Friday, October 7, 2011

Put Yourself Out There.

The sky is dark.

The moon is high.

It is dangerous outside.


The theatrical theme in my recent dreams.

I know this is where the scene is leading.

I was inside.

Safe, behind locked doors.

Safety is an illusion.

I am outside now.

The crisp air leaves my senses sharp and skin tingling.

I must go fast.

I cannot slow down.

I am afraid.


It is not who I like to be.

It is an accurate reflection of who I long to be, of who You are.

I am riding by several empty ones.

Their smileless faces only allude to the hollowness they feel inside.

They are dirty, they are dark.

I am uncomfortable.


I want to be hidden, yet I long to be generous.

I ride by them, offering my smile as I pass.

I know full well that I am capable of giving more.

Giving hope.

But doing so would cost me something.



And I make the decision to slow down.

To stop.

And I am raw on the inside.

And he is empty.

And I seek to pour, realizing that fullness is not of me, on my own.

My many, hollow words are not the solution.

I learn that the hard way.

Trail and evident error.

Callous, I climb back on and continue, I must go fast.

I tell myself that I tried, that must be sufficient.

Something inside of me whispers "slow down".

My stubbornness leads me home.

Fumbling with the keys, I find the fit to my lock.

Turning it with regret, I just want to find comfort again.

I hurry inside.

The door closes behind.

The many numb faces are fast approaching.

I think I am safe.

And the whisper comes again "but you are missing it".

Weight leaning against the door, against thought security, I remember

The keys bound with ribbon, ribbon red, were left in the lock.

My security is disrupted by reality.

They have access to me.

I wake up with silence heavy on my chest.

And I respond.

You have not hidden Yourself from me.

You have made a way for me to enter the Holy Place.

You did not live for Your comfort, for safety, for acceptance.

You lived for me, for the many hollow souls and expressionless faces.

You have not retreated to Your Holy Place, door sealed shut.

You have left the keys in the door, the curtain torn, all by the red.

You put Yourself out there and You saw me as worth the risk.

I want You to mold me and make me more like You.


{Welcome to my -quiet- week}

{I like to spend time with this one.}

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