A real blog.

Where do I begin?

Mr. Weathers said today that any accomplished mystic writes poems about love.
I read things about love, and I am relatively unaccomplished in the act of it.
But I guess that doesn't really matter because I'm not really comparing myself to anything, except maybe God, with whom I cannot compare.

Humans love each other and people in books love each other. And God loves us (understatement) , and some of us love God.

People in movies also love each other, but that crosses the line for me because of romantic comedies. They are too pleasant.

"A test of what is real is that it is hard and rough. Joys are found in it, not pleasure. What is pleasant belongs to dreams."--Simone Weil.

I like pleasant things. I have too many pleasant things and not enough hard, rough things. This is a bad thing. However, when I do good things I don't often realize it because of taking them for granted. I revel in the moments of good things done to me, but do not in the reciprocal action.

Sometimes, all I hear are the bad things. Sometimes I need to find the good things myself, rather than others try and alleviate it. Others could be people. Others could be books. I hate it when others are romantic comedies.

I like the word "bothered". I do not like being bothered but I like the word. (Eh, maybe.) Pleasant is a nice word, but it is not good for me. It really isn't good for anyone, but I don't like to impose. Does that bother you? It's probably better for you if I did impose. I'll work on that. Sometimes, though, there is no need because all I see in some people is the joy and the good, and in others the pleasant, and sometimes a little of both, but it has become hard for me to see the bad. I like this, but I don't know what to make of it. It's probably a good thing.

If you're still reading this, I'm sorry. For imposing. For being like Joan Didion when she says that all writers impose. I am not going to try to edit this. Maybe it will be good to work on my impositions, rather than yours. Because these blogs are all about helping ourselves, right? Sometimes a little bit of communication here or there, but it seems to me in my little corner of the internet that I write for me. And that's okay.

I will not bold text, or underline it, or make my blog about conveying something to you. It will be about ....scratch that, it is about filling a void I am experiencing right now. I rejected God for a work of fiction today. And last night. But maybe I will tonight and maybe I won't. This blog will also be about me in the future coming back to this and realizing things and how I've changed. I know you have. It doesn't really matter to me if you're still reading now because I have realized in this moment that it is not about you. When we interact, I will try to make it about you, but this is my time right now and I'm using it.

I didn't start this thing off as Unedited, though I have tried that once. Couldn't do it. The style has changed. Things get longer because I don't look up from the keyboard. Okay, reader, it's back to me. Enough about it not being about you this time. Ha!

Impressions. I live on impressions. They are like food, I hate to use the word drug because I don't like using it on myself, but I really act with impressions. Nice to meet you, except in a nice way that I would say, "You know what? I like that guy" way. Somewhere along the way, I lose who I am. That can be good sometimes. Sometimes I don't like who I am. sometimes I love who I am. But I wouldn't change it for anything, ever. Nope. I wouldn't be you. I do love you though, partly because you're still reading. What a lame thing. But I'm okay with that because this one is not about impressions.

Back to them. Impressions. You can get to know me as an impression. Yeah, it happens. It's been done before. I have a feeling that you know who I really am though. And if you don't, we need to know each other because I really want to know people and you are one of those people whom I wish to know. And even if you know me, the undying odds say that I don't know you. Seriously. I am right in saying that I don't know you. Tell me everything and I will return the favor.

That is so lame. And I care, but not this time. Not now. see ya

Hallelujah

This is a link to the song.

I heard there was a secret chord
that David played and it pleased the Lord,
but you don't really care for music, do ya?

Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth,
the Minor Fall and the Major Lift;
the baffled kind composes, "Hallelujah."

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelu - jah

(Well) your faith was strong, but you needed proof;
you saw her bathing on the roof.
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya.

She tied you to her kitchen chair,
she broke your throne and she cut your hair!
And from your lips, you drew the Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelu - jah
...

Reflection|noitcelfeR

What I would give to learn the secret chord. Music has been a major part of who I am for a while now and I am currently messing with the piano (no matter how noobular I am at it). I heard a multitude of great guitar/singing from a Mr. Stone Meyer the other day (awesome Christian guy). Did he know the secret chord? No matter how much I love the idea of the secret chord being an exclusive treasure, I know the truth of it. It pleases the Lord not in how melodic to human ears our cries are, but the motives and meanings behind them. Raw, emotional, Real Love in the form of praise--worship---->sheer connections with the LORD. That is the secret chord.

But you don't really care for music, do ya? Maybe this an extension of the first two lines and Buckley realizes it's not the music itself, but the substance that is TRUE music to God's ears. Maybe it's a joke to David, whom he calls "you" in the next verses. David's psalms may not rhyme in our language but they are the heartfelt praises of old that God loved. I can't imagine a David who didn't care for his beautful music. We know he did.

Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth,
the Minor Fall and the Major Lift;
the baffled kind composes, "Hallelujah."!

The song begins: the secret chords? The fourth, the fifth! the song that is art. the composition that is beautiful. But this is where the roads meet and diverge: What are Buckley's falls and lifts? I know it's music terminology, but something bigger has to be going on here. God sometimes lets us fall, give in to a minor fall, but He lifts us up!! Majorly! If only people realized the redemptive power that Jesus Christ has on a broken life.
I fall, but I am LIFTED UP!
David fell. He fell onto/into Bathsheeba. It snowballed. But in the end...he was lifted. "A man after God's own heart." (Who fell, nevertheless.) Man fell. We are sinners. It started way back. And Jesus, SAVIOR, has redeemed us! The price has been paid.

The Major Lift.

I am the baffled king. What is there to make sense of this world? I can identify with David, whom Buckley is almost certainly referring to. How do we describe all those emotions and experiences and struggles and enlightenments and the overall gist of things? He composes, "Hallelujah." How else can we do life? "Hallelujah." We are the baffled kings. Let us compose:

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelu - jah


Your faith was strong, but you needed proof;
you saw her bathing on the roof.
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya.

Sometimes we have doubts. Sometimes Satan finds just the right circumstances to get at us. What if there was no moonlight--would David still have succumbed to his malignant desire? All I know for sure is that Satan made it so that it was near impossible for him--David--to bear it. He did not call upon God to rescue him from this nature--at least not at that point. He gave in.

She tied you to her kitchen chair,
she broke your throne and she cut your hair!
And from your lips, you drew the Hallelujah.

He was enslaved by then. She had sucked him in. His power was lost. The throne was his position of power, his place of power in the world. And his hair (in this case) was that of Samson's. His hair was his power in the context of ability. Without his "hair", he was weak. And I relate to this in my own life. I was a slave to lust. and when I was still a slave to lust, I would sometimes tell people I'm over it. I didn't even realize it was bad until God put it in my heart to root it out of me. It was probably the hardest thing I've ever done: Battling masturbation and subsequently Lust. Filthy, carnal desires built up inside of me. Over time, my spiritual hair, my strength, grew. It was totally God. And I tell you the truth: He's got the Power in me now.

But/However/Before I go off-topic: When I was down, weak, after my sin, after I committed what I knew in my heart was dead wrong, I drew a cold, broken " Hallelujah " . I drew not the exact word, but the same idea. I was so broken down. We are the baffled kings. You know, one time after I broke, I rejoiced because I realized my forgiveness. I had been forgiven by God almost immediately as I subconsciously asked for it. It was a happy day. One small slip-up a day or two or three later and I was clean. To present day. And into the future...but only because of God.

The rest of the song:

Baby, I've been here before;
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor.
You know, I used to live alone before i knew you.
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch,
But love is not a victory march!
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.

Well, there was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below,
But now you never show that to me, do ya?
But remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too?
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah!

Maybe there's a God above,
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.
And it's not a cry that you hear at night;
It's not somebody who's seen the light!
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.

Correction: Jeff Buckley didn't write the lyrics. Leonard Cohen originally performed the song...but I think Buckley's is a million times better.

White Room

I am in a white room.
Someone is banging on its walls.
This does not bother me;
The walls are strong.
I look around the room.
It looks bare, but it feels so full.
There are beautiful things
In this room that I cannot see.
Who can see them? (he can.)
A framed picture appears
on one of my walls.
It is a picture of me.
Once again, there are beautiful things
In this picture that I cannot see.
But I can feel them.
More picture frames appear
On the clean white walls.
I cannot see what they conceal,
But I can feel them.
Zoom out. Beyond the white room,
Everything is black.
My sin.
Zoom out. Beyond the black,
Everything is me.
My appearance.
Zoom out. Beyond me,
Everything is an illusion.
My world.
Zoom out. Beyond the illusion,
Everything is spiritual.
Your world.
There is a window in Your world
That peeks into the picture frames
Of my white room.
I cannot see You,
But I can feel You.