The Joy and Speed of Light

I've had this desire to say something beautiful to KP, Sam, Jack and Jules for some time. It's been on the tip of my tripping tongue and resting lightly in the back of my brain for the last few months. Maybe I'll write hand written letters to each of you but for now...here are a few lingering thoughts.

Jules, there are times when I'm in your presence I'll remember a powerful dream my mother once had after she was first saved. She dreamed she was in a lush green field wrapped in blue sky, as she was wading through the fields Jesus was standing on a smooth stone with his arms wide open to her welcoming her. My mother in her dream was drawn to him and quietly laid herself down prostrate worshiping him at the foot of the stone. You have a strength and faith and wisdom that seems to radiate from you and I think that is why I always think of this dream mingled with your presence, that and I love the rhythm of your stories the eclectic dabbles in your love of art. I love to explore your house not just because of the fields but because the rooms shine, filled with your creative spirit in a myriad of little ways and it makes me rest. I always seem to find something interesting and new to look at whenever I come. It makes me deliriously happy.

Sam, when I sit near you, in my minds eye I catch glimpses of a ship sailing on a pristine glassy sea in a forever ocean. I call it that because when your standing on the edge of the sun drenched, powdered shore the sky and the sea seem to have melted into one another. You look upon that fading horizon and it's an eternity out there greeting you. A cotton white against a brilliant blue but the colors aren't clashing their dancing. Unfurled, billowing sails on this distant ship were on, in the calm, calm sea headed somewhere I have yet to be but its somewhere I know I have longed for like a tangled paradise. You're adventurous spirit and your kindness gives me an unmasked joy. You never seem afraid to speak your mind and you never seem to hide.

Jack, I always seem to imagine you riding horse against the canvas of oil painted sunsets like Monet's Venice Twilight as you drift down desert mountains, I see your worn hands resting on the leather reigns, hands that remind me of my grandfather's own. On your trotting sojourn you'll breathe in shadow fallen earth while the stars crown everyone of us. I love your passion for the arts and of the wilderness. It's made us gypsies.

KP, I often tell you how I love your elegance but I don't think I've ever tried to explain it to you before. It's like sitting next to a row of blooming cherry blossom trees. The intricate, delicate detail of each pink flower and the trees graceful, carved bent of branches and sweet scent can be powerfully inspiring. Your patient and graceful and yet you are the surprising Jack of all trades. You think outside of the box and I don't even think you believe there ever was a box to begin with. Your mind and faith are refreshing to my soul.

When Kafka met Jesus.....

The other day I pick up a worn volume by Kafka. I felt like my spirit was drinking down a Davinci as I read meditations about Trees and Trains and Passers-By. I work myself through Metamorphasis and feel the weight of its saddnes. The Penal Colony is wanting my attention but I can't seem to work myself up to it. The stories softly bruise me and make me more aware of the world that I'm traveling through, though his short peices are like honey. A writer with such talent driven to write the twisted anguish of every man's soul. And I think to myself why couldn't he have written stories so beautiful that it makes you linger and cry and rest, instead of ones that bears down on you like heavy, laden bricks? And Jesus whispers in my ear "I loved Kafka too". Men are stumbling in the dark fearing the thing they need the most while God shines. We choose our fates. And in my own heart with the nature of sin there are parts that I have to willingly hold up to the light and say "God come into all the sharp corners and closets." I find there are times I'm becoming a slave to things that I don't want to be. It's the clash of flesh and groaning of beautiful spirit. Even nature longs for the turning of the world, while the rooted trees and stars await their newness. We'll always be at war til are eyes fall on those twelve pearled gates. And Jesus is so happy to forgive us and make us whole and make us new. To my surprise Kafka once renounced his broken stories. I hope it was becuase he found some manner of deep joy.