2:22 perhaps?

how long is it going to be before i get my arse painting tonight. well, 2:19 am sounds like a fine time to really really really start thinking about it. oh, even the things we love to do sometimes take motivation. x

An Everyday Portal

Today, while joe ran errands, I waited for him outside of his various locations wanting to absorb as much sun as chicago could offer. At the first location I honestly stood there thinking, um ok, I am standing here now what? As if I needed some sort of activity to validate myself being standing there without purpose. Then I saw something. I saw a tiny garden, planted by the city. It was so simple, green leafy surroundings, red plants, yellow-green bushes, light green stalks with off white blooms still in their cocoons. One flower in all of this had bloomed. Fully. It was like the first solider surveying the area, making sure it was safe for the others to come out. And as I stood there, tiny details started appearing everywhere. The depth of the veins on the plants, the variations of the colors of the earth, the rainbow of greens, the sharp lines of the leaves, the soft wrinkles of that first bloom. I walk down this street all the time, how many times have i passed this garden of beauty and ignored its visual gifts. How often do I skim over the beauty which simple strolls have to offer? Often, I imagine. I actually had my sketchbook with me, which is quite rare, unfortunately, and i started to sketch this garden. The more I sketched, the more I saw. Honestly, it was so beautiful. I felt so blessed to have had to stop there. Suddenly I began to notice more things, the people who passed by (none really glancing at that garden, by the way), the sounds of their voices, the bells on the collars of dogs, the babies in the strollers, the cacophony of the traffic - all of a sudden everything became so vibrant. It was like a portal in a new universe, right there, and available to me every day. The more you see, the more you see. The more I saw the beauty of that corner, i started to see beauty and richness everywhere else we walked. Today was a gift. There is such a wealth to receive in the simple details of every moment. I hope to remember this more often, its' so easy to get caught up in the day to day walk in life, I can easily forget the beauty of each step.

prayers

Some people go to church every single day. That is amazing to me. Their sinless souls cleansed each day by a whisper in a darkened confession booth. Their faith, their connection so tightly knit, in the mind of this devoted disciple, is there any doubt that surely heaven, or or some peace like it, awaits their departure from this mortal coil?

There is no confession booth waiting to cleanse me. My sin rests in my own hands. My church is my canvas. My prayers are my brush strokes, my chosen colors outline my confessions and my tears are the drips on heavily stained alters. I confess that I have not been to church in many days and the weight of it is so heavy that it alters all types of normal activity. I feel closeted, chaotic, unavailable even to my own self. So far removed do I feel, that I wonder if my church will even remember my name, hear my confessions or allow me to pray? So, in a humble moment of genuflection i pick up the brush i left drying for too many days, stand in front of my canvas and try to find the place on the path where I stopped praying. There is a silent verse waiting to be recited and, if i allow it, a voice, maybe some prayer from a distant part of me, will be heard. and answered.