(no subject)
A little writing..
"Why am I being here? And why is he here, the Lord? It is always distinguished within me. Just when I want to say something I am reproached by the truth. The book says it's because he loves me, he, the Lord. I feel tired. I am humbled .. but the love I feel seems so small. Why? Why this? She, the girl which refuses to pray, she said I should miss a kiss from a girl instead of the Lord. I feel drawn to slipping out of the hands that held me, the hands of prayer on my behalf. Why? I want to be honest. I want to tell God what I feel. Why can you not let me speak and then tell me your truth? Do you want me to speak your truth? You know that I cannot do this always. Oh, I see your desire again, your desire to be known. I guess because your glory is great, and because it is a crime to insist on considering it small. Lord, I am tired. Let me be tired in your presence, and don't ask of me to be happy. I pray you may keep the sunny wheather for a while, for the others, so that they are happy and will not walk around with a grim face. Why is anger the way which most people choose to overcome sadness? Why do we reject solace? You knock on my door, but when I open it the one who comes in is a tired man. You are the dry shoot at the Lord's feet still .. or? The man whom men do not esteem. The book says you were sent for me. So that I might be saved. Can you not save me kisses from the girls? Can you not prepare me a time for feeling the sharp longing again? No, you want me to have faith, and to know that your love is eternal. You removed the sting of death, by allowing me to die, in you. I know you. You have not kissed a girl. You do not consider it a sin, don't you? But you see how most girls would be angry if I choose your way. You see how the softness of lips pressed unto mine wouldn't last, would start to feel different .. after the 5th kiss? After the 10th? After the 100th? Loving a girl .. what do you see in a man who loves a woman? Yes, what? I see myself, and I feel pitiful. I am seen like I am. You cannot give me the white garment because still I imagine to feel shame if I wore it. And so I confess my sin again. Is it a sin to receive mercy without gladness, or without tears of thankfulness? Life with you is no chore. You haven't lied, your yoke is light. I am not told to stay away from the others, I am told to love my neighbor. Yet I know how it feels to be away from others, to be unable to share, to feel different because I choose to believe in you. I cannot do differently. You're the only master that knows. The only master that was merciful. It is mercy to be able to have you .. yet I do not fulfill your mercy with gladness. The only melancholy there is .. not be happy about mercies, not to feel joy in my heart when it rains outside, to only feel the joy when I pick myself, when my soul seems to spread out from my body to be a soft bubble around me. Is my love gay? No, I just talk about it without illusions. I see the creature who shares in this plight, in this pilgrimage because of an ordained hope. I know if I'd leave in this, it would prove itself as nihilism. As a sickness of heart. As cigarette ash. You bear me on your shoulders, for I am a cross. Is it not true? Am I not a violation of your holiness still? To tell you that I have faith, and when this isn't true .. it will close the door. And I know that deciding for remaining a waiter on the path will pull away the path, out of my sight. And all I could would be to lament, then or on another day. The narrow street isn't paved with gold. It is the same dirty street upon which you had to walk, when you went to the cross. And the joy, .. the joy.. it has to be spiritual, not worldly. My real solace is the community of those who know you. I am not alone. I feel this loneliness because I care. I care for something .. for these moments of loving that were neither punished by the law, nor did they find your mercy. Is that the truth? Is truth .. neglection? You saw my love when you told me to go to her. It is difficult for me to see this love myself. I see love standing there, and yet my eyes fix themselves on thicket. My strength is little, and you show me how any big human strength will always turn out to be a true weakness in the big scheme. Or not? Are there other people unlike me? Are things always the same, or do they differ from person to person? I think my love is caged by my solipsism. I am ashamed of the small heart I feel in my chest, for my narrow believing when I get attention. I do not want attention, but yet I seek it. You told me that virility isn't to be trusted. Only God seems to know how to use strength for something entirely good. Then why does it feel as if your accomplishments always fade within time? Does your Father still visit the sins of the fathers on their sons? Is that the only way you can make us feel hopeless? Do you still punish us so that we may seek your approval the next time? I ask like Job, .. will I one day find the humility of him, even amidst desaster? I know you did not prepare me a miserable life. The eternal life you are giving to me is surely the same as the eternal life other believers in you receive. I should raise my eyes to heaven. I should remember that you ask for what I'd probably gladly give to many kinds of humans. Something I would give for myself gladly too. We people do not know you, o Lord. We traveled to the moon. We know of the solar system. So we think your heaven does not exist. The children say, we have sent space ships up there .. and you were not to be found up there. I envy the ancients. They could look up to the sky and already see the beginning of heaven. Were they deceived? Or was the beauty of believing in the sky to be the beginning of your home .. simply something valuable? My mind is a plot. Oh Lord, make me sincere in loving. Send people my way who need rest, people I could give rest. Do not give me back the appetite for loving, but the means to spread your life in a careful and loving spirit. Give me piety, oh Lord, the piety of the man who feeds a hungry one and can give him a hand. The piety of the man whose song in the church rises up to you. The piety of the man who can keep his peace."
"Why am I being here? And why is he here, the Lord? It is always distinguished within me. Just when I want to say something I am reproached by the truth. The book says it's because he loves me, he, the Lord. I feel tired. I am humbled .. but the love I feel seems so small. Why? Why this? She, the girl which refuses to pray, she said I should miss a kiss from a girl instead of the Lord. I feel drawn to slipping out of the hands that held me, the hands of prayer on my behalf. Why? I want to be honest. I want to tell God what I feel. Why can you not let me speak and then tell me your truth? Do you want me to speak your truth? You know that I cannot do this always. Oh, I see your desire again, your desire to be known. I guess because your glory is great, and because it is a crime to insist on considering it small. Lord, I am tired. Let me be tired in your presence, and don't ask of me to be happy. I pray you may keep the sunny wheather for a while, for the others, so that they are happy and will not walk around with a grim face. Why is anger the way which most people choose to overcome sadness? Why do we reject solace? You knock on my door, but when I open it the one who comes in is a tired man. You are the dry shoot at the Lord's feet still .. or? The man whom men do not esteem. The book says you were sent for me. So that I might be saved. Can you not save me kisses from the girls? Can you not prepare me a time for feeling the sharp longing again? No, you want me to have faith, and to know that your love is eternal. You removed the sting of death, by allowing me to die, in you. I know you. You have not kissed a girl. You do not consider it a sin, don't you? But you see how most girls would be angry if I choose your way. You see how the softness of lips pressed unto mine wouldn't last, would start to feel different .. after the 5th kiss? After the 10th? After the 100th? Loving a girl .. what do you see in a man who loves a woman? Yes, what? I see myself, and I feel pitiful. I am seen like I am. You cannot give me the white garment because still I imagine to feel shame if I wore it. And so I confess my sin again. Is it a sin to receive mercy without gladness, or without tears of thankfulness? Life with you is no chore. You haven't lied, your yoke is light. I am not told to stay away from the others, I am told to love my neighbor. Yet I know how it feels to be away from others, to be unable to share, to feel different because I choose to believe in you. I cannot do differently. You're the only master that knows. The only master that was merciful. It is mercy to be able to have you .. yet I do not fulfill your mercy with gladness. The only melancholy there is .. not be happy about mercies, not to feel joy in my heart when it rains outside, to only feel the joy when I pick myself, when my soul seems to spread out from my body to be a soft bubble around me. Is my love gay? No, I just talk about it without illusions. I see the creature who shares in this plight, in this pilgrimage because of an ordained hope. I know if I'd leave in this, it would prove itself as nihilism. As a sickness of heart. As cigarette ash. You bear me on your shoulders, for I am a cross. Is it not true? Am I not a violation of your holiness still? To tell you that I have faith, and when this isn't true .. it will close the door. And I know that deciding for remaining a waiter on the path will pull away the path, out of my sight. And all I could would be to lament, then or on another day. The narrow street isn't paved with gold. It is the same dirty street upon which you had to walk, when you went to the cross. And the joy, .. the joy.. it has to be spiritual, not worldly. My real solace is the community of those who know you. I am not alone. I feel this loneliness because I care. I care for something .. for these moments of loving that were neither punished by the law, nor did they find your mercy. Is that the truth? Is truth .. neglection? You saw my love when you told me to go to her. It is difficult for me to see this love myself. I see love standing there, and yet my eyes fix themselves on thicket. My strength is little, and you show me how any big human strength will always turn out to be a true weakness in the big scheme. Or not? Are there other people unlike me? Are things always the same, or do they differ from person to person? I think my love is caged by my solipsism. I am ashamed of the small heart I feel in my chest, for my narrow believing when I get attention. I do not want attention, but yet I seek it. You told me that virility isn't to be trusted. Only God seems to know how to use strength for something entirely good. Then why does it feel as if your accomplishments always fade within time? Does your Father still visit the sins of the fathers on their sons? Is that the only way you can make us feel hopeless? Do you still punish us so that we may seek your approval the next time? I ask like Job, .. will I one day find the humility of him, even amidst desaster? I know you did not prepare me a miserable life. The eternal life you are giving to me is surely the same as the eternal life other believers in you receive. I should raise my eyes to heaven. I should remember that you ask for what I'd probably gladly give to many kinds of humans. Something I would give for myself gladly too. We people do not know you, o Lord. We traveled to the moon. We know of the solar system. So we think your heaven does not exist. The children say, we have sent space ships up there .. and you were not to be found up there. I envy the ancients. They could look up to the sky and already see the beginning of heaven. Were they deceived? Or was the beauty of believing in the sky to be the beginning of your home .. simply something valuable? My mind is a plot. Oh Lord, make me sincere in loving. Send people my way who need rest, people I could give rest. Do not give me back the appetite for loving, but the means to spread your life in a careful and loving spirit. Give me piety, oh Lord, the piety of the man who feeds a hungry one and can give him a hand. The piety of the man whose song in the church rises up to you. The piety of the man who can keep his peace."