50th Confession

Well, here it is: the first milestone blogmark.  I had so much I wanted to write here: a piece about KBO, a bit about God and faith, a little maybe about the great mystery of synchronicity that I've noticed weaving about my life...

But I'm stuck. Again.

The words fail me. They don't come out. The thoughts and inspirations are there, and I don't believe in writer's block.

It's just that my words feel clumsy. Oafish. As though my thoughts are being interpreted into German, sent through Morse code to a Cocker Spaniel, and barked out to a chipmunk.

English is such a gracious, noble language. The way that a pun twists a word's dipthong until the listener feels the pain of a wedgie. The masterful laments of Prufrock and Josh Ritter. The power of the phrase "You Shall Not Pass," spoken in stentorian tones by an actor of the highest caliber.

But yet, it feels like this masterful tool, this glorious instrument on which I play, has become a tintinnabulation,  a cacophony of guttural lowing from a hungry herd of livestock complaining about their lot in life.

I've been reading more and more literature in the past few weeks. A lot more TS Eliot, listening to Josh Ritter a little more, crying inside a little more...I think it's a sign of another inward spiral.

Maybe the solution is in the problem: I've gotta rock myself a little bit harder. I've got to eat a peach. Let myself live a little. KBO.

I'm trying to live by a few principles: Love God. Obey the rules of the land. Honor my parents. Enjoy life.

In that order.

But some days, I'm just not...

I'm just not me anymore. I'm just a husk of Ryan's soul, biding my time, waiting to come to life again, like the storms down in Mexico. Spiritually, I'm just getting by, because I can't work in the confines of the box. My God is so much bigger than the box that many see Him as, and I don't want to be bound by the rules that others claim He wrote. The rules that leech life, stifle creativity, maintain the status quo - I can't see my God having anything to do with them, let alone writing them.

Is there not a prophet in Israel? Is there not a voice to cry out and change my future? Do they have to come from all over the place in order to revitalize a local body? If the body is going that way, won't there be someone local to be that way?

And after releasing all this, I hear a voice. It's only three words, spoken by my best friend. I can hear the warmth in his voice as he says it, although he's a thousand miles and five states away. But I can feel the power of them, resonating inside me, gripping the wildly vibrating tuning fork that has been my soul and giving it rest.

KBO, folks, because sooner or later, things will turn out right. Walk in tune with the beat that God hears, and soon you might see the dance steps you take, and learn to enjoy it as well.

Good night, folks.  Fifty-one will be better.