On the previous post and Imagination

It's a little funny and weird to tell you about Brian -- any normal person would say he isn't Real. I'm trusting you to be as completely abnormal as I, so maybe to understand this.

He is from a dream of almost a year ago, on a late night drive on the highway; coming home. I wasn't sleeping. Lost and reflecting and all the things I am sometimes. Then there was just an image, his hands and mine and this piano. I knew he was blind somehow but it made no difference; through this he would know and see.

One fine day, his music would make everyone smile and everyone weep; it would cause all to fall silent and everything to dance. Song would tell all he would see, and give to all who wanted to see it.

That's Brian. I don't know how he got a name, and I don't really wonder about it anymore. It is only Brian. I like him. Maybe I made him up. But if there's a small chance that oftentimes imagination and believing are a part of reality, then he is real. And if he keeps me every day wanting to know and to see and wishing to find whatever is still missing, then he is real enough for me.

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Strong one

There is a little boy named Brian.

He sits and his hands slightly tremble as he reaches unsure fingers to touch
the aged keys.

Brian is scared sometimes but he is strong. Brian is not a stranger to dark. But through shadows he will light upon this, and this little boy will discover. Brian will see.

The dancing of bright melody as playful as the sun
Drifting on reflections
A swaying of his soul

A starlight piercing through night; a beacon turning to brilliance
as he opens his eyes.

Then there will be no recalling of dark and of fear. For this is why he is.

Hold on, Brian.

only hope

Only Hope, by Jon Foreman of Switchfoot
A song running through and through my head today.
Maybe someday it will stand still, take hold, and become me
For now I love this peace

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There's a song that's inside of my soul

It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again

I'm awake in the infinite cold
But You sing to me over and over again

So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands
and pray to be only Yours
I pray to be only Yours
I know now you're my only hope

Sing to me the song of the stars
Of Your galaxy dancing and laughing
and laughing again
When it feels like my dreams are so far
Sing to me of the plans that You have for me over again

And I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours
I pray to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope

I give You my apathy
I'm giving You all of me
I want Your symphony
Singing in all that I am

At the top of my lungs I'm giving it back


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Dreaming in December far away from Winter Blues

Writing to the point of carpal tunnel, then cutting up half what I wrote into little pieces whilst listening to every CD I own at least twice through, then cleaning everything and drinking numerous cups of tea and reading until I fall asleep... tomorrow will be better.

And just look what came in the mail!!!! Spring came!!!!!!!

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People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.

Rogers Hornsby

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Wrestling with God

At some unsleeping times of moonlit nights, there are moments when I realize there is nothing more true than something the late and wise Bryn Jones once said:

"You know it's God when you say 'Shut up!'
and it keeps right on talking."

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