all is full of love

you'll be given love
you'll be taken care of
you'll be given love
you have to trust it

maybe not from the sources
you have poured yours

maybe not from the directions
you are staring at

trust your head around
it's all around you
all is full of love
all around you

all is full of love : you just ain't receiving
all is full of love : your phone is off the hook
all is full of love : your doors are all shut

all is full of love


snow, I want

I want
fall graceful
right through me
fall peaceful
my heart
to sleep
to dreams
and love
I share
with all
around me
like snow
my heart

dryness refreshed

a heart
dry stone
cracked lips
not remembering
lack of dryness
a small drop
not stone
brown to red
the first beat
not stone
until red
is all
and all


life is all around me
all within
exploding, shining
flying, speeding
in space and time
but not moving
life, hot
burning, scalding
urging, I can't resist
the heat, the flight
so I burn
and I fly
a fireball
of life, heat, love
joy, so full
and as I start
to expire
I cry, not for an end
but for a begin


the more you change, the less you feel...

so I was talking with my friend Brendan about this line in the song "Tonite, Tonite" by the Smashing Pumpkins, and at first I said I disagree with that, but after talking about some ideas with him I'm not so sure... well, I guess I would still say maybe it doesn't HAVE to be the case, but often is the case.

It got me thinking... lately sort of traditional worship, the familiar songs and words and such, have been really kind of cold for me. I don't know if that is because my heart is cold towards worship in general, if that PRESENTATION has become more sort of sterile to me, or what. I don't know. I mean, in thinking about life, I feel like certain other types of things inspire me greatly to worship God, seeing the lives of the people around me, nature, other sorts of music, certain scripture, etc... but that sort of traditional guy with a guitar singing "Here I Am To Worship" type songs has lost a lot of its ability to stir my heart, and I don't know if that is a problem on my part or just me changing or what... I know I have changed a LOT in the last two and a half years... so much that I almost don't recognize who I was before sometimes... I think this issue deserves some quiet contemplation and prayer... time to talk with my heart and my God and see what's happening.


wish and desire...

If today were a wish or desire, it would be a desire to live life in a community of people who understand me and who I understand - who are committed to each other and who want to live life together and with God. To know and to be known. To love and to be loved. To simply BE - alongside people who get that. To see a group of people whose lives intertwine so you can see traces of our lives in them and their lives in us. Anyone want to join my wife and I?



the stars
twinkle precariously
between dreams
and infinity
as if they
want to burn
to fly
but tonight
a gentle touch
might snuff
might extinguish
what beautiful
might have


squished onions

we were just at new seasons, and they had these onions that were just like onions, only as if someone has set them on the table, pushed really hard, and squished it. they were kind of the shape of junior mints, only they looked like onions. it was really weird.

french jazz

we really want to get some old french jazz... anybody have any recommendations? :)



God, I pray that you would make my heart humble, that I would learn what you want to teach me, however you choose to guide. God, I pray that above all I would desire to love - myself, my wife, my family, my friends, my community. God, I pray that my life would be helpful to everyone around me, helpful to draw their eyes to you. God, I pray that I would have the fire in my heart to act when I feel the need to act, and that I would have the wisdom to be quiet and listen as well as to talk. God, I pray that I would be more like you everyday. That is all.

taking God for granted...

this is from Wind, Sand and Stars, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, who was a mail pilot between the world wars, and this book is an account of some of his flights. Something to consider - how many of you have wept at the sight of a tree? What do we take for granted in life?

But we were not always in the air, and our idle hours were spent
taming the Moors. They would come out of their forbidden regions
(those regions we crossed in our flights and where they would shoot at
us the whole length of our crossing), would venture to the stockade in
the hope of buying loaves of sugar, cotton cloth, tea, and then would
sink back again into their mystery. Whenever they turned up we would
try to tame a few of them in order to establish little nuclei of
friendship in the desert; thus if we were forced down among them
there would be at any rate a few who might be persuaded to sell us
into slavery rather than massacre us.

Now and then an influential chief came up, and him, with the approval
of the Line, we would load into the plane and carry off to see
something of the world. The aim was to soften their pride, for,
repositories of the truth, defenders of Allah, the only God, it was
more in contempt than in hatred that he and his kind murdered their

When they met us in the region of Juby or Cisneros, they never
troubled to shout abuse at us. They would merely turn away and spit;
and this not by way of personal insult but out of sincere disgust at
having crossed the path of a Christian. Their pride was born of the
illusion of their power. Allah renders a believer invincible. Many a
time a chief has said to me, pointing to his army of three hundred
rifles, "Lucky it is for France that she lies more than a hundred
days' march from here."

And so we would take them up for a little spin. Three of them even
visited France in our planes. I happened to be present when they
returned. I met them when they landed, went with them to their tents,
and waited in infinite curiosity to hear their first words. They were
of the same race as those who, having once been flown by me to the
Senegal, had burst into tears at the sight of trees. What a revelation
Europe must have been for them! And yet their first replies astonished
me by their coolness.

"Paris? Very big."

Everything was "very big" - Paris, the Trocadero, the automobiles.

What with everyone in Paris asking if the Louvre was not "very big"
they had gradually learned that this was the answer that flattered us.
And with a sort of, vague contempt, as if pacifying a lot of children,
they would grant that the Louvre was "very big."

These Moors took very little trouble to dissemble the freezing
indifference they felt for the Eiffel Tower, the steamships, and the
locomotives. They were ready to agree once and for always that we knew
how to build things out of iron. We also knew how to fling a bridge
from one continent to another. The plain fact was that they did not
know enough to admire our technical progress. The wireless astonished
them less than the telephone, since the mystery of the telephone
resided in the very fact of the wire.

It took a little time for me to understand that my questions were on
the wrong track. For what they thought admirable was not the
locomotive, but the tree. When you think of it, a tree does possess a
perfection that a locomotive cannot know. And then I remembered the
Moors who had wept at the sight of trees.

Yes, France was in some sense admirable, but it was not because of
those stupid things made of iron. They had seen pastures in France in
which all the camels of Er-Reguibat could have grazed! There were
forests in France! The French had cows, cows filled with milk! And of
course my three Moors were amazed by the incredible customs of the

"In Paris," they said, "you walk through a crowd of a thousand people.
You stare at them. And nobody carries a rifle!"

But there were better things in France than this inconceivable
friendliness between men. There was the circus, for example.

"Frenchwomen," they said, "can jump standing from one galloping horse
to another."

Thereupon they would stop and reflect. "You take one Moor from each
tribe," they went on. "You take him to the circus. And nevermore will
the tribes of Er-Reguibat make war on the French."

I remember my chiefs sitting among the crowding tribesmen in the
opening of their tents, savoring the pleasure of reciting this new
series of Arabian Nights, extolling the music halls in which naked
women dance on carpets of flowers.

Here were men who had never seen a tree, a river, a rose ; who knew
only through the Koran of the existence of gardens where streams run,
which is their name for Paradise. In their desert, Paradise -and its
beautiful captives could be won only by bitter death from an infidel's
rifle-shot, after thirty years of a miserable existence. But God had
tricked them, since from the Frenchmen to whom he grants these
treasures he exacts payment neither by thirst nor by death. And it was
upon this that the chiefs now mused. This was why, gazing out at the
Sahara surrounding their tents, at that desert with its barren promise
of such thin pleasures, they let themselves go in murmured

"You know . . . the God of the French . . . He is more generous to the
French than the God of the Moors is to the Moors."

Memories that moved them too deeply rose to stop their speech. Some
weeks earlier they had been taken up into the French Alps. Here in
Africa they were still dreaming of what they saw. Their guide had led
them to a tremendous water-fall, a sort of braided column roaring over
the rocks. He had said to them:

"Taste this."
It was sweet water. Water! How many days were they wont to march in
the desert to reach the nearest well; and when they had arrived, how
long they had to dig before there bubbled a muddy liquid mixed with
camel's urine! Water! At Cape Juby, at Cisneros, at Port Etienne, the
Moorish children did not beg for coins. With empty tins in their hands
they begged for water.

"Give me a little water, give!"

"If you are a good lad . . ."

Water! A thing worth its weight in gold! A thing the least drop of
which drew from the sand the green sparkle of a blade of grass! When
rain has fallen anywhere, a great exodus animates the Sahara. The
tribes ride towards that grass that will have sprung up two hundred
miles away. And this water, this miserly water of which not a drop had
fallen at Port Etienne in ten years, roared in the Savoie with the
power of a cataclysm as if, from some burst cistern, the reserves of
the world were pouring forth.

"Come, let us leave," their guide had said.

But they would not stir.

"Leave us here a little longer."

They had stood in silence. Mute, solemn, they had stood gazing at the
unfolding of a ceremonial mystery. That which came roaring out of the
belly of the mountain was life itself, was the life-blood of man. The
flow of a single second would have resuscitated whole caravans that,
mad with thirst, had pressed on into the eternity of salt lakes and
mirages. Here God was manifesting Himself: it would not do to turn
one's back on Him. God had opened the locks and was displaying His
puissance. The three Moors had stood motionless.

"That is all there is to see," their guide had said. "Come."

"We must wait."

'Wait for what ?"

"The end."

They were awaiting the moment when God would grow weary of His
madness. They knew Him to be quick to repent, knew He was miserly.

"But that water has been running for a thousand years!"

And this was why, at Port Etienne, they did not too strongly stress
the matter of the waterfall. There were certain miracles about which
it was better to be silent. Better, indeed, not to think too much
about them, for in that case one would cease to understand anything at
all. Unless one was to doubt the existence of God. . . .


some things which make me deliriously joyful:
my wife, butterflies, clouds, sunsets, stars, rain, spontaneity, community, the hot tired feeling at the end of a summer day when it starts to cool down, the smell of jasmine, good steak, good tofu, the smell of the earth after it's been dry for a while, but has just started downpouring, dreaming (during the day is ok too), the little prince and other books by antoine de saint-exupery, taming people and flowers and trees and such, living for a purpose, poems, music, art (of other forms - painting, drawing, sculpture, etc), winnie the pooh, the secret garden, connecting with people.

driving to the coast

coming to the beach at night is nice. it feels a little bit more like an adventure. tonight it was foggy and added a lot to the feeling of mystery and excitement. coming over the mountains was incredible. every now and then you could see through the trees and see all the rounded peaks of the mountains and the valleys filled with fog, reflecting the bright moonlight. it was like you knew that in each valley there were fairies dancing and dreams being made... and then the ocean. infinite darkness... it is so beautiful at night. like a sea of ink, dark in the middle, but shiny on the surface. sounds like me sometimes...

man of la mancha

one point this play made to me is that if you want to enable someone to change, you build up something great in them. If you want to make a prostitute into a princess, you build up a beautiful lady in her. If you want to turn an ordinary old man into someone who changes his world, build up a knight in him.

I am determined to effect change by building and not by tearing down.


thanks to everyone who was over at alex's place after the show last night for feeding our souls. don't worry, they don't eat meat :)

by the way, the tucker song rules.

peace out, yo.


popcorn and clouds...

first of all, it just occurred to me that popcorn is really weird. I mean, isn't it just bizarre that corn does that when you get it really hot? Seems pretty weird to me.

Secondly, there are few things that inspire me as much as clouds. I was just sitting in my office here and I looked out the window and there are some beautiful pink-ish orange-ish clouds floating around making my life much better. I think that must be their desire, to make my life better. Or maybe they are just showing off for me, who knows. I would love to hug a cloud someday... and just say thank you. But until that fateful day, I'll just be gazing a lot.

As a side note.. I like life :)



Everyone is born broken at birth. We are born that way. We have tendencies to lie, to get angry, to seek solace in numbness, to seek worth in sexual relationships, to be selfish, prideful, all of which are considered sins. And different people have different tendencies, towards different sins. For instance, I may not be as prone to anger as my neighbor, and he may not be as prone to lie as I am. Whatever. Anyway, each of those things can certainly be influenced by someone's upbringings, and the tendency may be curbed or encouraged based on that influence, but the tendencies to sin always surface somehow, and we have to deal with them as such, tendencies to sin. That means a condition of the heart. Ours are broken and don't always desire what they should and the remedy for that is…? Christ.

So, we seem to place homosexuality in this entirely different category as if it somehow makes you something other than a broken human. Why is it that we can look at someone who is addicted to pornography or who is having an affair or who is a serial murderer, and feel real compassion for them because we see how they are broken and we want them to get better, but when we see a homosexual we just want to ignore them and make them ignore themselves and we tell them they're just wilfully disgracing God (as if we don't do that every day) and we seem to want to make ourselves feel dirty for having been around them or something? Why are we afraid of them? Why do we kick them out of churches or shun them at church so that they have to start their own churches just to feel like normal humans at church? Why do we fight political wars against them? Why do we see them as anything different from ourselves? They only struggle with different issues. That's all.

(by the way, I use "they" only as a convenient way to refer to a group of the population, not to imply a divide or barrier between said group and the rest of the people on earth)

As Angelina Jolie's character in the movie "Playing by Heart" says, "We're all damaged goods". Why can't we see that and instead of ridiculing and persecuting each other (and ourselves) for being broken in different ways, pick each other up, tell each other "I love you" and offer to pull each other along the path to Christ as much as we can? If you think someone needs a change (including yourself), help them to build something great within themselves, namely a love for Christ. You will never help them by tearing them down.


fast food

good lord, I forgot how awful I feel after eating fast food... bluh...


hmm... my fingernails are a bit brittle. guess I should drink some more water :)



"I would like to extend my eternal gratitude to those souls who have touched my heart, of whom for me there have been many. I have known many teachers along the way, and few loves, but all of them are here with me. All credit is placed in the arms of God, who thought this whole deal up. God blesses me every day with the greatest of wonders, and points me well into light and shadow alike. I can’t say I mind too much." -Billy Corgan



it's kind of nice that it's dark out after work now. it feels a bit more quiet and private. i tend to feel a bit delicate when i leave work, and it's nice to feel like i have some time to myself to kind of pull myself together before having to interact with people again. and with music on as i ride the bus, nobody tries to talk to me, so i just have some time to be with myself and to think or feel whatever comes along...



isn't it phenomenal that beethoven could hear a piece like his 9th symphony entirely in his head? Because he couldn't hear it with his ears to hear how it sounded... it just blows my mind... that he could hear music in his head just as if he was actually hearing it with his ears... I just don't have any words for that...