Metamorphosis IV

December 9, 2019

I am here. I am here at my breaking point of school waiting to be released. I am here believing that my life is more than this. I am here going crazy.

If I hang myself at this exact moment, will I still have to write this paper? Hell is me writing academia over and over again. I never thought I’d get here. I never thought that I would hate academia, but I guess this is metamorphosis. This is me coming out of my cocoon. This is me getting my wings.

I am here with feathers outside my back and the world feels differently than it did months ago. I feel different. I’m not sure what to do here, except to fly. I always wondered how birds knew exactly where to go. I am learning that freedom is innate. I don’t know how I know where to go, but I know I am headed there with my new wings, new heart, and my awakened spirit. This is what it means to fly.

Metamorphosis Part II

June 16, 2019

Think past all things. Think past all your wants, your jealousies, your desires, your ailments, and peek out into the unknown. Seek the intentionality of the universe and ask it, “Is it all on purpose?” Because I believe it is. I believe that the feathers that I am waiting for patiently to sprout out of my back are the same ones that a writer had in mind when s/he wrote them into The OA. I think it is not a coincidence I spoke of flying and feathers and this irresistible feeling to burst out of this exterior shell and then it appears in my life weeks later. I think the sky that is hanging on my walls and the women who embody it are all on purpose. I think this moment of pure ease and delight of the purposefulness of my life was always planned. I think it is here that my feathers begin to sprout. It is here that I learn to grow. It is here that I will begin to feel what it is I’ve always known.

Cause God, goodness God has never been a genie in the sky or a lion in the clouds. God has never been the voice of James Earl Jones, Morgan Freeman, or Howard. But God has always been the face that welcomes me into the tent, the face I cup in my hands, and the heart that beats slowly with mine. God has always been the rhythm of resets on Sunday afternoons and the glow of four-legged friends in the dark. God has always been impossibly large and steadily close. It is here, in this moment, that I recognize truly how close God has been. Because the God I cusp in the dark is the one that appears to me in the light. That God has consistently worked and appeared in all things. So here I am now, watching a video of captivity of myself, and trying to convince myself that I am not crazy. That the feathers are a coincidence. And maybe it is, but I can never be that person. I can never be the person who believes in incidentals because here I am dancing with That Which Has No Name and All Names. Some people, they pass the greatness of God and they say, “Blessed am I who has walked with the Lord.” And that is true, and they are. But oh, oh are the heartbreaking ones who spend this life and the next dancing with God for eternity.

Here I am, beginning to learn. By the end, I don’t think I’ll be the only one with wings. I hear You, God. I see You. And here I am, dancing with You.

Metamorphosis Part I

June 9, 2019

With every admission of guilt, fear, or regret a new seedling finds itself blooming inside my chest. I can feel them sway and hit the inside of my rib cage, begging to be let out through my back. But what they tell me, and what I know, is that they are not the little green seedlings of new plant life but baby feathers. They are accompanied with many mature ones that live inside my chest cavity. I feel them balled up and waiting to explode out of my back so that one day I may be able to fly. All of this energy that is stored up, all of the goodness, all of the praise, and all of the recognition, all of the talks with the Mystery that has no name has created a release of growth inside my chest. I cross the threshold now, of this world and the next, hoping and begging for God to cut my back open so that they may have the room they need to grow, and I might have the tool to fly. I wait as all of the Spirit welcomes me in my home and greets me into time with the Mystery.

“Tell me I’m lying. Tell me that everything I feel is wrong. Tell me we aren’t the angels entertaining one another. Tell me that it is not us circling your head marveling at every glimpse of You that is revealed. Please, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that I can’t fly. Tell me that they aren’t wings. Tell me that this energy coursing through my veins can be released under my control. Tell me that when it does explode, everything else around me will still be intact. Tell me that I am wrong.”

Silence. Overwhelming silence and that surge of power of the Spirit that cannot be explained. It is like wrapping your arms around a lover—being both familial and erotic without ever being sexual. It is a feeling that is pure and raw and forever guarded and untouched.

“Tell me it is not God I embrace. Tell me it is not You that I will one day see. Tell me I haven’t crossed over. Tell me that it is impossible to live the way I live in here out there where they cannot see.”

“Because I feel You hovering over my day. I feel You always. It is Genesis every single day. I don’t care if You’re God the Mother or God the Father. You are this intangible existence that I lay no claim to. You are what You are, and You are perfect. You are what is and what was and what is to come, and I lay no claim to You now or otherwise.”

“You are an experience I am never ready for, and I am terrified to even ask. But, I want to experience more than holes in my hands. I want to experience the explosion being stored in my body and the curls of feathers tempted to rupture my chest. I want to be let out. I want to fly.”

“I’d carve my chest open and the only things they’d see are a heart and lungs and possibly a loose kidney. They wouldn’t see it, and they’d think of me crazy for believing it. So, tell me, God. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this fire is wrong and the energy pounding in my chest is nonexistent. Tell me You’re tame. Tell me I’m all crazy for being equal parts excited to live and to die…just to see if I was right. Tell me You fit perfectly in the Holy book I pedaled around. Tell me that You’re neat and exactly as they see You.”

“Why would you, though? I still wouldn’t believe You. There is more than what we can see. There is more than what we believe. There is more than what I was prepared to give credit to. But, in order to know there is more, I must believe I am more too. So, I’m starting there. I won’t order, but I will ask. God the God that is, will You teach me how to fly?”

For the Six Other Days

I want

an expression of faith

not

religious practice.

I want

a wisdom that surpasses all earthly knowledge

not

intellectualism.

I want

a relationship that only ebbs and flows

with the movements of Christ

not

a religion with rules that only ebbs and flows

with legalism and rituals.

I want

inexplicable supernatural experiences

not

a superficial love movement built on good feelings.

Give me

Passion worth dying for

Dedication worth pursuing

Love worth responding to

Peace that is everlasting.

Leave

Pride disguised as shyness

Anxiety disguised as jittery hands

Loneliness disguised as silence

Resentment disguised as criticism.

Instead,

Greet me with

A humble beginning

A virtuous love

A kindness of heart.

Show me

God.