Say something

‘Guilt says, “I made a mistake”. Shame says, “I am a mistake”.’ Brene Brown

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Please stop looking at me like you have never seen me before. I know my words turn back the pages of my character and erase everything I ever displayed to be. But I am so tired. Am tired of carrying this shame. It’s not my name but it clings to my identity and drains my confidence. And every time you say my name I wonder, do you really know me? If I spoke my shame would you remain the same. I am so tired. So tired of holding up the walls. I just want to cave in. I want it all to come tumbling down. I wanted to break the dam of all I kept silent. I wanted it all, like a flood to come shouting forth. Maybe with you it would cleanse me not cover me. I was hoping that when all was spoken and all was shaken that you would pull back the rubble, dive into the deep and carry me out. I was thinking that you would wipe the mud from my face and see past my filth. I really want you to see the swan in this vision of an ugly duckling. I want to know that I can fall apart and you can hold my pieces long enough for me to find myself.

Say something.

Please don’t turn your back on me. Don’t look outside the window like you want to run away from me. It seems you regret all you gave up only to discover what you have is a lie. I know, it no longer feels safe in here. I opened a door, I should have left shut and now strange creatures are crawling in. But stay. Fight with me. Fight for me. I was hoping we could clean out my closet, together. I was wishing my spoken shame would be safe in your presence. I chose to believe that two are stronger than one. I was praying that I was worth your courage. I was hoping we could protect each other’s back rather than turn our backs on each other. I know, pushing the spoken back into silence will not undo what I have done. Please look at me. Turn and reach out for me. See past my failure and reach into my isolation. Am I worth a risk?

Say something.

My mind is making up words for you and they leave me frozen inside. I am getting cold and the pain of regret is squeezing the life out of me. I wanted you to look at me but your eyes are doing more damage to me than my fear of loosing you. Will those eyes ever look at me they way they used to? Like I was a wonder of the World. Like I was a mystic being. How can words drain life out of eyes? My chosen alphabetical letters seem to have been daggers and now your eyes bleed tears. How can I heal your hurt? How will you see me and not my sin, when your eyes are drowning?

Say something.

My knees are shaking so badly. I do not mean to manipulate you by falling to my knees, I just don’t have the courage to stand. I can’t hold my head up either. Do not misunderstand my bowed head. It is not pity I seek. Though I would not be ashamed to beg for your love. I would cling to you and let you drag me if begging would lead to forgiveness. But I will not turn this into a cheap drama. This is not an act and my love was never a play.

Say something.

I can no longer swallow the lump in my throat. Am finding it so hard to breathe. My tears are forming a pool on our floor. I can feel your disappointment and it feels like nails being driven into my casket. You feel so far away and holding you wouldn’t bring you back. So I wait for your judgement. You are the jury and the judge. I wait on whatever judgement you place on my bowed head. All I wanted, was to give up my last chess piece. This was my last territory. The one place you hadn’t occupied. I wanted to keep it hidden but every time I spoke of how I loved you, treacherous laughter often came from this dark territory. This is a part of me but it is not all I am. This is a wound I have carried but it has not permeated all of me. This is a memory that would not fade, no matter what it was paid. Now I hope you are not the prize it has come to claim.

Say something.

I thought words were what I needed. But you kneel before me and as I raise my head and look into your eyes, I am amazed. Is this what forgiveness looks like? I have never seen your eyes caught up in that shade before. Is that mercy? Is that grace? Your eyes speak of a love I have not known from you. The swan glides through. Your mercy washes my filth. Your grace cleans my shame. A door opens in your embrace and as a light fills the room, dark creatures slither out and I am home.

“I love you. All of you”

You say something and it is everything.


‘If I set you free, to be what you will be, even the worst of thee. Then you will know that I love thee, when you return in possession of your worst and you cannot even face yourself. You will know that I love thee, when I face your ugly and only celebrate that you have returned to me.’ Nancy Gaciru


‘Love only happens in the realm of freedom.’ Richard Rohr

I remember that story. It creeps into my thoughts, crawling through darkened tunnels, it springs upon me like a lion on its prey. The son asks for his inheritance as the World seductively serenades his name. The father knows the damage Delilah will evoke but his son only sees a damsel in need of a hero. The son longs to unleash the suited masculinity within him and leaving home is the only way to be a king. This house already has a king and as long as he stays, he will always be the kid. He takes what the father gives and without looking back he strides into the unknown.

I watch him now. In this scene there is no father. There has been no king in this home. Only a queen who has tried to rule and love a king out of a kid. I see his struggle. I hear his mourn. A lion that has never been taught to roar, searching for his growl and only meowing like a cub. The tension is getting destructive. If I don’t let him go, he will die. His light will go out and only drink and smoke will give him reason to inhale and exhale.

There is no inheritance. I have spent all I have in raising a wild thing. I tried to keep the wilderness out but wanderlust beckons and into the wild, he must find himself. From dust he came and to dust he must return, only this is a different kind of dying. It is one I cannot teach him. One I cannot love him through. One I cannot nurture, nest or bequest. I stop the fight and watch my heart take flight into a World with no light and beyond my sight. You gave him to me and now he is yours and I will let it be as it ever was meant to be. Take him and lead him. Guide him in paths only you can bring him through. See. He is just not anybody. He is my son, my brother, my friend, my hero and my future.

He is clay I can no longer mould for my hands have fulfilled their purpose and now only wait on thee. He is plant I can no longer water nor tend to, for he is in wild bloom and only you can find purpose in his rebellious hurt and madness. He is bent almost broken and only you can make him whole again. He is lost and blind to all good and only you can find him and bring him home and open his eyes to see beyond lust and into love. I know he will hear you. I know he will find you. And in finding you, he will know himself. In dying to all falsehood, he will awaken to his true self. In letting go, he will finally grow. Like a seed that must die, he will burgeon forth.

As I stand on this road. I know you stand too. As my heart waits. I know your heart waits too. I may not live to see him home. But you are ever on the watch tower. Ever shining the light from the lighthouse, guiding weary vessels home. Soon, his heart will grow weary of wondering in worldly ways. Soon, Delilah’s kisses will grow cold and leave a taste of ash on his lips. Soon, the music will muse only of past sorrows like a museum of dead exploits and empty deeds. Soon, he will have spent all of himself and will long for whom he never knew he could be. Soon, having nothing will awaken something. Then. Then, in repenting he will turn and see your light shinning in the distance. A deep calling to the deep through the dark.

He will come home. Until then. I know he is not alone. Through high mountain and deep valley, do not his sins keep tally. For love keeps no record of wrong. Let the sorrow that will follow him, keep in his heart a furrow ready for your planting of great exploits and your harvesting of purposeful living. Make it all count, work it all for your great good. Let not a drop of sweat nor strength be wasted. Let every masculine tear be a spear that will dispel all fear. It is not for me to say, who he will be. But I will wait. I will waiting on a future reality that will surely come to pass. The prodigal will come home and he will walk into the embrace of The Father!

‘The end is already planted in us at the beginning, and it gnaws at us until we get there freely and consciously.’ Richard Rohr

I love

Want is a growing giant which the coat of Have was never large enough to cover’ Ralph Waldo Emerson


I am a believer now. Learn to want what you already have rather than desire to have what you want. It is a chasing after the wind. Wanting is a thirsting after a never having nothing. But is it possible to own without wanting? Yes. There is eating because the body needs nourishment. There is drinking, water, not wine because one needs to quench a life saving thirst. There is holding, rocking, humming because a baby who never receives a human embrace, after its birth, will surely die. There is need. Then there is want.

I love you not because I need you, no. I need you because I love you.

‘Love seeks out the seeker not because the seeker is worthy of love but simply because love’s nature is to love regardless of the worthiness or merit of the one loved.’ Os Guinness

In seeing you, I know that I have much.

‘He is not poor that hath not much, but he that craves much.’ Thomas Fuller

In loving you I find that I no longer want much. I do not have you for to think I own you, is to believe in a lie. My love is mine to give and to you I offer it up everyday. It’s funny that I do not own my love either. For it awakened when you came. And so I love you and in loving you I find that I have more to give. It is strange this wanting to have? It is a grabbing at sand, the more you try to hold the more you loose.

So here I am. Not wanting to have but only taking to live. Breathing in, loving you. Breathing out, letting go. Waking up to all I never knew, savouring the tastes dancing on my palate and mixing the colours of sunrise and sunsets in my mind’s palette. In not chasing after, I catch what falls into my life. In not wanting to have, I find that I already have what I never knew I had a right to want. I already have what I want in a sense.

I love.

Cometh the Moment

Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side;
Some great cause, some great decision, offering each the bloom or blight,
And the choice goes by forever, ’twixt that darkness and that light.

Then to side with truth is noble, when we share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and ’tis prosperous to be just;
Then it is the brave man chooses while the coward stands aside,
Till the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.

By the light of burning martyrs, Christ, Thy bleeding feet we track,
Toiling up new Calv’ries ever with the cross that turns not back;
New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth,
They must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth.

Though the cause of evil prosper, yet the truth alone is strong;
Though her portion be the scaffold, and upon the throne be wrong;
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own.

By James Lowell

Be still

‘Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.’ #RainerMariaRilke

Ignorance starts with unanswered questions. If the question is allowed to marinate then in good time an education is gained. When we put into practise that new found knowledge, well then, that is wisdom, applied life lessons. So be still and ponder deeply. Your hurts reveal an underlying current in you. Your anger warns you of a bias. Your offence is some kind of defence. Your irritation is the same as an oyster responding to a grain of sand. It’s all there to perfect you and to create beauty in you. If you will let the storms fulfil their duty, then like a caterpillar turned butterfly, your tragedy will be a remedy and you will fly.

Do not fear the doubts that assail you or the whispers that betray you. How can you learn to walk if at first you do not crawl, what a humbling thing. On all fours, all flaws are clearly seen. It is when one is hardest hit that they learn their strongest bits. Be bold, it does not mean brute strength, no. It means you are sold to the good cause but your trembling knees refuse to carry you through. Nothing that is good comes easy and so you must rise to the challenge. Invite the battle and wrestle till the breaking dawn of a new awakening, a resurrection. Lest a man die, he cannot fully live. Let go of your falsehood and embrace all you were meant to be. Strip the lies that enfold you and grasp the thread of truth. The act will kill you but it will thrill you and it will reveal the real you. Out of the depth of the Earth you will arise again, like precious jewels your true self is found in deep places. Take up your tools and dig deep. If you seek with all that you are, then you will find all that you are meant to be.

Though the great World Wars have been fought. They never ended. In you is a Great War. Daily you trudge through emotional trenches and in darkness you grope seeking your own soul. For what is a man without his own identity? What is a woman with a formless entity? How then can The World exist with a fumbling humanity? They sought weapons of mass destruction, it was not a lie, they did exist you see, but the human is the weapon of mass extermination. They forgot to look in the mirror. Power is like a sword, it is nothing until a human picks it up.

So before you judge. Look into yourself. Be still and be your own judge. What are you good for? What have you done to make it better for anyone? Where has your voice been heard? What have your choices fulfilled? As you scream at the television, tell us what has been your great vision? As you comment on social media, tell us what great race you have run, dear? The human race wants to know, what have you done in your little space?

Be still and hold your tongue.

‘Hypocrisy is the complement that vice pays to virtue.’ #RaviZacharias

A possessing possession!

Excerpt from book by Kurt Bruner and Jim Ware

There is a progressive quality about evil. It begins in the simplest way: with a desire. It begins with a wish to have, to hold, to possess something. And then to use that something to achieve purposes of our own.

The drink. The drug. The other man’s wife. Money. Power. Position. There is a sense in which they are nothing to me. It isn’t the thing itself. It’s what it can do for me that counts. It’s the wish for the enhancement and enlargement of self that guides my reaching, grasping hand. The hand needs a tool with which to work it’s own designs.

And so desire produces action. One thing leads to another. I reach and stretch. I grasp. I lay hold of the object of my desire. And the spinning of a horrible wheel is set in motion. The effect is almost immediate. And it manifests itself, SURPRISE, not in the enhancement, but in the diminishing of the self.

My hand touches the desired object. My fingers close around it. But even as the thrill of possession courses up my own arm and through my body, there is a sound from behind me, like the turning of a key in a lock. Already the object has grown and I have begun to decrease. I am trapped within the realisation that it’s not enough. That I am not more but less than I was and far less than I ought to be. Sudden fears rears it’s ugly head. I run for cover and grasp again for more. And the screw is given another turn.

And so in the end, the tables are turned, the thing I desired to possess possesses me.

Evil is not possessed, but possessing.

Who Will Answer?

By Ed Ames

From the canyons of the mind,
We wander on and stumble blindly
Through the often tangled maze
Of starless nights and sunless days.
While asking for some kind of clue
Or road to lead us to the truth
But who will answer?

Side by side two people stand
Together vowing, hand in hand
That love`s imbedded in their hearts,
But soon an empty feeling starts
To overwhelm their hollow lives
And when we seek the hows and whys,
Who will answer?

On a strange and distant hill,
A young man`s lying very still,
His arms will never hold his child
Because a bullet running wild
Has cut him down.

High upon a lonely ledge,
A figure teeters near the edge,
And jeering crowds collect below
To egg him on with, go, man, go
But who will ask what led him
To his private day of doom
And who will answer?

If the soul is darkened
By a fear it cannot name
If the mind is baffled when
The rules don`t fit the game
Who will answer, who will answer
Who will answer?

In the rooms of dark and shades
The scent of sandalwood pervades
The colored thoughts in muddled heads,
Reclining in rumpled beds of
Unmade dreams that can`t come true
And when we ask what we should do
Who, who will answer?

Neath the spreading mushroom tree
The world revolves in apathy
As overhead, a row of specks
Roars on, drowned out by discotheques
And if a secret button`s pressed
Because one man has been outguessed
Who will answer

Is our hope in walnut shells
Worn round the neck with temple bells
Or deep within some cloistered walls
Where hooded figures pray in halls
Or crumbled books on dusty shelves
Or in our stars, or in ourselves
Who will answer

If the soul is darkened
By a fear it cannot name
If the mind is baffled when
The rules don`t fit the game
Who will answer, who will answer
Who will answer

Hallelujah, hallelujah