PREACH LOVE : and he said things

Sent: 9/30/2003 11:26 AM


and he talked to me
he said things
that i thought things
couldn't be said
to me

and he talked to me
he said things
that brought me
here to now
as me

and he talked to me
he said things
that carried me forth
to the front
of me

and he talked to me
he said things
that i knew were true
like clear water
over me

and he talked to me
he said things
he said something
that something
that meaning
that thing
that brought
to me

my heart.

PREACH LOVE : SOC - 9/25/03

Sent: 9/29/2003 12:01 PM

SOC (Stream of Consciousness) - 9/25/03

This life. This everything. What does it mean? And what do we owe? Do we owe anything? And what shall we give? Questions. Thoughts. My own kind of music on the keypad of my computer ringing sweetly and consistently across the silence of the night. Aside the fan blowing air from the window. Humid air. But cool. Cool air traces round my face and brow and I wonder how. How. How is it.

I called Lance and wished him a happy birthday a day too late. Was I too late? Was he there to receive it. Ah, time. It is a funny parent. One that catches you off guard, as it should be.

Help me Lord. Help me. For lately, I have felt so weary, that I can hardly raise my head from the pillow to awaken to the day. The day seems so daunting with all that is expected of me. What? Is it only what I expect from me? I expect much more. Help me. Please. In Jesus Christ's Name I pray!

And I find the most intellectual and spiritual conversation of the night at Eden Bar. I talked with people I just met there. About God. About Christ. How strange. And yet, I am so non-judgmental, I must allow everyone his or her own journey towards God. That is a witness. Is it? I'm so unsure. Oh God, am I doing wrong? Please help me. If I am not being a good witness in Your name, then help me. Please!

Follow My path!

I feel as if I must write some sort of journal entry, as I haven't in such a long time. Tonight is the night that I was supposed to read "Sick of it" at the Bowery Poetry Club, but I have realized that I have already read the poem I should there, "Racial Slurs". Every time I keep mentioning that I'm reading a poem, I say, "Raaa - I mean 'Sick of it'." Where is my next destination Dear Lord? What is next? I feel like reading again is barking up the same tree that I have before. Perhaps that's my reason for apprehension?

I'm at a loss. I don't know. There are so many doubts swimming in here that I wonder if that manuscript is even the one that needs to be published. I find myself wanting to write something more and better. Why can't I be happy with it being what it is? Perhaps because I don't believe that humanity will forgive me for it either? Either. So I am so critical of myself? I am. Perfection. Oh God, release me from this mistake. You gave me Christ. Why do I still strive to be Him. Shan't I be me? Me with Him as my ideal. Striving but never obtaining. Be me. Be me. Oh I'm afraid of that. I'm afraid that being me would be nothing less than being a complete failure. I feel like such a failure. Is it true? I don't feel so, and yet, there are times when I wonder. And that causes the feeling. The feeling of, what if? Where am I God? Where I am?

Enough. Enough. Oh God. Fill me. Fill me. In Jesus Christ's Name. Fill me.

Chad

The Hours definitely affected me. The curiosity of Virgina Woolf struck me. And it has me wondering about her and her life, for I feel like I might relate. I don't know, but there is something that I see in her that I see in me. Perhaps. Perhaps. Why am I writing perhaps so much lately. It's because I'm acknowledging that I don't know. And Perhaps that is exactly what needs to be. I need to feel.

PREACH LOVE : Sadness

Sent: 9/29/2003 11:46 AM

another past blast . . .

Sadness finds me wherever I go. Sometimes flooding me. Other times only trickling round my feet. Sadness brings the most unique pain, as it is often hopeless and despairing. In sadness, nothing seems to look good, no matter how good everything is. And the tears that cannot be helped are evidence of the reality in which my sadness overwhelms. I found myself wading in it yesterday, while today completely drowned. Of course, when feeling so, I immediately began looking for its source. Unfortunately, I discovered that the sadness has been birthed by so many things: the day that is approaching is certainly gloomsum as I look around to see that nothing major has changed. I think I had thought that it would. Nevertheless, the world is still in crisis, and America pushes forward with yet more military action. Sadness that I'm still doing what I've been doing for the past six years, neglecting my potential for the sake of a living, and unsure of how to improve it. Sadness as I want to say something to the world and found that there are very few who can hear me. Sadness as I am so lonely here, with no other person to understand me.

PREACH LOVE : Paperwork

Sent: 9/29/2003 11:40 AM

Technology and big business married us to paperwork occupations.

Sometimes I wonder about the pieces of paper I copy. So many go to so many different places. Some pieces even require me to jot an inked number across before moving it forward in the human administration machine. Other pieces simply find themselves loosely, stapled or paper clipped in files in the metal boxes that decorate the office space. These are the pieces of paper that stay for there's some slice of information that might be needed at some point down the line. Just what is all this paper for? Usually said after a jarring paper cut. And why am I the one shoveling it?

Give them a copy.

I write:

cc: Prof. Weather

Prof. Herven

Prof. Mim

Prof. Chuway

10/2/02

I make copies.

I have proof.

Do I not trust them,

or do I not trust myself?

"Well, yes I cc:ed them on the second."

"Did I do it? Oh, yes, I cc:ed them on the second."

Or perhaps it just a highlighted organizational tool.

Passionless.

Proof. All the paper comes down to proof. Down to the dime. Down to the discovery. Down to the signature. Our technology has mislead us. And now society's big business doesn't trust us; therefore, it can't trust itself. Walls of files are the proof.

PREACH LOVE : Dragon's Feet

Sent: 9/29/2003 11:38 AM

Sounds of dragons' feet
the clunk of trash cans
a big bite of forgotten

Where do I go from here? It is the question that continues, never-ending, until that final blessed day, at which point I am sure of the Where. Nevertheless, within this very moment, I remain unsure of my next step. And I must admit, that gives me grief. As I look around me at all the others making carefully thought-out moves for their contentment, I find myself puzzled by my seeming slow stagnation. Am I getting anywhere in this life?

Ah. I should look at the word, "anywhere". Just "where" do you want to go?

It was Stevie Wonder who sang that if you tell your story and you tell it fair, it will come true. They sound like God given words, for I believe them. So why do I keep from telling my story?

Perhaps I'm afraid. Afraid of not succeeding for Him. Afraid of being all of me, and that not being enough.

For my past is strewn with memories of me not feeling good enough.

Enough.

Therefore I can only rest on God for the direction towards my ultimate answer. Sometimes, I feel as though nothing makes sense, as if my life in this world is all an illusion of puzzles. But then, sometimes I have that clarity that sees the next turn of the rubix cube that will land it closer to the solution.

PREACH LOVE : Between two worlds

Sent: 9/29/2003 11:28 AM

A blast from the past . . .

1/25/02

From my journal:

Oh the feeling of
being held captive
by this society
that has been built.

We hate to cage animals
yet we cage ourselves most willingly.

The reality in which we live is so constructed
Not the real reality at all.

And yet we are enslaved to it, with no options.

Is it selfish to want to break free from this captivity of society?
Am I only concerned for myself?

Oh, if only we could all see the bigger picture
outside of money, status, and security

Oh how tiresome this life seems to be
how boring that I fall into routine

Between two worlds.

You tell me that I must do what I do not like in order to live.
I believe that this is hardly living.

Let me out!!!

PREACH LOVE : stone in my shoe

Sent: 9/11/2003 3:30 PM

Today I have walked around with a stone in my shoe. I didn't put it there intentionally. Only during my morning walk to work did I notice that it was shifting its way around my foot, occasionally poking me with a painful jab before moving to the other side of my shoe. I suppose I could remove the stone, just take off my shoe and let it plop to the ground.

however, being in this day, September 11th, 2003, I find myself quite grateful for the stone. It is providing me a reminder that although everyday life may seem back to "normal" there is still something quite different in my walk.

And Walk I do.