...and in the divine nature of things I come to a conclusive end of no end at all.

The battle will continue to rage on whether or not I am ready or even alive.

All things remain constantly moving, as in Newtons first law, until an external force causes change.

What then can my personal external force be in the ever tumultuous tossing waves of my life?

What will stop me from the negative habits I've bestowed upon myself?

How can I reverse these subtle deformations that have grown into full blown atrocities?

Where does one begin in search of such a powerful anecdote?

and why do I keep asking myself the same questions over and over again.

but alas, hope comes in unexpected forms.

forms of writing, in singing, in reading, in thinking, and yes even in eating.

well perhaps these forms are not so unexpected being that they are in the artistic realm of things, giving them the reputation of inspiration and naturally of hope...

other forms have arisen apart from the usual; such as observing children on a school bus or worn out men in wrinkled dress shirts walking to work at 9am. strangely both have inspired me to look more closely at life and see the outcome of our decisions, and thus hope forms in the details of those realizations. Awareness which leads to a resistance to mediocrity.

The way to such a transformation must, in my case, be organically brewed from scratch.

First, the decision,

second the mind,

third the intention,

fourth the concentration,

fifth the discipline,

sixth the behavior,

and seventh the perseverance.

One habit, one mistake, one wrong turn at a time will be analyzed and made right.

One at a time, and not twenty at once as I have been so formally accustomed to attempt.

Breaking one negative habit in exchange for fostering a new positive one.

the goal the goal, keep focused on the goal!

chemicals react and my body may groan, but all things are possible with my God who is master of the unknown!

let it be, that I am free.

I have these chains around my hands

they pull me deep under dry sands,

they enslave my motions

like being tossed by angry oceans

I can't bear to think of my present state

all strength seems to slowly dissipate

knowing that I am chained to something horrible

these chains around my hands only cause trouble

they drag me away from people I long to see

they clinch at my veins and suffocate me

I look down at my hands and see pain

These chains take away so much from me

these chains take away so much of me

these chains are not real, but a mentality.

I am free.

I believe.

Let it be.

new dangers

And now we face the night when everything turns from white to black,

the edges of our hearts are singed with fear and an unwelcome atrocity.

We lie there stripped of our integrity wondering what just happened.

Nothing seems to make sense the way it did just days before,

and suddenly we feel hopeless and weak and irredeemable.

Irrational, reckless, dangerous.

The thoughts that roll through our minds keep taunting us,

forming and deforming into webs of intricate lies.

This is the danger of putting down your guard,

zoning out for just a few seconds is all it takes.

When the mind ceases to be tame all hell breaks lose in silent subtlety.

Where is faith?

Where is strength?

Where is discipline?

Where is truth?

Where is power?

But Jesus said:

"Beat your plowshares into swords

and your pruning hooks into spears.

Let the weakling say,

"I AM STRONG!"

-Joel 3:10

Where is truth?

John 17:17:

"Sanctify them by your truth; your Word IS TRUTH."

We are called by God to be more than conquerors, even in the midst of so much danger.

once a month.

And then there are days, those inexplicable days

when all of a sudden, like a smoldering heat,

the waves of your confidence dissipate in defeat.

You hobble around, searching for ground,

searching for remnants of yesterday's sounds.

Lost in a haze that won't go away,

it's a terrible rut that consumes your whole day.

It feels permanent and dreadfully deserved,

but a trace of memory reminds you it's absurd.

This faint wafting gloom foreshadows a monstrous odor.

Feeding it, feeling it, and revving it's motor.

Cause and effect play little to none,

this paralyzing sting makes it harder to run.

Alas the night sifts in a more coherent view,

something's undone and something's made new.

The mind is alert, reconditioned with a beat,

despite the exhaustion it proceeds to repeat.