Love to the Seeker

You have to understand, to a seeker, religion is like walking into a crowded room with everybody shouting "come here or you will die!" at the top of their lungs. Merely to maintain sanity, they must dismiss all of these claims as lunacy. For otherwise, which shouting voice is telling the truth? To whom should they go to avoid death? I prefer to stand and smile and when approached say, "I have found bread; come and eat." For the seeker is hungry, and I indeed have found bread.

Stone Paradox

I love it when people ask me whether God could create a stone he could not lift. I answer them plainly, "Yes he can. In fact, he already has, and he called him man." In us, God has created something he cannot destroy. He wrote our names in indellible ink that not even he can wipe away. (I know that most people ask that because they attempt to apply mathematical reason to the nature of God's omnipotents. That is complete blasphemy unless ended by a legitimate question mark because God is not a logical process. He is the creator of logic and reason itself.) God did not make a mistake creating such an imperfect creature. He wrote the metanarritive from beginning to end. He knew that man would fall and reject him for plastic glory. His heart was broken at the fall, but he wrote man with the potential to fall anyway. You can only truely be loved if the lover has the capacity to hate you as well. The love of God for man is reflected in the love of a parent for his or her child, but even this is a quiet echo of the glorious love the creator has for his creation. Only in knowing this love does one learn to repspect a God who created a thing that has the power to break his heart, and yet choose to die for the salvation of that very thing. Man is God's ambition, His dream.

Functional Euphoria

Sometimes I wonder,
What would be the mood of Heaven?
I think it is a euphoria yeah,
But it would be a euphoria,
Where you can look evil in the face,
And smile.

A fantasy revealed,
Where everything fits together,
Not a formula but a dance,
Choreographed harmony.
Beautifully simple,
Made to last.

Sometimes I wonder,
What should be the mood of Earth?
I think it is a euphoria too,
But it would be a euphoria,
Where you can look evil in the face,
And change the world.

Revolution behind my Eyes

God is building something in my mind that will change the world. It is like building a ship in a bottle, though because everytime I try to represent it I reinterpret it to death. I am a broken bottle, but the ship is made of adamant. Zero impurities.

There is a poetry within me written by God that no words can tell. I bring to death to it by expressing it. I bring to death myself when I don't express it. Explosion!

Nine

His own beloved hypocrate bride,
For her He suffered, for her He died.

He measured her worth, He knew the cost,
Nothing was wasted, nothing was lost.

It could't be done any other way.
His love nailed Him to the cross that day.

She is the gleam in her savior's eye.
For her He'd suffer, for her He'd die.

For her He'd rise, to her He'd go.
So that one day, His love she'd know.

Heaven Seeker

Its become cliche to say that one seeks meaning. Everybody wants to mean something to their posterity or their lovers. People seek meaning in logic, in faith, in the stars. To the pragmatist, meaning is just the icing on the cake or even utterly worthless. To the idealist, meaning gets in the way. To most, meaning is the means to a greater end.

I have always sought meaning, but not as a poet, a philosopher, or a wishful thinker (though I am all three). I want to embrace it, bathe in it, devour it. Meaning is the meaning of my existence. This is one of the (lesser) reasons I am religious. Not that God provides meaning, but that true, ultimate meaning requires God.

Some may say that I am missing the point; that it is God that I should seek. If God is real, then my aim is accurate, for God is and must remain the center of meaning. It is not that I have missed, but that I have not gone far enough. The center of the Universe is three: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Apart from You

Apart from You, my heart is hard as rock and cold as snow-- like a lavalamp left unplugged.
Apart from You, I am numb to my pain, but I am also numb to joy.
Apart from You, everything is material, has a price sticker, can be bought, even me.
Apart from You, I don't have to face my anger, my passion, my sin.
Apart from You, there is no meaning. I have no meaning. Oh, how I want meaning.
Apart from You, I don't have to cry. Oh, how I need to cry.
Apart from You, I am nothing.

Be us not apart.

The Ceremony of Song

It is a unity, a felloship, a congregation of souls.
Expression of the one entreated to the whole.
Hand in hand they march to the beat
Across the bridge,
But the bridge cracks,
The bough breaks and they fall,
Into the arms of sound.

Under one chorus they marry,
The treble to the base.
Under its light they consumate.
The whole becomes one.
The soul becomes flesh.
The notes are gathered together.
Harmony.

All good music is a ceremony;
An aching of the heart unveiled.
People gathering together,
Under the light of one chorus.