Instanity

Crippled by the crawlies in my lettered little liason of distraught distractions, I most seldomly take the bouncy backseat instead of the thorough train of thoughtfulness – it has gone on for quite a whole while now, you see, and it has left my brain viciously vegetative when it comes to connecting the nosy little neurons between it and my hungry heart, which now lay pooped and pale from a lavish lack of loving.

Where my thinking was always rocking a steadfast slice of solid sanity, it seems to have crumbled to dainty dribbles of instant intricacies that entertain the soul but spit out the spirit onto a hot plate of soulish sands to shrivel and fry. Oh, where have my plush pools of lengthy long-sufferable concentration gone!? How do I jump off this wave-woven ship of instanities to an established island where I can blissfully bind anchor to at least some solid matter of heart – or a spoke of spirit filled sand?

It seems I, and perhaps you too, require a good gasoline-like drench in a zone that some heartily hail distraction free. Although, I urge us both an impeccably important note; similar to when the sweet nicotine-like nectar of coffee’s caffeine is dropped and it results in roaring rumbles of temporary headache, dropping the yodelling yarns and flickering prawns – really any dreary distraction – will likely result in a bristling boredom that will come running and screaming with a bullish butcher’s knife (and a softly cracking knee), making your mind reek with riff-raff for days on end, but take heart! For He has overcome this world.

So then, with His sturdy strength and our commitment to commit, we’ll all battle our brothy beasts and in the process I trust our neglected neurons will gradually grow and we find ourselves colourfully communing with the King of Kings. Hopefully then, with our meticulously manicured hearts and minds, dancing in perfect peace, we will find ourselves toothfully thankful and living back in real reality.

Forgotten Forest

Oh Father, once again,
I beg, please set me free!
I’ve shackled myself to my will,
I’ve tried gaining righteousness,
by trusting my own misguided, filthy feet.
Please lead me to that forgotten forest!
Where I do nothing but be –
where You gift me with grace,
and You do the work within me.
I realize it’s about positioning,
not striving with my own might,
not just walking selfishly,
day by day using my own sight.
Not just living, putting You aside,
but being disciplined
in relying on Your might –
so that You can forge my heart
in love and truth,
and shape my character,
so that when people see me –
they see You!

Breathe

When silence reaks and the walls whisper,
breathe.
When the lights die and your instruments splinter,
breathe.
When your flowers rot and your eyes decay,
breathe.
When your nails split and your mercies fray,
breathe.
When the rocks melt and your feet sting,
breathe.
When you feel forgotten and you drown within,
breathe.
When the winds howl and your bones crack,
breathe.
When your peace is gone and you’re under attack,
breathe –
for when you breathe in tiny, hope-filled breaths,
you’re surely moving towards abundant joy and life, not death.

Om Mee te Gee

Skaamte klop wanneer die see se stilte
asemrowend reusagtig raak –
wanneer mens se hawelose hart
te veel, te swaar, skipbreuk gely het
en nie nog ‘n keer die rou rotse wil smaak nie.

Stilte sluip in wanneer jou gebroke gedagtes
en halwe handelinge só geruis opwek
dat enige suiwer, sout-smeulende seine
deur jou onwetend-wetende ore
voluit versmoor word.

Diepe-slaap kom kuier wanneer mens nie eers
meer wil probeer probeer nie –
dat die gruwe grond, vir jou droog-gehuilde oë,
na ‘n amper aantrekliker opsie bly blyk –
eerder as om jou bloeiende hart dalk bloot te stel
aan enige iets wat jou huidige toestand kan verbrand. 

Frustrasie bly darem hardboudig sit,
soos ‘n getroue oumensie op ‘n sitkamer-stoel, 
om die waarheid te onderskei; 
dat jou skreeuende gaste die swakkeres verdoof –
en dat jy weer gekonfronteer kan word met die kies van ‘n daaglikse keuse:
watter lewend- of doodmakende wil,
gaan jy vandag laat meegee.

Onvoorwaardelik

Een ding is kruisend vas genael:
Sy liefde is absoluut onvoorwaardelik.
So die flym mes teen jou verlore hart,
en die kokende klip teen jou kwaadaardige kop,
kan jy maar terug na die genadige grond toe smyt.

Laat jou daaglikse doene en late dan nuut
hierdie alomteenwoordige waarheid weerspieël.
Draai jou huidiglik-kronkelende paaie,
En swaai jou deurmekaargekrapte standaarde –
Jy is ‘n onvoorwaardelik-geliefde kind van ‘n almagtige, herskeppende God.

Berge en Watervalle

Bruisend, wit, worstel, warrel en weef die blitsige strome deur en oor die swart stene wat tydsvas anker op die majisteuse watervalspunt.

Die water val van ver af manjifiek soos ‘n bruid se sleep, sag en fyn geweef, so of gravitasie van sy werk vergeet. Maar tog neuk dit hard neer, soos tuimelende hammers, op brawe rots en plant, wat bo alle verstand hul man kan staan en nie weg spoel soos meeste sand.

Die mens is interessant deurdat hierdie reuse beeld so vloedend sy aardse verstand so deurmekaar kan kam. Soveel krag sprong eintlik vanuit die onsienlike hartkamers van die berge, wat die hemelse reënbuie deurlopend met miljoene klein druppels vol tap.

Daar is eintlik só baie krag daarin om perspektief te skuif, soos Paulus ons uitermatig eenvoudig wys. Want “ons wat God in die Gees dien” leef allereers binne die berg, die aardsdraad van die supremawerklikheid, sodat die onsigbare vloede wat in die onsienlike ewigheid borrel die realiteit in kan stroom, in al die kleinste en sagste vorme, en dit hierdie ongetemde wêreld deur die voortvloeiende watervalle bonatuurlik, en kragtig, weer terug na Eden toe kan sluip.

So, kortom, ek preek vir myself, soos my mieliepit dit maar verstaan, leef eerstens vanuit en in die geestesrealiteit, sodat jou vertrekpunt nie die punt van die waterval is nie. Want op die beste sal ‘n piepiestraaltjie al wees wat jy deur jou eie twee modderhande kan bereik.

Brood en Vuur

Soos ‘n rots,
staan jy
met jou brood
in die een hand
en jou vuur
in die ander.

Die ewige gekners
van stomp tande
kom tot ‘n einde
wanneer jy jou
eie swaard
laat val
en Myne opneem.

Vergeet. 
Vergeet van die ou dinge
want dit trek jou oë
van my spore af.

Onthou. 
Onthou wie jy was
voor tyd
jou kom skommel het.

My swaard brand
met ‘n wit vuur
en dit sny
deur jou rotse
om murg en been
te skei.
So staan vas
In My
terwyl ek
wat oud is
sloop
en wat heilig is
na vore bring.

Leer My ken
vir wie Ek is
en nie vir die beeld
wat jy van My
gemaak het nie.

Waarna Staar Jy

“Waarna staar jy?”
vra Seuna vroom. 
“Na die realiteite, 
die vaandels,
en die feite. ” 
antwoord Hy stadig
– die Eeu Oue Boom. 

“Maar… is dit…
waarheid?” 
vra Seuna,
diep geïnteresseer. 
“Bo-na-tuur-lik nie, 
My lief kind -” 
dreun die Wind
Sy hart se longe uit – 
“Dit is maar net
klinkende metale, 
luidende simbale.

Want jy weet, 
die ware liefde
raak nie bitter nie
reken nie kwaad toe nie
bedek… alles
glo… alles
hoop… alles
verdra… alles.” 

Seuna vra toe, 
effe ingetoë:
“Pappa, waarom blyk
Jou lyf, Jou liggaam
só seer geboor?”
En Hy antwoord,
met ‘n getraande oog
“Want My kinders
kyk, en handel met
mekaar, deur
hulle eie oë.”

Suutjies Bid

Handjies toegevou
Sit sustertjie
Toe oog
In die koor.

Suutjies bid sy
Sodat haar pappa
Haar sagte stemmetjie
Sal kan hoor

– Want die dreun
Van albasterstem Le Roux
Het al telbare kere
Haar stem versmoor.

“Jirre asseblief
Ek smeek U
Al heel aand
Oor en oor!”

En toe sy
Haar asempie snik
Toe’s die lied verby
En klap die gehoor.

The Chamber – Part 3

<Continued from Part 2>

My eyelids continuously slammed shut – my eyes could not tolerate the overwhelming light for too long. I was grateful that my two polished bronze shields could brace the light’s mighty impact. It gave my eyes the merciful opportunity to cower within my skull, as though they were two scared guards. Their backs pressed hard against the wall of my mind and caused me to churn nervous thoughts, which quickly spread and infected the rest of my now shivering body. But an unknown force breathed marrow into them – and with the crack of a whip they rushed to open the bronze windows and braved the bleached world outside.

I stared in a throbbing stupor as He kneeled down and thoroughly washed my feet with a warm white cloth. His actions cranked open my eyes’ tiny, shiny waterfalls, and caused me to groan with deep, shame filled weeps.

He gently tended my gaping wounds, and slowly fed me something wholesome to eat. Then, with the grace and power of the most righteous king, He whispered life into me – oh a word in a poem so sweet. However, just when I started to taste the honey bursting from the new heart within me, he unexpectedly sliced off a strange piece of meat:
“My son it is time now to start believing, faith will provide the strength to your feet.”

And with that, the room emptied – but somehow I knew it did not just contain the dirt and crumbs that I used to call me. Enlightened, and with the dastardly vigour of a mountain, I slowly got up from my seat. I was still groggy, and blind, but there was one thing I could see. It was a chest, made from black locks, brown locks and brass locks – but no key.

I sluggishly stewed my rags over to it, and found that one was pleasantly unlocked. Within it, it was written “He is the solid rock”, and woven straight through it was a thin metal wire, which sheepishly ran amok. It went into others – with all of them being rudely, stubbornly, tightly locked. But I noticed, the one in my hand, it turned into a key. I tugged its wire gently, which then rang loudly and turned into luminated gold.

I saw the other lock it wound into! I then inserted and twisted my newly shaped key, which caused it to quickly pop open with a tinkle and a tweet. On its shackle was written “as the staff hit the rock”, and on its case “the water burst forth”. But as this one’s wire dug deeper, its twinkling tone of gold got lost. It seemed like this chest would take forever to open, but I had time and hunger, for now it surely took no real cost. So, I blissfully sucked in dry air and continued my perusal forth. 


Sadly, time ticked on and on.

It took me days, nay, it took weeks. I studied it, dragged it, hammered it, but no other lock would slip free. I could not force it. I could not break it. The only thing that changed was the stomach-turning fire and ice that accumulated within me. Doubt crept in, and hate, and fear. It all became hazy, why would it all not just disappear? I knew it for sure, I knew nothing.

I sat in the corner, I gave up, was depressed, and constantly whined. It seemed I could not do it, I COULD NOT DO IT! I finally broke and screamed at it all. Who was this Samaritan who simply left me? “Where are you, you traitor!? What’s faith? It’s killing me!”

Then an unknown flame roasted within me. “That’s the point.” my heart softly whispered into my crying ear.

It seemed that the death of me – was still, exactly, the point. 

I could not do it.

But, by faith, He could!