On Discipline

I have been hearing recently about people who write (or wrote) as a discipline. Apparently Jon Foreman, one of my favourite song writers, makes it his discipline to write a song every day. Some of them may be horrible, and it is likely that no more than a handful will ever be heard, but how much more will you develop writing that often. It greatly increases the odds of greatness. Also, in my novel class, the teacher told us about a novelist who would write a novel in eleven days and was one of the most prolific novelists ever. Sure, some of the novels were less than great, but just to write that much that quickly is remarkable.
What if I wrote poetry on a daily basis? Yeah, I would probably write a lot of less than fantastic poetry, but I have always dreamed of being a prolific writer, and I think it would sharpen my technique a great deal. I am thinking of beginning this discipline, but I worry about it making my writing more shallow. However, if I am not shallow, I suppose my writing would not necessarily become so. It would probably get me to write shorter poems as well, something I do very rarely.
Why not? I'm a writer aren't I? I will not be posting all of these poems. Needless to say, not all of them will be that good, and I need to come to terms with that before I begin because I have a hard time accepting less than excellence. When one of them is good, however, it will probably be found here.

On Original Sin

Healing

The light is so bright
It hurts my eyes
I'm only aware of pain
I can only focus on pain
My chest is an open wound
And blood is spilling on the floor
So much blood.
I'm barely here
Blip...blip
A heart monitor lets me know I'm alive
While the surgeon is hard at work,
His hands are red
No, bloody
My blood,
As he makes another cut.
I'm dying
I don't know how to take the pain
But the surgeon never quits.
He's digging
Digging
In my chest
And pulling out the shrapnel
From when the world exploded,
When everything fell apart.

On a Taste of Beauty

I recently saw a butterfly. That in itself was nothing extraordinary. I have seen many butterflies in my life. However, it is far to rare that I look at butterflies. This one happened to rest on the ground just a few feet away from me so I decided to take a closer look. The fellow was incredible. While his wings were closed they were very dark dull grey with muted spots of red along the edge, but when he opened them, he displayed rich, glossy black wings with shimmering blue spots near the tail. Anyone who has seen one of my paintings knows that I love blues, especially when intermingling dark and light values. Maybe someone else would not have been as impressed, but I marveled at the little guy. He flitted about a bit and came to rest again, so I crept closer again. He seemed to be resting on the remains of what had once been a childs sugary snack and was quite enjoying himself, I am sure. But while he sat there, he kept fanning his wings, almost as if he was showing off. Perhaps this is lame, perhaps not, but I spent five minutes crouched on the ground watching this beautiful butterfly.
We miss so much beauty in the world. Snippets of it are everywhere, but we miss them. This is turning into just another "stop and smell the roses" story, but it is so true. There is so much beauty to be had. Nature is so undervalued. Quit reading this and go: watch a butterfly, smell a flower, climb a tree, look at a rock. Find some beauty and enjoy it.

On Escaping Standardization

I have been discovering just how weak humans are. Of course, this is a fact that I have known for a long time, but for some reason, it has recently come to the forefront of my observation in a specific way. The human race is becoming play-doh. I am sure this is somewhat of a trend around the world, but I especially note it in America, simply because that is where I happen to live. Individuality is so rare. People so easily take the shape of whatever mold into which they are pressed. Apathy is running rampant.
I hate apathy.
Now, I know that we are supposed to be clay in the hands of the potter and that we are just stupid sheep who are made to follow, but what are we following? What are we allowing to shape us? And the question that drives me mad: Where are all the good leaders? When the human race is thinking less and less for itself, and there are thousands of voices spouting a constant stream of lies, where are the voices proclaiming truth? People were made to be contagious and were made to find their identity from outside of themselves. Advertisers know this. Satan certainly knows this. Why is the church fumbling it?
What chance does the world have if the good people do nothing?
The world is looking for leaders. When so many just want someone to follow, why won't anyone step up? I guess we are all afraid of standing out, afraid of standing alone, afraid of standing with people at our back.
I hate fear.
In Christ we have freedom from fear. Let's stand up. Let's show the world that they can find their identity in Christ. Everyone is looking for something or someone to follow. Let's give them better options.

On Weeping

Dawn

Conviction
Hallelujah
The blow finally came
And my heart has been rent.
The chaff is burning
And the skies outpour.
Fire
Fall down
Join my tears in gravity's dance.
My steps are shaky
But my heart is light
My body misgives
For how do I walk
When I've just learned to stand?
How do I speak
When I've just found my voice?
Broken
Blown
Burnt
But alive.
I'll scale the mountain
However long it takes
The road may wind,
But someday
I'll reach the end
I'll be pure
Till then, I will stand
I will walk.
Conviction
Hallelujah

Leave it to God to break me less than a month after I complain about not being able to cry.