mad behind the wheel of desire. He knows this inward perception of him is self-inflicted from the sound of his own inner voice—that parasitical ego—dancing mad through the tranquility of his inner peace.
He knows it will pass, much like the forgiveness of time, tomorrow holds the key to the land of milk and honey. But like desire, these spells of self-destruction were beginning to wreak havoc down every avenue in the city he calls life—his thoughts were becoming more congested, which in turn, brought everything to a standstill. Above and beyond all reasoning, he needed direct knowledge where subject and object coincided with perfection, or else risk confusing the moon with his own finger pointing at it.
He knows that all of this suffering is self-catapulted upon the sandcastle of his own conscious. As the castle erodes, should he have to rebuild it with chaos? He sometimes thinks so, but he knows that a sandcastle made of chaos is just a few farts in the wind away from his mind being turned to dust. He must settle down and allow the chaotic cloudiness to clarify itself within him via extended contemplation. Which bear in mind, he had been skimping on. The things that make you go, hmm?
He always knew the wounds of life would heal with a slight scar. That he would eventually fall back into the flesh of his own Being. Still he would always scratch at the scars upon his soul, with the sole intention of aggravating the past. From this, his psyche would never be the same, yet his thoughts told him that by revisiting the past, it might somehow send him spiraling towards the future.
While the possibility of this does exist, the depths at which he would need to seek within himself would take him deeper into the wilderness in which he already sits. This is something he believes that he is not yet fully prepared for, but we’ve yet to see the final score. The path is there, a bit hidden and maybe arid, but there nonetheless. Will he really ever know where it goes? In all honesty, he hasn’t a clue, but this is no longer a concern of his, only His.
He understands that the spiritual passage is not for the faint of heart. It’s just as well he knows that from the beginning of this journey, he must create an atmosphere about him that will carry the content of his posthumous existence, while leaving something of worth behind for his kid. He comprehends that the future of the world will not be changed by his words, but their future will be and that May in turn change the world.
This point must always be kept in mind when he starts questioning the “why” upon the fringe of all things. After all, the silent mind merely whispers at the edge of eternity, like a light fringe of foam at the lip of a wave.
He has learned that salvation is not a reward, but a very wild and normal consequence. If not to even say that it is a natural process of the inner work in which he tries to achieve for himself, as well as that of his innate disposition. This being what pushes him in the enduring direction of his voluntary search that seeks some higher purpose in the creation of his life. He knows these words are but the footsteps along this long and winding nomadic expedition in search of his Spirit.
He can and will attest that it is a path filled with treacherous steps that lean into all sorts of different hidden angles and patterns. But they are his, they have put him here with this pen in his hand. And at this point, he understands that he and this pen tilt at a geometric point where the horizontal and the vertical meet, an invisible cross of sorts. He sees that this path is built for only him. And he sees that your path is nothing like his. It is yours and yours alone. And should our paths meet let it forever be sweet.
On a good day he understands that those he thought he was helping, in the end, he came to learn that they were helping and teaching him, and he as well, himself. He is, sometimes too often filled to the brim with the facility of his own thoughts and the sublimity of his own reason. But it is time to insulate those thoughts he hates to love, while loving to hate, with the fashion of his old self again. This meant it was time he get to wherever needs to be at the present time.
It took him awhile, but he finally learned how to outwit the craftiness of his thoughts, only because the answers themselves brought about new questions. And it is today, as we mark it, that he has finally taught himself a valuable lesson within the inner work of his better habits.
It was then he laughed with a joy that shook through his body from his head to his toes. It was such a laugh that it put money in his pocket, because it paid no doctor bill. It was a laugh that made him feel alive as he was now whole. It was a laugh that howled from the depths of his core. It was then he heard providence call, and he knew he had to answer it, with no intention of hanging it up.
And by and by his smile rises with a new dawn and the sun, she rests upon his weary-eyed thoughts with clarity. The boy had laughed himself awake from the depths of a bad dream, a different man. So with that being said, I leave you with the truth.
What we say about God isn’t what counts, but what we let Him say in us; this right we grant Him to say Himself—instead of us.
Look within. Within is the foundation of good, and it will ever bubble up, if thou wilt ever dig.
The spiritually hungry are always ready to learn more, for their hearts are eager to discover new truths.
As a man with a humbled heart, I strive for truth and goodness. If they ever find themselves in my possession, they may bring to me an unknown kind of heavenly happiness, but happiness itself is not of my creative and conscious purpose. As much as I am engaged in the pursuit of happiness, it is the truth that I seek and not happiness. Though it is possible that when the truth comes to be found, it may just be holding hands with happiness. And it is true that having a creative attitude towards life, as a whole is not man’s right, it is his duty.
A Creative Direction
Within this fallen world, I still see beauty everywhere I look and my creative nature will forever follow said beauty. And being somewhat of a poet, hope will always find enthusiasm hiding behind beauty in the depths of a dream. This enthusiasm becomes second nature to the poet because the truth of what he is, is within him.
A voice sounds off in his soul, which is fed with a creative energy equal to the power of all societies. You don’t make yourself interesting through madness, eccentricity or anything of said sort. In the truth of what is, the poet finds his enthusiasm in the ability to drown out the noisy distractions that this world seems to offer us on a daily basis. He becomes fit to hear the essence of all things.
Now let us focus on the truth of creativity. Creativity is the moral imperative that applies to the ethical department of life. The effort put forth towards artistic and cognitive activity carries with it a moral value that is unswerving when one starts to understand that the realization of truth and goodness is an act of creative nobility.
Digging For The Truth
Whatever I write from this point on, is for mere guidance of me and maybe you, and of course the boy. There is nothing nonetheless in the truth of these words than that alone. It is my life’s constant gravitational pull that has at times—pulled me towards the truth of me, myself, and I. These words, they may be the hidden paths, which lead to the truth of heaven above, but heaven already exists in my heart, and that is the truth in itself.
I would rather not be the man who looks upon his reflection and for a moment forgets the manner of man he was. Yet at the same time, I strive not to try and remember myself lest I come to find the person I am not. The first step toward finding me, who is of the utmost truth, is to discover the truth of God. So if I have indeed been in error, the paramount step towards the truth is the unearthing of said error.
Shall I flee far away, and hide within this wilderness of me? Shall I hurry for His shelter far away and free from tempest and these storms of me? I seek no treasure or experience—I seek only the truth. So whatever storms come, they come, and we brave them by dancing our way through them until the sun shines upon our souls. Is this not correct?
It is in my opinion that first you must truly know and love your self. Then you will become aware of the true “being” of God beneath your own fleeting thoughts. You will learn to wait with stillness underneath the chaos of confusion as you begin to recognize the unconditional love for yourself that hides behind reclusive pain. It is after one has become aware of the darkness in the depths of faith—freedom, salvation, and even enlightenment—are but seeds of the truth.
Seeds Of Truth
In the reality of spiritually awakening, something emerges from within you that grows so much deeper than whom you thought you were. And as much as the old version of myself is still around, something more powerful than anything I have ever felt grows within my soul. Someone has determined it necessary to anoint this head of mine with a sacred sort of oil, leading me down a path I never thought existed.
A seed must crack and break free from its shell of comfort, so to seek the light of salvation through devastation. This “breaking free” will look like complete destruction of a person to those who look at this world externally. Followed by the discussed judgment of “that boy is a few sandwiches short of a picnic” mentality. A losing of the mind, though in a lot of ways, can be of the highest kind because of what it is about ourselves we creatively come to find.
He has His own Way of bringing us out of our shells, of bringing us into the world—the world from which I long held the illusion that I was withdrawing. Most of my life I’ve felt some “far off” kind of sensation that something was leading me somewhere of significance. But in the harshness of my disbelief of His will, the path has seemed to twist and turn in all sorts of direction. And the only way to get through to me, I feel, was that He had to move through me from dead center, from the Cross within my heart.
The Truth Beckons
So in my own direction with my ego I went. Then came the flux of imagination, sensation, and insight, followed by an up close kind of ache for the sacred knowing of an astral plane beyond good and evil. And that in it self is the dark truth of something heavier than I’ve ever known, I guess that’s why I will forever draw these words with the manner of me—to find the lightness of my own being. And maybe they could help me to become more aware of my own ego?
At last, the light of the truth it beckons. It glows in the awareness of this ego of mine. It has long lurked in the shadows of this creative wilderness. Oh this writing, the spilling of my own fleeting thoughts, why must they exude my ego, why must they be the truth of who I am in God’s very own heart? And so it is I’ve come to understand my ego, and from understanding comes God’s growth. And why it is, that the beacon of light from within, will always be the beckon of hidden truth I seek.
I have wandered deeper into my own soul than even I’ve ever fathomed over these past few months—deeper than most wish to go. Lucky for me these words have been instrumental in keeping my feet on the path in a wilderness so deep. Maybe this depth has setup permanent camp in this wilderness of my mind. So allow me to tickle the truth with the gravity of this pen.
Tickle The Truth
The great fleeting feelings and thoughts are gone but not forgotten. And if we will not awaken the awareness of humanity’s collective ego—the collective of goodness, spirit and soul of society will never be convinced to participate in the geometric pattern of angels, and society will sink deeper into the abyss of suffering. So now the time has come to lift the veil of Maya. Illusion is real and reality has become a dream, no longer illusory.
The truth of heaven and of fallen angels will sow the seeds of the future for humanity as a whole. Both like to speak to us in dreams with certain criteria we never knew to exist. But we spend most of our lives dissecting our dreams, instead of living those dreams. These dreams, they come to us as we sleep, to help us see the concealed divinity in other human beings. All the while sharing with us a map that creatively charts the course of imagination across the abyss that so often divides us all from the truth of His Spirit. And upon the latitude and longitude of the heart, we find flesh and soul at crossroads.
The Story Grows
In the end all happiness really is—is the quality of your inner context. Each and every life that blesses this planet is in fact a story waiting to be told. Each life has a table of contents, that divvies up the chapters by those delicate and life altering situations that each and every one of us face every single day. Happiness is growth. Growth from all of the pain and suffering that once prevented us from believing in ourselves.
So let us join hands and build one another before we judge one another. Is this not spoken in the law of Christ, to nurture instead of destroy? So instead of fighting amongst each other, let us nurture the foundation of truth with unconditional love and help us allow a bright future for our children. Let us build a new path that leads to somewhere the world has never been.
“Bear another ones burdens and fulfill the law of Christ”
Man and his moral dignity with its freedom are determined not by the purpose to which he aids his life, but by the source from which his morality and the ensuing activities that spring from said source. It should be worthy of a note, that in a sense, “the means” from which a man chooses, are far more diligent than “the ends” in which he pursues.
To consider things and situations only in the light of the effect they burden upon me is to stumble upon the doorstep of hell, so as I stand up, rising out of my own hell, it’s time to reach for the truth of heaven.
You may not end up where you thought you were going, but you will always end up where He meant for you to be.
“The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.
-William A. Ward
Life will always find a tailwind when creating something out of thin air. In the mere reflection of life we require a creative and graceful wind—a special sort of fidelity with our inner nature that moves us in the direction of God. Life requires stability too. It demands a maturity of the creative gusto of our soul, which is not easily met in the constant adjustments of direction about the long and perilous journey through the sea of life. This life seems to result from the very least—in the experience of the artistic experiments that our creative soul has been quietly dreaming up to live amongst Him in the Kingdom of better days.
To reflect upon life with transparency, we must look towards God. We must keep the mind quiet. All the while allowing calmness and purity to at once become the well-kept condition of our being and the consequence of His vision for us as individuals. It is up to us to adjust the sails, and to allow His wind to carry us wherever He intends. This to me is the truth of life—the everlasting hope that breathes with each gust of life’s wind. It is the reason why I believe He created us; to create Him in our own creative way.
All a man should seek, other than God and his true self, is an opportunity to work his heart out through heightened work—to express the sensibility of his soul and to declare the lovely feelings of his time. He should seek to discover deeper purpose in his own creative meaning, as well as, the truths of the nature that both surround and entangle him.
He must use with confidence all of the delightful opportunities with his time on this earth—that God has so graciously given to him. It is most important to reflect upon ourselves in the creative sense, and to listen with the wind for the clandestine sounds of love and truth that He created deep within us all, long ago.
This writing began, in all reality as just a covert operation on my lifelong doubt in God and myself—the longing, the swelling heart, the raging eagerness of feeling deserted, and the painful keenness of an infinite and unidentified need for some purpose higher than this fallen world can offer.
Before I started to write again, I felt my imagination was headed for the shallow waters of mediocrity. And I wasn’t happy with my creativity drowning in the stagnant puddles of life. Why did my imagination have to give up its full and free connection to the universe, is it not a living garment of God?
I guess at the midway point of my life it comes to this. That as a creative individual I have often sought ways to prove what’s in my heart—the love, the poetic hunger for purpose, the swelling excitement over her unparalleled beauty—for which there are no acceptable terms of knowledge, just wisdom. Is it not the creative mind that is better off with hints, as opposed to extensive knowledge? But in the end we need not apply for the right to love in this world, we just do it because it is what God has intended for us all along.
When one writes his way through a spiritual awakening, it is bound to get a little too deep in spiritual schisms. The enigmatic engine will burn a little hot and sporadic from time to time. As one exorcises both the evil and the good from within him he will find numerous darkened paths up the mountain of his mind, and it is often as one approaches the off-beaten paths of his thoughts he will find himself betwixt and between, the sanctuary of beauty and the asylum of madness.
But just before he chooses between the paths, by God, the wind He blows it something fierce, and his ship gets turned around, away from the storms of himself. A smooth seam of glasslike water shows itself upon this sea of life, and he must adjust the sails for what he hopes is the sanctuary of His will. So as we sail towards the shore of big news, please allow me a moment to reflect on this creative written venture.
Let us not forget, that I had been a complete idiot until I started this blog and a partial idiot after that. So that being said, I will always be something of an idiot. I have overthought and rambled my way through my mind at my own pace and in all kinds of directions in search of something. It does happen to turn out that something was God. That’s where this path always led if you all haven’t yet noticed? It has become more than obvious that this sharing of my thoughts was just an extended errand for the sake of my soul.
It is true when I said that I believe this blog has been my own way of working myself through an existential crisis. My peculiar tendencies to get to the bottom of my purpose in life and to myself are of mine and God’s genuine demeanor, and I think these words alone can verify that. If they can actually guarantee a damn thing, I suppose is up to me.
My thoughts even now, they sit here simmering. Still, at some point they must come to a full boil. As my very fingers rehearse these written words, how would my mind work the notes of my imagination’s trumpet, when it was ready to blow alas? Would the peals of written brass be heard beyond this earth? Would Christ, the faculty savior of my imagination’s truth be roused, and may we together look with awakened eyes upon the true beauty of Heaven on earth?
I have always thought of thoughts as real constituents of being. So now with all of my being I must drop anchor upon the shores of home. As I look back at this sea of words, this venture of my bared soul that has shown the chaos, the beauty and all else in between the storms of my mind—I regret none of it. But comes a time for a man to walk in the direction towards his known purpose for a quick minute.
Recognize what is in your sight, and that which is hidden from you will become plain to you, for there is nothing hidden which will not become manifest.
Living The Dream
Last week I was offered and have accepted what I have long considered a dream job. And until I find my full stride along the new path in my career, my time is going to be precious. I am going to play Executive Chef for this quaint but busy little bistro-style bar and grill along the shores of the closest place I know to be bliss, that being Lake Tahoe. I have longed to get back to “painting” plates and creating dishes that grow from the garden of my soul. It’s going to be more than hectic enough all summer to occupy most of my mind. Which let us all be honest here, it is what this mind of mine needs.
The outdoor barbecues, the granules of sand tormenting sunburnt children with bliss, the beach with its perfect seventy five degree sunny days, the drive and motivation to be proud of collective success, is all that I need at this point in my life. The sunsets and sunrises, my buddy picking me up from work on the boat, it’s all quite the blessing. The Man Upstairs has a beautiful plan and I’ll even be able to afford Him the favor back by frequenting an early service of Church on Sunday mornings.
This summer will be beautifully orchestrated chaos, but I am better at harnessing the chaos of a kitchen, and all its moving parts, than I am at constructing the chaos of my own mind. Plus, the creativity and responsibility that comes with this job, gives me a sense of purpose I haven’t felt since my son was born. Whom by the way turns five today. Happy birthday big rig. For Heaven’s sake they grow up so fast. Here’s to your day filled with creativity and cupcakes. He is a Pisces kid through and through.
The dream hasn’t changed, but He has changed the course of the wind, and I must adjust the sails towards the direction of a different dream. I feel that there is still a purpose to my writing, there always will be when speaking of Him and His love.
In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.
But it is but for a bit, that this all has to be put on the back-burner of reality. It seems to be His will for now, and I am no longer one to fight against that. We need not forget though, that where there are multiple outlets of creativity, the mind’s ability to create becomes lest congested. So in order to right this ship long lost in a sea of words, I must set the sails in the direction of the good fight, for myself and of course, love and His will.
In order to build a recipe out of words it is imperative to string incongruities and absurdities together in a wandering and sometimes purposeless way, and seem innocently unaware that they are absurd. This has become the basis of American art. And if my position is correct, another feature is the slurring and stumbling of the point. A third feature is the placement of a well-traveled remark with the transparency of not knowing it, as if one were thinking out loud. The fourth and final is indeed the pause…
That way you give the audience the time to divine that a surprise is intended;)
The wicked flee though no one pursues (Prov. 28:1). That being said, I’ll be back sooner than I am able.
One little spark can set a whole wilderness on fire. Just a spark.
Let the wolf delight, to howl and to bite. For God has made him so.
If energy is delight and enthusiasm is beauty, the wild depressive knows more about delight and beauty than anyone else. Who else has so much energy and exuberance? I believe the psyche fleeces a certain strategy to increase depression. Isn’t it Freud who said, that happiness is nothing but the remission of pain? The more pain—the more intense the happiness that follows. But there is a prior origin to this, and the psyche—it does create hell on purpose.
All life is, is pondering between then and now, between birth and death, seeking answers to the most influential questions. Such brooding doesn’t always make us any saner, and some may sink into drink, when the answers they seek drive them a little too wild. It has always been me versus madness in my life, and madness has proven much stronger over salvation. But not this time around and I will tell you why.
All this thinking, writing, with it’s feeling sometimes seems to count for nothing. It’s naught but an attack behind the allied lines of my mind—seeking the beauty of my thoughts—and as of late the only effect is except it has worn me out. The noble idea of being a poet or a writer has made me feel at times like a clown or a fool. Maybe humanity no longer needs art and inner miracles. It already has so many outer ones.
So before I can carry on with the green and lovely shades of this wilderness within, I must venture into the darkest and most arid corner of my mind. This is the only way that I feel like I am being genuine with you all. It is true that the only way out is through.
Sure I could fake it and pretend that all I saw was graced with gloriousness, but over the past week it hasn’t been that way for me. I hold close with confidence that by getting this off my chest, the path will clear itself of my well-worn mind’s debris. It is time we talk about hell.
Horrors Of Hell
Hell is the state of the soul powerless to come out of it’s prideful self; it is absolute self-centeredness, dark and evil isolation, and the final incapacity to love. It means to be engulfed in an agonizing moment, which yawns with the abyss of infinity, so that the pain plays repetitively in the mind, while stabbing sharp through the heart. Hell creates and organizes the separation of the soul from God.
Hell is not God’s action upon the soul, retributive and punitive as that action may be—it is the absence of any action of God upon the soul, the soul’s incapacity to open itself up to God’s influence and its complete severance from God.
The horror of hell is not something inspired by thoughts that God’s judgment will be severe and merciless. God is love and mercy, and to give one’s fate to Him means to overcome this horror. In reality the horror is to have our own fates left in our own hands. It is not what God will do to us, but what we will do to ourselves. Hell means that we don’t fall into the Hand of God but instead we abandon ourselves to our own devices.
Every soul is sinful and subject to darkness and cannot by its own power come into the light. The soul will feel inclined to pass into the twilight of dreams written upon semi-existence. Its own free efforts cannot bring it to true and being. It is in the essence of Christianity that we see this designed by these two scriptures.
“The Son of man is not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them.”
“I came not to judge the world, but to save the world.”
The coming of Christ should be seen as not an outward threat of judgment, but an inward recognition that salvation rests within—salvation from the hell that we have so maliciously spent our entire lives preparing for ourselves. The coming of Christ is the turning point for the soul of man, which builds up the Kingdom of God instead of digging for the depths of hell.
Without Christ, our Savior, the Kingdom of God is unattainable for man. Man’s moral efforts alone do not bring him to it. If there is no Christ and no change of heart connected with Christ, hell in some shape or form is inevitable, for man cannot help but create it. The essence of salvation is liberation from our own hell, to which all creatures naturally gravitate.
Hell will not come into eternity, it will remain in time, and hence it cannot be eternal. One of the voices that howls through my soul tells me that all are doomed to hell, because all more or less doom themselves to it. But this to the fullest extent is reckoning without Christ. The other voice that speaks from the goodness of my heart, says that all must be saved, that man’s true freedom must be enlightened from within, without any violence being done to it—and that comes through Christ and is salvation.
In the midst of this spiritual awakening, I no longer think of the devil as outside the human soul, he is engrained in it and means that it is abandoned in itself. Christ frees the soul from the devil. Hell, without question exists, yet it is revealed to us in experience, and it may be our own lot. Hell belongs to time and is temporal. Everything that is in time is temporal. The victory of eternity over time leaves hell and its so called powers behind.
The idea of hell has been turned into an instrument of intimidation, of religious and moral terrorism. Our real horror is not in the threats of a transcendental Divine judgment, but in the immanent working out of human destiny from which all Divine action has been excluded. The most merciless committee is that of one’s own conscious; it brings with it torments of hell, division, loss of wholeness, a fragmentary existence. The only judgment God shall enforce upon us is a downpour of grace upon the creature. His judgment establishes true realities and makes them all secondary to the heights of Heaven, not in a permissible but a metaphysical sense.
I now see something hideous and morally revolting in the idea of eternal torments as retribution for the sins of a short moment of life. Eternal damnation as a result of things done in such a short period of time, known as life, is one of the most disgusting manmade nightmares. But one thing is unquestionably true: after death the soul rich in Christ goes on to Heaven, the soul that never believed in God’s Power goes on to some other plane of being, as it lived before birth.
The Answer Is Christ
The life in our world between birth and death is merely a crumb compared to our destiny, incomprehensible when regarded by itself, apart from the eternal purpose of a man. It is Christ alone that can conquer the horror of hell as a manifestation of the creature’s freedom. This is the last and final demand that dictates the conscious—to have the conscious and the courage to direct all the power of your creative spirit through Christ to free everyone from their own hell. And the rise of hope in this belief is the only way through this wilderness within.
It has been a rough couple of weeks. My depressed mind has been taken over by the grind and has been working overtime with work and all else in between. But 2019 is going to be here in the blink of an eye and I will be spending a few days in one of my favorite places in the world, Alabama Hills, just outside of Lone Pine, California. I have to leave town with just my camera, my tent, my bible, God, and me. Once again, I have to find myself. I must take this beast within and seek some holy waters for the sake of baptismal purposes.
As Christ said, the seed in the ground must die. To be a seed in the ground of one’s very life is to dissolve into that ground in order to become fruitful. One disappears into love, in order to “be Love”
I am finally getting somewhere with the book, so with that being said, this blog will only be posting once a week on Friday’s, starting this Friday. Hope you all had a merry everything and have a happy always. Thanks for stopping by. Til the next time.
I know that you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
Job 42 : 2
A man knows he has found his purpose in life when he stops thinking about how to live and just thrives at being alive.
If one is called to be a writer or a poet—he will stop pondering how to write with beauty and just feel an inner harmony within himself as he moves into his creative state of being. But if one is not called to be a writer or a poet, the harder he tries to force his creative hand, the farther he strays from his true nature.
He will then worry with constancy about how to write with beauty and in the process, he will forget altogether how to write in harmony. He is then left to scratch his head in disbelief as to what his life is meant to be.
When we do not live up to, or find our true purpose in life, distracting thought devours our daily routine. Thoughts begin to act as an alternative for true meaning, pulling us farther away from the reality of living our truest life. We then begin to think so much that it overruns our life and from there we drown into the depths of overthinking.
It is while we are drowning in the depths of our own metaphors that the voice of our conscious starts to mumble incoherent. But as we rise to the surface gasping for air, the voice becomes crystal clear—and in the fullness of time—the answers that we seek arrive bound with astonishment.
And suppose one has finally found wholeness in his true purpose. He starts to see his life living in unity with peace. He sees all that surrounds him begin to synchronize upon the collective campaign trail of what it is God, may or may not have in store for him. Of this though, he will never truly know.
He knows now that his work no longer pretends to be a burden upon prayer and prayer no longer a burden upon his work. He no longer views contemplation as needing to be set to the side in the void of his own silence. He no longer feels the need to be removed from the herded “state” of society to find himself because he now knows that God penetrates all.
He no longer wishes to account for himself, or anyone else, except for his child, but he is sure that his child is safe in the sanctuary of God’s Garden. But the only one he must fully account for within his own self is in fact God.
And this is wherein lies the paramount of our purpose. It is not that we wish to cease to be ordinary men, so that we are deemed warriors or saints, but that the love within our hearts can become as pure as God’s love—for God himself and for all men. And to know that the tears that fall from our joyful or sorrowed eyes will fall like His rain, because they well up from the moving of His spirit through these hearts of ours—His children. And then you will see that the gift of goodness it grows in silence—well nourished in the scripted garden written within the Psalm of life.
May he give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed.
Psalm 20 : 4
When we understand our purpose, the purpose of His Will, love for others becomes clean and sturdy. We can reach out to them, standing upright, without vanity and without complacency, loving all creatures with the same pure and sacred gentleness of God’s love for us.
This is the purest fruit and genuine purpose of Love.