Category: The Cracking Chasm

The battle is hot

but my heart is cold

I cling by a thread;

the story of old

of how my savior

would bleed and die

For all the tears

That I now cry.

All the Questions

and all the Whys

are lifted up

to empty skies.

Why. Why? All the

WHYS.

Unexpected Grief comes upon you without your permission. Without you allowing it to enter your life, it pushes in with maximum force causing your heart to crumble and your soul to tremble.

There is a Shadow in a cliff that offers quiet refuge. It is difficult to find in the shock of your situation. Who is able to look for refuge when the soul is outraged by unexpected injustice or the cruel reality of Death?

Blindness comes with Grief. Numbing heart-wrenching darkness swirling around clarity. Nothing is solid. Life is flux. There is a devastating tremor; terror stops reality and a dimensional sense of time and space invades thoughts and actions and emotions.

There is a Shadow in a cliff that offers quiet refuge. There is a place where the unending flood of tears is gently collected in eternal vessels. In the Shadow, questions go unanswered and yet the free flowing tears which do not lessen the pain, allow movement and motion to slowly creep to the edge of the mind’s precipice.

Momentum. No. Hope. No. Acceptance? How.

Motion however slightly, returns to the rocky precipice and with the quiet breeze of the Shadow comes the first ability. One beat. One small beat of the breaking heart begins. It moves, feels, sees; a life unplanned. One step forward on a broken journey; unwanted. Now, one step forward on this unplanned path.

Rampant Fear

Fear spreads across borders and through boundaries.

Unchecked, it is more deadly than any contagious pathogen.

Rampant Fear feeds itself by ravaging the mind of its Host.

Small insignificant doubts become menacing scenarios as Fear flays and feeds.

Rampant unchecked Fear will kill.

Fear, however, is terrified of FAITH.

Fear FEARS Faith.

Deny Fear.

Stop feeding the insatiable sensations.

Stop listening.

Fear is limited when faith is wielded.

Choose FAITH.

Conquer rampant fear with abiding faith.

Faith overcomes fear.

I find myself, in the very early hours of the day, in my pre-coffee haze, sitting in the re-memory chair.

My house is lit with yellows, not the bright LED lights of the present: instead, I have chosen incandescent bulbs.

It is not so difficult sitting in re-memory with the kind, warm yellow bulbs of the past.

I am yanked back to a day of confusion.

No! I will not go back.

If my life was a book, a movie, a comedy, or drama, this day would be a day that would read well in the total story.

My life instead is a compilation of moments strung together haphazardly, or randomly, or without my approval, bringing me to this yellow, un-caffeinated moment in time.

I see you, sir, from my chair of re-memory.

I see you and your love.

I see your horrid, unexplained death at the hands of an unknown pathogen.

I was disallowed seeing you then. It is only in this odd moment that I am hurled back to watch.

The hospital staff did not let your friends visit.

I was no longer your friend.

I was the pariah.

I would have been there. I would have suffered your death.

I mourn you still.

Bye, sir.

I wanted to be there for you.

It was un-allowed.

I, in my re-memory chair, see you still, in the prelit dawn.

She was sitting in a restaurant in a tiny Texas town. From my vantage point, all I could see was the back of her beautiful baby blue prom dress. Such sparkle!

She had smooth, long brown hair, clipped back with rhinestone barrettes.

It was a strange dichotomy. Her glitz and glitter was a bold contrast to the decor of the small Mexican Food cafe, decorated with clay pots, southwestern art, and years of grease and sweat.

My attention was drawn to her while I tried to appear inconspicuous. I could not, however, stop staring. She was seated with elderly parents or neighbors. Then I saw it. She was wearing flip-flops.

She was either braver than I, flaunting this fashion faux pas; or, she was on my-side of crazy.

As I watched transfixed, I see her turn her head. She is not a teenage prom queen.

She must be at least fifty years old.

It is now clear. She IS on my-side of crazy. Good for you, lady. Wear your sparkle. Shine in the middle of the day, even when others find it odd or inappropriate.

I admire your lack of inhibition.

Your disregard for society-imposed fashion– well, quite remarkable.

You certainly piqued my curiosity.

I, like you, want glitter in the middle of the day.

Eve, Why?

We now die.

Why did you listen?

Tears streaming glisten.

The Face Of GOD turned.

The ground scorched and burned.

Eve. Why?

See GOD cry?

“My God, my GOD;

Why do you forsake me?”

Eve why;

Why did you listen to God’s enemy?

I know.

I would have listened to him too.

Our Humanity nailed GOD to that Tree.

Why did we forsake him?

I must ask me!

Fickle weather. Searingly hot. Bitterly cold. Talk. Topics of conversation when shallowness is needed.

There are uncomfortable times in life when shallowness screams to be heard. Say something.

There are times when words have no meaning. Thoughts are useless. Allowing silence invites dread.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Fickle weather.”

Wisdom calls.

Where paths meet she takes her stand.

Wisdom’s voice is calling with this demand:

“Choose Wisdom not silver, knowledge not gold.

True wealth is something you cannot hold.”

Wisdom directs; “hate evil, fear the LORD.”

In listening hearts true treasure is stored.

Be filled with delight, rejoice in the day.

Seek Wisdom, and ask her, know her, and pray.

Seek her in the streets, find her at her door.

The favor she grants is knowledge, and more.

Wisdom CALLS.

Listen to hear.

Wisdom hopes

To draw you near.

(Proverbs 8)

The Tsunami: To my Rescuer

Mental illness was a tsunami. It wreaked total devastation; unannounced.

There was no warning before it swallowed me up in its miry depths.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Tossed.

My soul was wrecked and ravaged by the torrential savage tsunami.

On the very shores of death, I was deposited.

Pain and brutal sight surrounded me.

Those who were not dead already saw, as I saw, Destruction staring at us; Eye to eye.

Why.

Why did I see the depths?

Why did I take my last breath only to be recesitated and regurgitated by the creature Destruction?

Images burned into the silence in my soul will forever smolder because I have seen him. He knows my name.

Tsunami. I have seen you eye to eye and yet you did not overcome me.

Tsunami. I am stronger; I am wiser; and I am more compassionate because you tried to take me to the Miry Depths.

I however, had a rescuer, a resource of which neither of us knew would intervene.

I had a Storm-Stopper.

Burned into my soul was an ability to ride water.

I have no why.

I however have sight, that was given to me in the brief moment before you thought you had stolen my last breath.

The image of miry death and the torrential savagery are now Strength in me.

The collapse, and the devastation, is part of who I am.

I am not afraid.

I wear my burden lightly.

Again.

Again,

and again. Toss my soul if it allows me to see my Rescuer; my Redeemer; my Storm-Stopper.

Tsunami.

I know your name.

I know of your limitations.

I know who you are.

You?

You know my Rescuer.

Again.

Again

and again.

10/04/2017

janatisdalehorton

Do I fight it or do I embrace it as the next step in the evolution of me?
The leathery softness, the sagging skin…the fishlike pattern worn into my arms as if the Artist used the wrong brush while painting the strokes.
Time has worn wrinkles of love, laughter, tears and worry into deep crags around eyes, mouth, cheeks, forehead and chin. All of these, mark the passing of time.
Time: slipping smoothly, soundlessly along while eroding my shell.
Time: marking me in ways my soul doesn’t feel and I cannot fathom.

Dust. Mist. Vapor.

Who am I internally?

Reason. Purpose. Direction?
Is my Soul marked in ways similar to the external? Are there deep crags?
Are there artistic renderings? Have I been marked in ways I cannot explain but for Time’s ceaseless ticking?

Joy. Sorrow. Solitude.

Each of these are etched into the very core of who I am. Only in accepting the internal and external changes am I able to truly love this new phase.
This me. Fighting Time is futile.
This Evolution of Me: how do I earnestly and eagerly seek it?

Surrender. Acceptance. Anticipation.

I must seek the Artist’s Vision and embrace, not just who I am, but also what I see; the timely eroding of the outer me. I want to accept it, not quietly but joyously, in anticipation of the new phase of who I am becoming. Wiser perhaps? Interested in things other than just the day-to-day mundane. Looking and seeking more… more wisdom, more value, more adventure?

Degeneration and wasting away of my outer body is inevitable; the wrinkles, the etchings each tell a story and are not going away, but are daily increasing. I must therefore work on a regeneration which builds up my inner self- my soul. The me inside the exterior shell must be fed a daily dose of joy, kindness and humility.

Wisdom in wasting is powerful wisdom, while the virile find strength to be their master, the weak master wisdom in the guise of humility. A humble heart, who can find? Pride and strength exalt themselves while kindness and love are found to be quiet and strong.

My Artist loves the changes being wrought in me. How can I question His definition of beauty?
A new rendering: beauty in difference? My soul seeks to see the same.

I am asymmetrical

In a symmetrical world

Asymmetrical

I am an asymmetrical girl.

I do not lack substance

Although I am not clearly defined.

My form may not be pleasing to you. I don’t really mind.

Beauty beholders will often see that some ideals are just trickery.

An Asymmetrical in this symmetry loving world…

Will see the depth of spirit in this overcoming girl.

YES

I am Asymmetrical in a symmetrical world Asymmetrical, I am an asymmetrical girl.