Incredible. It's hard to tell just how hard it's going to be when I make impact. Remember that old Super Collider shirt I wore all the time? Maybe not, that was a while back. I still try to wear it... anybody else think I never grew out of high school? You don't have to answer that. But back to the point... yeah, my life is about to simultaneously implode and explode like a couple of angry quarks in the Collider... anti-matter anybody?

     Impact. I think I've totally lost my way. No, I know I've lost it. I'm losing it. I'm letting go of a lot, and in the process (a very dangerous one), I'm losing things which are dear to me. Or are they? I think I'm holding onto old parts that are rotting and putting my whole, fragile life at risk. I think it's time to slough it off. Maybe when I hit the ground all my parts will splatter into colloidal pools and the moist ground will soak me up and filter out that putrid filth. What is it going to be like? Collisions are so explosive. Is death like a collision? A vague smattering of everything; or in slow motion perhaps... what happens after... that's the one thing no one should admit to knowing, but being humans, of course, we have opinions on that as well. We are daft aren't we?

      I just know it. God is getting ready to smack me hard. Impact with the hand of the Divine... maybe I can still find beauty in the fragments of the explosion of my soul. Damn, I sure do sound like a whiny little emo child. See? This is what I am now! I miss the days when I knew everything... but I'm so glad they're gone. T minus "n" seconds to impact.

Observer

Do you ever feel like you simply can't write anymore? It's as if something has simply sucked the artistic life out of you, and all you can do is live that zombie life you were certain wouldn't be able to overtake your inspired pace. But here I am, at the end of another rope. It seems like it happens so often. I am a man of inconsistencies; up, down, around, and through it all, I seem to find no solidity. I'm a whole hearted, lethargic jobber who's so washed up he can't even fool people anymore. Those ever shadowing questions of "Why am I here, and what the hell am I supposed to do with this?" maintain their incessant, bemoaning reverberation. Life is such a lovely hell, filled with monetary chains, obtuse broken vows, relational insecurities, blinding insufficiencies, and mortally wounded day dreams.

My home is dying. I don't know who cares anymore. It doesn't really matter. It's dying. Those that I love are quickly passing from senility to last breaths, while those little things that meant so much to me are no longer here. Why? Why do You put me through this? Why do You give me one glimmer of gilded hope, only to find chunks of the same grey lead underneath a sheen of pyrite? People have told me about grace my entire life; they have told me as they have acted in complete denial of its existence. It says His grace is sufficient. Well, it doesn't seem to be sufficient enough to overcome what people call our natural state; that is, that we are not born graceful. I feel like the guy who just can't get a break. If I'm not impaling and choking my own dreams, someone or something else is. If God has such a wonderful plan for my life that is above and beyond my wildest dreams, then why hasn't He given me the ability to live it, or even stripped me completely and done it Himself? It's a cruel, cruel world, and the worst part is that I naturally amplify this cruelty.

So here I am, the example that everyone wanted me to be, thouroughly deflated and ruined. The character everyone expects from me is gone. I'm through, Finished; laid bare before your judging eyes. Stop it. Stop looking at me like I dissapointed you. Stop holding me up to your standard. Stop wishing I could be what you wanted, because not even God is pleased with me, because I am faithless. Don't feel sorry for me or try to comfort me with more riddles of scripture or prayers for a soul you can't feel or know... one you don't even really want to know. Lets just call this as it is. I'm here to give you what you want. I'm here to fulfill your own happiness in any way I humanly can. And in the ways that are beyond who I am as as human being, I'm sorry, but you'll just have to find that somewhere else, because I'm done living on the razor edge. I'm finished with trying to be who you (and You) want me to be... because I can't. 

So things are changing; things are moving; things are grooving. The light shifts day to day as the sun rides lower on it's lazy way to the winter solstice. The shorter days are punctuated by the lengthened evening rays, shining off white crested peaks and ridges, running off to places some have never belived existed. But they're there, and they're changing, moving, grooving. There's a sound behind it all. The din of music collected from friends and acquaintances; the kind, comforting laughter of friends, the most ingenious quips of congenial conversations. Always changing, moving, and grooving from one thing to the next, these sounds to create the music of our lives. Want a soundtrack to life? Listen... change, move, groove... we're all grooving to a symphony, the Symphony of the most intimate, powerful, and ethereal Composer to ever set sound to meaning and send all the universe into rigor convulsions of life, death, love, and rebirth. So learn to dance, because whether or not you like it... you're in the groove. You're grooving.

Love,

Gabe

Thought of the Day: "I like wind chimes and cats... as well as hockey fights and four wheeling... *contented sigh of balance*"

P.S. I hope you all are well and living in a room of grace... just remember, you're better off than you've ever deserved!