Hold my hands as god's hands, for even
god trembles, and servants grow weary
without brief respite; do I ask of myself
more than what god desires? For my dreams
are too real to keep to the night

or the comfort of shadows -- yet how do I speak
when the voice has grown weary, and
my footsteps are slow. Do I seek a reprieve?
I am burdened by silence; yet to burn
in your purpose is all I desire.

I am fearful of sleep, for years are not time
to fulfill what's been promised, nor learn
what you know -- yet I follow your steps
like a map of this valley, and a path
through these acres of wilderness, grown.

I am compelled by your love;

though rest does not find me

I lie, for my peace is your peace.

Faith

It's amazing how much faith can get us through.

I remember when I was atheist, I used to take pride in the fact that I didn't need faith to help me through anything. Now after the fact, I wonder why I was so against it. Because of my faith, I can cope better with grief. I have hope in the future, trust in myself, and the ability not only to be happy, but to be euphoric. The best thing is that I can recognize these advantages without being threatened by them -- meaning, no amount of arguing or contrary evidence could ever sway my mind. Faith is real, and it's amazing because it works. I pray for the best, I expect the best, and I receive the best. It's that simple.

I've never felt comfortable with the word Enlightenment. I feel like the very concept it represents is wrong. Enlightenment comes with certain connotations: wiser than others, better, higher, more godly, more powerful, etc... but the very core of my faith demands that I put others before myself, and in all honesty, I love that. Enlightenment is a negative term, as is "Nirvana," though I understand why these terms were coined. It is as Jesus said. I am not perfect; however, I really have experienced a shift in awareness, along with an indescribable spiritual encounter, and I did so without ever touching a Bible or holy text. To this day, I have not been able to comfortably accept a religion; however, my faith is stronger than those of most doctrines, and I have learned to start thinking of myself as a practitioner of "all faiths" as opposed to "no faiths." I have already reached one plateau of the mountain; the road forward lies buried by tradition and old scripture, and it's up to me to research and understand what every religion says. I take my duty very seriously, and I understand it better now. I do not want to start a new religion; I want to unite all religions in the name of god.

It is not the eloquence of my words that will gain the trust of others, but the quality of my actions. I plan on not just promising that my faith is true, but proving it through my deeds. Action is more important than understanding, after all. I will prove myself worthy; and if I can't, it is because I am not worthy.

The Winter Sun

Someone must love the winter sun!
Its weary eyes have watched the world
wake, and turn away its days
with unmet sighs and cold delays;
sweet pity, touch my frozen lips --
I'd gift the sun a winter's kiss.

And frosted moons that porcelain, shine --
how far you travel, in such brief time!
I've watched you walk the skyline's mile
to pause, unheeded, and rest a while
beneath those noble, flickering stars
that keep the night -- our fragile hours!

And could I choose, I'd sit between
the winter moon and sun serene;
I'd listen to those icebound nights
with gentle words, and silver sighs;
and silent, keep those hours, long --
to winter, so my heart belongs!

I am dead. I am exhausted and drained as though I have never been. I do not know what age feels like, and yet if it is anything like the hesitation before each footstep, like the dragging breath in my lungs as I struggle to regain my thoughts -- then age is not time, but weariness. I no longer know the significance of a year. I am forgetting myself; who I was and who I am, and what I have always dreamed of becoming. The idea of failure has never scared me, for I know that for a task such as mine, failure is inevitable... and yet I do not want to fail. However, the thought of success has lost all personal value. I am simply here to be; and if, in being, I might detach myself from success, then I might detach myself from the concept of failure -- and perhaps, learn to be happy while walking through the most desolate valleys of the heart. Goals give us direction, but they also deceive us by giving a false sense of self-worth. I must see my goals as simply tools of survival, and not the final purpose of my existence. I am simply here to be. My very presence changes those around me; any further effort on my part is unnecessary.

I would like to know why, but god does not bother with explanations, or with motives, or even apologies. The final truth is that there is no real why -- "why" can never be answered, and even when we are dead, conscious or nonexistent, it will never matter. "Why" is what we fight -- "why" is what we try to become, and what we try to attain. "Why" builds religion, "why" started science, and "why" is what we individually strive for every single day of our lives... but in the end, why does not change what is. Any sort of significant change is utterly irreversible. An explanation would be appreciated, but god knows it will not give satisfaction, and it will not give back what was lost -- so god remains silent.

God, as an experience, is far more motion than sound. Nirvana is the sensation of connecting to a greater consciousness, and it is permanent. It is the knowing that all things are connected, including oneself; this connection manifests itself as love, though really, it is simply the bodily experience of unity. I do not think the human mind is capable of comprehending Nirvana, but I do believe the experience allows us to manifest our wills upon this world. However, the question arises -- since Nirvana inevitably creates in all of us the same knowledge of a greater consciousness, do we all begin to manifest the same will?

I do not think that reconnecting to our source and experiencing Nirvana means the end of individuality, nor the end of free will. I think it is the realization that we all are bound by the same source and the same will, and that we are each unique expressions of what is inherently One.

But even with that connection, one still knows loss, one still feels helpless, and one is still painfully aware of one's own mortality. I am world weary and tired of questioning. No answers will bring peace, but thankfully that is something I have already attained.

Nirvana

Nirvana -- We are ten years past the day,
yet ever there are roads that lead within.
They show Us greater levels of knowing,
though knowing You is all I've ever been.

We are locked together, to work Our wills upon
this world, and ever Our will has won;
A child, We've traveled through these years
remembering Self, and why We've come--

so give a day, or decade hence, and We
shall walk this earth renewed and whole, prepared
to speak Our part; We've planned it well:
To die for Love, with all sufferings spared.

Truly, greater works than these shall be done
by greater Will, and so again We've come.

Love, so soon!

Oh heart, have you the breath to give?
Remember life and all its fortunes, passed.
Time demands a better craft than I,
and I -- a stronger heart to last.

And love -- so soon? How far you've traveled
to meet me! your weary presence proves
your swiftest flight -- and now, new hope
to greet me upon this unending night.

But safer, still, to sleep and dream again,
and love you as only pure love's ideal;
for any face can wear the lover's mask
'til the face is gone, and the mask is real.

Hope comes too soon, with my heart yet asleep--
to love a mask is still no love to keep.

Poem On Campus -- 5:24pm

5:24pm and
I am a piece of hallway.

It is a flat, unbroken mile.
There are footsteps
but these walkways are empty

Here are my numbers:
I am 5:26pm late
and .15 away from perfect
and still waiting
(for her, no doubt; is she coming?)
I know they are all gone for the day
but these walls still walk
and I listen

I could travel that hallway
(did she?)
it's a long, white column
waxed floors
and the same elevators
(she goes there again and again, dammit, again)
Who knows –
she's vanished and I am
sure as hell
5:28pm
still waiting
wondering how nothing
can be nothing
and be nothing

the doors are closed.

I cry future
like fire
but know that I am really
now, like those damned white floors
and nothing, like no thing,
like the dark corner of a room
I stand there
5:32pm, still speaking
but these walls are just words
and she's gone.