St. Paul's Cathedral

(Visited St. Paul's Cathedral today. Got to sit and listen to a man play the organ for quite some time.) 

The kingdom of heaven resides not in towering stone walls or proudly raised windows of rainbow glass, and yet, this place is holy. Mortal hands carved mortal images of heavenly things, to mimic eternity and celebrate sanctity. The whispers of a thousand humble prayers rise up like gentle wisps of smoke, to all join together in an unintelligible hum.

 Many thousands of feet have passed the threshold through good and bad times both, pilgrims in search of one thing or another, some with holier intent. Others seek only a feast for the mortal eye. The holier seekers seek a feast for their weary, travel beaten souls, drawn out of despair or lack of comfort. Through so many years of burning fire, ever speedy plague, rampaging enemy soldiers and the violent flood of apathy and disbelief, pilgrims never failed to journey with determination.

 Some might say the beauty was only a reflection of human pride, of how grand the human hand could be, and yet the beauty was not meant to be so. A picture, a gift back to the first Creator. Though only a small mimicry, far behind anything created by the First, it is still a noble attempt. A house, a place of joyfully sung thanks and anguished whispered pleas for help in times when there is no hope.

 A resting place, a fountain of peace to fill up the mournful or the lost.

 A safe place from the dangers outside, the rock unshifting in the raging storm.

Necessary Goodbye

(This was inspired by the song "Lover's Eyes" by Mumford and Sons)

 I had loved him completely, with all of my being, soul and mind. Our whirlwind passion was a temporary, frail thing. You see, because we both loved each other so much, so completely but so suddenly, there was no room for me, or him, or them, only us and what that meant. We shut out the world, pulling the cord of our own life support system without realizing it.

 It was more of a curse than a blessing, controlling my life and my choices, my every thought. It was a snake coiled around my soul, tightening with every attempt at freedom. We were simply too young to even understand what love meant. Our love was untameable and vicious.

 We both knew it had to end but neither of us wanted the pain either. Yet the pain would come no matter what we chose. I thought his anger would tear him apart, breaking him from the inside out until he was nothing more than anger incarnate.

 Every night was an eternal hell, eyes wide open and trying to think of anything but what I thought about. My memories were like ghosts, taunting me with our laughter, our happier times. Us together, a thing complete but not complete in the world or in life. So it added to the list of broken things in our lives.

 I remember our goodbye, our argument and agreement that it had to end, though neither wanted it to. He was too young and so was I, despite how mature we thought we were. For hours, I ran through the rain without thought for anything but the inner pain, the empty space where he had lived. Our beauty melted away with the cold tear drop rain.

 We had become each other’s world and suddenly our world was shattered, gone. Somewhere inside, I knew things would some far off day be better, yet that did nothing to ease the sharp hollowness. It did nothing to stem the waterfall of tears or the quiet rage that could not be let out.

 The mirror told me of how tired and broken I was, eyes blinded by harsh lights and glistening far too bright. All feeling ceased to exist within me and all that remained was a formless self, without meaning, without purpose or love, but with potential. A seed to be planted and grown into something new. Yet the seed was planted in darkness, and nothing seemed to come from it.

 Yet one day, I suddenly realized I had grown and changed. Feeling had returned, quite slowly but steadily. My brokenness was still apparent, but the pieces of myself were starting to reshape together, not the same as before but still together. My world was remade. Weakly but with determination, I have begun to walk forward.

Echoes of Jane Eyre

(I just finished watching the newest version of Jane Eyre for probably the fourth or fifth time and the emotions really spoke to me this time, inspiring this.) 

 I have felt pain of the highest degree, both within and without. My very soul has been brought to the edge of humanity, held hostage above the fires of hell. My dreams were given abundantly and then torn away with even greater zeal.

 I was led upon the highest hill on a summer’s afternoon and then abandoned when the rains began to fall. My very heart has been filled with rapturous joy and then torn out of my body, leaving behind a gaping, oozing wound.

 I was a wraith, a shadow of my real self. My empty soul drifted without a destiny across dreary rolling hills. Rain fell and hid my tears, though they fell without ceasing.

 In the darkest of valleys have I journeyed and despite every hope, the nights remained long. Every hope did its best to thrive but as a plant with no roots soon withers, so did every hope.

 Every night was an eternity of its own, with the mocking whispers of memories surrounding. Your laughter, every sweet, love laced word, every unintentional yet fully intentional touch. All of these things now ripped away, save the taunting echoes.

 Yet despite every hurt, and the hollow ache, I still live. Despite how broken I have become, still, I draw in breath and then release it. When all tears have been cried and all words have been said, still, I live. Though the never-ending darkness resides with me, the light still shines upon me as well and I live. 

Anamchara

(I'll probably be writing these short little things all summer. They're inspired by many different things)

  They were both born believing everyone was perfect, except for them. Even as young children, they both knew of their brokenness and were ashamed of it. The scars of the heart equaled the scars across their flesh. Disappointments, trials and darkness all differentiated them from the others.

  

 She thought she was slowly going mad; he thought he was simply born to mess things up. They were alone for many years, trudging laboriously through the whirlpool of life.

 Somehow, the two broken dreamers collided and recognized themselves in the other. Friendship, a bonding, occurred more quickly than normal. A desperate clinging, a forming without a strong base.

 Because of their natures, they broke apart and scattered. She fell into a dark valley, while he ran away to an empty forest. Alone again, as they thought they were truly meant to be.

 Yet somehow, the valley soon ran into the forest and they met once more. Desperately again, with only a little more caution than the last time, they soon fell apart yet again.

 The broken dreamers learned from the pain and from each other, coming together and breaking apart again and again. She saw that the rest of the world was broken too, and he realized that it was alright to be broken.

 Their healing was awful, painful beyond imagining, yet their bond still remained, no matter how fragile at times. Somehow, despite the brokenness, they had become tied together into something new and whole. 


  

An Evening in June

  Though the day had been a hot, drowsy one, the falling of the sun brought a completely different world to life. The empty streets were periodically lit up by dull orange lamps. A leaf rested on the cooling pavement, having been still all day but now reanimated by a soft breeze. The birds were all silent, and no cars drove by.

  A slim cloud was forming around the pal, sickly crescent moon. Slowly but steadily, it grew and morphed into many different shapes. Then it separated and became two clouds, a birthing and a spreading of coming change.

 The breeze was a spirit, a growing, restless spirit, trapped by the heavy sun all day but now free to roam. Stronger as it went, it tore through the leaves of the trees, and they fluttered in terror, shaking madly. The breeze turned into a wind, howling loudly as it explored the pavement, then the rooftops, and then the gardens. Every animal knew to remain hidden and out of sight, having heard the wind’s warnings.

 The taste of the air was cool, a strange shift from day time. The scent of long grass, unformed apples and warm earth mingled in the wind, a joining of separate things.

 A single crow sat on a rooftop, dark form blending perfectly into the night. One warning caw and then silence, waiting with unblinking eyes.

 A storm was brewing.