That Bittersweet Wine

15 May

we are all on the verge of collapsing into ourselves
living on a narrow shelf
overlooking a chasm of despair
air so thin breath is labored

we fight to cling to the ledge
feeling momentary panic
mixed with a guilty relief
when others tumble in
just glad  it wasn’t us

being born means being on the brink of tragedy

groaning and grasping
hoping for one more moment of happy
to see us through the next thirty-seven negative experiences

“I think I was born with the glass half empty. I can’t pay attention to pain in the world or I question God,” she admitted.

“What’s so bad about that?” I said.

interview The Almighty
fill your glass a little
with that bittersweet wine

bask  in the pain and find some glowing light in it
some lingering sweetness on your tongue
and let the joy bubble up

the edge is slippery and frightening
but  you can’t beat the view

we are all hanging by a thread over death
yet death is just the beginning

and each thread we cling to
weaves into a tapestry of the Universe

a brilliant  picture

with every hue of the rainbow

only seen from the other side

 

type

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This Morning’s Analysis

7 May

 

I came to the conclusion

while walking today

that the amount of effortlessly formed words

is directly linked

to the amount of time

spent under tall trees

allowing their safe branches to shelter me

 

I discovered

the desire to create

is fueled by the smells of green and growth

and staying indoors

is synonymous with

staying in my head

all locked up with man-made objects

nothing to provoke wonder

 

not like wandering

going

moving one foot in front of the other

down the block

or across the world

 

maybe it’s nature

returning to my roots

a scared child who found

freedom in the woods

 

maybe it’s the unfamiliar

fighting its way into the mundane

parts of my day

 

and maybe

it’s the need to be part of something more

than my tiny life

my several decades

my decisions and doubts

my dreams and desires

 

my panic that rises lately when I think

of all of this being over so fast

 

it’s why we conceive children

and build towers

why we write books we hope will last

It’s why we watch sunrises over mountains

and start causes to rescue the world

it’s why we live in communities

and go to football games and concerts

it’s why we get lost in throngs of people

and sit solitary facing crashing waves

it’s why we fall in love

 

we have to know

this reality isn’t just

reality

 

we have to know

what the trees know

 

we are part of an expansive, connected, beautiful universe

no life is separate

 

and so I suppose

my final

simple

conclusion is this:

to be happy

to be at peace

to live creatively

I must

get out of my house

get out of my head

and live

 

findpeace

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Rebirth Certificates

25 Apr

I felt a poem coming at 2 am

accompanying a bright moon

dramatically revealing herself

an unearthly moment

crashing into a mundane one

 

as my dog relieved himself

on the scrubby apartment grass

 

I vigorously shook myself off

like a mutt coming out of water

all the while thinking

 

This must be rebirth

happening again.

 

and all the things I’ve fought so hard for

fall to the ground in droplets and evaporate

I feel a pulsating heat

rush out from the inside of me

cascading over my tingling skin

 

“What if waking up is the only thing worth pursuing?”

the moon posed a question

as the clouds swirled around her

showing off her talent

in visual effects

 

I want  to live in a certain world

I think

but faux certainty turns magic

to numbers and weather forecasts

 

I want so badly to know what comes next

yet I get mad at spoiler alerts

and bored when the ending is obvious

 

my lists and play-by-plays

settle my weary churning mind

only for a moment

before it rudely demands

the next thing

 

“What if the timeline doesn’t matter because

Real Life waits outside of it?”

the moon interrupted my musing

as my dog tugged at arm

 

and that’s when I saw it:

here and now

there and then

bleeding into one brilliant piece of art

hung on a starry wall

between a row of

my rebirth certificates

and this poem

 

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What to do When the World Falls Apart

17 Apr

1. Turn off the news and go outside.

Get lost in the woods.

Or even better,  your lover’s arms.

 

2. Be honest with yourself. If you hate the world right now, say so.

Let the cynicism rise out of you, your words creating a spiritual detox until you’re drained.

 

3. When you are finished, replace the void by drowning yourself in hope.

Do whatever you can to remember that there is still goodness in humanity. 

Play with a child.

Use your imagination.

 

4. Anger is necessary, but you must breathe out the toxins before it turn into bitterness.

Only you know that moment. Catch it and then let it go.

 

5. Do something good for someone. Anonymously.

 

6. Put your hands in some dirt and feel around. Splash water on your face.

Trace the lines on the back of someone’s hands.

 

7. Lose yourself in a beautiful song.

 

8. Scribble a picture or write a poem.

 

9. Eat your favorite food. Taste every bite, with no guilt.

Think of nothing but the miracle of your taste buds.

The miracle of life.

 

10. Pour another glass!

 

11. Let yourself laugh.  Or weep.

Or both at the same time.

 

12. Ask yourself, “Where is redemption happening right now?” When you find it, rest your eyes there for a while. 

 

13. Know you are loved.

And tomorrow is another day.

 

concrete

 

 

 

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I Won’t Sing Those Songs Anymore

9 Apr

Come Lord Jesus, Come. 

Let us invite him into this place. 

God, we want more of you. 

 

I am afraid our lyrics proclaim

a distance that doesn’t exist

like God is far away

just waiting for us to say the right phrase

then He’ll stop what He’s busy doing

and descend from heaven

walk through our buildings doors

to hand out a blessing

 

you may laugh and say,

“Brooke, they are only words.”

but words are all we have

when we are trying to:

document the divine,

portray a higher power,

define love,

 

it’s important they stay true

one wrong word can trip up

a confused and searching heart

lead them to believe they have to do

 

We are broken for you

We are hungry

We must be filled

 

we cry like refugees in the desert

so far from home

not realizing our need is an illusion

there is a feast and an endless flow of water

within us

 

I am afraid our speech reflects

we are still waiting

for the news

to change from bad to good

even though all goodness and love

already surround us

 

from: http://www.revivalorriots.org/

I Love Jesus, But Sometimes I am an Atheist

26 Mar

The most terrible acts in the world happen when human beings treat each other as less than human.

A Chinese orphanage where special needs children had their limbs tied to hard kitchen chairs and left alone all day to stare at the walls.

A dirty room on the top of a brothel in India, where girls lay sleeping, fragile and exhausted from another night of abuse.

The cries of a young girl as she was taken down the stairs to a basement, by a man who was supposed to be caring for her while her parents were away.

Many look and say, “How could God let this happen?”

And even more deadly, religion says, “Everything happens for a reason.”

If I had a communion shot glass of wine for every time someone carelessly attached the phrase “God’s Will” to someone terrible, I’d be slurring my words right now.

I used to believe suffering made us better, so God must cause it. It was not for us to understand, only embrace. God wants to “break” us, and He will do whatever it took to get us to rely on him.

I imagine a mother or father using similar phrases as they abuse their children, all in the name of “love.”

This is not love.

I don’t believe in this god anymore.

I can’t.

I don’t believe in a god who would orchestrate horrific pain, destruction, and death.

Light and dark can’t mix.

I don’t believe in a god that picks and chooses whom he loves and whom he disregards.

Love is not true if it has conditions.

I don’t believe in a god who controls your fate, who is nothing more than a cruel puppet master putting on a show.

Love does not force its will or manipulate, but allows freedom of choice.

I don’t believe in a god who is looking for ways that we don’t measure up, who is constantly pushing us to try harder and be better.

Love doesn’t force or condemn or have an agenda to change someone.

People usually have a valid reason for not believing in god.

I don’t blame them.

But my God is pure love, acceptance, grace and beauty.

My God, in his love has given us control over the earth and our lives. Even though He risked us screwing everything up, it was the only way to offer freedom.

My God always gives good gifts, always redeems, always makes things new.

My God is found in the eyes of the abused prostitute, in the compassionate activist who rescues her, in the bread she is given to nourish her frail body.

He is in the laugh of a special needs orphan tied to a chair as the sunlight pours through the cracks in the walls.

He is in the words of the little girl who is restored and redeemed and telling her story.

My God writes the book of our lives with us, bringing adventure, romance, and surprise endings.

godwrites

So, sometimes I am an atheist.
Because I refuse to believe in the god religion has created.

But Jesus—I can’t help but believe in and love him.

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Crossing The Sea

19 Mar

The page feels extra blank today, and I think maybe I have nothing to say.

But that is a lie, because the thoughts don’t stop rolling.

I try to live in the present, but my mind takes me far in the future.

 

To the smell of salt on skin, and tiny hands pressed into mine.

To walking by a paperback, my heart printed and on sale for $9.99.

To a place a young girl can rest her head, now only haunted by nightmares not reality.

To bad days and good days, love growing and an aching missing.

To emotions I can’t anticipate, or I will be overwhelmed now.

To all the things I’ve wanted so bad finally coming to pass, only to want more.

 

To wondering at the woman I have become, and I who will continue to be.

Hopefully stronger.

Hopefully less afraid.

Hopefully less prone to believe the bullshit and the lies,

or to put up with them.

 

Hopefully more myself than ever before.

In love and content.

Creating and thriving.

A peacemaker and a fighter.

 

Today, this is as vulnerable as I am going to be.

Hinting and scratching the surface of tension that floats upon the great wide sea within me.

But the question remains: How do I cross this ocean, that separates my dreams and my reality?

 

The only thing preventing me is a a few hours of time, and a few miles of fear.  

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Rise Like the Sun

15 Mar

It’s a strange world.

Trying to figure out how to be human in only one life time.

We suffer until we reach the split where we have to decide if we want to continue to live or not.

Whether the suffering is widely known, or completely internally hidden, whether deemed “small” or “enormous” we must all reach this point of our lives.

The split.

The moment where we know we are dying or perhaps already dead.

The moment right between darkness and morning.

Where the pain is so great we wish for numbness,

Or the numbness so great we wish for pain.

Either way, we have to decide to live. 

sun

We have to choose to rise like the sun in the morning, evaporating the cold dew on the ground of our conscience.

We do this by opening our eyes and seeing the world beyond ourselves,

A world that splits and suffers and grows numb and shines with incomparable, hopeful beauty.

A world full of kindness and goodness.

We do this by embracing love, a Love outside of our mere bodies.

If my writing has themes in different seasons, the current thing  I can’t escape from is, see the good.

And I know the quality of my life is nothing more or less than choosing to see the good. 

So I will see the helpers,

Open my eyes,

And rise with the sun.

Today.

I will not live in fear.

I will not cower to pessimism.

I will let love win,

first and foremost in my mind. 

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A Short History of Roads

6 Mar

Sometimes I have flashbacks of certain roads.

Maybe because I have spent so much time with them.

Living on them. Loving them. Hating them.

Wondering where certain ones will lead.

1.

Walking on a rocky dirt road with thick jungle to my right and a trash covered beach to my left.  My sense of adventure is heightened after hearing tales from an expatriate in a hostel of a black panther that stalks his home.

I am 23, and once again letting go at the life I thought I had. My hair is carelessly short, and I don’t do anything to tame it. I have no money in my bank account or future plans, other than a lofty desire to change the world through what I write.

I sit on the beach and write poetry. The words are naked and beyond me. The ocean waves break into my mind, affecting the cadence.

I have never felt so free.

2.

The road is ambling,  full of potholes and bumps from the harsh New England winters. The dirty river, which imagine to be chocolate, is eating away at the bank, causing the road to grow narrow as I grow taller.

I am eight, and my imagination takes me everywhere. I am an explorer, a sailor, an astronaut. I am abandoned on a deserted island with nothing but tree bark to survive on.

I am strong. I am well-loved. I am going to change the world.

3.

A decade later, I walk down a path in East Texas, intoxicated by fragrant white flowers that grow wild on bushes, their scent pushing its way into my broken heart, my guilty mind. I mutter prayers to myself, everything and anything, so desperately seeking God to make me better. I make my way into the pine woods, oblivious to the lengthening shadows and the dozens of things to accomplish the next day.

I am hungry, deep in the pit of my stomach. I am desperate to be more.

They say life is a journey, and I understand why.

I see my life so far in moments.

In places.

In walks down roads.

It is not a straight path or a  neat track where you can time and measure and compare your position to others before you cross a finish line.

Instead, it is a crooked path down a series of roads that seem sporadic and misguided, and if analyzed too deeply I may come believe I am lost.

But when I stop my analysis and close my eyes I once again become the first eight-year-old astronaut,

And as I blast off above the atmosphere, I take my gaze off the stars ahead and look down and see,

All roads interconnecting and intertwining and leading me to one place:

Here and now.

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Terminal Writing

25 Feb

 

If you are like me, you may find the phrase, “Live like you are dying,” cliché and uninspiring.

But like any popular slogan, there is a ring of truth to it.

Not to be all dark and gloomy, but the reality is we are all dying. 

Our time on this planet is so short.

So, go with me for a moment to that raw, stripped-down, emotional frame of mind where you know your days are numbered.

What would you want to tell the world with your last breath?

What would be inscribed on your tombstone?

What is the one message you want to leave behind?

Write like that.

This is how you find your voice. 

 

WD

 

Write as if you were dying.

At the same time, assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients.

That is after all, the case.

What would you begin writing if you knew you would die soon?

What would you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?

Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

 

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