Which Way?

I find that my purpose and worth seem to be so very intertwined with what I am allowed to contribute to. Rarely does it occur to me that perhaps giving is not the only equalizer in my life. Could it be that the practice of my art is simply an escape from that which otherwise consumes my fears? Will there ever again be a balance of the two- freedom and duty? For one will destroy me from within, the decay of doubt dissolving me slowly. Yet the other will strip me of moments and life, igniting a desire to be and do and always reminding me that there will always be more than I can accomplish.

So which will it be, or will it be neither? How fickle is the heart when it has the luxury of options from which to choose. Will I be still and face the darkness, hoping to come out a refined version of myself on the other end? Or will I flee, chasing the whimsy of the wind that blows free and unrooted?

I must choose one, I fear. For the circle of life has followed me thrice and here still I stand, planted firmly in uncertainty. In the morn I will face my conundrum anew, seeing with eyes what beauty is held here. What a glorious problem to hold one in each hand, and while my eyes behold them, my heart will pray.

When all that I am feels so very
Small
And feeble
When my mind is heavy
As your heart
When all that I know
Crumbles
To dust
Before me
Still, you are there

All I want to is create
To purge
To share

Yet now is not the time
This is a moment
For silence to reign
For pain to swell
For tears to fall

There are no answers
No take backs
No reviving what has been lost
Or who

But we are here
And we are left
With a task
To live
To love
To rise
For those who have fallen

This is where we begin
It's where we are born
Where we question
Where we seek
Where we pursue solutions

This is square one
We begin at the end
And rewrite the next step
Because there has to be one
It hasn't yet been taken

It seems such a travesty
To flee the very grace
That seeks us with earnest ferver
Enhancement and chiseling
Sometimes also softening
The very definition
Of our short evolution

Are we so shallow
That warding off
What is to be is all we know?

Age, our blessed fate
Is not a foe, but a gift
For without it we are
Unfulfilled, incomplete
Forever young, but never
All we were meant to be

This seems to be the year of awakening...

The time has come!

To stand up to injustice

To join our brothers and sisters in the face of their struggle

To end modern day slavery 

To stop turning a blind eye and start embracing awareness

To reduce our footprint

To LIVE 

To LOVE

To make this the generation that begins the transformation of our future

Your words are written all over on the inside of my soul

It's all I can do not to set them free

For they are 

Beautiful

Adonai and the author

Who am I? 

How is it that my fingers hold this pen to paper in a home that is safe and a country that is free? 

How does everything I've ever learned cohesively allow me to subject you to my endless banter and unsolicited opinions? How could it be that I am alive, born in a world where I was given every needed thing to survive without having to fight for it on my own? 

Am I a product of of spoils, a child of privilege- or is this my role meant to be fulfilled, waiting for another inhabitant in the event that I  was tardy to my post? 

Whatever the reason, I am me.
I am here, and I am thankful.
I am a child of Adonai, I am a unique creation.

Beyond that, my friend, I can't be rightly sure. 

Just as one stamped with the loving spittle of a mother gluing down a stray hair on picture day, I am aware of a parental nurturing beyond my comprehension. 

That stubborn, knowing adoration never abandoned me regardless of the direction I have chosen to travel. 

It was there, but not as a rain of fire or smoldering brimstone looking to scath me in every wrong turn. 

It was simply waiting- gently, patiently for me to come on back so we could talk about the experience and troubleshoot the areas that caused me to suffer, as well as what went great. 

That is the love of a parent, the strength of a leader, the hand of a savior. 

THAT is my Adonai,

Not the white youth group Jesus we have created, but the true God of the universe. He's the one that loves addicts, prostitutes, fishermen, tax collectors and every single person in between. 

He is not simply organic or pure, but the Genesis of all organisms down to the atomic level.

He is the science behind intelligent design. The Savior of all of humanity is not simply a perfect man, but the Living God. 

That is Adonai, the ancient and sacred name of the Lord, the only name that I would want to grace my body. 

This temple that he created is a vessel for all that I am, have been, and am yet to be. 

I may not know who I am or where I fit most days, but every day He calls me something I know to be his own for me-Author.

There was a day when I wanted my God to call me another name, I wanted for my purpose to be different. 

But now that I've heard it, now that I know, I would never want anything other than what I was meant for, and it feels like that's exactly what this is. 

I don't know if everybody has this experience of feeling drawn toward that which they are made to fulfill, and I don't know if anybody will believe that this is mine. 

That doesn't matter to me as much as the fact that I know it's true. 

Who am I? 

Most days I can't be rightly sure, 

But I do know that there's someone so much greater than I who calls me Author, and that seems to fit just right.