I wrote a song in June
With a guitar in tune
The labor was wasted
When the desire faded

It was raining
While it was dark out
While you were asleep
You didn’t seem to mind
Your breathing told me so
I was a clock on the wall
Under strict assignment
To watch over you

We have had dark nights, but the star of love has shone forth amid the blackness; we have been in stern conflicts, but over our head he has held aloft the shield of our defence. We have gone through many trials, but never to our detriment, always to
but never to our detriment, always to our advantage; and the conclusion from our past experience is, that he who has been with us in six troubles, will not forsake us in the seventh. What we have known of our faithful God, proves that he will keep us to the end. Let us not, then, reason contrary to evidence. How can we ever be so ungenerous as to doubt our God? -Spurgeon

The act of prayer teaches us our unworthiness, which is a very salutary lesson for such proud beings as we are. If God gave us favours without constraining us to pray for them we should never know how poor we are, but a true prayer is an inventory of wants, a catalogue of necessities, a revelation of hidden poverty. While it is an application to divine wealth, it is a confession of human emptiness. The most healthy state of a Christian is to be always empty in self and constantly depending upon the Lord for supplies;
- Charles Spurgeon

Let us be joyful now as we rehearse the song of eternal praise so soon to roll forth in full chorus from all the blood-washed host; let us copy David’s exultings before the ark as a prelude to our ecstasies before the throne.

- Charles Spurgeon

Two strangers acquainted over a span of time.  Together, but apart in the common sense because there is a separation that every man must endure.  He is not whole — as if something is missing, a rib perhaps.  He contemplates his insecurities often but can lose all sapien traits at the flicker of a candle flame.  He can has the ability to steal, murder, and rape, but also has the capacity to sacrifice his own life for another.  He is a walking contradiction, a puzzle to himself.    So what is it that drives him to do what he doesn’t desire?  Is he merely several ounces of soul inside a dying shell?

Two strangers met over a series of events.  All had to work harmoniously with each other like fine gears in a gearbox.  Now, they can’t see this — the innerworkings and architect.  They begin to exchange pieces of themselves, hoping that they’d learn more about themselves, and rejuvenated by the way their bodies respond to the other.   Each pair of eyes have been gifted with an uncommon prescription and hue, so no two can perceive identically.  ”What do you see?”. One tries to get behind the spectacles of the other.  It’s no use.  They can’t see eye to eye.  Perhaps both suffer from myopia.  And maybe distance from each other is what they need to see things clearly.

The familiar door.  The same hand inserts the key also turns the doorknob.  He’s greeted by silence and the imperfect oak floors that have been tinged by the sun over the years.  It is quiet now, but he is fully aware of the many shared laughters and confessions with the floors; it’s a secret relationship, or allegiance even.  Neither have been perfect in doing their duty.  The wooden shutters creek as they open to harvest the last half hour of sunlight.  Outside, he could see the warm and neutral neighbors walking their warm and neutral colored dogs.  He’s careful about turning on his sprinklers to not wet and offend passerbys. The usual exchanges of simple hellos and the timid waves.  They mean a lot to him.  They are a part of his habits.  And the strangers strangely feel the same way about him.  The digital clock on the microwave reads 7:00.  Just in time for his favorite show, if he had a tv, he thought.  The leather chair welcomes him with open arms.  It used to cover an animal, but now it covers him.   And this is all that’s left of it; immortalized.  He opens his eyes to his favorite book and the words were like sunsets he had seen before—familiar but different each time.  And he ate the words for dinner.

I dropped to my back and felt slightly sick from the earth’s motion.  And at any point, the earth could have stopped, hurling me out into space.  It was all plausible inside my head.  

Her slender wrist caught my eye and I wanted to kiss it.  This too was a strange, yet plausible thought.  The idea faded away as quickly as it came like a dandelion ravaged by the Santa Ana winds. With my reclaimed clarity, I plucked grasses with my idle hands and they died in them.

Not too far away, a group of men were playing soccer, while still vigilant of their children’s whereabouts.  Tin trash bins and shiny bicycles made excellent makeshift goal posts.  I kept the time from me, but couldn’t keep the time from her.  Soon, time would take her and the sun was our witness, just before the night would devour it with its insatiable appetite.  And she’d be like a suffocating fish returned back into the ocean to breath again.

Somewhere in the great scheme of things, I knew there would be an arrangement for us to meet again, perhaps, under different circumstances.

When I considered what I would be losing, I was filled with grief.  It wasn’t obvious to me then, but I knew it was real, and I didn’t like reality from that point on.  Part of me felt like reality had broken the promises promised, but most of me felt like it had broken my heart.  The whirlwind of thoughts spun my bed, and although I tried to hide behind the lids of my shut eyes, it saw me clearly; I couldn’t escape it.

Hell itself is truth known too late.

-J.C. Ryle

Habits, like trees, are strengthened by age.  They grow with our growth, and strengthen with our strength.

- J.C. Ryle

i found footprints on the beach of my memory

coloured pebbles scattered about them

softened by the persistence and patience

of the lulling waves pushing and pulling

they started to fade with each breath

i held my breath until i was blue; my last effort

to preserve something i thought existed

before waking up to the reality of the dream

If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as a means, you’re not really approaching Him at all.

C.S. Lewis

I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow.  Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process.  It needs not a map, but a history, and if I didn’t stop writing that history at some quite arbitrary point, there’s no reason why I should ever stop.

- C.S. Lewis

Talk to me about the truth of religion and I will listen gladly.  Talk to me about the duty of religion and I will listen submissively.  But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand.

-C.S. Lewis

there are many reasons for many things.  i sometimes write to transform an idea, thought, or feeling into something else.  and in doing so, i could potentially capture it in its entirety and toss it in a current, so that it may be far from me.  perhaps, it will meet other orphaned thoughts, ideas, and feelings…. where it belongs; far, far from me.  but for now, i am its host.

Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.

- C.S. Lewis

after a while
i opened my eyes
and to my surprise
life continues
the old buildings
the traveling wayfarers
the busy freeways
the familiar sunset

they were as i remembered
despite the change

I tasted it and it gave me goose bumps.  It rattled about inside the cage of my mouth, but I couldn’t swallow it.  I had to spit out.  The thing about the act of spitting is that one can always be assured of a remnant of flavors.  Bits and pieces to remind the present about the past.  And just like the stars in the sky, subtle, almost transparent during the day, they become so bright and prominent when it’s dark.

His love and His knowledge are not distinct from one another, nor from Him.  We could almost say He sees because He loves, and therefore loves although He sees.

-C.S. Lewis

Here in the love of Christ
I do not strive or want
Where else will I go?
My heart is home

Here in the mercy of Christ
I do not boast or praise
In the things of man
My hope is in Him

It was Him who loved me first
It was Him who sent His Son
It was Him who has saved me
A sinner, I do not deserve

I am here
you are there
And we don’t know
How to reconcile

It’s my problem
You’re my problem
Why did we do
The things we hate

someday somehow
The ground we stand on
Will be free at last
without a wall in between

The absence of you
Brings distorted memories
You can correct them
if you were sorry

Is it out of love that one does foolish things?
Is it pride that makes love seem foolish?

I wish I could invite the future over for dinner.  Perhaps, he would unwind after the small talk. I’d like to hear his philosophy and what he has been commissioned with. I want to look at him in the eye and see if he has emotions; see if he’s biased.  I wonder if he too has a future and a past.

But I know this can’t be.  What good will it do?  I would never be satisfied.  The drink he pours will never overflow my cup.  I can’t bring the future back or the past forward.

Dear God, I am afraid.  Only You.

Young men, do not be deceived.  Don’t think you can at will, serve lusts and pleasures in your beginning, and then go and serve God with ease at your latter end.  Don’t think that you can live with Esau, and then die with Jacob.

I grant you true repentance is never too late, but I warn you at the same time, late repentance is seldom true.

- J.C. Ryle

contentment and obediance:

Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have.

Hebrews 13:5

So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.

James 4:17

heading moonward

The future is not amorphous,vacant, or changing.  It’s here and it’s there now.  Every moment of it is in existence.  It is both space and time.  It is a scene that only you are suitable for. You are just not there yet.  And everything in this life will happen the way it is supposed to ensure that you will get there. So you see, we are all travelers, just passing through.

I am wreckless by nature
Nature was my mother
She taught me to be fierce
How did I let myself get pierced?

You are my imaginary friend
I don’t see you anymore
I can’t touch or feel you
A figment of my imagination

No doubt, all is doubtful
Everything about you is me
Drawn by me inside my head
How far you are from reality

One day I will wake up to
The absence of nothingness
The space that was empty
Who have I to blame for this

A disillusion I have convinced
Purchased and taken home
To put on a shelf to remind
When I pace memory lane

Youth is in the heart
And the heart can change things
Strength is in the heart
And the heart can move things

It feels the grief
It feels the joy
It’s at the forefront of every emotion

Who really knows the heart?
Do lovers or mothers?
No, only Truth does

From it, conviction comes
From it, honesty flees
Where it goes, the wind blows

Youth is in the heart
And the heart can change things
Strength is in the heart
And the heart can move things

The narrow road we’re on
Is filled with oppositions
Remember His hands are steady
The ones that lead us home

The battle wages on
Our strength has come and gone
Remember His hands are ready
To catch us when we fall

When we’re weathered by storms
We will cry out to Him
When the season is easy
We will sing Him praises

He welcomes with open arms
All who are lost and weary
With abounding faithfulness
His love is our inheritance

These ticks of time
Unstoppable by nature
They are keys to the past
and maps to the future

The compass follows North
But time is on its own time
Never late, never early
For in due time, time is revealed

My friend, without a name
He needs not an introduction
My friend, unbiased as truth
He keeps track of history

A third of my day is for sleep
A third of my day is for work
A third of my day is for grabs
Between every tick and tock, is time

Are you just a cloud of atoms
Which I mistook for a person
What will a vivisection reveal?
At our first encounter

Does it make it untrue
When I do not know
For I do know what I don’t?
And I am my own contradiction

There would be no difference
Between life and death
No change, no separation
For it will be merely a hop

This is a test of my SOS
Is there anyone out there
The alert and awake ones
Can you tell we’re in danger?

He looks forward with his eyes
He looks backward with his heart