good evening

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blue cells. kazuya akimoto art museum.

purple backstreets. kazuya akimoto art museum.

little windflower. wendy ryan.

blue nude. pablo picasso.

on the heart of women

i wrote a talk today, to give to the girls in lifeteen on sunday. it's about purity - essentially, what does it mean for a girl to be pure? or, even more difficult, what does it mean to guard your heart?

i struggled with this talk a lot myself - what should i tell them? my personal experience seems to warn against getting into any kind of serious, intense relationship while still in high school, even if all physical purity is maintained - the fallout of decisions you make in high school continues to affect you for years.

but then again, some high school relationships end in happiness. my brother's best friend just got engaged to the girl he dated through all of high school and college. so how do you distinguish between a true, deep, real love that will end happily and an intense, deep love that will leave scars?

before i begin, however, let me clarify that i am addressing the danger of women seeking to 'save' men - this process could, of course, repeat itself in the opposite direction, but most of my experience has been with women, not men, who have fallen victim to this danger; it is from those experiences that the following story developed.

the only way to translate myself is to speak in symbols.

the secret part of a woman, the depths of her heart, is like a rose bush... beautiful, dangerous, and a living, growing entity. to love another person means sharing that intimacy with them - a sacred, special ritual of undressing the heart, of revealing the most intimate, vulnerable, beautiful parts of themselves to the man they love.

women, generally speaking, are especially eager to love. genetically wired as nurturers, they want to give themselves to another, please another, and receive love and adoration in return. some women are especially attracted by the prospect of loving someone who is good but broken, kind but tormented, loving but secretly struggling with a dark side... men who want beauty, need beauty, and by virtue of their good works, deserve beauty; the woman comes to believe that she, and she alone, can provide it for him. this 'savior complex' attacks the most well-intentioned and loving of women, and leaves some of the deepest scars.

there are two ways men can enjoy the beauty of the rosebush. the first is that they come to its source and admire it, still living, in its garden. the garden, of course, here represents a true love of and respect for self, grounded in God's love. God, the source of Truest Love, is understood in a secular sense merely as True, Pure Love.

or, the man can coax the woman to bring the flowers to them - convince their lover (and themselves) that they are somehow incapable of coming to the garden themselves. they are too broken to be able to come to Beauty and divine Love, themselves, but maybe - maybe their lover can bring Love to them!

and a woman, if she "loves" him enough, will comply... she clip a rose off of her rosebush and carry it to him. at first, perhaps he will admire the beauty of it, maybe even feel as though he loves her for it.

but soon, of course, a rose removed from its source of life will wither and die.

the man has now lost the flower he so desperately wanted, and is tormented by the recent memory of its beauty. feeling even colder and more alone than he did in the beginning, as though he'll die without such beauty, he implores his lover to produce another rose. painfully, she clips another flower and gives it to him.

that rose withers soon, as well. her own rosebush is now suffering, as the loss of flowers are inhibiting its healthy development. but he demands again, another rose. please, don't let me suffer - all i want is to see beauty!

in desperation, the woman digs up her whole rosebush and carries it to him. he is comforted for a little while, but soon, predictably, the entire bush dies.

give me another, he said, although deep down he's realizing with crawling horror what he has done.

there's nothing left,
she replies. she doesn't know what is tearing her apart more - that she has nothing left to give her lover, or that her beautiful, beautiful treasure is now nothing but a gaping hole in the ground. perhaps she gets angry, lashes out. and the man, already grieving the loss of the roses, and the pain he has inadvertently caused the woman who loves him, reacts to the anger with self-loathing - withdraws, runs away, and hides in his own darkness. the woman, now feeling utterly abandoned, intensifies her anger but gains no relief - he is already gone.

then, he discovers, there are ways to make women love you. if you play your cards right, there will always be women willing to give you their roses. maybe that is the secret to happiness...! to always be reminded of beauty in small, transient ways. unfortunately, these men very rarely find the secret to happiness; when the giver of the rose can be easily exchanged with another, the smarter ones catch on and peace out. and the men are left wondering why the women they love always leave them.


here's where emotional impurity comes in. the key is, if you're a woman, to never dig up your rosebush, or give away too many roses. maybe give away one, so they can see what they're missing, but after that - he needs to come and meet you in a place where you can both admire and nurture the beauty inside of you. he needs to abide by the laws of respect, purity, hope, and love, that govern the garden where it grows. only then will either of you be truly happy.


if one's emotional purity remains intact, i've found that a girl's physical purity follows suit. most girls who mess around and sleep around, at one point had a heartbreak where some man in their life convinced them that they are not worth anything, or that they are only worth how attractive they are. that's not always the entire story, but more often than not, emotional pain expresses itself in desperate acts. the key to a woman's purity is to recognize the link between her heart and her acts, and make sure that men treat her with dignity, love, and respect - nothing less.

one who does more is free...

"when a man does exactly what he is required to do, he is a slave. when he does more than he is asked, he is free"

i came across this quote the other day, and it resonated with me. i feel as though it personifies my faith life over the past few years... in order to remain free, I must exceed the standards laid down for me; to keep loving more than is asked, even when it hurts, because if I stop choosing to love abundantly, if I try to simply meet the status quo, it dries up. It becomes egoistic, I start tallying up and counting down how much love I owe another person. I am a slave to my own egoism.
"no longer slaves," Christ said. "I call you friends."

what does that mean, beyond the grace of God allowing us to be considered equals with Christ? maybe it doesn't mean that we just sit on our laurels and take pride in our equality with Christ, but that we are required to do more, love more, give more... to whom much is given, much will be expected. maybe what makes us free is that we love more than we need to, serve more than we're asked to, give more than we think we can handle - "if a man asks you to carry his bag for a mile, carry it for two" - our servanthood makes us free.

a man who does what is required of him is a slave. one who does more is free. no longer slaves, Christ said. love one another.


it is sacrifice that makes us free, that makes us full. God is using this lenten season to teach me, remind me, what it feels like to freely sacrifice.

in 'introduction to the devout life,' st. francis de sales wrote, "the world, looking on, sees that devout persons fast, watch and pray, endure injury patiently, minister to the sick and poor, restrain their temper, check and subdue their passions, deny themselves in all sensual indulgence, and do many other things which in themselves are hard and difficult. But the world sees nothing of that inward, heartfelt devotion which makes all these actions pleasant and easy."

and what makes it pleasant and easy? that it is done out of love for God the Other. bitterness comes from selfishness. joy comes from love, and love comes from sacrifice. sometimes our hearts must bleed in order to remember how to feel.

he knows nothing

"energy" by karen gillis taylor


only a fool thinks
he owns anything
in this life

pride and familiarity
bind growth in
their intestines

the wise man knows
he owns nothing
not the air he breathes
the path he walks
the life he lives

but do not let
go, or give
in to laziness;
focus,
with the front of your mind
the top of your head
a mountain stands
behind this confused color-world
one may only find
in discipline,
love,
detachment

do not fight pride
disregard it.
with peace you shall kill it,
with the olive branch you shall pierce it

the wise man knows
he knows nothing
one only knows by loving.

i am an infant in the womb of god

i am an infant in the womb of god

there – light
trembles
nurtures
i stir, closed eyes
warm flesh hides reality, sharp
glory

i tremble, stir, i think
i know so much
about what it means to be alive, after all
i have a beating heart, moving hands, fragmented
thoughts
proud; an infant who learns
to bang her hands on the table for food
see? see how much i can do?

he smiles
sweeps me up when i raise my arms
yes, love, yes, you’re so talented, so smart, so beautiful

suddenly
mother is brushing her hair
i conceive of womanhood
one day that will be me

i wish i were
grown up! i cry
grown ups are wise, they’re smart, everything is
easy, for them

wait, love, he murmurs
there is a price
to wisdom

hold my finger, here,
just here,
i will teach you to walk

and one day, one day
soon,
this warm
comfort will give
way and you will
be
born.

light, exploding

this moment-
the christmas lights are clumsily strewn about the tops of the walls
my fingers are cold - the heat is down and the winter seeps through mismatched windows and old glass panes.
i can feel the words sitting there, about halfway between my heart and my lips, but they're not coming out, not yet. i opened this page hoping they would come out through my hands and onto a page.
something about light. like - pressure is growing in my heart - a blast of light, just concealed beneath a thick warm layer of tangible reality, carefully composed face, captured body.
i want to open my mouth - look up, open my mouth - the light is there, it wants to fly out, it wants to join the angels of light packing this room to the brim, they will carry it to heaven and everything, everything will make sense and God will be
here
and i will be there in all hearts, there with Him, i can feel it, a million hearts pulsing, breaking, trembling, loving, all of them, all of them. to fly into the light is to plunge into the depths, the liquid love. but not - not yet, not yet, my life is a not yet, just wait, not quite. i want to
break through, you know, break
through and into a million nothings and everythings but first
this life has to
die, you know, fade away, pass away, i must dissolve into the
New Being but i
myself, i will die, and because of that i am scared. scared. everything inside of me tells me to leave Him, just - just leave Him. follow Him and you will suffer. you will break. you will die. die. turn back. don't look back, just turn back. don't follow Him, He'll lead you to the cross, He'll take you there and point to it lying on the ground and look at you with those irresistible eyes, the ones that you can't, you can't tell no, and He'll tell you to pick it up. and you will. just leave now, if you're smart, pretend you never knew Him, you never loved Him. but i know, i know, that if i leave Him i'll die, i'll forget what it means to love and live and breathe light and gasp joy and break into beauty, i know that the cross comes before, the resurrection, the resurrection, is so far off. today is palm sunday, i know the rest is
coming
but it seems so far, so far off.
i wonder if palm sunday was the hardest.
the easiest to run away.
you could tell yourself it wasn't fear, you just changed your mind, you just - maybe you didn't hear Him right, you know, things get mixed up between here and there all the time. you thought you heard one thing and you did another, but who really knows anyway? by the time thursday comes around its undoubtable. fear or courage. hope or despair. no more ambiguity. maybe that's why it's so beautiful.
even Christ despaired at the end. the final brokenness, just before death, a complete death, for a full resurrection of New Being.

give me a reason to leave and i'll give you a reason to stay. one foot in front of the other - the marine corps taught me something about God after all - one foot in front of the other. it's the destination. we have a hope, we have glimpsed - heaven - we have glimpsed -
light and love and breaking flowing beauty and grace and hope and
glory
and we know
we know
it is worth every ounce of
blood
and pain
and tears
because we've seen
we've seen.


love.