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sure, but it will cost your soul

“Anger is like spending a piece of your soul,” he said.

I am fascinated with this idea. I have dabbled in the dark art of anger. I have seethed. I have had righteous anger. I have held grudges. I have had resentments. I have flipped people off, cussed people out, held it in, let it out. I dealt in anger like a peddler deals in trinkets. I had some for every occasion. I had so much I wasn’t even aware of some of it.

“So when I feel myself getting angry, I ask myself is it worth spending some of my soul?”

Brilliant. Seeing anger as harmful to ourselves, as costing part of our soul. I used it as a commodity for a long time. However, I felt like it was earning me respect, power, stature. I relished the opportunity to wield it like Conan or the Highlander. The anger hid my fear, my hurt, my pain. The anger protected me from being known. I saved it in my reservoir and would relive it , reuse it when I needed to protect myself. I had gotten to the point that all I had was anger in varying degrees.  Even my humor was sarcasm, or passive aggressive anger. I even had anger directed inward, or depression. It had eaten my soul. My soul looked like Swiss cheese. Hard winds of life would whistle as they blew around me. A haunting hollow sound followed me everywhere.

“When you are angry at yourself, does it cost extra soul?” I pondered

“Resentments are like eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die.” I mused

“”How do you earn the spent soul back?” I asked out loud.

“Forgiveness”thDWQRVD9T

 
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Posted by on June 9, 2015 in journey, life

 

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blind, blind, blind, BLIND

“Turn left”

“forward”

“less forward”

“arms out”

Blind Man’s bluff. Remember this game? Also used as a group building, communication exercise. One person is completely blindfolded. An obstacle course is set out with a myriad of traps and knee-busting barriers. At the end is some flag, or medal, or prize of some sort. Your partner stands aloft and yells instructions to you that, frankly, never make any sense. Everyone has a great laugh as you stumble through the course. They giggle as you pick up the items meant to disguise from the real treat. The caller begins to get frustrated at the communication gaps and yells more forcibly. Many times it dissolves into verbal altercation. On Survivor, I’ve seen it get physical.

Take the same people. Blindfold one and let the other walk beside him through the course. The voices remain calm. The giggling stops, the laughing ceases. The fake prizes are moot. The seeing friend alerts to the misdirection, shares the experience with their friend. They walk shoulder to shoulder or hand in hand to the goal together. They share in the journey. They partnered rather than ordered. There was companionship through the twists and turns of the course, rather than frustration and yelling.

I feel like I have been playing a cosmic version of Blind Man’s Bluff. thYM006QUTI have been lost for some time now. I am totally blinded to the course and the prize. I have stumbled around and did my best to hear the soft voice above the cacophony of jeering or cheering voices. I was frustrated, discouraged, and unsettled. I clung to one base, knowing it wasn’t the final prize. It was safe and comfortable. Walking away would be scary. I wouldn’t ever be able to cling to it again. I wouldn’t even be able to find it again. I would try. I was afraid. I would have a false bravado at resuming the course. I’d hear the whisper and begin to move again. I’d leave the security. I’d take a few steps and the voice would quiet.

I clamor for a partner. I felt it as a need. I felt like I couldn’t do this alone. I needed someone to help me. I needed someone to depend on. I found someone for a brief moment in time. My need suffocated them. I felt more alone after they left. I was lost, and now, lonely.

I drifted above the maze. I saw me bumping into different objects. I saw my knees and shins bleed. I saw the giggling, the condemnation, the judgment. I watched my pained smile. I saw the tears and the fears. I saw the loss. I ventured to the whisper. I got to glimpse the design of the game. The purpose. The real prize. Both people were blindfolded. The prize was not the prize, but sharing the journey. Helping each other towards the end, growing and changing, laughing and crying, is the point.

I know something is on the horizon for me. I have stumbled and listened. I have tried, failed, and succeeded. I have loved, lost, and lived. I have been knocked down and gotten up. I know it is there. I can feel it. I call it HOPE. hopeinfieldI call it LOVE. I call it JOURNEY. I am frustrated as it feels so distant. It seems as I travel to the horizon, it never gets closer.

“Trudge forward, my friend.”th3AJM7KLS

 
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Posted by on June 2, 2015 in faith, journey, life

 

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sucking chest wounds

I am made of Velcro. I seem to let fear hump my leg like an annoying dog, then attach itself to my chest. It is almost like I believe that if I have fear, at least I don’t have pain. Its a lie I tell myself.

thP3MIVBJH

I have spent a huge amount of time over the last 8 years, and more so over the last 3, digging into the muck and filth of my heart and soul. I have surveyed, considered, addressed, dispensed of so much pain, so much turmoil, I had thought I was done with it. About 3 years ago, I discovered some more pain and more filth. The fear that hid it from view was tenacious, a yellow eyed, heavily armored demon. The implosion and explosion of my life and soul was just barely able to shake it loose. It left me with a sucking chest wound.

The sound was deafening. All of the horrors I had dispelled came back with such force and such glee. It was a homecoming of terror, bewilderment, fear, and despair. The yellow eyed demon of fear scampered back to cover the wound. I had learned to use it to protect myself as I grew up and hid. It was only then that I recognized it as holding the pain inside, not protecting me from more. The noise of the inner turmoil, the cacophony of despair was louder than the sucking chest wound and felt comfortable. It was something I knew.

I went back to work, allowing God to remove the fear. I sorted, surveyed, considered, addressed and asked God to dispense the character defects once again. I thought it was over. I felt relief. I seemed to feel the warmth of the Spirit of the Universe working in and through me. I started to rejoin life. But Fear and Pain are like a foreign body in a wound. It isn’t really going to heal while that is present. In fact, the wound festers. Eventually, all the healing is for naught.

th5CKMUA0U

When my fears laughingly deflated my life again by ending the relationship with my girlfriend, the wound opened and festered. The wound opened and sucked in the Panic and Despair. The wound roared a horrible roar, and gnashed its awful teeth. As I saw the relationship deflate, and I heard the whirlwind, I knew the Pain would return. It did. I have been trying to work on it again, and thought I was approaching the feeling that I could pray for her to just be happy and content with or without me. I prayed the same thing for my ex wife and my estranged daughters. I felt the emotions. I allowed healing.

I was getting better, but the final blow on parental alienation. I am having to make a decision to let my daughter go and not pursue the legal wranglings that would just reinforce her resistance. I am having to accept that this is what my ex wife wanted and has attained. The wound opened. The sound returned. The fears, the pain, the insecurities attached to me like Velcro. They were gone. They were removed. But when I felt the rejection and pain, I invited it all back again. I let the Velcro adhere. I panic and try and cover the whole. The closest items are fear and the hurt. It makes it worse but dulls the noise. I scream in pain. I ask God for help. He is there, he begins to pull the fear away. He strips the despair. He whispers and it is louder than the wound.

JesusvsDemons

 
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Posted by on May 6, 2015 in children, divorce, faith, journey, life

 

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i died

I died yesterday. The story of how is unimportant, but I was doornail dead. I didn’t hurt really, I just felt like I had an itch on that area of my back that you can’t reach. I hung around watching my recently vacated body for a few days until I was cremated. I don’t know what I was hanging around for, it just seemed like I was supposed to.

When my sister was ill, she asked if we were allowed to paint racing stripes on the coffin before cremation. I pondered how cool that would have been. I stood to stretch and turned around and was in a vast room. There were 8 doors around the opposite wall and oodles of people standing before 7 of them. It looked like the scene from ‘Beetlegeuse’. There was hustling and bustling, but no one seemed to be going anywhere. I looked over and saw Judas, still with the rope on his neck. I thought, “Oh man, this line is going to take forever.”
I saw some guy strolling between the lines with a smirk on his face and I was annoyed that he could be so calm when this obviously was total disarray. I avoided him and went to look at the doors. Written in bold letters across the first seven was, “Pride, Anger, Greed, Gluttony, Lust, Envy, and Sloth.” The last door had subtle letters and said, “Sinless.” The lines in front of the seven deadly sins were massive. The civil servants at the front of each line were harried and busy, but seemed to make no progress on the lines as no one went through any of the doors. I mused that if more people had committed suicide, they would have more help. I immediately chastized myself as insensitive.

I looked over and saw that smirking guy looking straight at me. I wondered closer to him and asked how you knew which line to get in. He told me to look inside and honestly confess which sin was mine. That sounded too easy and I didn’t believe him. I left him to look in the lines. I saw a tiny woman in a nun outfit. I looked closer and recognized Mother Teresa. She was standing in the “Sloth” line. I went to her and questioned her choice. She explained that she was unsure of her faith for years. She felt an awakening early in her career, but had real doubts for much of her life. I thanked her for reassuring me that there really cannot be faith without some doubt. She reasoned that her doubt was because of spiritual sloth. I shook my head, perhaps I should be in that line, I reasoned.

I looked over and saw my hero, C.S. Lewis standing in the Pride line. He was mumbling, “I was so judgmental.” and “Why did I have to always think I was right?” I thanked him for his books and insight and left him to his worries.

I recognized Martin Luther King Jr standing next to Malcolm X in the Anger line. I went to ask them if righteous anger is really a sin. I was fascinated to hear both excusing the others anger as appropriate, but condemning their own. They spoke of how late in each of their lives they drifted towards the others’ opinions because they felt insecure in their own. I thanked them for their service and courage. I thanked them for their ability to change and adapt most of all. They must not have heard me as they kept talking to each other.

Again, I saw the smirking man, and went to seek his opinion. As I approached, I saw him whisper to another man. The man emptied his pockets of large amounts of cash, undressed right there and then went through the sinless door. I asked the smirk how I could go through the same door. He smiled a big smile. He put his arms around my shoulders and said, “Give away everything and follow me.” I felt an attraction and I felt loved. I opened my clenched fist and dropped the anchor I held there. I opened the other and let the place markers from each of the seven lines fall to the floor. I smirked and walked towards the ‘Sinless’ door. I glanced back and saw the smirking man absent mindedly touch the holes in his wrists.

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2014 in faith, Uncategorized

 

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