Based on a True Story

I can’t do it.

I sit in the mall. I probably look like one of those crazy, reclusive types as I peep over my laptop every few seconds, watching the people traffic pass me by. Do you ever have those moments when you’re completely struck with the intricate significance of a human’s life, and yet simultaneously struck by our insignificance in it all? I can narrow in and watch one person. They have a life outside of this moment. They have a history and, presumably, a future. They have loved and they have been hurt and they have a totally different perspective on the world than I do. I wonder what that person could teach me. But then I zoom out again, and the face is lost. We are but one in the sea of humanity. I think it’s another one of those intended paradoxes of life.

The mall is full of gang wars. The cluster of teens coming out of Hot Topic, branded by their gang piercings and tattoos are in a social war with the kids across the street at Aeropostale, marked by their matching gang t-shirts. Their war is one of silence and sneers. Everyone is judged and measured. “Ignore them,” they say about the other. “Nothing good can come out of [Nazareth].”
The thought crosses my mind, “I wonder what we would look like stripped down of our adornments.” I make a face to myself, realizing that idea’s going to need a good explanation behind it. I just mean, how much of our identity is in our physical? A lot. What would happen if we were all lined up, stripped of our branded clothing, our piercings, our haircuts, our makeup, our phones, our cars, all our possessions? Who are you when all of that is gone? I have to admit that I’m not really sure. I’m not really sure. And that disturbs me.

I used to love this. The mall, I mean. I loved the atmosphere. I loved the materialism. I loved the judging. I wouldn’t have named those things as what I loved, but those are the words I ascribe in hindsight. My downfall has always been the material. As I sit here, watching the women walk by with their bags of newly purchased items, I realize I am not alone, and this anger rises within me against the world. The world that I loved. The world of fashion and marketing and beauty. As I sat at the foot court, I metaphorically spat on that world for betraying me. And then I realized that materialism is like sex. (What is up with these metaphors?) By that I mean (like I said in my Liquid Lust blog) it shouldn’t be a god to us, but it also shouldn’t be a demon. Materialism isn’t my enemy; it’s just a tool. I can’t hate it because that’s the easy way out. And that’s not truth seeking.

I don’t know how to approach the world anymore. I mean, in my head I sort of have an idea. It’s about serving people, the least of these. Loving, even when it means self-sacrifice and being obedient to the will of God, even when it means my dreams are shattered. Right now I feel like I’m standing in the midst of a broken window. Because I KNOW these things in my head, but applying them means a complete restructuring of my thoughts and my life.
Duh, right? But I’m good at the material, and I’m not so good at the serving. How do I use my talents to glorify God, then? How do these dreams and desires inside of me equate within the dreams and desires God has for my life? I just know I can’t spend my life perpetuating the cycle of materialism and physical obsession.

I can’t do it.

So now what?

Her!!!

Someone once told me you should never ‘fall’ in love, but ‘stand up in it’. But I don’t believe this is Love. This is fear. To know Love, is to know her peace and her pain. To know Love, you will remember her gripping and consuming yield, and never forget her shattering, heavy ache. To know Love is to know both her elements. Only seeking her peace, is not Love at all. The following poem is inspired by Kahlil Gibran’s ‘The Prophet’ and his teachings on this emotion. Her. When you approach Love’s shimmering waters, Her glittering waves will beckon you. Dive in and immerse your body in Her ocean. Think not of your submersion. Think not anything at all. For when you surrender, you are no longer yours. You are a mere droplet . Mindless. You belong to Her. Her tide may take you kindly, Her body a melodic wave. She will take you, softly yet deeply, drifting towards the Sun, Basking in it’s rays. But know that darkness will fall soon, And you, sea-faring droplet, in the chill of the night, will lose the light of the Moon.
Her tide is treacherous, Her brisk winds will throw you,
Thrashing against ocean shore, And strip you will She, in these perilous waters,
A part of Her ocean no more.
But as you do not fear Her profound, soothing current, Or her warmth of Sun, Nor should you fear Her tempestuous tide, They are the same and one.
Walk into Her water, And fear you should defy, For not delving into Her ocean, Is what, but a life lived dry. Climb towards Her mountainous peaks.
In Her altitude be intoxicated, Let Her fog cloud your sight and mind, Inhibited, yet elevated. For these are part of this journey, In faith and in awe, To exclude her blurry sensations is, To never really climb at all.
Know that this is a slippery path, And some may find footing to the top, But in every step you may plunge and plummet Her depths, Falling and forgot.
Come to Her as she calls, Stand at Her mountion side,
It is but only when you know Her falls, Will you know Her atmospheric highs.
Stand at Her ocean shore, Be summoned unto Her waves,
For only when you give yourself,
Can you truly be bathed.