Do you want to see a miracle?
ohh ohh ohh, ohhh ohh ohh…
It seems so exceptional
That things just work out after all.
It’s just another ordinary miracle today.
Sun comes up and shines so bright
And disappears again at night.
It’s just another ordinary miracle today.
ohh ohh ohh, ohh ohhh ohh…
It’s just another ordinary miracle today.
– Glen Ballard & Dave Stewart
words struck from the silver of starlight
and the dreaming that ensues
poetry in the cadence of a galaxy’s turning
taking eons to recite correctly
the equation floats across the cloudy night
the joining of two unknowables
one too many turns of the wheel
my imagination begins to swallow its tail
the visible world excuse itself
the apocalypse foretold a second before
all to awaken from the dream
the beginning was like the end: nothing
coming or going, sharpest void
The goodness of God is beyond comprehension — that fact alone may be the source of many misunderstandings about Him.
[Book.]
In my imagination a meteorite hurtles down from the heavens and blasts into the car I see, exploding gloriously in a heave of wreckage. In my imagination the street splits open as a giant worm roars out of the depths of the earth. In my imagination everyone pulls off their faces as masks, revealing the demon personages they had been all along. Fire breathing dragons everywhere. Angels and devils climbing out of the alleyways and fluttering down from the clouds. Great tsunamis surging out of the collective of sewers. Or that most terrible of fates, out of the beginning of time, before the beginning: nothing at all. The worst thing that could possibly happen is that nothing happens. Tragedies, of them you can say, at least it’s sad; when the world merely shrugs off all your days, as like unto copies no one even wanted to see the original of: no one cares.
[Book.]
I am suddenly overcome with inertia, an infinite weight that solidifies my limbs. Or is it something trying to warn me of what mayhap be on its way my direction? I carefully look from left to right, turning myself all the way around to spy the entire panorama: just buildings, a car that’s casually turning the corner, two people coming from one direction, one person from another, nothing anywhere that seems at all threatening. Is there some purpose to this paralysis, perhaps, that I am misconstruing? Cynically, that might be said to be the major impetus of much of human history: purpose misconstrued. But really, why am I not able to move, just now? And my heart, now, it starts to beat in a way that I can feel that it is there, in my chest. The adrenaline I can feel like I’ve just been injected with a chemical: I sense the widening of my pupils, the spring-loading of the muscles. My unconscious is preparing for something. Danger.
there is iron in the blood, whether we know why or not
there is fire in our breathing, that ignites the others who listen
there is death in the eye, which we will awaken to, one day
Isn’t it remarkable?
Like every time a rain drop falls,
It’s just another ordinary miracle today.
Birds in winter have their fling
But always make it home by spring.
It’s just another ordinary miracle today.
When you wake up everyday
Please don’t throw your dreams away;
Hold them close to your heart
Cause we’re all a part
Of the ordinary miracle.
Ordinary miracle
– Glen Ballard & Dave Stewart
Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be.
At times the human heart will crack under the pressure of its own weight. Sometimes it is moved by tiny things, and turns stone in the face of great and sorrowful events. Surely there is logic, but no one is to tell what transpires within the soul that triggers this reaction, or that, and I think there are those who have gone mad that sought to pry the secret of how it functions, that fistful of muscle. No, it is true that the feeling rests not truly in the organ that pumps our blood, but it surely does make the chest collapse when we say that our hearts break. But we dare to feel, nonetheless. At times the human heart surpasses all expectations of what can be done, here and now. Beyond the dream, the substance of love.
At times what I have inside me I would want to pour out upon the world, to see the color of my guts, as it were, a splendid offering to the gods. At times I want to hold it all inside, to hide from both the light and the darkness, to curl up with oblivion in the null space between knowing and nothingness. I am not shy, if need be called upon me for some purpose, though I am withdrawn from much of the world at my own choosing. I will be bold, I think, in the future that comes, for what I do I must stand by, and take the flack that comes with attention. Where was I when I found myself? Staring at the distant vision of death, and understanding that who I am matters little to such cosmic things. Understanding that God is love, whatever happens, and that I am made in His image. The guts in me made of such stuff.
the ink on the page darkening with meaning
storms gather on the shoulders of the sky
where the mind is, the clouds brood, charged
the world fades as the idea comes into focus
the wings of the eye dipped in the promise
now the vision was handed out in feathers
read from the page, ripped from heaven
the rain to fall a thousand years, oblivious
lightning and thunder as the angels clash
the fathoming suddenly to stop all the world
the look in the eye of flying, flying: such light
My dreams have waited this long. Shall it be that such things as airy as that can have substance in the hard light of what is “out there� For I shall venture that there were select others who had such distant visions implemented in the present, complicated workings of these running gears here in the solid realms. I can do more than dream, and mayhap even more than hope. It is to roll up one’s sleeves (if that metaphor still has any meaning) and take what one can from the abstract, as simple as one can find, and hammer it into shape, into iron, and soot. The shape may lose something in the translation from the land of pure forms where it was envisioned, but the workings may still have meaning. The dream can become real. This I must put my muscle behind, my faith in this. And not lose heart.
It’s not that unusual
When everything is beautiful.
It’s just another ordinary miracle today.
The sky knows when its time to snow,
Don’t need to teach a seed to grow.
It’s just another ordinary miracle today.
Life is like a gift they say
Wrapped up for you everyday;
Open up and find a way
To give some of your own.
– Glen Ballard & Dave Stewart
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
