Chaotic peace…

I am sitting here thinking of this sick addiction
that I seem to have for creating friction
I have this need to just sit and create something out of nothing
a need to make something work that has no business of being together
something that doesn’t belong in the setting that it is placed
someone said that it didn’t belong, that it wouldn’t fit,
someone else defined the limits of what should be and shouldn’t.
Who are they to say what is and what isn’t?
Who are they to tell me what should and shouldn’t be and why do I listen?
And yet again, who am I to think that what they say doesn’t matter?
why should I continue to sit and wonder why I am sitting alone,
without a voice
when I have a choice that would make a difference
if only I spoke up. How effective is silence in this world?If bitterness were something that you tasted, I would have the market on it.
If the nasty, burning bile that rises from deep within your stomach came whenever it needed to, would I turn into a pile of heaping bitterness?

Actually, I don’t think that I would.

I don’t see myself as bitter as what I sound like to be.
Other people do not see me as bitter either – or are they close enough to taste what I see and feel?
Am I really showing what is truly inside or is it all a front to show people what they want to see?
Do they really look now that the walls of me are coming down?
Now that the real insides are being exposed?
Now that the true pain of it all is staring at them undauntingly?
Or will they look away and run… Pretend that they see nothing.
Pretend that all is wonderful in their houses made of glass.
Pretend that nothing really bothers them, that all is well and good.
And reality check – do I care?
I do care. But it’s different now.
I don’t care if they see me hurting. I don’t care if they see the pain.
I don’t care if they see that I am just like them as long as they see what has truly changed me; what makes me different from the others…what makes me into me.
I might have bitterness that comes creeping at times and other times saturates me.
I might be the essence of a nasty bile that courses through your system making you think twice about what you will do next, what you will say and who you will say it to, but at least I make you feel.
I make you want to change.
I make your stomach surge and make your thoughts want to purge your system free of all the toxic poisons that come through you.
I make you want to be freed from the insanity of being sane.
We are allowed to feel these thoughts of random chaos.
We are allowed to breakdown and cry and lash out periodically.
Without people like us where would people like you be?
Would you ever think of anyone who was hurting?
Would you ever actually allow change to happen in your life?
Why would you want to rest into a steady lull of mundaness?
Wouldn’t it be better to simply feel now and then?
To just be who you are and let God take all that you have and mold it into what he wants you to become?
And how does your view and opinions of me speak to you now?
Do you think I have lost my mind and that I have gone over the edge of reality?
I am sure I have. But – I am also held in the hand of Jesus.
Created by Him. Taken from His side. It is written, “we have the mind of Christ,”

Jesus offended many to help them to see that they too were blind, helpless, and bitter.
The only way to change is to see that a change is needed in the first place.
So when you taste the bitterness rising up within you, before it takes a root, take a breath and just cry.
Cry with all your might. Even the angels cried out to Jesus.
Let your entire system be purged of all thoughts of hatefulness and strife.
And when your done say Jesus, take this life.
Manifest within me what you have within You.

Doesn’t that make you take a breath of peace? It makes you stop.
That’s home.

You might say that I am sometimes a mad-dashing rush of chaotic wind trampling your thoughts, making you spin, creating friction where there is no place for it…
but in reality – through all of it – there is an anchor. I have chosen to hold onto the anchor. To be seated in heavenly places, to not be confined to situations or places, but to actually live and love even with all the loss that comes.

Peace has a price. The price actually sometimes is chaotic.

 

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Prisoner of Silence

Sitting on the bed, legs crossed, and still,
She sits and wonders how her life could be so real
that it’s like a fantasy – a fantasy gone bad.
She stops and smiles at herself wondering how she didn’t go mad
or maybe she really is and just doesn’t know.

She bows her head as the tears begin to flow.
So many things have happened to her, she must laugh at her lot
For years she sat in a darkened cave alone and distraught.
So familiar with heartache she wanted to run and hide
but every time she moved she always seemed to collide
into a wall that was unseen, held in place by tightened chains
that cut deep into her flesh causing even greater pains.

Sometimes she had to stop fighting and just sit down and rest
and it sometimes seemed like resting put a bigger burden on her chest.
The weights grew so heavy that she knew she couldn’t stand
she fell to the dirty floor unable to comprehend
how life could be so hard, full of disappointment and fear
And happiness seemed to turn and run anytime she came near.
She didn’t know that things are often much different than they appear.

Everyday she heard them taunting her, playing their heartless games,
she cried so much she eventually believed herself to be all those names
that they gave to her, assigned to her, thought of her to be,
and all she ever dreamt of was to one day be free.
If darkness could be tangible she could hold it in her hands,
for it shrouded her and held her captive in its chilling land.
A prisoner of silence she was sentenced early on,
parole wasn’t an option she was sentenced without doing wrong.

So in her small cave of darkness she sat as a little girl
Afraid and brokenhearted this became her only world
Nightmares kept her dreams far from her reach
And terrors icy hand held her tight and took her speech
She fell deeper into a hole of depression and despair
Always hoping for a hand to reach out to her and to care.
She lost her voice deep inside of her and silence took its place.
It filled her heart and mind without leaving a single trace
of who she really was or what she was here to be.
This hovel became her home and she had no way to flee.

It was a while that she sat there, still, in her cellblock.
The guards of Fear and Self-hatred always came to mock.
They came to her cell and teased her through the iron bars
They whipped her with their hands and words leaving many scars.
What was left within her? There was nothing ever spoke.
Did she mean anything to anyone or was her life just a joke?
She wasn’t laughing, she was crying tears too big to shed
The wounds continued bleeding and infection seemed to spread.
She knew that she wouldn’t make it, she knew that she would die
For years she’d been in this place there was no one to reply.
Words are like arrows and sometimes pierce us to the core
They’re thrown around haphazardly and then they’re thrown some more.
To this prisoner of silence, alone in her cell,
A word of life could do so much, it could change her world.

She cried out daily for a rescue to take place
She longed for her time to be up and maybe she could taste
A part of life she’d never known to be available to see
Something different from the ugly darkness, where is her beauty?

A guard came to the cell with a visitor in tow
Said his name was Truth and he had a richened glow
that lifted some of the darkness that had cuffed her in so tight.
It was then that she began to see things in a different light.
He told her she he could free her and her eyes changed with a small hope
She was very scared and put her chained hands out slightly to grope
To find his hand not knowing what to expect
He gave her something glassy that seemed to reflect.
She saw it was a mirror and held it up to her eyes.
They were full of pain and sorrow, there was no way to disguise
The anguish and abuse that covered her in a shallow grave
She had become more than a victim, she’d become a slave.
She wept softly at what her life had become
in her mouth held silently chained still and unused sat her tongue.
Truth stared into her eyes and said what do you want me to do?
Let me tell you a story and I’ll ask again when I’m through.
I’ve known you for a while now and I’ve been waiting for your call.
It was when you cried out for a rescue that your chains began to fall
Sitting silent and in this cell, with her head down and eyes half closed
She decided she needed to look again and see the way Truth glowed.

She lifted up her head and tried to focus her eyes
Suddenly she saw Truth above all the mountain of lies.
She wasn’t all alone as she had thought before
The truth had been there waiting for her like an open door.
All the years of lies ran – she heard them shrieking down the hall
The more she focused on the Truth, the more the lies got small.
The chains began to break, their hold could be no more
For Truth had it’s vengeance and higher was his score.

She shifted on the bed as the tears continued to flow.
She thanked God for her freedom from the undertow.
Finally she made it to where she wanted to be
Finally, yes finally, she was free.