To put words on the feeling inside

I fear often for my stagnant, static soul
but He is the crisis that triggers the effect of becoming ever more like Him

I fear often getting lost,
but He is both my home and the stars that guide me there

I fear often that I will, in a moment of blinding passion end my small life too soon
I am rash, but He is patient and I am His.

On the city and how it swallowed me.

I love looking through old blog entries,
here is one from this day 2 years ago that I never published:

So, four weeks now and counting. If you're wondering how I'm dealing, the
answer is really weirdly. I'm really stressed and I'm arguing with everyone,
I guess. I just announced the final Hosanna, I'm giving my two weeks at work
tomorrow and I've started packing the stuff I won't need between Nanaimo and New Life. I typically run to the beach for my solace, and the other night where I normally
saw only the expanse of water reaching out, all I could see were the
flickering lights of Vancouver: the city that will swallow who I've always
known myself to be and will teach me to look like someone I've never seen
before. I will die next year, moreso than ever before.

I am terrified.

I was a kid: young, reckless, and wildly arrogant. I set out to conquer the world with love.
Now love is conquering me, and my only attack on this world is loudly refraining when she asks me to change. I am still dying, I am still being resurrected; I am still terrified, I am still hopeful.

on music and my desire to be deaf.

The only explanation for this is that it is both how I feel, and how I wish I would feel.
It's also too heavy on metaphor, but honest.

your heartbeat and mine
are keeping time to a perfect rhythm
that has yet, to ears, been heard.
But now the song has slowed
and my blood's metranome knows
that I can not keep this beat alone,
but it seems as though your thrumming pulse
has stilled.

fr
anti
cally, I change
the song
afraid, that
you were
growing
tired of sing
ing a
long
but I not
ice
I am
the only one
making
sound

AGAIN I attempt a melody of my own:
but AGAIN it descends
into sounds with no
tenor, time or
tone.


it is only when i am silent, do i hear again
the steady pulse:
your heartbreakingly beautiful,
silent and steady song,
and I see:
my complicated harmonies and
stac
cat
o beats
are what really kept me from singing along.

Again, I quiet myself,
i swallow my empty, prideful vocal tone
and surrender my heartbeat
to be a part of your song.