Spiritual beings ∙ human experiences
Spiritual beings ∙ human experiences
By J.ournalPosted on 
With my latest video poem “I Am Not Shaken” about to be released Monday (Sept. 10th), I just wanted to share some background on what goes into creating something like this.
The poem itself was written over a period of a few months and finished back in March. After a couple more months of working on the music with Kimberly StarKey a.k.a. The Rogue Pianist, then recording and mixing, we were finally ready to start planning the video.
By J.ournalPosted on Click here to like, comment, or share on YouTube.
I guess you could say she’s seen better days
a crack in the windshield is snaking its way through dirty glass
a couple of the tires are low, treading on journeys past
the check engine light is glowing, has been for a while and
she knows where we’re going, she’s on autopilot
I see you’ve been here before, what’s the mileage
whoa, she’s overdue
leave the keys and sign here, we’ll roll her through
I take my backpack and grab some empty clif bar wrappers off the passenger’s seat
take a final glance back as if my eye contact will comfort her through the poking and prodding
and make my way over to the waiting room
which is a few timeworn tables and benches under a red sun bleached awning
several other people are waiting for their refreshed rides
one is yawning
a few are texting or instagramming, who can tell
there’s a unique but familiar smell
a cocktail of greasy engines, greasier sandwiches, and jamba juice
I find an empty bench next to a recliner that looks like it used to be a masseuse
there’s a faint argument about (tainted garbage? no) gained yardage between two guys on an old tv
I should pull out that book I’ve been meaning to read
but I just kill time on my phone
a few handfuls of wasted minutes later I hear my name mispronounced
they want to know
do I want the $50 air filter – nah, listen
the fuel injector needs cleaning every 12k miles
but you said 20k last time so let’s risk it
they drain the used oil
and quench her thirst with golden honey from the new purified bottles
six quarts of elixir to fix her aching joints
viscosity restored
time to pull her forward to the vacuums
those giant orange cylinders of grace
if that grill had lips i’m pretty sure i’d start to see a smile on her face
stale McDonalds fries removed
disburdened of dirt from the floor mats
tiny grains of unwanted souvenirs from the beach liberated from the seat seams
she seems redeemed
she turns a corner, moving tentatively
this next part is only gonna work if she makes it safely in the straight and narrow tracks
she can’t see her wheels and has to place faith in faded harrowed plaques
but with a quick jolt, rusty metal hands grab her axles from below
and she lets go into a baptism of power washers
and giant scrubbers oozing with soap
and hope
potholes forgiven
caked layers of mud from wrong turns on road trips and unexpected rain storms
washed away
she emerges from the watery cave
she beams
the sun glistening off her curves
angels in blue jump suits and gray caps
appear out of nowhere to wipe off any last spots
and polish the rims nice and shiny
they wave a red rag in circles
that means the revitalization is complete
covenants renewed
they hand me the keys
I hand over a few dollars, tithing to the sud gods
and get in
break open the vanillaroma air freshener and hang it from the mirror
and we hit the road again
By J.ournalPosted on 
Click here to like, comment, or share on YouTube.
to the left, to the right
the pendulum sways
pivoting under the weight of animosity
and when it swings our way
yay
we celebrate with our team
but I’m starting think it’s just camouflage
and the pendulum is actually just a facade
for a guillotine
and I wonder if it’s going to stop in time
or if we even want it to
are we really getting anywhere?
or is this an endless tug of war
so entrenched that we’d rather sit here forever and die in the mud
than go have dinner together
some people want guns
other people want guns banned
but neither of these things is going to stop the killing
so maybe the real question is why we want to shoot each other
some people want a wall
some people want open borders
but we’ve already put up walls
when was the last time you opened a border to a foreigner that didn’t already live in your worldview
some people believe only what they see
some people see only what they believe
are we trying to know something?
or are we trying to become something?
some people want choice
and some people want life
I think God is wondering why there are unwanted pregnancies in the first place
unwilling participators in creation
the most divine thing we could ever do as humans
and we’re like, nah
and he’s probably like
all this arguing over health care
the sicknesses I really want you to cure aren’t even covered by insurance
and the prescription has already been written
you just have to go pick it up
why do you want to feel like you’re a winner every 4 years
when you could win eternity
so worried about the length of the grass in a preseason baseball game
that you forgot about the World Series
when was the last time one of your messiahs
actually fulfilled your desires
when you gave them your vote
your faith
why do you paint yourselves into a ballot box when I gave you a sky
why are you sitting in gridlock when I gave you a runway
shouting at each other from two ends of a straight line
wondering why the other can’t see your point
it’s because life is not one-dimensional
and honestly
you were meant for much more meaningful geometry
like triangles
we can mill around on the bottom
preoccupied with all the problems
stupefied by the minutiae
turning back whenever we encounter a new angle
or we can turn the corner, upward to the angels
not only ascending
but coming closer together
pouring our collective inventory
onto a terrestrial table of truce
forming a blueprint for celestial glory
shaping truth from our sharp edges
and what we really find in the climb is the perspective
that there are three sides to every story
By J.ournalPosted on 
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My favorite Christmas song has always been The Little Drummer Boy. But because I can’t play any instruments or sing, I never thought I’d be able to do a “cover” of it and was always a little jealous of those that could. Just like the boy in the song, I never felt that I had a gift that’s fit.
But also like the boy, I realized that I could just give what I had. It may not be a traditional gift or what the world deems acceptable or worthy, but it’s mine. It’s me. My way of honoring his birth and expressing gratitude for the atonement.
I love the line “then he smiled at me”. After everything our savior has done for us, all he really wants in return is our hearts. If we offer the gift of ourselves he will always smile at us. No matter how unworthy we feel, we will always be enough.
Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. Merry Christmas!
Lyrics:
come they told me
there’s a new born king to behold
a new royalty
bring your finest gifts
to lay before the throne
to honor him
but I told them
I’m not a shepherd
or a wise man
I have no gift that’s fit
I can’t sing like Adele
or rap like Lupe
I have no treasures of gold
but I don’t suppose he has much use for those anyway
I’m just a poor boy too
I only have these words
shall I say them for you?
Mary nodded her head
Kimberly tickled the keys
my 3 cats kept time
and I said my piece
I said my best for him
tore my heart straight out of my chest for him
told him I knew how he felt
when they detested him
and falsely arrested him
I thanked him for the truth
that they scolded him for
told him what the atone-meant to me and the impor-
tance of scorching blood so hot
that he had to sweat me through his pores
for getting through gethsemane on all fours
for the scourging he absorbed
and the thorns
of that barbed-wire halo
for walking on water
when my feet were cemented to the shores
for not only showing me the way home
but getting me through the doors
for becoming like me for a moment
so that I could become like him forever
I told him how these wars and afflictions
were so much more than I envisioned
I mean, I knew about the battle
but not about the scars
I knew about the gamble
but not about the cards
this is hard
these burdens are burning, I’m laden with them
these aches and pains, I feel forsaken with them
then he opened his arms and I saw his palms
I was graven in them
he had scars too
and he saved me with them
changed me with them
my eyes were opened to the liberation in him
and I saw how all these lonely stars
could become constellations in him
true as the noon sky’s blue
I thanked him for the courage
the hope
the ways of wisdom
to navigate every sacred day that I’m given
the amazing grace within him
the favor of forgiveness
when I wavered in suspicion
while they scathed him in prison
and bathed him in crimson
for breaking the system
so that today I can say with conviction
that because my savior was risen
I can rise too
for that I gave him all that I could give him
and as these vowels glided across a life time I implored
you were my consonant constant
the figure of my speech
my life line through the storms
it was full of awkward pauses
mispronounced words
stuttered and forged through a discord
of a thousand failed metaphors
I know it’s not much
but every syllable of this discourse
was just me trying to make my life rhyme with yours
my vocal chords were hoarse
and broken
and I could speak no more
I looked up
and I saw my reflection bouncing back and forth
through tears that traversed time and eternity
he said
your words are enough
you are enough
then he smiled at me
me and my poetry
By J.ournalPosted on 
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Remember 9/12?
the day after the crashes
the aftermath when
the skies were quiet
the only tweets came from birds that were confused by the reverence
they looked on as we held hands at vigils of remembrance
we were scared but the fellowship vanquished the fears
because when the candlelight lit up the tears
we saw our own reflections in each other’s faces
and we mourned, together
the only races were those to get help for someone that needed it
someone we probably didn’t even know
people said hi to each other, and smiled
just walking down the street
all religions came together to pray
the non-religious came together – to pray
tales of heroes started to leak into our collective conscience
like flight 93
when that plan was hatched
there was no time for Facebook flaming because there were already flames
down on the ground
through the ashes and the panic
firemen didn’t stop to ask if
anyone was republican or democrat
or what kind of life they thought mattered
there was only one kind of life, and it mattered
every burning body deserved to live
every cry for help deserved to be heard
nobody was fixated on reposting or commenting on fake news
because they were asphyxiated
breathless
and what, a decade and a half it’s been
here we are, gasping again
the air is black again
it’s like we’ve been attacked again
choking on the smoke in our throats and noses every night
only there are no sirens or yellow coats or firehoses in sight
so what do we do
standing on the front lines of civil war 2
guns drawn, the skies are violent
we’re desperately trying to ascertain
umbrellas to shelter us from all the acid rain
every direction a maelstrom
every election is a hail storm
walking softly through a minefield of ballot boxes
and no matter which hole we punch, we’re knocked unconscious
there’s no stopping the brawls
we’re not even talking anymore
it’s just a cacophony of cannonballs
never content un…less there’s contention
so much energy to scream we lost our energy to dream
we lost our memories… shortened everything to memes
what happened?
we were the most united as americans
when they hijacked United and American
we were still as different as red and white
but we took the stripes and stood under the stars
told our stories in the moonlight and we discovered the same plot
woven in old glory we saw sisters and brothers made from the same cloth
an eternal fabric
we don’t need terrorist attacks to remind us of that
because every day someone crashes
and every day someone can be rescued
someone right next to you
because as we all know, this life can be hell
we’re all just trying to find heaven in it
and there’s a chain of deliverance that only works if we’re linked together in it
if hurt people hurt people, healed people can heal people
that’s the real appeal of people
only as the sum of our parts do we ever really feel equal
and peaceful
we don’t have to be the same, to be one
to find truth in truce
in this mess the only solution we have left
is love, compassion, and union
to cross that line in the sand, grab somebody’s hand
and stand together at the vigil
in remembrance of what it was like to be… human
By J.ournalPosted on I had that dream again last night
no, not the one where I’m in college and I can’t find my class schedule again
the other one, where I’m living in my dream house
it was a little different this time, but not different
still spacious, modern but cozy, nice furniture
and there’s always a hallway that leads to a part of the house i’ve never seen before
and it’s really clean, pristine
and it’s like, how did I not know about this? this is amazing – bonus square footage
but I hesitate to go
because once I emerge from the other end of that hallway
and make footprints on the silky white rug
once I put my dinner plate on the coffee table
and once I lay on the couch and do everyday couch things on it
it’s not new anymore
and what if there’s not another undiscovered hallway to go down
and that’s it, and I’m out of new places to investigate
and what if… well, usually about then i wake
and in my half-conscious state
I try to think about any rooms in my real house that I might have missed
like a brick that I can twist in my living room and the whole thing will switch
or a window that I haven’t looked out of recently
or worst case, some furniture that I can rearrange
so that it doesn’t feel the same
am I odd to see life like an odyssey?
why am I still browsing open houses on Zillow a year after I bought one?
how is it that sitting under a perfectly fine roof on a perfectly comfortable chair that I still feel like a vagabond?
aimless
like i’m trying to write soliloquies on a keyboard with no return
just an empty space above the shift key on the right
i have no way to start a new line, or a new life
so I wander in the wilderness
through the wayfaring I crave bearing
the drifting hurts to the bone
never quite sure of a moment
that’s why I keep trying to recycle words into poems
like if I could reverberate the tone
enough to turn nouns and verbs into stone
i could subvert the loneliness
but maybe the reason we’re prone to this thirst to roam
is because this earth… isn’t… home
and this whole human existence is like summer camp
we’re just here to have experiences away from our parents
yeah there are mosquito bites and the bed isn’t very comfortable
and we have to cook our own food but
didn’t we find part of ourselves in that camp fire?
was it the sparks or were we the little glowing souls floating in the smoky purple haze
and that mountain we climbed
with every step we took we left an older version of ourselves behind
there were stray branches, we got some scratches
and JJ got poison ivy
and the sunburns, those were probably the worst but
we’ll never forget the sun shining off the lake like a prophecy of light
we’re a little sore from learning to water ski but tonight
anything can happen
we might laugh until the sky turns bright
or stumble into a first kiss under the moonlight
either way
we’re gonna remember these days until we’re old and gray
and when the summer’s over we’re gonna go home and say
you’re not gonna believe what happened
I’m not the first person to feel like life is an exodus
I suppose it’s like Moses for the rest of us
I know the promised land isn’t listed on Zillow
and tonight, when my head hits the pillow
i’m probably going to dream of more new houses with secret passageways and unexplored rooms
but i can rest, assured that the only thing better than real estate
is a real estate
and I know the trust is mine to own
so I’m gonna keep throwing wood on the fire and blazing new trails and turning over stones every day
until i’m on the bus ride home
