I am ready; pull the anchor and plot the course.

Sister K
Sometimes we must wait a long time
to find out that something does not work right
it might be a long road to healing
if we wait and we expect the best to come from what is left

sometimes the pain from the waiting
eats away at everything we have been protecting.

After a good fight with illustrious intention
after a good fight we barely broke the movement
after a good hard fight with the purest of desire
oh God I’m still on fire.

Come here tired thing
I have two arms
you're staggering
let me fold you in
I still believe in who you are.

It might seem like we’ve no use for nostalgia
I think you’re right
so we pull the anchor plot the course.

Body

She bears witness to the complete life of a man in a day. Little is known about his human spirit. Great is the knowledge of his human body. He is aged and his flesh, pale. His heart, exposed; as are his lungs, as are his tendons, as are his ligaments and all those spindly nerves. The soul- invisible, alive, heavy- floats about, not far from where she observes so stoically. She can suffer he is still kind, his body preserved by plastic, rendered to the world, dead. All of his emotions she learns, as he lays them upon her. Passion, fear, shame, and sorrow; are they in his head, the spiraled flesh of sponge? Or the heart, a bulbous, foreboding organ that once gave him life and then took it away? All of his words, whispered in her ear by his spirit. The ghost mutters, talks, sings, screams, cries about the love in life. His being is so fast, so furiously, moving about this place. The lovely years become interwoven into the lives of everyone: a life given to her in death.

I do not want to live my life, a slave to other people, believing in their happiness I will find my own.

Everything created is redeemed

If the mind was created to know God then everything that comes from the mind-ideas, words, thoughts - in every way - sung, written, spoken, yelled - is a search for God: a plea, a question, a cry, a demand.
I write to know God.
I write to understand something about the world that God created.
I write to see God, to hear God. My writing is a plea for God.
My writing is God, light and my writing is darkness, evil.
I am a mix of God, light, love, beauty and darkness, despair, poverty.
My writing is a mix of beautiful and broken.
Broken words are redeemed by the beautiful ones. I am redeemed by the beautiful one. My writing is my redemption.

Hidden misunderstood
Shared spread
In the telling is the light
Shone on her, shaded from him
How much more broken, how much more beautiful
when heart scars are revealed
Hidden they spread, they infect thoughts and movement
Shared, scared hidden, safe
Shared, safe hidden, scared
What do they decide?

Secrets of a normal family
scarier than truths of a strange one.