Oak

Through the damp soil, the push of roots sprawl deeper into the warm essence of earth.
A mature oak I am.  With roots deep, ready to break apart the sterile, concrete world around me.
Still recovering from a brutal fire passed, my scars are no longer visible - just another ring tucked deep inside of me.
I am not that person anymore.  Yet she is still there, buried under years of re growth.
I  grow towards the Son, and offer my shade in return.

So lay as a beggar beneath my branches.
Eat the fruit that is birthed from the anatomy of all that I am.
Wild things, come to me. Nest in my hair, for I am unmoved.
Grow with me, let our roots entangle to become vitally united.
So instead of one tree, we can become a forest.

Remnants of a Funeral

Open your eyes to how much of our lives are spent investing in our own deaths.  How much does it really cost us to die?
We feed our bodies poison, we smoke toxins, we inject chemicals to remain youthful, go under the knife to undermine age.  We infiltrate hate, and embrace every excessive way we find that makes us 'happy.' 
We feed on triggers of death.
We kill our spirits with lust and pornography, jealousy and want.  Desensitized hearts from violence and rage used in 'entertainment';  we break down the barrier that protects us from the profane.
Beauty and perfection have become a way of life.  Image has become too important.
We live in a world where we are blindly led to accept we can do ANYTHING that makes us 'happy' without consequence.  When our actions do catch up to us, we simply abandon them by inventing new methods of 'freedom.'
And we buy it.
With our hearts, and with our cold, hard, American cash.
We have deadened and numbed ourselves to the point where wrong no longer exists, we call it 'freedom.'
But who is really free?!
We can buy admiration, we can sell lies.  We fashion chains to have keys to sell.  We focus all our energy on extravagances that are killing us.
Each day we contribute to our own deaths;  we invest in our own decay, thinking we are secure....happy.
We believe we are fueled by life-giving blood.....but reality says we are only filled with a kind of formaldehyde;  a man-made product with the mark of America running through our cold veins to indefinitely preserve the idea that we are all just walking remnants of a funeral.

A 4th of July Rant

Sparklers have been around forever right?   When I was little, we cherished the moments that we were allowed to hold something that was actually on fire.  We would chase each other with them, freak out every time they had nearly burned to the end, afraid of getting sparks on our sticky cotton candy fingers, and sword fight with the blackened remnants.  Remembering how fun they were, we usually pick a few boxes up for our kids every year.  It's not a difficult task. You go to the grocery store and there are holiday kiosks littered with sparklers, pop it's, and smoke bombs. 

Last night I made a late night run to the store to get a few things for the 4th, sparklers included.  When I stalked the usual spots of the store and came up empty handed, I hunted down a sales clerk to help me.

Me: 'Excuse me, do you know where I can find the sparklers?'

Sales Clerk 1: 'What?'

Me: 'Sparklers?'

Sales Clerk: (confused look) 'No' (and then he walked away).

As rude as that was, I made my way to another part of the store to find them myself.  Still missing in action, I spot Associate #2.

Me: 'Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find sparklers?'

Sales Clerk 2: 'Find what?'

Me: 'Sparklers.'

Sales Clerk 2:  (confused look) 'Try the incense aisle.' (And he totally walked away)

What?!  Well I am certainly not wasting my time walking to the incense aisle.

There was some more aimless wandering and hunting down associate #3.

Me: 'Where can I find sparklers?'

Sales Clerk 3:  'Like the thing for your dog?'

Me: What?! So with a confused look, I walked away.

Me: 'Do you carry sparklers?' I curmudgeonly asked the final employee that I had patience for.

Sales Clerk #4: 'Sparkler? What is a sparkler?'

Me:  'You know, the sticks that look like incense (thanks clerk 2) that you light...and they sparkle...?

Absolutely not!  Nobody knew what I was talking about.  How is that even possible?  Maybe since fireworks are legal in Tennessee, they don't tamper with that weak stuff.  Regardless, I left 30 minutes later,empty handed, incredibly irritated, and slightly amused.

Happy sparkler-free (and super rainy) Fourth!

photo credit

Say Whaat?!

 

'River...spit that Band-Aid out!  No, it's NOT yummy!'

'No Israel, you may not shut yourself in the deep freeze.  It doesn't matter that you'll never know how dark it is, it's unsafe.'

'It's not polite to say that something smells like butt hole.'

'River, do not freeze me when I am talking to you.'

'Superman, before you fly away, I need to change your diaper.'

"Israel stop!  River isn't saying 'eat butts,' he's saying 'it's broke."

'River, songs about butt holes aren't nice songs.'

Apparently people like hearing our home's craziness, so here is the last month's insanity.