Sky scrape

rough draft

Concrete and tar-covered veins poured in from every direction you could imagine; twisting around, under, over, through and beyond, beyond the graves of history’s architects who now lay in wooden coffins and stone memorials where no one remembers; beyond the limits of imagined substance and mathematical dialogue on weight and support; beyond the heaping hills of refuse outside the imagined perimeter of our city; beyond anything anyone could ever imagine or see.

Steel screaming as it is lifted on wings of woven wire; it climbs into the clouds to be set among its kin, Pressed together by gaseous plasma and flame, while blood pours in molten drops to stain the ground with the marks of birth. Form taking on form, abstract becoming reality, paper souls outlined in blue ink; they rise from the ground, anchored on concrete soles, bones of rebar holding together the separation between earth and sky. They are rather ugly in the beginning, dusty, crying, misshapen and crude in design; then coated with skins of glass, they shine like a thousand fire all reflecting the sky, reflecting heaven and the sun, its guardian.

Car horns blast as the screech of brakes bring charging mechanical chariots to a halt beneath the glow of burning electric suspension, filtered through crimson reality. People sprawl out on the walks and paths like a million moving hairs on the back of a new life that we have created.

Cities are alive, sentient creatures.

Cities are the reflection of man and the reflection of heaven, all brought together on the façade of mirrored glass; delicate enough to bow before fire and flood: strong enough to stand before wind and famine. Music pours through organs of mosaic and expression, rhythms so varied that ears can scarcely full hear all that is being made.

There is sweetness in the belly of the scraping giants; bread, wine, beauty and love: there is bitterness too; lust, envy, deceit and murder. Man lashing out against man, against the image of God; slaying what should be loved, destroying what we can never create; Cain enslaved to slaying Cain.

Listen to them now, the cities have gained a mouth to speak.
They groan as earth shakes beneath them, contesting the bloodshed, contesting the evil that is committed in their shadows, contesting the destruction of beauty, contesting the hand of masters that gain pleasure in chaos; so now they destroy, steel shaking and falling on the heads of the broken whom by brokenness break others.

It’s time to heal the world…

Thought

There is this thought I have that the world is finite. It is ludicrous, so very, very much so, the definitions of reality fade between global industrialization, conflict, war and the sunny warm afternoons of summer. It is like a lava lamp; ever circling in a mind warping elastic blob; I HATE LAVA LAMPS.

There is this thought I have that one person can change the world; shift the sway of time and break out from under that cycle of decays and success. Yes, history has proven it again and again, but each generation is born into a new history; grossly effected by the previous history. When that time comes though, we have a chance to stand up in the face of deceit and break away from the monotony. Men and women are born each day and each is given a chance to bring change.

There is this thought I have that the Church is amazing, and grossly stagnate in the west. I’m not going to bash the Church as a whole; just those ones that sell-out to a prescribed, dried out and flaky version of reality. You can see them every Sunday on TV. The same messages recycled over and over and over like a lava lamp.

I have this thought that when Jesus was born he was the spoken word incarnate into the flesh; that he changed the definition of reality to a subjective little nothing. It was reiterated later in the gospels and preceded by the words of the Patriarchs. Prophets and seers, men and women, PEOPLE like you and me. A lot in the world has changed but there is nothing new. We can break the reality, this fake version that people cling to.

I have this thought that there are people like Elijah walking the earth today; that miracles are a viable demonstration of power and that we need to stop making excuses for why we don’t have them. I want to have dinner with prostitutes and the weird men in black suits that work for the IRS. I want to tell people that Jesus is not just a “was” but rather a definite “is.” I want people to see that he is alive in people’s hearts today; not just in words but in deed.

I have this thought that a butterfly is just as beautiful as a flower and that people are more beautiful than anything else in nature because we are the image of God.

I have this thought that dreams have substance and we all need to be dreamers; that I life without risk is not one worth having. There is a satisfaction and honor in taking a risk to achieve something.

The whole world is waiting for you to take a risk and show them how to live.