not too long ago

instructions on my walls. figures and pictures from the sketch whim of my crayons. frankston. the pain on my back that wouldn't go away.

it is getting cold again. my feet scurry to find the double quilt to warm my toes. i dream of warm days when we all shared a common blanket, laughing at the dinner table, like we were family.

something brings me back to those days. those days when i sold my car right across from the apartment building, next to a police station. that some friend of old shared his bookmarks with me, for some reason, means almost the world to me. made me stop and cry. makes me pause in my tracks and hear the wonder of my body still breathing, a heart still beating. something about simplicity and gestures like these, gets me. just does. maybe i should try not to read too much and make meaning more than what it might actually be, to protect my heart from loving again, from giving, from hurting.

maybe we're all grown up now. maybe. just, maybe, the off chance that circles do come round in a pay off sort of way.

may our hearing aids still work.

spin

the feeling i get when i leave the deep blue on a cold night like this. i love these little moments that extends into a strong interface of a spanner thrown into the machine to cause it to stop and take stock. my listening point, probably number umpteenth.

it's been two years, or so i remember, since i first stumbled upon our new theology of resurrection and understanding God for who He is, rather than His set of dos and don'ts through the stories in the bible. It's probably the years of brain washing, according to mum, that i am unlearning so many things on hocus pocus and still having so many questions. it's the dual questions, like ravi zacharias, in this book i am currently reading, "why does it feel so wrong when it is supposed to be right?" you can work out the other question.

that was probably why the levite's monastery had to be archived. i never knew why i did it but the instinct, or the spirit was urging me to. now i know. that ancient stories are meant to be archives to inform us of the heritage, the meaning, not as a photocopy of who and what we should do. for after all, we're called to be human beings, not human doing, as a pastor puts it ever so glibly last friday evening.

the tricky part is, we are not told what to be. it's already written in our DNA and these stories provide a blueprint to go on a journey to discover this. And i guess, the journey is the being, learning and becoming present to the now. meaning, we're never called to be clean and holy.

i can hear the guns cocking and the christian watchdog snippers ready to pull the first trigger.

am i heretic? the question that floated around was, "does God have a problem with it?"

Does He have a problem that we do not use capital letters when we refer to him?

Does he have a problem that we will fail, and yes, he knows we will, the minute we walk out the door into this bad bad world, outside the pristine, marble white washed walls and choice timber pews?

Do we spend a life trying to do the right thing? Do we spend a life escaping from the danger of failing, disappointing the 'friends' and 'congregations'?

David failed. Solomon had many wives. Peter denied Christ. Three times to make his renunciation a definition. Many lied. Many died. Many killed the wrong people in righteous anger. Many were unclean.

I'd like to find a story of one who was blameless.

So as i surveyed my own past and wonder how it will pan out in the light of the cross and what is to come, i almost shudder in fear but realized this fear is found on what men will think. Who my friends will be when my heart is lured in the face of success, glory and good rolling times? I never cared about where God is in all of this. That, in all my doing, He will still be my champion, my Father, my beginning, my end. Even if flames come burn and find out who my real friends are.

i am a little grateful that i have a few good companions who can see past the guidelines and condemnations. i am glad that we're all learning to be human beings and not play God.

He is the only one who will judge, who will snuff out, or let live.

This, is my first step walking in faith. This is the beginning of my dangerous story.

What then is my faith?

22:22

bach makes my aural senses heightened, sharpens my instincts for thirds and sometimes lower fifths. it is strange listening to this violin, trying to engineer my mind and ear for a tune up. our bodies are magnificent organic machines and i'm learning how to make the best use of it for the purposes of our created intent.

i've come round full circle so many times. that the mind is better over the matter is an abused overused opportunist phrase found in motivational philosophies. one day, i actually do see myself becoming a motivator. it's the maximiser in me working hand in hand with a less than common futurist.

today i lived in the present. woke up to breakfast at what used to be my favourite cafe, made myself unbelievably uncomfortable under the shadows of giant jocks and hoops, face smacked by a hard throw, learning new social genres without words involving only body contact, speed and competition, watched maroon 5 and rediscovering their sound with nandos on the side and ended the day with a dvd dinner and couch and my brother along for the ride all day. companionship is sweet.

now i'm sore in places i haven't ached in a long time. it's a good feeling. but, ask me again in the morning.

that it is gold to put yourself out there in unfamiliar territories to stretch the human state of being is so true. for the first time, I played some serious pick up game today. indoor, nonetheless, it was intense. half the time i was trying not to look like a fool and the other half, trying to remember what my brother/coach taught me at shooting hoops over easter camp and now staying present to his game time directions in the court, "where's your man?! mark your man, watch your man!"

I want to learn how to catch rebounds and play my defense well. I had a taste today, experiencing for the first time all the talk over bursts, short spurts, possible injuries, game intelligence. shuttle run in those fitness test days never looked so relevant now. it's like learning a different language. i think i am reveling in being unskilled and unknowing. i'm glad that i'm not doing it alone though.

which is how i feel most days at my new job. keeps me on my toes, a healthy sense of competition and sufficient pressure to keep me learning and picking up new things. And it helps that from management to peers to work culture, there is tremendous support to fail forward and know it is a safe place to make mistakes in this zone known as, to quote my manager, conscious incompetence.

i feel like tea, now, actually. And watching Slam Dunk.

night light

it's a dim one but bright enough to illuminate this type pad. i don't know how to say it but the indigestion is representing something deeper calling out. how could i be crying in righteous pain and still be the very stubborn of sin myself? i am learning, though i don't know what i am understanding. unchartered, untouched and unwoven. this is perhaps my humanity reaching to fabricate what i can only imagine. commitment is a heavy thing. and i marvel and fall in love with the boys my age who find the innate capability and instinct to give and gravitate towards women who cause them nothing but trouble. that they would lay their lives, dreams, and so many at stake, just so to spend the rest of their lives centering their hearts. not just for the sex, i do believe, in the few who have taken risks beyond religion and radical faith. they inspire me, draw respect from me. yet, i fear women not so much what they will take away from me, but the unfounded decisions i might make along the way that will leave them hanging like widows and wind blown willows. how many will i maim before i grow up and find my iron and fist? i still haven't got it figured out yet, but the ones who are still figuring it out are finding arms and love to run along with. so i turn to my visual pleasures, my easy drug on grey street. sleep in the post of a tired beaten body instead of another emotional episode of watered lungs and a choked out throat. may i find renewed strength in the morning to fight, meaningless as it may seem, and find my reason to keep breathing, giving, even if a lonely road it seems i'll tread.

thursday since

it came down to king of kings. the old restaurant that is a piece of melbourne chinatown heritage. the first meal in march 2001 when i arrived. as i sat in the empty, surrounded by gold chinese decorations and lanterns, my cravings for my favourite soy sauce egg chiffon rice reactivated.

so much has happened since and like the promised change of season and weather i have believed in, i am sitting at the eve of my first sunday with the electric guitar with new effects waiting to sweeten the morning. it's been more than 6 months.

like the maturing of cheese and wine, it seems my journey with my fellow brother has taken a shift of depth. since my failure at ending it with pills, the chiding and outbursts, it seems my heart rate has taken a slow waltz. i think i might have come out of the undertow a little wiser, older, guarded with fear. the kind of fear to know there is an element of unknown but find peace in the chaos, stillness in the eye of the storm. a growing confidence in seeing the other hand joining in the clap and allowing the faults to lie not just on my shoulders.

i'm grateful. to walk in the shadows of ogres and brutes and listen to their hearts and souls instead of jocks and juvenile smart asses with a quick instant remedy that lasts seconds. i know i am loved. i know i matter. i know i play a big part in shaping those around me. i know i count. i know my mistakes can do good.

i am listening.

morning has broken

the curse of bourbon street
the rites of animosity
the day breaks and draws out the poison
i walk into another room
take shots at the sink below me
and find my body still healthy
not even a tummy ache or a hangover needing of a cure
no nightmares of operating tables
no lost feeling of falling into an abyss
just a really peaceful uninterrupted night
like resurrection this morning
it has taken 53 blue, white and brown
to kill the mocking bird
to rest and recede an eternity in 8 hours.

commune

you've never cared. so why should you this time. your eyes are fixed on the prize. the one you asked for as a 15 year old. now the cream is ice cold and enticing, you want to have your cake and eat it. and so should you. so should you.

i'm an inconvenient coin sitting in your breast pocket. for what used to be a lucky charm, what used to be the useful spare change you can never do without, now, you can't wait to empty it out. i know i weigh heavy and i am a burden. and it doesn't help i can be easily missed and i get easily sensitive. i know there are some things i cannot change. i have always wanted a brother like you to help effect this change. but time and again, it has made your life living hell. no help for me, good old stubborn me. why do i try? i have no more faith to see it through.

so i will make this easy on you. tonight, i bow out so the light casts on you. please do not seek me in places you cannot find. please do not grieve for what you are not used to. it has never been natural for you to try and be, so why try now? you've never grown up that way, you've always had your own way. so, i will let you have your own way. for when the blood dries and the sheets are changed, you will move on, you will find your bridges to live on. know that i love you. i have always loved you. and that is why this is my last script, my last epilogue, my final hour. you will forget all this. you will find happiness. you will live well. goodnight, and goodbye.

go, eat cake. eat well.