The Soul Without a Vessel

July 24, 2014June 26, 2019 · Leave a comment ·

Painting: ‘Skelligs’ (Jean Beolan Gascoigne)

Many a name I’ve been called in life.
It cuts right through you
just like a knife.
Gay and white,
a nerd and fat,
alright, alright.

Skin is but a superficial thing;
It cannot laugh.
It cannot sing.

The soul is deep
and only the blind can see
what you and I fail to keep.

Love is without color,
without judgement or care.
Hate is about the surface,
not nice nor fair.

There’s nothing of more beauty
than the soul without vessel.
It’s eyes have no duty
and no one will care
but those who see
not skin nor hair,
but fairness and beauty
far beyond what’s there.

The Price of Living

March 24, 2014June 26, 2019 · Leave a comment ·

Life is but a moment’s breath
Lent by Time for a blink of an eye.
Lent to be repaid by our ash of death.

Time is a sea too vast with whom to be reckoned
For he whose entire existence is nothing save a second.

To live without expiration
-Oh, a true delight-
For all possess the fright
Of the twilight of existence.
If only for an instance,
One’s soul could be concealed
And never know that darkness
From whence no man has escaped…

But no one is left unscathed,
not woman or child,
Nor mighty and strong,
For the curse of our kind
Is simply and forevermore
The mortality of our psyche.

Kindness cannot save from it’s ever-tightening grasp
The life of the innocent,
never minding her frightened gasp.

And still for those who yet cling to their lives,
That last bit of hope that in their heart resides,
He cuts and erases with hoes and with scythes,
So that that the elder may draw his last bit of air
With not a trace of memory left to spare.

Saraswati’s Ballad

February 17, 2014June 26, 2019 · 2 Comments ·

Being as it is
most melodious of sounds,
With a powerful and mighty whizz,
The world it still astounds.

Ebony and ivory caress
with requited devotion
the subtlest emotion
of the Classical musician,
Whom alike the mathematician,
Discovers wonders everyday
In his only magical way.

The voice of angels amplified becomes
greater than the beating of the drums.
Harmonies are created
For the joyful and elated
to listen with moving tears
as the song reaches their ears.

Incomparable, like none,
strings are plucked and brushed,
Just never ever rushed,
For its beauty is in waiting.

Sarasvati plays her ballad
On her little tippy-toes
Though no one ever knows
the might of her existence.

And still it can be heard
Like the chirping of a bird,
Though polluted by other garbage,
With their tales of lewd and carnage.
Oh, the music of long ago.

But everyone does know
The names of those masters,
Whom even though plagued by deafness
Were destined for their greatness
Unlike the scoundrels of today.

Painting: “Attributes of Music”, by Anne Vallayer-Coster

Bat–A Religious Anomaly

January 25, 2014June 30, 2019 · Leave a comment ·

Painting by Rick Nelson

While I was in the congregation of Jehovah’s Witnesses, every now and then I heard a simile that was always of particular interest to me. At one of the conventions, where there were about eight-hundred people or so, a speaker elaborated on the meaning of said illustration. It is as follows:

“Some members of the congregation are like bats. They live two lives. The bat reaches out to the rats, but is rejected by them, because they say he looks like a bird. So, he goes back to the birds and tries to join them, but is kicked out because he looks too much like a rat.”

The speaker was explaining how a Witness that decides to live a double-life or leaves the congregation, will never fit in anywhere, because while he tries to be like “worldly” people, he will always have traits that are characteristic of Witnesses.

When I heard this simile, I would have never thought I would leave the congregation. It wasn’t until a few months later that I realized I felt trapped in my way of thinking and my actions, thoughts, and words no longer lived up to the expectations of being “holy […], because […] Jehovah […] is holy.” (Leviticus 20:26)

The simile’s message is simple. Any Jehovah’s Witness who decides to leave the congregation is a true anomaly. Now, I’ll stop here to mention this: bats have always been my favorite animal and I feel honored to be an anomaly. Do you know why? Well, because my mission statement in life is to be completely opposite from everyone around me and to live an everlasting impression on this world. So, I am happy to have become what I am today.

Nonetheless, I’ve encountered many difficulties because I don’t fit in anywhere. Of course, I don’t have contact with any of the people I knew in the congregation (because I look like a rat to them). But I’ve also been uncomfortable, and unsure at times, of trying to be like everyone outside of the congregation, because the congregation and its teachings were all that I knew. I will always have certain views and standards that will randomly pop up in life as I interact with people, grow older and raise my children. I will always be a bird/rat.

There are days when I feel so confused and I am so pensive I cannot even do anything right, but I made the right decision. I made the right decision, not because I am angry at Jehovah’s Witnesses or because I believe they are a false religion or sect. I made the right decision, because I, and only I, needed to leave the congregation in order to become the person that I need and want to be. Whether I need to thank God, or praise him, or give him credit for giving me the will to write, I don’t know. All I know is that I have become an unusual and eccentric person since I left the congregation, and I am happy that way. I don’t regret becoming the person I am. I enjoy the life I have, and I think it’s time for this anomaly to show his true colors and do what he is meant to do–write about anything in this world he wants. No restrictions. No reservations.

Before the Moon Shines Bright

January 20, 2014June 26, 2019 · Leave a comment ·

You haven’t seen the moonlight
Til you’ve bid her a good night.
You haven’t met the waking sun
Til her kisses you have won.
I’ll tell you, oh my dearest friends,
That when her heart she truly lends,
Your gloomy days are none.
Her eyes, they always flutter.
As a dove she’ll surely mutter:
“The day is young;
You shan’t be late.
The rooster’s song was sung.”
So I rise for fruitful labor
With a kiss of honey flavor.
Surely I’ll come home tonight
Before the moon shines bright.

Painting: “My House at Night”, by Jamie Pitt

I’m Not Going Back

January 16, 2014January 16, 2014 · 2 Comments ·

I got a text message from my mother this morning. The few times she actually decides to send me a message, I can’t help but remember how seldom it happens.

This is what it said (I’ve translated it from Spanish):

“I love you. If you wish to come back someday and you need our help, we will be here.”

I waited about two hours to send a reply. I didn’t know how to say everything that I felt inside. The only message I really needed to convey was simple: “I’m not going back.”

Somehow, though, I couldn’t say it just like that. I read my mom’s text over and over, each time hearing her kind voice speaking. She has always meant the best for me, whether most people think it’s right or not. I know my mother better than anyone else. She means well. She loves me, and I know that. I’m sure of it.

But, before I could realize her good intentions, I wrote a draft. This is what I wrote:

I love you too and I appreciate your follow up, but I believe it would cause you more pain and unrest if I lead you to believe I will be returning to the congregation in the near future.
My knowledge of the congregation remains unforgotten and I will always cherish the education you set before me, but I have learnt over the last few years that my mentality and point of view seem to no longer conform to that of the Christian Congregation.
I dedicated my heart and soul to the congregation in an attempt to clear my sins, but it did not do. I saw as I fell deeper and deeper into sin until I simply could not be a Witness anymore. I will never forget how abandoned and rejected I felt even while I was in the congregation doing what is wrong according to the Bible. I remember very well the injury of the judgement on the part of those who thought they were better than me. I did nothing but think about others and whether they were pleased, including my parents. I spent my entire youth trying to redeem a stepfather that didn’t want redemption. I built a religious refuge for myself while my family was not there for me, because the pain of unresponsive and uncaring parents was too unbearable. In the end, however, I failed to live by the norms and standards which I had sworn to abide. I was the only one devoted when no one else cared. My innocence and kindness allowed me to forgive what no one else could, and when things seemed to get worse instead of getting better, I put hope before my own interests and opinions. That was a long time ago.
I swore I would never become the monster that reeked havoc in my family all those years, but I failed. Now, in this day and age, I get a phone call that I should not contact or even attempt to contact my parents unless I am bedridden and in the hospital. Just like when I wrote all those letters pleading Emilio to come back and make a change of heart, right? Just like all those times I knew very well he would cause us pain again and yet I was the first to give him another chance.
In conclusion, if you both made the decision of calling me to let me know that you would not speak with me unless I was bedridden, it would be best to set the record straight in regards to whether I will return to the congregation.
I know that you are both trying very hard to sanctify yourselves and live lives of discipline and devotion, because that is what people of guilty minds set forth to do. I wish you both the best and hope that you continue to live the life I can no longer follow. Do not cause yourselves anymore pain, because in the end it just pains me in the process.

With love
–always here if you decide to accept him–
Your son,

L.D. Davis

I sat and read it a few times and realized how unfair it would be to send all those words to my mother. She doesn’t care what I do with my life or if I want to go back, although in her mind she knows that’s the right thing to do. All she said in her message was that she loves me and if I do so happen to go back one day, they will be waiting for me. She will be waiting for me. I suppose I forgot her kindness because it’s been such a long time since I’ve spoken with my mother in person.

You see, I don’t judge Jehovah’s Witnesses, because that is who I was once. It still makes me who I am, whether I like it or not. So, to criticize them simply because it just didn’t work out for me, well, it’s just ludicrous.

So, what did I send to her?

Thank you, mom. I love you too, but I can’t lead you to believe that I’m returning to the congregation. I don’t want to cause you any more pain, so I must be honest.

Lost

January 15, 2014January 15, 2014 · Leave a comment ·

That day was the most terrifying of my life. It was the crack of dawn. I awoke in a wooded area of a park with nothing on me but khaki pants and a blue dress shirt. My glasses lay next to me, shattered and without a leg. The ground was damp with melting snow and all I could see in the distance were ducks and geese flying past the trees of this unknown park in this unknown city.

The mist filled the air of the vegetated area with an eerie density that wasn’t any more reassuring. I sat there for a few minutes, with an incredible headache, thinking where I could possibly be. More interestingly—who am I?

I finally mustered up enough strength to walk around to investigate my surroundings and I found a bicycle against a bench. The wheels were severely deflated, but I needed the transportation.

The entire time I was pedaling I thought to myself about the circumstances that might have lead to my abandonment. I was obviously out for some sort of business, because I was dressed for such a purpose, but how did I end up in the middle of this park with no wallet, no keys, and no means of communication?

I continued on and saw a green sign. As I approached it, I could see that it said ‘Dayton City Limit’. This didn’t help much. I didn’t know where Dayton was, what I was doing there or what my very own name was. I needed help, but given that I was left here in the middle of the city, something told me that trusting anyone was not a good idea.

I finally found a nice-looking little diner with a few cars parked in front and I decided to walk in. I needed to try to contact someone—but whom?

“Excuse me. Could I use your phone?” I asked with slight hesitation.

“Sure, hun,” replied the hostess as she brought the cordless phone to me.

“Thank you. Um… what is the phone number for the police?”

The woman now looked at me as though I was from out of this world. “Well, 911, of course,” she said in a patronizing manner.

“Oh, right.”

As I dialed the number and waited for it to ring once or twice, I looked up at the TV and saw on the news the report of a young man whose body had been found in a park outside of Dayton. I immediately dropped the phone as I felt an electrifying shiver run through my body as if a cold wind had just blown.

As I turned back to the TV, I heard the reporter say: “The cause of death is yet to be announced, but local police currently have the case under investigation and will be disclosing details when they are made available.”

As the reporter closed her sentence, a picture of the young man ran across the screen along with his name. In an instant, I felt an excruciating pain in my chest. Naturally, I held my hand over my chest with my right hand, only to bring it up to my face again. As I looked up astonished at the sight of blood on my right hand, everyone in the diner had turned their attention to me with apparent fright.

I now knew who I was and all that had happened to me, but now I was lost and none of that meant anything.

Rick

January 14, 2014January 14, 2014 · Leave a comment ·

Good morning to all. I have been waiting anxiously to post today’s blog post since last night. First of all, I’d like to say that I have decided to structure my blog in a way that would allow me to use various styles and write about a broad array of subjects each week. Each day will be unique. I’m still using 642 Things To Write About as an exercise book of sorts, but I want to be diverse, so I’ll do that once a week or so and share it on here.

Anyhow, last night, as we finished gathering our groceries and approached the cashier that we thought was less occupied, we experienced an enlightening moment of sorts. There was a man in front of us, with his groceries already laid out on the conveyor. We watched as the cashier slowly scanned the items for him. It took a while, needless to say, but we finally got our turn.

I greeted Rick, the cashier. Now, this man was bashful in a way. He seldom directed his eyesight toward us to make eye-contact. He was soft-spoken enough that his voice was barely comprehensible, yet there was a weight to his voice that told a story; it added background and depth.

I looked over the display that showed the soaring total of our transaction and caught a glimpse of his name badge, which I now saw labelled him as a People Greeter. So I thought… I was thinking about how annoyingly slow this man is scanning these items, sorting them and reaching for items out of the order they’re in on the conveyor, loosening the plastic grocery bags each time he was done packing the bags… I hadn’t realized, however, the circumstances, his background, his story. I was too concerned about my priorities and my rush to get back home.

This man was so precise and patient. Time meant nothing to him. All that mattered was that he wanted to do his very best for the customers, even if that meant taking a while in the process.

Perhaps when one has lived just as long, time becomes one’s companion. Time no longer controls Rick the People Greeter. He is the master of his own time.

Very few people, if any, are like this anymore. We let time dictate our every action and thought. It tells us where to go and when to do things. The truth, however, is that we only live once–why rush right through it? It could make the difference between dying of old age after a fruitful life or dying at 21 just because we wanted to rush, because we were in a hurry.

“Patience is a virtue” that many lack nowadays, that’s why I am resolved to make patience my virtue.

–L. D. Davis

Riding Through the Glen

January 13, 2014January 13, 2014 · Leave a comment ·

At the sight of the crimson ribbon
as it stretches over the expanse,
The Cardinal’s song is given
For the swan to begin her dance.

Droplets of dew,
Dense with saturation,
Atop the grass anew
Bring life to jubilation.

In this world, we are God
And this day is our realm.
To us the sun brings laud;
We’re surely at the helm.

Tomorrow is a future unforetold,
But today has been cast in gold.
Reach out to greet him with the firmest clasp,
For invincible is the man with Time in his grasp.

The night has gone.
Our bright friend is out again.
At last, it is Dawn
Riding through the glen.