The Beat of My Heart

I feel sometimes, as though there is a creature within, one that desires to break free, like something caged almost, but I can’t seem to identify what it is that is the bars on my window. An idea, or a thought, something of my perception of it, maybe. It is a mixture of genius and sadness, hurt, and the unquenchable joy of the feel of the light coming through from the other side, beckoning me, calling me, giving me hope, that there is a other side.

I began my journey a very long time ago, and here I find myself today, a human being, living a human life, a very human life. I know joys and sorrows, I’ve lived through births and deaths, I’ve watched the trees grow from seedlings to towering over me, I’ve felt the wind blowing, warm in the summer, bitter in the winter. I’ve stood atop waterfalls, climbed up trees, I’ve run through fields, felt the touch of dew on my hands, and upon the soles of my feet, stood beneath the stars, I’ve tasted berries, and have eaten apples just picked from a tree. I’ve been through wars, and the comings and goings of kings. I’ve seen revolutions, I’ve seen the horrors of darkness, I’ve walked beside people who this world is not worthy of, felt the touch of those whom within God himself has made his temple, I’ve heard the songs of the saints singing, and the laments of the mourning. I’ve felt the touch of the veterans of a world at war, I’ve spoken with men a century old. This is life. I’ve carried the flame, and held the sword. I’ve worn the garments of war, and of peace. I’ve walked between the bamboo paths, I’ve stood before buildings burning, I’ve seen love lost, and death take those beloved. I’ve grieved without tears, and have screamed without sound, I’ve laughed until I could not breathe, I’ve smiled until it hurt to do so. I’ve felt as though Heaven had given me wings, and if I wished, I could fly. I’ve drunk the droughts of despair, falling so far, to fall farther still. I’ve known the call of death crying, felt it. I’ve been surprised by joy, tried by fire, and overcome by beauty. I’ve danced with friends and foes alike, I’ve sang the songs of stars, I’ve written the words, and have named creation. I have lived, I’ve loved, I’ve laughed. I am a human being. This is what I face. This is what I am.

I was first given the name of Wild Man, then called the Grace of God. I came forth as I’ve ever walked, with vigor, with passion, though never fully with purpose. I feel like I’ve been wandering, for so long now. Never sure where it is I am to go. What I am to do. I am a lonely wanderer, a pilgrim passing through. But, I desire purpose, and a vision, I desire to hold to a dream, and dream a dream of which to hold.

Never have the bars looked less restraining, yet never have they been so noticed. I feel as though I’m a horse, born to run, wild and free, but tied up somewhere, half-forgotten. This is the tragedy of humanity, born to run, we remain bound. This is the tragedy of me. With every heartbeat, I feel the call, the call to run, with every heartbeat, I am alive, with every heartbeat, there is a call, a call to be something more. The call within my beating heart, it cannot be ignored.

To remain, would be to lose, to fall, to die, to remain is to stand still. I hear the call, calling, calling, I hear the beat of my heart, beating, beating. I feel it, I know it, I am driven by it. I am alive.

I feel as though I’m experiencing the lifting of an enchantment, or am enchanted by one greater still, as though having once walked in darkness, my eyes are learning to see light, and beauty, and truth.

But why? What is it that is bringing these things upon me, who is lifting the enchantments that so beset my soul? Why do I feel as though I am waking up after a very long slumber, and with tender whispers to my soul, not shouts, I awaken, I arise. But why? What is it that awakens me, gently? What is stirring within me, changing me? How is this to be?

This is the journey I am upon, this is how I am to be. This is the story, the story that’s told.

They named me Wild Man. I desire to forsake my first name, to be a man of peace, of purpose, and someone who is gracious, patient, and kind towards others, not a man who is wild, but a man who is calm. My names tell my story, first a man wild, then a man called the Grace of God. That is my story, and my name.

What other names will be added to me in the passing of time? What will be written upon the stone, the stone that bears my name, my story? Will I be known as someone gentle and kind, gracious, and loving? Or will it bear the name of a scoundrel, self-centered, and with a heart as hard as the stone upon which the name should lie?

My desire is that my name will not be that of the second, but of the first. To be born wild, but to die in peace. To be born with the name Wild Man, but to die bearing the name Man of Peace.

It is the story of a miracle, of life given, then given again. It is to know that though I die, I live, and that Heaven is my home.

With the beat of my beating heart, I live. I know that while I still yet dwell within this house, this flesh, I am held back, I have hope, and I will live free, to run as one who was born to run, to live as I was meant to live. Though with every beat, my beating heart, beats one beat closer to its last upon this earth, I have hope, and I find hope, even in the beating of my heart, reminding me, this is not my home.

But, I ask myself, what happened to the boy? Where is the one who would have liked nothing better than to pursue another adventure? I have to ask myself when did the unimportant little things that are not worth my time, and concern, become so important that I won’t pursue the greater things, I won’t chase dreams and seek adventures. I once was one to live, to love, to walk, and though it sometimes meant facing pain, when did I cease to take risk? How did I come here? I don’t exactly know, sometimes I feel as if I’ve forgotten something, or have missed years of my life, and who knows where it went and what happened then.

Admittedly, asking myself where I’ve missed it is a start, but it’s not nearly as important as asking myself the following question: Where do I go from here? The past, for good or ill, has already taken place, and there is nothing to be done to change that. The future, however, has not yet happened, and the path ahead is where all possibilities dwell.

My heart beats, it is a call, a drum, a drum that calls me, tells me, it ask me the question: What am I going to do? The single greatest thing I can do wrongly is to continue to believe the lie that there is safety in standing still. There is no safety in standing still, and to do so is to fail, even to fail at life itself. I have to move, to forsake the madness of stagnancy. To take risk, to leap, to walk forward, with both purpose, and with confidence.

If facts must be taken into consideration, consider this, I am a citizen of Heaven, a child of another realm, I dwell in this world, but this world is not my home. I have been given incredible gifts, and while my gifts and talents are a part of that, I’ve been given greater gifts still, I’ve been given freedom: From sin, from death’s power, and from condemnation. In a sense, you can say I’ve been given innocence. Furthermore, my pilgrimage through this world is not without purpose, I am here to help those around me who are in need. I am a messenger of a greater kingdom, and the child of a greater king. These are the facts, this is the truth of my standing. So, I must tell myself: If facts have any weight at all, then consider the mission you are on. Remember who it is that you are.

My heart beats. I am alive. I am alive. I live. Why do I live? It isn’t to stand, cowering, in fear. It isn’t to remain ineffective. It isn’t to do nothing. My heart beats. I live. Sometimes death must be faced, yes, but is not remaining stagenet something like a death in itself? The dead cannot have a great impact upon the world around them, but, must lie still. My heart beats, I am alive. I ought to live as one who lives, not as though I am one who is dead.

I need to run, to move, to say to the lifestyle of stagnancy enough, run! To say: Run to know you are alive. Run to live, and remember. Remember why it is that you need to run, keep running, and never stop. A race is not won by standing still.

As for the bars, they have been dealt with, my perception of the truth of my being free, may at times be off, but it is but a false perception, having nothing to do with what is true, or real.

My heart beats, I live. Remember that and run.

Of Understanding and a Cup of Coffee

I love meeting new people. I’m in a coffee shop, one I visit, maybe once or twice a year, and I have to say, it was great to meet an enthusiastic  bubbly, happy, worker, at the coffee counter. They held a passion for life that’s contagious.

Far too often I think I live in my own little world, and I forget that things like a simple smile, or just saying hello, can really have a positive effect on those around us. I am encouraged every time I encounter someone who is alive, fully and absolutely alive.

I’m in a city right now that attracts people from all over the world, and from all kinds of backgrounds. With all sorts of personalities, and I love it.

One thing, even as a child, I loved, was being as multicultural as possible. Maybe because of my being Native American, I know what it is to be a minority, if even just a bit, I can relate to the other well. I see now, that such a viewpoint is a gift, and I am thankful that I did not have a lot of prejudices to overcome now that I’m aware of the concept of prejudice. If I could I wish I could remove the who idea of prejudice from the world, my goodness, I suppose there are things I hate after all. Prejudice, pain, suffering, bigotry, hatred, and so forth. I hate to see them in the world at large, and more so do I hate it when I notice them, however small they might be, in myself.

One of my favorite things I’ve been getting out of my language studies, is how much I can’t help but fall in love with the people who speak that language. Understanding other cultures, for me, seems to automatically result in the loving of them, I might have not an iota of interest in another culture, but once I start to look into understanding it, I begin to not only love the culture, but to love the people in it. It happens not only for people of other nations, but of sub-cultures and the like. I suppose one of my goals in life is to be something of a citizen of the earth, in that no matter where I find myself, these are my people. and this is my home. To count myself human before I count myself an American. To count myself human, even before I count myself as a male, and so forth.

Nevertheless, I also desire to maintain and hold to my own convictions, ideas, beliefs, and so forth, while maintaining an open-mind. I desire to be tolerant, true, but that doesn’t mean I agree with everything that everyone has to say. Agreement, and tolerance are not the same, I suppose. I want to love, but not without wisdom, there is a difference between loving others and letting others walk all over oneself. I don’t want to do that. But, as a human being, my purpose is to love those around me as much as I possibly can. I can think of no higher honor, and in some ways, nothing more difficult.

I am glad I visited this coffee shop today. I never expected a cup of coffee to prove such an inspirational one. Yes, I am very glad indeed.

My Tower

I keep lots of things on my walls. From where I sit, I can see a drawing of the Grim Reaper holding my hand, a picture I drew for the very specific reason of illustrating a point for this blog, actually. Above Mr. Reaper is “Do not rejoice over me, O my enemy, Though I fall, I will rise; Though I dwell in darkness, the Lord is a light for me.” Micah 7:8 (NAS) Above that is a picture of a flying car, the Ford Angelica from Harry Potter to be exact.

On my door (Which is purple) is an Apple logo, above which is the name Jesus. The Apple logo is glow-in-the dark. On the other side of the door, is a Ravenclaw emblem, below it is “Have You Seen This Wizard?” Sirius Black wanted poster.

On my other wall is a quote by Albus Dumbledore. “Time is making fools of us again.” Above the quote there is a sign for “The Leaky Cauldron” and beside the quote there is a Harley-Davidson logo. (It’s what the Elves ride.) Above the Harley-Davidson is another “Have You Seen This Wizard?”, beside the Harley-Davidson is a red shopping bag with a crown on it, underneath the crown are the words “KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON” on the other side of the red bag is a Slytherin emblem. Above the Slytherin is a picture of Boromir of Gondor holding a guitar, and the words “ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY ROCK INTO MORDOR” on it.

Further along the wall is another “Have You Seen This Wizard?” And next to that is a map of Alagaēsia. Next to the map is a painting on the wall, from the ceiling to the floor, also glow-in-the-dark, representation of the Doors of Durin. (The Gate into Moria.) And on the other side of that is a poster of The Hunger Games book cover. Also a sword is on the wall with the word “LAW” on it.

On my monitor there are several Chinese characters on the side, Basically they mean “Courage, Honor, Willing Heart” & “Fire, Air, Earth, Water” On top is “I Am Fire” the Dauntless logo “I Am Dauntless” and on the bottom there is “I need not fear anything.” and the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. On the other side, there is nothing yet. I’m thinking of drawing a picture of a serpent, or a dragon, and a lion or a cat. They are all creatures I “connect” with rather well.

An odd wall, to be sure. But an observant eye could tell you a lot about me just from looking at it. I’m a Christian, I have an understanding of Death, I am an Apple fan, I am interested in Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, British Culture, flying vehicles, Eragon, and The Hunger Games. Time. Intelligence, Bravery, Courage, Cunning, Ambition, I have a familiarity with mythology, and consider myself to be Dauntless. I have a sense of humor, as well as a darker sense of reality, in the Elder Wand and the sword of Law.

The wall is a portrait of the person who dwells within the room. (The walls are black and white, half of it is black the other half white.) No wonder I feel a wee bit strange sometimes, all these oddities as my view when I’m trying to think. A pile of swords in the corner, next to one of those artist things with a hole in it for mixing paint, and a guitar. My other wall is mostly decorated with tons and tons of names. Friends, family, people I care about. I will not say their names here. But there are a lot of people on that wall, along with a number of things about how I’m viewed by God, to remind me of who I am. It is in this room where I am most likely to lose my identity, all sense of who I am, to forget myself.

The other wall, opposite the one with the keep calm bag, is blank, except for a few words, and a painting of the graves of my characters, in the one corner, and a picture of me as a baby and an old, old, old, pastor, (One whom I remember mostly for the hugs we exchanged.) in the other. the middle has a piece of “blackout” cloth stretched across it to function as a makeshift projector screen.

This is my tower. It is my place of solitude. Where I go when I need to think.

And it’s so human. I mean, it’s such a human thing to have interest and expressions of things. It is good to be a human being, and I’m glad to be reminded of it. To be, it is the best thing to be, and I am glad that I am a human being, neither a monster or a god, nor the ability to become either, I am, and always shall be, human, and this room with all its eclectic decor, reminds me of that. It has a bit of my personality in it, even when I’m not there. (I think, I am never in the room when I’m not in the room, I really can’t say for certain. I’ve watched Toy Story, I can’t guarantee there isn’t a massive panic every time I turn the door handle.)

Oh, and the outside of my door is designed to look like the door to the TARDIS.