pain

oh, how I long for Heaven.


Oh, come
Oh, come Emmanuel
And, Ransom Captive Israel,

that mourns in lonely exile here.

I'm crying right now.

One of my closest friend's dad just passed away from a fight with cancer yesterday.

I wish I could be there, close, to hug you.


Jon...


I'm crying. I don't know what else to do.

metaphors

An Italian movie with English subtitles about a Spanish-speaking Chilean poet.

Il Postino feels like one of my favourite movies.
I think it's mostly just that, the feel of it, the music, the awkward main character who reminds me of the genuine, beautiful simplicity and depth of my friend John Coghlan, the poetry of Pablo Neruda, the ocean...
I've fallen asleep listening to the soundtrack before, and woken up in Paris.

Here are a few quotes:

"The whole world is a metaphor for something else."

This reminds me of the shadowlands that George MacDonald wrote about in The Golden Key. C.S. Lewis echoed this same imagery in many of his writings. The movie Shadowlands, the biography of Lewis used this title because it was such a big theme in his life. The idea that the created world that we experience, and all goodness and beauty is just a shadow of what is truly real. The word "poetry" comes from Greek "poema" which means to create. Our longings and desires are just shadows, meant to show us and bring us to to the reality of our God and creator, Jesus Christ. This same theme is described beautifully in chapter 7, Dulce Domum (sweet home) of the Wind in The Willows by Kenneth Graham. If you've got a copy on your shelf or can find it in your neighborhood library, it would be worth it to shake off that childish dust accumulated from years of neglect and rediscover at least this one chapter of a classic tale. And, if you want to travel farther down that same road, find another of my favorites, The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. If you want some biblical foundation for all these fancies, a good place to start would be Hebrews 11, specifically verses 8-15. Our scriptures are laced with with this ribbon. Jesus Christ is Longing Fulfilled.

Here's another quote from Il Postino, A poem by Pablo Neruda
(Try reading it while listening to the sound of the sea.):

And it was at that age...
            Poetry arrived
in search of me.
I don't know how,
I don't know where
it came from, from winter or river,
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of the night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

                              -Pablo Neruda

a little inspiration

I was watching the 1988 black and white movie Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire is the English title) by German director Wim Wenders. It's the original movie that the movie City of Angeles was based upon. It's a beautiful movie, both the photography and the story. It feels like a very old movie, perhaps due to the european style and the old school cinematographer Jürgen Knieper. It stars Bruno Ganz, Solveig Dommartin, Otto Sander, and Peter Faulk. Peter plays himself, an actor filming an episode of Columbo in Berlin.

There were some great lines and a bit of poetic imagery that I wanted to post here. I'm not sure if these were written by some famous german poet,by Wim Wenders, or by the screenwriter Peter Handke. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these two. I know that they resonated with me.

"Longing. Longing for a wave of love that would stir in me. That's what makes me clumsy. The absence of pleasure. Desire for love. Desire to love. "

When the child was a child...
it lived on apples and bread,
      that was enough.

and, it is still that way.

When the child was a child...
berries fell only like berries
      into its hand...

and, they still do now.

Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw...

and, they still do now.

Atop each mountain, 
      it was longing...
for a higher mountain.

And, in each city,
       it was longing for a bigger city...

and, it still does.

...reached in the treetop for cherries...
    as elated as it still is.
...was shy in front of strangers.

and, it still is.

...waited for the first snow...

and, it still waits that way.

When the child was a child...
it threw a stick like a lance into a tree.

and, it is still quivering there today.

five

Just six before I fall asleep.
Six moments spoken wordlessly.

The Rain on roof and
windows,  sigh.
The street by lamplight
soft and harsh.
The breath of ocean
beneath the wind.
The still of time
as winter comes.
The passionate soul;
a song beside me.
The cool of covers
embracing, consoling.

Six moments spoken wordlessly
―not as here
which mar their form and
tear their beauty

but,
  real,
            at night

                   before I dream

            
                         ~gift~

small

Small

        Small is a word that

I am

            inside

                     at night

in crowds            in conversation
in waves that overwhelm
in tides                that sweep and fade

     where mountains rise
    above the shore

where earth succumbs
beneath the throws of
all the heartache of The Sea

      then

           carries out to

              Peace
                                  and
                                                       Rest


what's left of all


                         that's
              

                                                                     me.





                                        ~gift~

from my Journal - Thanksgiving

I do love traveling. I know that I'm only on a train from Fresno to Fullerton, but I still love it. I love watching the land roll away; seeing the backs of the buildings, the goats and sheep wandering in the junk yards of yester-year's Americana. I love all the strange faces; personalities so separate, yet riding together on a shared adventure yet to be realized. The children, the kids, loud and quiet, wild and shy, may annoy some, but I find joy in the privilege of being their traveling companion.
I had thirty minutes to wait for a connection at Union Station in LA. So, I walked around outside on the streets watching the people. I wish I had longer... I would have gotten a hot, french dip sandwich at Philippes across the corner and walked up the Historic Olvera Street where the Hispanic heart of this beautiful city still beats.

I got a thrill as I walked down the tunnel to track 12, platform B with all the people pushing past me just coming off their trains busy to be home. As we rolled out of the station, the setting sun filled the sky with it's golden light while a single building stood silhouetted against the sky, its windows orange against the blue haze of the LA sky. I felt its weight as if a sigh escaped as our departing train slid by.