Time and Light Switches

I have become reacquainted with the 2am nights. In this unchosen time of silence and solitude I’ve been left to my thoughts and emotions like the wolves. I didn’t choose this path it was given to all of us as our only real option.  The tides have shifted and we the introverts are freezing. Those of us that have learned to love people and being in their company felt such a great reprieve in this time. And now there is a capacity that once was that has been lost.  Once again being surrounded by people no matter how dearly I love them drains my energy the way paper is eaten by fire. There is the part of my soul that could live in solitude for all eternity that is very much so at the surface. The part that longs for the company of others can hardly be heard over the shouting of my lone heart.  It’s not for a lack of love for people. There is a great sadness caused by the inability to be with the ones I love. It pains me to be pained by their presence. I long to be with people but it takes

I long to go and scream in charcoal and bleed in ink. I ache to be awash and adrift in my own creativity. It feels more like a desert these days. If only my hands were a mess and my mind in balance. I am a tempest of contradictions and conflicts.   I’m drowning in my need to be loved and yet I am not scared of anything more than being loved. I want it to be easy. I am running from the pain before it can become manifested. And in that I am in pain. For I am not in love and have never been. Yet I wish so strongly for something I do not understand.  I miss something I’ve never had and someone I’ve never known. It paints me to be mad and raving. I’m simply someone in love with the idea of being in love.  The part of me that loves is very good friends with the part that creates. They are different sides to the same coin. There are times where they contradict each other greatly and days where they are one in the same. They are the driving force of all I do; when one gets tired and sleepy mot

Cookie dough tastes like my childhood and makes me think of my dear friend Gillian. I would use her nickname to save her secret identity however we never had nicknames for one another, we were nothing but our truest selves together. There is something about cookie dough that never fails to invoke intense nostalgia. To this day I can't even think about making cookies without remembering with great fondness the numerous times we’ve made them together. Even now when we need to have meaningful time together we bake surgery treats for our families. Because by the time they’re cooked we will have eaten our fill of the raw stuff no matter what that might happen to be. We have always been so real with one another, no fake persona, no false misconceptions, just real. Cornbread tastes like Amsterdam and reminds me of my mom. My mom has always been and still is my hero, and she likes cornbread. She has made it my whole life and no one makes it better than her. (And I’m being terribly biased.)

No human being should have to yell their need for respect in order for it to be met. No human being should have to petition for their right to be treated as a human being. It should not matter if they are rich or poor, tall or short, 72 or 12 years old, and it should not matter if they are black or white. All human beings need to be treated as such. And there is an entire division of human beings that are crying out for the respect, honour and love that they been denied. There is a great cry in all the earth that needs to be heard. There is a peace that has been ripped from the very hearts of many people. This great cry is a call that needs to be heeded. In-between their cry's for justice and shouts of grief the great longing for the blood of Jesus can be heard. They are crying for the blood. There is a cry for forgiveness and a cry for justice. Both need to be heard and both need to be met with the blood of Jesus. I don't claim to have all the answers and I don't p