Moirai

Stretch out the thread of my life.  See where it begins and where it ends and how it’s thin in the middle.  Be careful where you cut it.  Not too close to my heart and not at all if you can help it.  Between your fingertips is a life, my life, and it hangs in the balance.  I thought I was strong enough to unravel it myself, but I have been tried and found wanting.

I traveled down the valley, enclosed by snow-capped peaks which scrape the heavens.  The long and arduous journey to the sea.  And now I stand on its shore and stare at the distant horizon.  So small.  So fragile.  Plunged into the icy breakers my heart beats quicker, threatening to burst its delicate walls.  Pounded by a thousand waves of truth and despair I watch the sun fade into the distance.  Pain gives way to numbness in the watery grave.  No more feeling, no more needing.  Only the icy embrace of Death’s cold fingers on my flesh.

Words are the passageway to meaning.  Giving form and shape to ideas.  A heart is not a heart.  Heart is a word that describes a thing.  The thing pumps blood through arteries.  Talking about the thing requires more words.  When did mine stop having any meaning?  When did they start returning to me empty?  Words without meaning are useless.  Words without meaning are nothing. The thing in my chest, that pumps my blood, that hangs in the balance on that flimsy string is buffeted and battered by the waves.  But just before it quits I remember.  And I choose……

Life.  With all its chaos and struggle.  Its lows and lowers.  Its agony, excruciation and its beauty.  Laying in the sand, covered in blood, gasping for air.  That sweet, sweet gift that surrounds us yet goes unnoticed.  Until we need it.  Until it is all we have left.  Numbness gives way to pain in the pale light of morning.  Thawing out in the misty arrival of the dawn and feeling my heartbeat slow.  To its final beat or back to normal.  Normal?  Does that exist any more?  The rising sun brings its warmth and I am made new in it.

Bloodshot eyes survey the distant mountains.  Who can ascend their heights?  Who can stand on their peaks where heaven and earth meet?  They are the dwelling places of the gods and their foreboding slopes appear unassailable.  But I have survived my crucible.  The midnight descent to blackness and back.  And I will make my assault, undaunted by the seeming impossibility of the task ahead.  You’re holding that thread, spread between your hands and wrapped around your fingers.  Now let me climb.  Let me walk among the heavens.

I don’t know how it will end.  Will I stand at the summit of Zion, turn east to the rising sun and greet each new day from above the clouds?  Or will I find my final resting place somewhere along the way?  It doesn’t matter.  The end is not the goal.  Who I have become was.  My heart-string is still thin, tattered and worn.  But for now it is uncut, and I will continue.  On.  A slow and steady endeavor.  No one said life was supposed to be done quickly.  Who wants to live in a blur?  Blue eyes pierce into the full blaze of a new day’s light, feet rise and fall.   

I’ve begun my masterpiece.  My Mona Lisa, my 9^th.  The world will see and hear, and will know that I was alive.  And that my heart was on fire.

Gravedigger

The mirror fogs up as I press close, trying to see who I’ve become. The shovel scrapes the tiny patch of earth where the fragments of the past are laid to rest. I set fire to my memories and am warmed by the flames. Each time the shovel falls, another tiny piece of last year disappears. Another thud as the sweat pours freely, and I still can’t see what’s in the mirror, but I don’t stop looking. Ask me who I was on this day 365 days ago and I will say “I don’t know.” Ask me who I am today and I will say “I don’t know,” but I like this guy more. He knows he is broken but he knows he has a future. He’s less of a jerk and the right kind of confident. And he’s burying the dead. Making room for new life.

I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground. Learning to walk after the crawl, longing to fly over the clouds.

May I find solace in the stillness of the night.
Rain and clouds halt early light.
Lightning strikes the same place twice.
And the freshly turned earth reaches flush on all sides.
I wish it was true but I know it’s a lie.

Michael Aaron La Farge

September 3rd, 1985-September 25th, 2012

Beloved son and brother

Grandson and nephew

Cousin? Friend?

Student or teacher? Pastor or preacher?

What else?

Is Mike enough?

The bones beneath the ground trying to get out.
My knees hit the grass and hear their shouts.
What’s buried can come back, can be raised back to life.
But I get back on my feet, I haven’t finished this fight.

Fog in the mirror obscures the future I had all worked out. But not knowing the future doesn’t scare me anymore. Oh, I’m scared. But not of that.

I’m afraid I’ll miss all I can be.
Terrified of one lost moment wasted on anxiety.

So I lay me down to “sleep,” the long sleep of an endless night. Making room for new life and new joy and new love. Those burning memories blaze, into new passions and illuminate the next little step along the way.

I’m walking along the quiet rows, shovel over my shoulder, humming a happy tune. Not looking back and not needing to. I know what’s back there and I’m glad to say it’s gone. At least if I let be. Here comes a faster, stronger, nicer Michael. With the same baggage as the old one but better handling. The first streaks of color tear into the black sky and I know the sun is just over the horizon. Hands raised high, heart on fire as cold, sweet air fills my lungs. The gate swings closed behind me and I lean the dirt-stained shovel against the red-brick wall. Humming my happy heart song and staring into the dawn.

A patch of fresh-tilled earth marks the spot. A mark. A scar. I’ll show you mine, you don’t have to show me yours.

Lines traced on my heart that may never fade.
But the one who hurt because of them is buried in that grave.
I carry his memory with me, a monument to the person we all knew.
And I'm moving down the sidewalk seeing the blackness turn to blue.

I See Blue Skies

How do you tell the truth without telling too much? I want to be known but I don’t want to feel like I’m asking for pity either. I don’t want pity. I want life, and life more abundant, and I want you to be a part of it.

For so long I lived in a world of grey, surviving one day after another. Days and weeks and years flowing together in an apathetic blur. Life lived in a haze of not really feeling and not really caring. Phone calls to let me know someone I love has cancer. Hugging a family member for the last time before the bitter moment of death. Trying to open my heart to a new love but always hearing the small, but powerful voice of my anxiety saying “not too much, protect yourself.” Life was happening around me and I was in emotional autopilot. Saying the right things, doing them too sometimes. But never feeling like a human being was meant to feel.

But I feel now. So much so that sometimes I think my heart can’t stand it. How different it is that often I feel so much heartache that I just want to shut it down again, but at the same time I’m thankful that I feel anything at all. After years of being closed off in the world of the heart it’s as refreshing to hurt as it is to feel unbridled happiness. How ironic that I chose to open up my heart to the world of feelings, to be more than a logical, rational person and life decided to come after me with a swath of its fury.

Some of it I had control over. It was the result of being closed off and more a head than a heart. And some of it happened because all lives end in death eventually. There is more than one way to feel heartbreak, and I decided to walk through them with my head and heart holding hands. These days when I cry it’s for real. Like snotty nose, face soaked, get it all out cry sessions. And quite frankly I love it. Not the pain that causes it, but being able to feel bad feels so good. And these days when I laugh it’s real. It’s not just because something is funny or I’m having a good time. It’s because deep down inside I know I have a lot to laugh about and my life is not so serious that I can’t just relax and enjoy it.

I’m far from complete. I am nowhere near where I will be when Jesus gets done with me. But man this is a hell of a ride. I am in process and I love it. I love hope. And I have a lot of it. I have a psychiatrist, and a therapist, and medication, and really good friends and family, and all of these are helping me become a healthy, whole person. But more than any of those things I have a savior. He died for my sins, but he also died for my heart. To bring it alive fully. He set me free from death, but he is also raising me to new life. He tells me he loves and that he’s with me no matter what and I believe him. And because of that I can face the brutal reality that life is not always going to be nice to me, but I can soar with him through the heart of any storm, because he holds my heart and is making it new. He is binding up my brokenness.

You are not alone. No matter how lonely or empty you feel, or if you don’t feel at all. You are not alone. There are people all around you facing the same awful truth that you are; that it’s not always going to be easy and a lot of times it’s going to be downright terrible. But there is hope. Hope isn’t wishing for something to happen. It’s believing that all the pain and turmoil this life throws our way is all worth it in the end because if we let it, it draws us to the feet of Jesus. And there is no better place to be than that. So don’t let life beat you down. Talk to somebody, maybe a professional, or maybe just a really good friend. But talk to God too. He loves you. He loves me. He’s sculpting me into something new and it hurts. But he’s chipping away a lot of crap and idiocy that I’m glad to be rid of.

I don’t know how to end this. I’ve learned to accept that tension is a part of life. And I feel a lot of it after writing this. This is a little bit of my heart. I’m glad there’s more of it

Goodbye Sunshine

I guess I didn’t realize how many ways a heart could break. More than one. And this break makes me feel so small, so insignificant. In a universe where my sun is small in the grand scheme of things, what is my life? It rises and sets without fail, but little lives on this spit of rock and water start and end by the millions. I blow out candles on a cake with 27 flames. Forever and 27 years, and 94 somewhere in between. I wonder if God made sunsets to show us that ends can be beautiful. That closure can come with fire and lights. My heart’s a freaking wreck and it might be for a really long time. Life has decided not to be gentle right now, but neither have I. My sunset might be tomorrow or 67 years from now. I don’t want to live forever, and I’m not afraid to die, but I’d like to think there’s something left for me to do.

Death sucks. I hate it. Maybe only God hates it more. It’s the last enemy and one way or another it takes us all. I’m not fascinated or obsessed with it. I just want it to end. I know what I know is true but I’m broken by the human condition. We’re all a few seconds closer to sunset, but we live like it’ll be sunny forever. I want to walk to the road that realizes night is coming. Not dark and lonely, but aware that my failure culminates in death. When death dies, that’ll be a glorious day. But until then it’s drawing the curtains and blocking out the sun one little life at a time. When my sun starts to set I hope it’s in a burst of color. Oranges, reds, purples and blues that emblazon themselves on eternity. I’ve seen a sunset 94 years in the making and I’ll never forget it. Maybe mine will be half as grand. I wouldn’t be upset. Today, tomorrow or in 2079 it’s coming. It’s on its way. It’ll be here soon and I’m ready. My eyes, my arms and my heart are open.

Writing

How did we end up like this? A page turn away from "happily ever after." But now the book is closed and I'm picking up the pieces, spread around the sunrises of my life. But I'm not alone. There are too many shards to find by myself. The reconciliation mission is on. Day by day, piece by piece it's coming back together. I've blown out the candles on another year and the one that is coming looks bright. 365 days of moments to live and chances to soar. I am not okay, but I am cleaning up so well. Polishing the edges that used to be rough and blood pumping through a heart that is softer since its reconstruction. Every tear has been caught, every lung-full of screamed breath has been worth the cost. I am more who I am supposed to be than I was yesterday. And tomorrow is looking good as well. I'm on the road to renewal and even when it hurts, and it's hard and I don't want to go on, the path winds before me. I don't know where it's going and I'm terrified of where I might end up. I've sold my soul and I'm a soul in motion and my soul is overwhelmed but I won't give in. I've got a plan to lose it all, a moment to release my grip and rest in the freedom of dependence. Each day crawls by, full of moments where I'm flying in the clouds. Peppered by seconds of the raw. Heart wounds that I'm desperate to have heal over. Scars are okay, they remind me where I've been, what I've lived through. But open wounds burn when the salt of a sudden memory slips my guard. I want to let my guard down but the memories are too close, too vivid. I don't want to be mad anymore but the anger is easy to process. I'm in a new book now, with more pages in my right hand than in my left. Words are filling pages and chapters are coming together. Please don't be a footnote, a passing thought on a page I won't remember later. Be a heading, be a section, write a line or two. I don't know how many chapters are left, but I'm excited for them. I'm ready for all of them.