Moving Pictures

I read an interview today. It was an interview with a very intelligent man named Aaron Weiss. He is the lyricist and singer for a band I love very much, mewithoutYou. In this interview he was talking about one of his songs, "East Ender Wives" (and that seriously came close to being the title of this post, but then I figured it would be total plagiarism) and he made a very good point that I would like to further explicate. Okay, these sentences are really choppy and are not moving along the post whatsoever - I swear I will start putting meaning into these sentences now. Okay. He said that people tend to hold one idea of a person in their mind and keep that instead of letting that person grow and develop.

That is a really brilliant thought.

People simply interact with their one picture of that person, where that person is growing and developing every second of everyday. Every new interaction or stimulation is changing that person. We believe and accept that we ourselves change all the time, so why do we not accept the same for others? We want to hold on to that one idea of a person, whether it be good, bad, or just the only idea you have of that person. We talk to that idea, expecting the same reactions to come. We don't like letting other people change. I should really stop saying we now. I don't like it. I do it, I am very guilty of it. I am in a relationship right now, and communication is obviously vital. But how can we truly interact if I am holding one idea of her in my brain versus understanding that she changes everyday and expect that from her. I should rejoice knowing that she will be different every day, because that means she is developing as a person. I also hope she knows that I change too. But I have no clue if she is anywhere as guilty as I am at this picture thing. I think I need to not put myself on auto-pilot so much in conversation. When I finally take myself off, I've not heard a word anyone has said and I've said a few things I don't believe. I hate that part of myself very much. But if I allow myself to experience every interaction, then I should start seeing that beautiful picture in everyone morphing. I pray this part of my character improves, and soon.

I hope you have a wonderful day, and that maybe this post has made one person think about something in their life. Thank you so much for reading this, and God bless you.

Another Untitled Post

This post doesn't really warrant much of an introduction, so I will just get straight to it. It is an excerpt from a song I'm writing. Let me know what you think!

"We can wipe the slate clean.

We can change our sheets, 

Change everything

As long as we know

There’s no going home

We can take our time

Filling the voids 

That fill our mind.

As broken as we are,

We know hope’s never too far.

And I don’t know if I’d consider it luck

But we’re born with one heart, and with it we’re stuck.

We can either choose to live and learn

Or find a new book, take the page, and turn.

We can give ourselves up,

Start running towards,

And stop running from

Everything we’ve done

We can’t finish a race we haven’t begun

We can even fall in love

Because eternity with you

Would hardly be enough

I only hope you know

You’ve made my mind your home

And I don’t know if I’d consider it true

That we need money just to make something new

We can straighten our spines and get to work

Building up our spirits, making better out of worse."

Man of the Century.

Today was my father's birthday. It being his birthday doesn't really have a big impact on this post, just that it really sparked me to thinker deeper about the things he has taught me. And he has taught me quite a lot.
But I feel as though I should share my dad's story, or part of it at least. The part that I know best. I will spare you all the little details, since you are probably barely reading this far.

My dad lived much of his life, to my knowledge, out of the direct influence of God and everything he had in store for him. He moved from New York to down south in Georgia, and New Orleans, Alabama, and eventually to where we are now. Somewhere in that journey, after being married and having two children, he found God. Really found him. His life took such a drastic change; he became a much different person. So much that his own family could hardly relate to him. But he knew, and still knows, that he is on the right path. He refused to let the way he grew up affect the way he wanted to raise me and my brother.
This is not to say that he was ever morally errant. But, after he gained some clarity, he saw the man he truly wanted to be - at the age of forty. Ever since then, he has been providing the best example of the way a man should be that I've ever seen. I have learned more from my dad about living righteously than any preacher or avid church-goer has ever shown me.

My dad has taught me so much. He has shown me how to treat others respectfully and lovingly. To spend time with them, and understand that they have their own battles as well. That I need to be there for them. He taught me that you spend your time on what matters, and the things that matter will always have your attention. He has taught me how to be a chivalrous man - one who treats women with the utmost respect. He has shown me that I am worth much more than I sometimes think I am. He has trusted me when no one else has. He has also experienced more let downs from me than anyone else.

I am more thankful for my father now that I have grown up a bit and can understand a bit more all of the talks he has given me. He has really shown me how to be a better man by example. He has sacrificed much of his life for me and my brother. I hope I can live up to the man he is. My father is my hero.

I know this was more bragging than saying anything thoughtful, but thank you all for reading. Have a blessed day.

Gifts.

Hello again friends! This post won't be a long one (I'm finding out that I'm not so good at this writing relevant things thing) but I do have some things on my mind. Not that most things on my mind are worth noting. And many things I say tend to be trite and overused. But here it goes, and I promise there is some sort of point to all of this.

Giving thanks. Being thankful. This is just such a hard thing for me to remember to be on a daily basis. I do believe I have been blessed beyond anything I deserve, and I remember to give thanks for that. But I get lost in the commotion of the days, and I forget to constantly give thanks. For every encounter with a person that I have. I generally under value small interactions, when every time someone reaches out should be a great thing. Because human connection is such a beautiful thing. I often forget to thank my friends and show them that I love all of them. I forget that during the day I learn so many new things. I should be thankful for that, and for the ability to learn at all, but instead I get bored and phase out of my lessons. I am not yet intelligent enough to afford not listening.

I forget that every breath I take is a new chance for life. Because what if air stopped being air, and I couldn't use it anymore? I would die, that's what. But that is not happening, and each breath is a gift. Every sunrise and sunset is beautiful and is certainly a gift. I should really at least give thanks for these things.

Basically, just be more thankful. Of all the things we as people can take for granted. Hopefully there is something that you know of that you could be more thankful for, and you give thanks for it. And I will now thank you for reading this, you are a blessing.

Oceans and Roads

Hello one, hello all! I am back again, and I apologize for the lack of posts. I wish I could tell you that the whole time I've been absent has been spent taking a voyage on the seas of my inner self and washing up on the correct shores. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you that. A lot of time has been spent with school, and procrastinating on school matters. Another good chunk of time has been spent by me being hypocritical, and losing sight of who I really am (which I seem to manage to do quite often, and this has led me to the conclusion that I am not a worthwhile person - but that is not the point here).

As I was saying, I've been attempting to mold myself into the person that I think my friends, family, God, and myself would want to see. So far, I have failed in so many ways. Let me explain:
I believe that change is a beneficial and necessary part of life (this is one of the only things I have figured out about life at all) and I believe that if you are not moving forward, you are not moving. So I have been trying to find out who I really am and improve the things that need to be improved in hopes to create a more genuine, kind, responsible, friendly, not hypocritical person. And in some areas, I think I am improving. I've been able to connect with people more, and hopefully not come off so unfriendly. But I've also let my ego get in the way, and that has caused me to act and speak in a way that completely resets any movement I've made in the proper direction.

Another thing I have learned about life is that it really is a journey. And, just like Frodo in Lord of the Rings (yes, I am a complete nerd), he changes as a person from the start to finish of his journey. I have changed before, and I have changed in many not so good ways, but I am certainly searching for the right track again. I hope and pray that I will find that road, and not be walking in the opposite lane when I do find it.

This post is a short one, and I'm certain that it's one of my more boring and selfish posts, but it was weighing on my heart. So I wrote about it. I hope all of you have a wonderful day and week, and if you are trying to change, that you change for the right things.

Also, I do believe that God created us as the person He wants us to be, we just sometimes have to find that person again. Or, at least I have to.

The Light and The Dark

I'm sure you are all getting tired of poetry, but I will indulge myself and post this new one anyways. Let me know how you like it!
---
There was an angel by her side
That night
Keeping her alive,
But she was already dead
On the inside.
And she was half-awake
When she
Stumbled onto that bed
With all of their words
Filling up her head
Like a symphony,
And she kept it on repeat.

She has never been alone.

He drives to the ends of the Earth,
Just to clear his mind.
And she drinks bottled cures,
Just to make her numb inside.
But they are both searching for the same thing
For two hands so they can feel complete
Another pulse to echo their heartbeat.

She struggles every night
For her eyes to find the light
And her mouth has already
Fired off a thousand vicious replies
But she hides
That person from her child.
And maybe I,
I was too naive,
And my actions speak ill of you and me.

But I have never been alone
Or faced this terrible world on my own.
No, I have never been alone.

She drowns the world at night
With a soft, cynical reply,
"If all I see is an empty sky -
then Good God can you show me that I'm alive?"

A Pale Blue Dot

This is something a bit different, it's a fictional short story I've been working on. The story has much to do with themes of isolation, love, hope, and the need for human connection, all set to a science fiction backdrop. I hope you enjoy this little introduction!

A blinking light. One solitary blinking light, illuminating the dark chamber in pulsing rhythms, but always on time. Shapes could momentarily be made out - a silhouette of a chair, a small bed - not fit for more than one. The rest of whatever could be in that room was shrouded in the darkness of night, or at least what seemed to be night. 

Then a beeping sound came on. Soft, but still piercing through the silence. It was enough to capture the attention of the single inhabitant in the room.

He opened his eyes. He was met with the same darkness that had lingered in the room for so long. It was cold, but not unusually cold. His feet made contact with a metallic surface, just rough enough for his feet to grasp. His hands reached to the side of the bed, and he lifted himself up.

It was hard to breathe. The low oxygen indicator had been on for the past week or so. Maybe it was finally up, he thought. Maybe all the O2 had run out, and soon he would inhale the last of it. But he did not remember there being a separate indicator for the total loss of oxygen. No, this was something else entirely.

He looked around, not seeing much at all. His hands groped around until they found a light switch. He pushed the tiny lever up, and in an instant the first cabin room was illuminated. 

The cabin was a pristine white shade, with octagonal paneling. Cables and cords ran on the ceiling and the floor through the whole length of the room, hooking into grids and computers. On the left side of the room, close to the entrance, there was a single octagonal window. The view was very dark and hazy, but one large object could be made out.

Earth. With its blues and whites and oranges, its giant oceans of water and people. There it was, a pale blue dot, spinning and spiraling below him. Six billion people’s lives beginning and ending, the plot of everyone’s existence unravelling right there. He was privy to it all, witness to everything. He was a lonely spectator, orbiting just above the heavens. That wasn’t his mission, but it had become his life. 

The spectator stopped for a moment, and just stared at the orb. Home was so close, and yet it could have been on the other end of the galaxy. This thought had pervaded his conscience for the last few years. He was stuck in this space station, and all he could see was the place he used to call home. He wanted out. He wanted to leave so badly. He wanted to be on Earth, and smell the real air again. To hear something besides machines and the hands of time winding down his days. Or to feel a cool breeze upon his cheek. He needed to be back. He needed to see someone, to hear someone else’s voice. He longed for that one thing, the one thing we take for granted since the day of our beginning. The one thing we’ve taken for granted since the beginning of time. The one thing we long for, more than anything else.

He finally wrenched his sight away from the planet, and re-focused on the beeping light. The astronaut moved himself to the control panel. It was full of keypads and bright lights, and it took up one whole side of the cabin. 

The astronaut looked carefully at this light. It had never lit up before, so he had no reason to understand what it was warning him of. He quickly looked around to try and notice something,  smoke or a loose pipe. He found nothing of the sort. His mind was racing now, and his hands started to shake. This happened often to him when his mind was moving fast.

He sat down in the chair positioned in front of the control panel. He sat there with his hand resting on his forehand, silently calming himself down. So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He should be fine, or so he hoped.

He turned back to the control panel, with a clear head. He punched a few numbers into the keypad, and a screen lit up, “O2 Levels - 3 days left” His gut wrenched. He knew that his time was running short, but now that he was faced with such little time the notion of dying became less appealing. He clicked the screen off, however, the other light was still beeping and flashing.

The astronaut turned and looked underneath the control panel. He got down on his knees and reached for something. He pulled out a manual with instructions on running the space station. It was dated from the mid 2000’s, so it was quite old. He flipped through the pages until he found the diagram for the control panel.

That’s when he noticed that the manual was written entirely in a foreign language. Out of rage, the astronaut threw the book down and flopped on the chair. 

Suddenly, the room grew darker. The lights were still on, but the natural light from outside had dimmed. At first he didn’t notice, but he slowly lifted his head up. He looked around, but didn’t find a culprit. 

His attention was drawn back to the octagonal window. But instead of seeing the Earth, he saw nothing. It was black.

The astronaut stood up quickly and ran to the window. He couldn’t make out anything. He ran into the next room and looked through the windows, and still nothing. 

Then, a new light came from outside. Bright white, and in high concentration. The whole station was illuminated.

The astronaut looked out of the window on the ceiling. What he saw, he could not believe. He was overwhelmed. It couldn’t be, it simply couldn’t. The astronaut dropped to his knees with tears pouring from his eyes, and his heavy breathing caused the glass to fog.

A vessel was directly outside, orbiting him. The ship was docking with the space station.