fifty two

year of our lord
two thousand and twelve:

to you, two thousand and twelve.

to the calming explorations of sounds the half-hearts, and the icy bridges. 

oh the abundant sunshine for all of the rambunctious law-breakers. 

how it did rain in the morning, how the heartache did swell in the evening, and all throughout

the glorious mountains remained.
the mountains who reminded me that grace and love and faith are abundant. 

divine blood filling the empty cups and the birthday of no one terribly important. 

all of the lazy artists, the do-nothings of society, thinking thoughts and creating beautiful things.

remember the adventure unparalleled? the pure hearts? the young dreams? the faithful Father?

trees with ghostly white petals.
stars in the sky. 

a friend who died.
and a thank you note to those dear little ones who kept me alive. 

the living too large and dying too old.
the trying to exist in reality. 

the comfort of darkness.
the joy of being in the presence of light. 

the blowing of too many kisses and that little ginger candy obsession. 

the notes to self. 

my pink, freckled shoulders.
the number nineteen.
many lazy lightening bugs. 

this dirty city and this filthy heart.
my beautiful ayiti, who takes turns haunting me and comforting me daily. 

a noodle-crazed panda. 

the fact that my friends are not sailors. 

old canoes and rough living. 

singing crickets and singing chad. 

Jesus the man who knew what it was like. 

the truly believing.

the river, so full of peace. 

those flashbulb memories. 

when i couldn't come out and really say "iloveyou".

the waning moon and the dying sun. 

the fact that i'm disappointing, my dear. 

those panic-stricken birds. 

the missingmissingmissing. 

scary/happy/lovely/nice/strange dreams. 

mysaltytears. 

mymountains. 

the no good heart that was so wrong. 

the fictional story about my dear sister and misplaced love. 

my love-affair with roan mt. 

may day merry making.

reminding myself to sieze the day. 

remember how i diagnosed myself with selective attention deficit disorder?

oh and those moon walkers

and that divine little boy doomed to die because he loves us and is obedient to his father

and finally, all of the children screaming for peace.

i have survived the end of the world.
i have seen love.
i have witnessed the strength that only grace can supply.
i have been reminded of my own darkness.
i have been comforted with the fact that it is not my own any longer.
life has gone on.
the breathing has begun. 

may grace and peace come to you, next year.
and may the love of Christ infest and infect you so i have no choice but to accept it.

thus ends fifty two weeks of writing.
thus begins a lifetime more.

Christmas.

every year, i have a different Christmas. i know that's a result of passing time and changing experiences. but it still takes getting used to.
this year, i didn't have a very long Christmas season. it really only hit me that it was Christmas a couple days ago. my mind has been full of questions and those questions have distracted me. not questions like "why?" and "how?" or "when?"

the questions in my mind have been the kind without the question marks.
like:
Jesus was born a perfect child who carried both death and life with Him his whole time on earth. He swallowed death for us, and the killing of death was the only way humanity could ever hope for life.

the kind of people that surrounded and admired Jesus when He was a child were the same kind of people who actively killed Him later.

we sing all these songs about how the night that Jesus was born was silent and holy and beautiful when the fact is, they were in a crowded little city in the middle of a census. mary was probably bedraggled and joseph's nerves were probably worn thin. Jesus, God of the universe, was not born a spotless babe. He was born gross and weird looking- like any baby. (don't get me wrong, i love babies, but they are are gross and weird looking at the very beginning...) the shepherds weren't sweet men with trimmed beards and the angels weren't these white, blonde-headed, winged, androgynous beings. it is wrong to  sugar coat these things. or it's just human nature to make the best of the situation.

seriously though, what is this Christmas thing all about? (i feel like Charlie Brown)

it is about a baby who was doomed to die by His own loving choice.
it is about a night when the heavens rejoiced and mourned.
it is about the fact that we all die. and through death, we all live.
it is about the end of the world and what happens afterwards.
it is about love. wondrous love.
it is about joy.
it is about peace.
and most of all, it is about hope.

a hope that won't let any of us go.

so we sing songs.
and we put up lights.
and we hang out with our families.
and we give eachother things we need and things we don't need.
and we watch silly movies where everything ends up as it should.
and we get excited about snow and pretty trees.

it's one day where we can stop and be thankful for the little boy that was born with the world on His shoulders. the Prince of Peace. born out of conflict. into a bleeding world.

happy christmas.
i could say "don't forget the reason for the season" or something cliche like that.
but i think i should say "continually remember the reason you're alive."

a little babe swallowed death for you. be thankful, be hopeful, have peace.

fifty one

little filthy children.
screaming.
so loud.
because they know that no one can really here what they really want to say.
the blood in their veins lets them know the music's playing.
lets them know their dirty little hearts are working.
their screams a result of their want for love.
their want for life.
their guaranteed death.

it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.

death and the coming apocalypse is an accepted fact instead of a feared coincidence.
the turning world will come toa halting stop.
the impending death of a finite existence.
coming to a close.

it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.

fifty

the celestial boy that was told by his father to become human to die and wanted to because he loved us so

or

the true meaning of christmas


the little babe
with the songs of angels
ringing in his little ears
they are whispering
"death will bring forth life
and love and
joy and peace"

the little lamb
saving men
with his blood
and selfless love
you will bless and cleanse
our filthy hearts

we love you Jesus
for being born
for being perfect
and suffering greatly
and carrying darkness
to the grave
carrying darkness
to the grave
the grave

ah baby boy
choosing to die
we celebrate you
with silent night
and candlelight
and white snowmen
and chestnuts roasting

now christmas is here
proclaiming joy
caused by the death
of the baby boy
in the mangers
in our living rooms
and law-firm lobbies
and department stores

we love you Jesus
for being born
for being love
for bringing peace
for killing death
and giving life
giving life
life

post script: just a reminder that i am fully aware of two things: 1) i am shamelessly copying sufjan by using really long and depressing titles 2) i know there's more than three weeks left in the year. i swear i don't know how my counting was so off.

forty nine

"what if we were on the moon instead of driving from elizabethton?
                                                  or
that time i looked at the moon and thought about what it would take for me to hold your hand"

the moon was so large we could've driven into it. the mountain highway turning into a moon highway. the trees around us turning into large grey boulders. the road beneath us turning into thick dust.

i would grab your hand, if we found ourselves on the moon. you probably wouldn't mind on the moon. i wouldn't want you to float away from me.
to lose you forever to the black space touching our shoulders.

and now i become glad we're in the mountains and not on the moon that's rising round above the tree line.