Dear God: Stop it.
I had a handle on things until You pushed me again. I’m human, okay?! I can’t deal with all this. Didn’t You know this pain would break me?
I did. I knew this before the stars were sprinkled in the sky.
If You knew everything, why did You allow this to happen? I thought being a child of God would be blissful. Instead, I am wandering in the desert trying to find peace. Continue reading
My dove, my beautiful one,
The night-dew lies
Upon my lips and eyes.
The odorous winds are weaving
A music of sighs:
My dove, my beautiful one!
I wait by the cedar tree,
My sister, my love,
White breast of the dove,
My breast shall be your bed.
The pale dew lies
Like a veil on my head.
My fair one, my fair dove,
—James Joyce (1882-1941)
The cup of grief contains such a bitter drink to consume
Burning as it moves through every part of an empty body
No longer is there any energy to even muster up a care
Surrounds and yet screams to the deserted soul
Its deafening roar an ever present reminder of what was lost
A broken heart is confusion.
You want Time to either fast-forward or rewind—anything but crawl at this excruciating pace.
You wanted something and you lost it. That job, that person, that hope for a better life. What is your life worth without it?
A broken heart is impatience.
You beat and shake the gates of Time, desperate to flee the Present for the solace of the Past or Future. The hours grind on bit by bit. You want Time to either fast-forward or rewind—anything but crawl at this excruciating pace.
You cannot function without a whole heart and you crave for it to be fixed, now. “Make it stop,” you plead. “I will cut my heart out if I have to.” And some people do. History finds them instigating lynch mobs and manning the gas chambers at Auschwitz. Continue reading
“Thou hast formed us for Thyself,
and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee.”
—St. Augustine of Hippo