Haiku Tuesday, Jul 28 2009

I need roots, not vines

what’s the use of wings if I

never get to fly?

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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 6 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, Jul 12 2009

I wrote this when I was 14, in 8th grade. The title is Messages from Heaven.

You send me hope in bars and notes, and make me understand

this too shall pass.

You send me inspiration in words of black and white.

You send wisdom in the sunshine, and comfort down at night

along with angels.

You let me know you love me in every day I live,

You help me spread this love with every smile I give.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings,

but whatever I must do, I can.

Dear Father don’t let me forget,

my life is in your hands.

This poem makes me cry because it seems like more than 10 years ago, I wrote myself the words I would need right now. I acknowledge in a lot of things I write, I just write, as a literal vessel for the words that come from places I don’t know, in ways I didn’t plan. I acknowledge the supernatural, the divine in this. I acknowledge the subconcious, I acknowledge everything around me, before me, even in front of me as part of the words, part of the inspiration. No one is ever alone. And like land, no one really owns words, we just claim them and live with them. In doing so we may change them, and they us, but they belong to something bigger. And I’m thankful they do.

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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 5 Tuesday, Jul 7 2009

I wrote this when I was 14, in 8th grade. The title is Porch Swing.

The dogwood blooms have fallen off
Spring flowers passed away
The late sunset signifies
The end to the hot day
While crickets sing
Fireflies dance
And the sunset fades away
Porch swing creaks
And I can almost hear my grandma singing
Amazing Grace
How sweet the sound
In my imagination
Barefoot in the grass
Avoiding the broken glass
Of the abandoned house
Once theirs
And the porch swing creaks
My grandfather speaks
To me
No one else can hear him
And I only see
Those trees
From the porch swing
All that’s left are memories
Where two people used to be
And all that’s left to see
Is an old farmhouse
And a silent swing.

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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 4 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Jul 1 2009

I wrote this when I was 14, in 8th grade. The title is Dreams.

My only sanctuary,
behind my eyes.
Am I going too far to believe
dreams can come true?

The only sacred thing in my world
are these fantasies
of what could be.

Stripped free of insecurity
expecting reality to be…
w\What’s reality?
In other’s eyes
it’s not the same.

But society’s reality
is far from everything I see.
And I’ll never be happy here

I’d rather drown in saline tears
than live in this sad excuse
of a society.

I will be free.

Alone
is better than captive.
And an imagined world
is fine with me.

Eventually everyone will see
the truth.
Or
I will depart.

I will find a place
to be
a dream.

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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 3 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Jul 1 2009

I wrote this when I was 14, in 8th grade. The title is Empty.

Buried in the happiness
of everyone but me
Drowning in the caring words
of friends and family
Sinking in a sea of love,
entangled in another’s arms
And still I’m empty.

Can nothing fill the spaces left
by hatred and betrayal?
Will nothing take the place
of all that I once had?

How can my pain be iridescent
when I hurt so bad?
Can no one see through all
the emptiness in me?

What could take the place
of all that I could be
If I weren’t so empty?

As I cry into the void in me
I float of my waves of insecurity
And crash on the shore of broken dreams.

I lay in the moonbeams

Translucent heart.

Empty.

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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 2 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Jul 1 2009

I wrote this when I was 17, in 11th grade

I hate this whole fucking place.
That’s a lie.
It just felt good to say.

I hate the past.
It makes me want
for things I cannot have.

I just want to stay here,
in my anger,
in my hate.

I hate myself.
I despise the way I cry like this
and the way I’ve lied
I’m such a bitch.
I appear so nice.

I’m just deceitful,
selfish,
and weak

Hiding behind smiles,
the right words,
and pride

I can’t blame anyone else
for the mess I am inside

I’ve pushed everyone away
cause nobody tired
enough to satisfy my longing

I want for what I may never have
and the disappointment of that
fuels these tears

My desire and will are fading
as the truth of my ugliness outshines them

This part’s become too much for me to play
I want to quit
I want to go away

I’m so blessed, no one can fathom
How I’m so empty
and discontented

What’s so fucking wrong with me
that I can’t manage to just be happy?

Why do I want things that seem so out of reach
when so much is laid right in front of me?

This lonely, selfish hatred
seems to be the foundation for the insanity
that will surely one day
overcome me

I can’t be what I’m not.
I don’t know what I am
I want more, but I don’t think anyone offers what I demand

The tragedy of my life
is I look nothing
like how I am inside.

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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 1 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Jul 1 2009

This was written when I was 15, in 9th grade.

I always come back here,
my comfort zone
where I drop to when I feel alone

I fall back into
my sullen cell

I get so tired of people
they’re so dumb
I’m hypocritical,
I know
I’m down and out,
does it show?

I’m fighting tears and fits of rage
I’m burning in this spotlight on this stage
I hate this place
I smile to front
Someone, fill this space

Damn this place
Damn you all
Damn these emotions
I always fall
into this solemn state

I feel safe
I’m not
I’m more vulnerable
than I was before
I’m more confused
more insecure
so,here I am
broken again
I’m tired of all this
But I’m scared to move on

It’s not the innocence I miss
It’s my fault I’m alone
cause I’m not
I’m just pulling away

melancholy
jealousy
I’m stained

all this pain
it’s all the same
soon it will fade
I’ll be okay.

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Debtor (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, May 24 2009

(1/31 to 5/25 2001)

O My God,
You overwhelm me.
This is more that I’ll ever deserve.
What a heavenly gift!
I could never earn such joy.

You are consistently
the sunlight that
warms and fills me
after savage storms destroy me
and leave me
ransacked,
cold
and incomplete.

I’ve allowed so many
clouds
to devour
your complete essence;
I began to believe in darkness
as reality.
Then there is no happiness,
there is no free-
only chains of pain and yesterdays,
bad dreams and restlessness that won’t go away.

But the darkness lies.
And it’s hidden the truth from these bloodshot eyes.

I’ve come to understand this:
You are my only peace,
true motivation,
chance at beauty,
and inspiration.

And even as I flounder and fall,
vainly cry out and call,
run everywhere but home,
and wonder why I’m so alone,
You never move from me.

Even as I move from myself,
even after I’ve ignored You,
You never refuse to help.

I’m constantly
rediscovering
Your Divinity.
And I’ll gladly be
forever
a debtor.
For I’m full to the top,
And my cup runneth over.

“You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” Psalm 23:5

This is probably my favorite of the older poems from this time period. It was the completion of a section of a journey; it was the mountain I’d been climbing for so long with so many tears and words and months.

The beginning stanza always makes me uncomfortable, it’s so unabashedly praise-full. It’s no small feat to be in that place. I’m not really a “Praise Jesus!” with her hands in the hair kind of girl. That’s just not my style. But there are times that I am a face toward the sky, palms facing up or resting on my heart, silent tears down my face kind of “O My God” and that’s what this is.

This is resting at the top of that mountain, love and peace and purpose shaking my soul. This is the understanding of “us”, God and me. The love, the relationship. God is still the “sunlight that warms and fills me after savage storms destroy me”. God is still my freedom. God is still my beauty, motivation, inspiration. God is still my perfect parent- covering me, understanding me, guiding, waiting, pulling, forgiving. I say nothing of love here specifically, but this is love: grace, warmth, presence, patience, light; arms that never close. That is my God, as God has always been, and always will be.

It is this love, the acceptance of this love that changes people. Nothing will change you like accepting this kind of love. From there, anything is truly possible. Full to the top with this kind of thing makes a person brave with belief. Makes a person willing to take part in daily miracles because they can now see how many opportunities there are.

And the misconception here, the reason I think so many times we aren’t accepting this love, is because we feel we can’t earn it. But the reason we can’t earn it is not because we don’t deserve it, it’s because it’s not up for the earning. It is there, always, from the beginning. It is there for the taking, as soon as we allow ourselves to take it. The idea that we are not worthy is not of love. It’s not of God. Nothing about God supports that line of thinking. Don’t believe that. Don’t believe anyone, any thing that makes you think you need to be anything other than what you are to have love. Those are lies. And we all know the master of lies. Don’t buy his crap. He’ll sell you anything that will keep you down. Satan is a loser. His darkness is an already defeated lie. Don’t waste time on it. Just take love. Open, free, encompassing, love. Take it. Break and break and break until there’s room for it. And keep breaking if you have to. I know I do.

Everything else will come. Just take love.

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Of Dispirited Disposition (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, May 24 2009

(1-21-01)

I fall so much you’d think I’m blind.
I let this world keep polluting my mind.
I can’t stand.
I fall constantly.
And I seem to be
in my own way more than anything else.
I hold back myself
with all my contradicting desires.

My drive is feeble.
It barely moves me.
I feel so unable.
I can’t seem to be
anything I dream-

Only what I despise;
self-absorbed and insecure.
I’ve forgotten what matters.
I don’t know myself anymore.
I can’t find anything worth fighting for.

What once moved me
has moved from me.
I’m clinging to the past.
I’m striving for what I once had.

I gave up on myself too quickly.
Who will have faith in me
if I have no faith in myself?
And if I can’t love me
how can I love anyone else?

How can I strive to save others
when I’m sinking
into nothingness?

Aimless desperation
clouds desire and expectation.

I want to be
so much more than what I am.
I need truth, motivation, and beauty.
Lord, I need your hand.

“Come to me all ye who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.” Matthews 11:28

I’ve always loved the first line of this one. It kind of makes me laugh, it flows, it’s exactly how it feels sometimes…The part ” If I can’t love me, how can I love anyone else? How can I save others when I’m sinking into nothingness?” is what stands out here to me, because it’s still something I have to work on, particularly in my line of work.  I have to have love for myself, within myself, before I can dole that out to anyone at all. I have to have hope, I have to believe, I have to, or not only will my life suck, but I will be fairly useless in helping anyone else do anything positive with their life. Not that I can’t be sad or feel afraid, but that I have to stay away from that dangerous spiral down from which it is so hard to see any light at all.  It’s nice to have that push though, that it’s not just about me, it’s about the people around me too (professionally or personally).

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Confessions for Change (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, May 24 2009

(7/29/00)

I rarely give God the time he deserves.
And this week,
as I spent hours a day with Him,
I realized
that I’ve been
running in spiritual circles
for way too long.

I’ve been trying and trying
to do things all by myself.
Acting like I’m strong enough to do it alone,
refusing to ask for help.

And I’ve been angry ’cause no one is changing,
when I can’t even change myself.

My lack of self control
has squelched so much of my potential.
And despite the faith I claim,
fear washes over me like rain.

I’ve seen how the pride
that I’ve used to hide
all my insecurities with
is just another net that’s got me tangled.

I lie to myself more than I do to anyone else,
living in denial of the reality three-fourths of the time.
Trying to pretend that I’m better than I am,
and ignoring situations that I don’t want to deal with.

And the brokenness
that I try so hard to have healed
is a spiritual gift
I’ve been blessed with.

Acknowledging the truth is so hard,
and changing is even harder.

I hate being out of control,
it makes me feel weak,
but when I’m following Christ,
there’s no way else to be.

There is no royal road to anything, but all things in succession.
So I’m gonna drop my nets,
take slow, careful steps
and follow without asking questions.

This was written at camp, following a sermon about dropping our nets, as Jesus asked the disciples to do when they followed him. They dropped their livelihood (fishing) and walked with him. It’s amazing how in 9 years, some of that poem (and sermon) still rings so true for me. The part that strikes me is “And the brokenness I try so hard to have healed is a spiritual gift I’ve been blessed with.” I struggle with that still. I know broken is open and open is where I want to be, but I really do break, so often, not just for me, for others, for everything. Sometimes I cry for the whole entire world, all the sadness and anger and hurt and fear and injustice. Sometimes I just break for my own life. But I know I am better broken, I feel more alive broken than I do when I’m walking around patched up. That’s just not who I am. I am broken, willingly open this way, to all the things that will come through, and all the things that will do to me, and all the things I will do because of this. I am who I am because I’m broken open.

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” Psalm 51:77

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