I sat down to write...and this came out.

I still feel it just as strongly as the day it happened. In fact, I do not ever think it has gone away or even attempted to leave. It resonates through my bones, pulses through my veins – I feel it in the melted pieces of my glass heart, which shattered on that very day. I feel it right behind my eyes sometimes. As it wells up from deep inside with everything it has. It forces its way right to the edge and like a steady slow refrain from a song, it pours out of me uncontrollably. I feel it when I eat…the bitter taste of the food that gags me until I feel it all coming back up. I feel it when I breathe…it lives like a black hole inside my lungs – daring me to try to let out a breath. I feel it when I sleep…the dreams haunt me – dreams of that day.

It was the day I lost my voice. The day I realized that words could never capture how I felt inside. What I felt was beyond expression…it still is. The meaningless arrangements of letters…what have they to offer? I think had I the energy, the strength, the drive, the determination to sort them out and put them together…what would I say?

“One sentence,” I challenged myself.

Today, I will speak one sentence…one sentence to the world that says it all. It was quite a tumultuous task. Since that day, I still have not spoken. I spent the whole day arranging and rearranging the letters. Staring at the comma, as if it had all the answers. Yet, it never came. That sentence is somewhere though. It is waiting for me. The sentence that will comfort me…the sentence that will give me back what I lost…even if it is only my voice. That one sentence has been eluding me for years now.

The more I think about it…the more painful it gets. It was not as if it was a surprise. I knew it was going to happen. I think that is what made it hurt the most. That feeling inside that shouted and reverberated off every rib inside of me…the feeling that it was coming…and nothing I could do could stop it. It was that tender feeling of helplessness left uncared for…yet nothing could ever help that helplessness…nothing at all. Believe me, I looked, I searched, I dug through the core of my soul for something, anything, that would ease the pain.

Every now and then a touch…a hand placed over mine…a kiss on the cheek where my tears were streaming…a palm resting upon my back just below my neck where all the tension in the world seemed to lie…every now and then this seemed to help. I would feel the tension dissipate if only for a brief moment…but it always came rushing back…overwhelming the spot where, for once it ceased to exist.

They say, “Madness is pain.” I think pain is madness as well. Who of us wants to live carrying a load so heavy that it breaks your back with every step? One day you realize you cannot even walk. You crawl through life. Eventually, you cease to move. You lie…alone…seemingly untouchable anymore…not wanting to breathe, for even that hurts. As you wither away, the anger builds inside of you…anger at the person for leaving you this way…anger at the disease for taking over the one you loved so very much…anger at yourself for not having done more…anger at the way you allowed yourself to get so close…anger at the fact that you are human, that your heart breaks, that you hurt, that you are weak, that something inside of you loves, cares, feels for, and embraces the pain of other souls…anger.

It is an anger that is eternal, just like the grief with which it battles. You tell yourself, “You fucked it up.” This turns into, “You fucked it up again.” Again and again and again and…well, you get the point. You beat yourself up from the inside out. People watch from the outside, never quite understanding. Then, one day, it happens. Your skin ruptures…that jagged piece of your shattered heart is sticking out of the gentle curve just below your ribs. At last…they see it. The very moment they realize what has been eating you up is they very moment in which the anger and the grief overtake you. The slight chance they are given to help is but an illusion…for you have lost in that same instant. Your insides pour out and there is no room for the outside to crawl in. Valiant attempts produce the same results as feeble attempts. And you are drawn back to the words that never could help. Noticing that so many, like valiant and feeble, are interchangeable. This pain is death. This death is pain. This life is pain. This pain is life. This life is death. This death is life. Any order…it does not seem to matter. Anger is grief. Grief is anger.

And just as you slip away from the world forever…you find it…or rather it finds you. That one sentence creeps into your soul from the outside…finds its way into your bleeding throat cut apart by the glass lodged inside of it…it rests on your lips for a brief moment before sending itself out into the world…your last words…your only words since that day…the fleeting remnants of what was considered a soft and yet strong voice fades away into the night…whispering…“Never lose your voice - no matter how valiant or how feeble - in the end it is all you have.”

For those of you that actually read this...

I am no longer on Facebook.
I no longer use AIM.

Phone calls and emails are accepted and encouraged.

Random Thoughts

Here goes nothing (or maybe something, depending upon your interpretation).

First things first…my life seems to be trapped in a web of theology. Now, sometimes I do not mind this. I feel as though I seem to be a natural theologian. That is to say, that even before I was a Christian I was always processing and analyzing various views of religion. What makes it difficult, however, is the fact that I cannot get away from it. Some days, I just want to scream. It seems as if I cannot escape theology. If I was studying math, I am sure that I could have a conversation that was not shaped by mathematics. I could have a conversation without ever bringing up math. With theology, the same does not appear to be true. No matter whom I am talking to, we somehow end up talking about theology. I love theology, do not get me wrong. I just need an escape from it every now and then. Perhaps that is why I play Madden so much these days. It involves no theology whatsoever. Though I am sure someone will write the Gospel according to Madden or PS2 someday.

Next thing…I perceive the academic world to be rather pretentious and elitist. I know I can embody those qualities at times. When I am with someone who tends to look down upon others intellectually, I fall into the trap of engaging in those ideas and elitist attitudes in order to secure a place among the intellectually elite. This is due to my own insecurity. Being aware of it is the first step in changing it.. I see people who do not want to change their attitudes though. Within social circles comprised of professors, I see that the tendency is not to speak of ideas or events, but of other people. The tendency is not only to speak of other people but also to speak negatively about those people. Now perhaps this is prevalent in all social circles and not just a professorial thing to do, but either way, its presence cannot be denied. I do not want to participate in that kind of community. Perhaps the only way to prevent that is not to live in that kind of society. In which case, I will escape to a monastic community (as I have wanted to do for a number of years anyway). I do not see how the creative and academic sides of me can coexist. I do not want to be sucked in completely by one side (namely, the academic side). I want to see, hear, and feel the presence of God in mystical ways and not have to explain those things with a theological vocabulary in order to prove myself to other academic elitists.

Next thing, I feel myself being pulled into the academic world in such a way that I have become fearful of losing the artistic, creative side of myself. I believe a sermon to be a creative synthesis of ideas. Thinking linearly and logistically ALL the time, does not allow for a creative dynamic that is able to make connections on several levels at once without any obvious connection. I do not want to lose my ability to be creative, my ability to write sermons, my ability to be my goofy self. I want to read things backwards. I want to make a new game within the game of Mario Kart. I want to dye my hair pink. I want to go skydiving. I want to be a chaplain for NASA. I want to live on a houseboat off the cost of Somalia (near Kenya). I want to live in a monastic community and write. I want to write eloquently and with a spiritual depth that I do not find in academic writings. I want to leave all the doors open. I want to be free to up and leave at any moment and go where I feel called to be. I want to have no attachment whatsoever to anything or anyone that makes me think that I cannot live without that thing or that person. I want to tell people, “No, I do not think Jesus was divine. No, I am not a Christian, but I am christian.” I want to be free to be me.

Who is stopping me?

Myself.

I understand that. Now, what to do…