night_willow660 copyIt’s cold outside.  One of those nights when I can watch my breath disappear into the light from the lamp post across the street.  My hands tell me its way too chilly to be outside, but sometime god thoughts seem too big for my living room.  My feet greet a cold drive way and I think through the day then fuss myself for thinking through the day rather than thinking the god thoughts that were too big for my living room.  I’m sure that was why I chose to become a human ice sickle.

I cycle through random thoughts like how the tree in my front yard must have a thousand branches and I didn’t notice before because she wore so many leaves, but now that she’s lost her leaves I can see all her fingers and the sky through all her fingers and how she’s more beautiful now in her loss because I can see all her fingers now and the sky beyond those fingers and how there must be a metaphor in there somewhere.  I remember Shawna’s car has a check engine light on and begin to panic.  I think maybe I should lay hands on her car and pray for it.  Then I think, I’m just not that super spiritual.  Then I think it’s rude to think that’s super spiritual and there are a lot of great people that I admire that would probably want to lay hands on my car and pray for it.

Focus Ben.  I listen to the night and my mind goes silent save for a song I haven’t heard in a long time, “To worship you I live, To worship you I live, I live to worship you”.  That song always pissed me off in an “I’ve heard too much One Direction on the radio today” sorta pissed off.  I like the words, but the style, that style.  My soul never sees fit to consult me on the soundtrack.  I’ve tried to recommend a few songs but he never listens.  I think about the first time I heard Herbie Hancock and how I hated his music and then it became my addiction.  “To worship you I live, to worship you I live, I live to worship you.”

The sky is clear tonight, like seeing the bottom of the ocean from the deck of a boat.  I think about how far away God seems to be sometimes like he were on that boat and I were on the bottom of that ocean.  I think about how glad I am that he feels so close tonight.  My throat cracks under the weight of a heavy cold air but soon I find myself singing, very off key, “To worship you I live, to worship you I live, I live to worship you.”


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