There’s a hero in there… somewhere.

I know this because I can’t sleep without dreaming of people I want to inspire and I can’t be awake without seeing maxed out potential all around me. Sometimes I feel like lost poetry in motion, emotionally charging for creative assault and battery. I feel the coursing rivers of a curious strength in me, but the clouds across my mind have me feeling like my undiscovered gifts are a hidden disease.

I’m not aiming to please, but it feels like I missed the mark. If I don’t stop it quickly the ghostly burden of failure before enduring will drive me to my knees. There’s a hero inside me somewhere, but I feel like my super powers are super used to stay super sane. The picture of mediocrity in a different frame. Measurable discord in the membrane…

But in the quiet moments of my thinking… that hallowed space between one thought and the next… a mighty force deep in my soul crackles with power and vision. The voice of God pours through and I’m reminded that the battle isn’t the fight- it’s the perseverance. What? Easy to say for You Almighty God! You don’t have to deal with the doubt in my thoughts… you don’t have the burden of being blessed with something so incredible that you don’t really have words for it…

I say there’s a hero somewhere inside me, but I’m not sure I’ve earned it… the right to use that word. But then again- how can you earn the right to something you were born with? I didn’t choose this- creativity, vision, hope- I woke up with it.

It’s me.

There’s not a hero somewhere deep inside afterall… because the hero is me already.



monarchThere are some amazing truths at work in this world.

Take the butterfly for example.  Bypass, if you can, the smooth glint and grin of tilted wings harmonizing with the wind.  Look beyond how it floats through gravity’s realm, deftly impervious to its clutches.  See deeper than its origin story of predestined transformation.  Know all of that, and see none of it.  Look at the butterfly… and see- a butterfly.

The butterfly is an amazing truth.


Because it is a butterfly.

It is a self contained, blossoming bastion of unique beauty.  Its very not-contingent-upon-your-approval existence is, itself, bold attitude defining it outside of its attributes.  Look from afar through a telescope; look up close with a microscope.

Same miracle.  Same butterfly.  Same created existence wrapped up in something that both you and I lack.

The closest we’ll ever get to being what the butterfly is is through idiomatic literary extravagance.  Metaphors, similes, and poetical analysis analogous to dimensional paralysis- we must freeze the moment we enter the butterfly’s world, and create a memorable memory to cling to when time catches us back up again.

There are some amazing truths at work in this world.

More than there is time to tell of them.

But the butterfly is one, and your neighbor is two.

Just a couple, out of a long line, of synchronous, disparate truths… and amazing to boot.

Forgetting to Remember

If the sun thought itself moon, and heaven thought itself doom, and if we believed that life is nought but lies then what use would be truth?

What would be the use of mending broken hearts, just leave them unended, suspended in their dark cloud of gloom.  No room, for hopeful spectacles, or unexpected miracles, see- if I forget myself worth goes through the roof.  Salute to who I was…

And who the heck are you.  

Sharp eyed watcher, wide-lensed cinematographer, sleeping dreamer, grade school teacher, student, actor, new spouse, preacher…?!

Or perhaps an interesting combination like your favorite flavor, in your favorite layer of grandma’s one-of-a-kind-cake.  Maybe you fancy yourself a special exotic blend, like I did- a little less than perfect, but a little more than sin.  Mixed in with all God’s best ingredients, envied by angels, and just a step below Jesus.

If I thought myself you, and you thought yourself watchdog, life would be chaos, and the aim for which we were made to claim by a faith walk across fiery terrain would be utterly forsaken.  Like trying to cook a sweet potatoe pie in Barbie and Ken’s oven, the result would be nothin… we would just lay there.  Staring into each other’s eyes, some mad and some crying, wondering why we’re not transforming into something incredibly phenomenal.

What is the point of being cast in existence, if in it, we try to play another role?  If you have a thumb that is constantly trying to be a toe, it’s better to just cut it off- it’ll throw your life off balance.

What sense does it make for a storybook character to try and leave the pages, or a fairytale princess to try and demand wages- just serve the purpose  for which you were created and everything else will fall in its proper placing!!

… breath…

The heart deceives, but the heart also knows… your heart will point you to truth, but then dissuade you when you get too close…

Mistaken identity is the greatest sin of all- it’s better for you, to be personally clueless, than to be hypnotized by the ring of somebody else’s call…

If you know not, then fear not- pray hard, and try lots.

If you knew once, but lost time, then take time, to rewind…

And don’t forget to remember.

My Idea

We all know how this goes.

The rose flows its petals upon the worthy, and the rest of us minorities reap the thorns.  Minorly lamenting in a minor key, our hearts skip a beat, throwing off the rhythm of our internal equilibrium.

What does life look like when peace was never an option…?

Star Wars sky stalking, walking the length of dreams jettisoned into space, following a hyperlink to someone else’s page, and envying their life.  It’s like, we’re locked in a closet, and the cracks along the edges of the door are our only connection to outside.  That’s not life- that’s survival.  Previously considered the fittest, because I fit in, but now my accomplishments are full of buts like old trousers with split ends…

This is not the me I had in mind to become.

Instead of feet gleaming in splendor, my shoes have holes in em.  In place of my swirling purple robes, and gilded royal attire, I’m in last week’s undershirt and jeans from five years ago.  And my crown… my crown has been replaced with a tangled encampment of warring hair strands that in no way resembles dignity.

I was dream destined to be a king, and now my inner vision of me matches my outer reality- pauper.  An expendable pawn in the poverty paved arena of a capitalistic society. My idea of me rendered my identity a casualty… because I no longer wanted to be me.

… but what if- what if that idea changed?  If the rain became a parade, and I saw light even in the dark?  If my view of myself wasn’t dwindling flame, but kindling spark?  Healing remarks… what might happen?  If my less was simply the prelude to more, strokes across a vast sea of purpose that I was incapable of truly comprehending, but had the conscious choice to either continue surrendering to or swimming through… A bruise is a reminder that I can endure pain, and a broken leg teaches me that I make what I am- incessantly able, even with a cane.

Scared.  Nervous.  Hesitant.  Concerned that I’m absolutely out of my mind.

Humanity embraces the human concept because it is ordinary, but what if I had found a different kind?  The truly evolved, not from King Kong to King James, but from unstable to internally amazed!  Eternally in faith!  A poem without metaphor or shine to it, just the expression of truth as I have discovered it today!

All birthed from an idea…

Change the idea of myself, and change becomes an idea- a force I can manipulate for my ultimate gain.

This, is my light bulb moment as I sit pondering, homeless, on a corner…

This, is my revolutionary inspiration…

This is me… in more ways than one- My new idea.

Vacuum Breath

INFINITE is the expanse between the stars….

Yet such a small distance between men

WHAT in this world could ever compare

To fractures like a hair, and the silliness of being scared?

Where are… the marvels

The galaxy marvels at mankind’s galaxy sized unbelief

The type of unbelief that believes it is right to nail the flawless to a tree

What solace is there for the sorrows of the universe?

Who shall comfort her… who shall whisper that it will be alright…

I half dance on the floor… waiting for her to join this waltz

But her heart is broken – I suspect it is at least half my fault

I’m not healing the world!

I’m being consumed by it… by me…

I make only marginal increase in my spiritual lack

All of creation supports the fact that the ethereal root

Is the spine of my joy, and will always have my back

The trees bear witness, to my bared witness…

I’m all about comfort.

My actions, my hesitations, my falls…

To keep my comfort appeased.

Please.  Help me.  Heal me.  The universe needs me.

I’ll be the torch!!  A fantastic one.

Bring the light like on a porch, and burn all the dark ones.

… INFINITE is the expanse between the stars…

And infinite is the power of the heart….


~The Wordsmith