Life’s Breath (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 29 2009

I’ve always loved the recklessness

the road warned against

supplies

the breath of life

comes from choosing feeling

the road suggested

comes stealing conviction,

suffocating belief,

handing out grief,

it will work a spirit till it’s weak

and considers falling in line

happens all the time

to even the most headstrong

poison in the heart

making it all seem wrong

making what’s not

look so good

making what is

look like something no one would

hold on to

And the choosers forget why they choose what they choose

and don’t know what is true

or what to do

clarity comes

in so many forms

looks like perseverance pays-

seeking the soul of things

till

the chooser gets back the reigns

and can see

what it feels like

to have been right

from the first step

of recklessness

the gritty sweet

of life’s breath.

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Hope and Stay (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 29 2009

If I could find the vessel

that so resiliently

keeps producing this optimism,

I would rip the damn thing out

that would have to be

less painful

than the torturous wait

that hoping creates

always believing

seems so masochistic

there’s no giving up, no numbing relief of indifference,

no walking away

just hope

and stay.

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Pilgrim Heart (by Rebecca Chasteen) Thursday, Aug 20 2009

I’ve got a pilgrim heart
it gravitates
to caverns
and mountains.

Move
spirit
move.

I seek You
in every place
I ever go,
In every face.

Faith and love and light and rest
coincide with
darkness and
dirty hands.

Deliver,
design,
guide,

my heart’s travels.

Keep me close
and in the perils,
substantiate
every thing.

I dive in
to lakes
and graves
seeking every permutation
of beauty,
every version
of love and faith.

You are every where,
I am set on
finding You there.

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I’m a Giant Kicker (by Rebecca Chasteen) Thursday, Aug 20 2009

I jump into fires
and lion’s dens.
I run up to giants,
sling my stones
and kick their shins.

My armor is well used,
molded in battle.
Every time I come out
a slightly different warrior,
but a warrior all the same.

Sometimes
I’m in the belly of the whale
but I still end up right where
I am
right when
right in
the design.

I have this independent spirit, this pilgrim heart.
I won’t do just because someone told me to.
I will seek – I won’t be told my truths.

I’m this fighter for faith
I’m not satisfied standing by.
I’m not willing to stop.
I breathe only because I believe.

I have these words, these lover’s hands
I speak the mercy I know, what I’ve been shown.
I touch wounds easy,
I know I’m no healer-
but love can be.

I am this spirited, lover -fighter -pilgrim- child.
I am shaped, designed, and carefully wired
just as I am
by this Master Artist’s hands.

There is nothing new under the sun
I’m not the first that stood to fight,
sought the truth,
refused to run.

I’m not the first that begged for yes or no-
that walked for years unsure of where or how to go.
I’m not the first to doubt, or the first to serve,
the first that didn’t listen or crafted pretty words.

I am in the company of sinners and saints, all the same;
all magnificently capable and incredibly lame.

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Steady Line (by Rebecca Chasteen) Friday, Jul 17 2009

I see the steady line
of you and I
in the folds of time

it’s never been
anything else
no matter
how far
no matter how little
how much

we touch
on that line
so easy,
it’s hard to follow

but we’re free from everything-
you and I
on that steady line

I promise you
I saw it there
all along

I find hope in standing here
looking forward, looking back
all the roads we take
fall to, or from this track
and they all lead here

it’s what I know more than what I feel

because I feel
everything
and I usually fall down
waiting
or move forward, almost
giving up
throwing out crumbs for you to follow
forgetting you know the way

the way’s the same-
some things don’t change

I see the steady line
of you and I
in all the folds of time
Don’t you know
there’s no right or wrong?
Haven’t you known that
all along?

I’ve known
all along
about you

we are both
wind and sun
we are everywhere, there’s no where to run
we are everything, underneath it all
it doesn’t matter-

walls
fall
and there,
behind,

you’ll find
that steady line
of you and I.

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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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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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Communion (some people call it prayer) by Rebecca Chasteen Saturday, May 9 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem about either a specific routine or routines in general.

Communion (some people call it prayer)

This is the routine:

head to knees
then
head in hands

heart like sand
through my fingers,
to your feet

it is only you and me
I am letting go
of all the things I keep holding on

of all the thoughts
I know I need
the ones you can offer me

some kind of
transcendent peace
some kind of supernatural free

something that takes me
from broken, to open, to okay
to the rest of the day

This
is the
routine.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/08/AprilPADChallengeDay8.aspx

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