Autumnal

I am affected by the seasons.  Profoundly.  The trees change their leaves then shed them (or at least the deciduous do) as things get bleaker.  I just get...

Bleak.

As I have mentioned before, this is my first fall not going back to school.  One consequence of this is that this is my first autumn not spent amongst my immediate peers.  Another is that it is a season of special change, the sort of change I have never known.

Things are being pruned away.  My hope is that with time new buds will form which will blossom into sweeter, more robust fruit than I have ever produced, but when I am looking at the present rather than the hope of the future the outlook is not so bright.  I can taste the entropy of the universe on my tongue.

"Winter," as they say, "is coming."

I am eating more food for lunch today than many people eat in a week.  It's only a bowl full of taco with a bag of tortilla chips.  Leftovers.

The Teacher says, "This too is meaningless."

I get "tired" this time of year.  Often I choose not to let myself speak, because what comes out is dreary or, sometimes, vicious.  Sometimes it is both.

Back when Facebook wasn't a thing, when I was a teenager and Myspace existed in the public consciousness, I wrote a blog called "the Penumbra of a Bitter Winter."  It consisted of many of the same thoughts as you see here, though at more length.

I'd like to think I've learned lessons in wisdom, in tact.  Then, sometimes, I cast a blanket over a group of people with the word "idiot" on it, not thinking or caring that I have friends beneath that blanket.  I do it because I am bitter with the brokenness of the world, but that is no excuse, and I don't make it as one.  After moments like that, I call myself a fool and it seems the boulder I've been pushing slips my grasp and tumbles back down the hill.  This, too, makes me tired.

I want to be good.  I want to walk blameless in the sight of God and men.  All the quibbles over the word "man," all the tearing down and building up of language, of humanity—this, too, tires me.

And now what I want is to write down some song lyrics.

Cannot Keep You
Gungor

They tried to keep You in a tent
They could not keep You in a temple
Or any other idols to see and understand

We cannot keep You in a church
We cannot keep You in a Bible
Or it's just another idol to box You in

They could not keep You in their walls
We cannot keep You in ours either
For You are so much greater

Who is like the Lord?
The maker of the heavens
Who dwells with the poor?
He lifts them the ashes and seats them among princes
Who is like the Lord?

We've tried to keep you in our tents
We've tried to keep you in our temples
We've worshipped all our idols
We want all that to end
So we will find you in the streets
And we will find you in the prisons
And even in our Bibles
And churches

Who is like the Lord?
The Maker of the heavens
Who dwells with the poor?
He lifts them from the ashes and seats them among princes
Who is like the Lord?

We cannot contain
Cannot contain the glory of your name
We cannot contain
Cannot contain the glory of Your name

We cannot contain
Cannot contain the glory of your name

Who is like the Lord?
You took me from the ashes
And You healed me from my blindness
Who is like the Lord?


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And I think I'll just leave it at that.