A great read with some incredible insights. The author has quite a literary talent as well beyond what you would expect from a doctor in his field.

The book will definitely inspire you to think twice before judging others and cause you to think deeply about how God may view our brokeness. This is a good thing.

 

On the downside there are times when the book feel tad like an advertisement for the unique servics offered by Dr. Henslin. The book shines brightest when Dr. Henslin offers real world examples of different brain types and the personalities that go with them as well as some of the treatments offered.

 

For anyone wanting to gain a better insight into the human brain, especially if you are looking for spiritual insight backed up by clinical studies – I highly recommend this book.

 

 

Take a walk around this third-rate toyland

past every tattered tin soldier

past every back alley barbie

there’s one with nice eyes

missing an ear

the one with good hair

glares through single eye

another with sweeping curves

the kind that make you weep

hanging by her only arm

 

and I’m beginning to wonder –

there’s a whisper coiling ’round

snake sighing in my ear

like Iago singing poison

in the dark Moor’s mind –

 

"everyone’s a broken doll

fell stench of the unloved

covers us like rot

on a swamp-bound corpse"

 

we are the undying ones

we might be the unkept ones

rusty and rundown

frozen before eternal sundown

standing in mud

where there’s been no rain

this should-be desert, tear-watered

but nothing grows in the shed drops

cuz a salt sea is a dead sea

 

and if it weren’t for…

I’d be sure

we were alone alone alone

and if it weren’t for…

I’d be sure

we were lost and done for

gone before we were

if it weren’t for…

if it weren’t for…

for…

 

there’s a little drop of oil

sometimes on my near friend

takes some of the pain away

it does it does

and there she is today

the worthless angel

but someone’s brushed her hair

till gold

spun gold

 

I’d fall to my knees

but for lack of them

so laughter is what i ring with

crazed worship for the one

who’s brung oil and spun gold

 

and hope is shadows

dancing on the cave wall

sign language of another place

where the found one’s

spin fly twirl

before the light

telling of a time

when rust and the broken

are no more

 

sing praises

for the one who brings oil

cry love

for the one who spins gold

till the corroded crowds

are amber fields at sunset

and the boundless bent beings

are still being made

into beauty

such beauty

 

I wandered away

looking past horizon

over all that was before me

vast litter of a world

endless wasteland

measureless and beyond

eyeless gaze

gone and gone again

as laughter spills

now from the beautiful forever

 

I caught a little image

floated past me on the wind one day

word in a bubble

burst in my ear

 

"you are loved"

 

a whisper wafting away

sweet scent of comfort

like soft arms that hold tight

 

smile blossomed like setting sun

beneath black clouds

and all was well

 

who has seen joy on the breeze

like me

every blessing uttered

every sweetness said

between lovers on park bench

of sons and mothers

of daughters and dads

lifted high and carried along

to the ashen of us

the forlorn faces

leaving colour in their wake

 

 

 

Aphrodite in disguise

rose silent from the silken sea

blinding every living creature

who happened ‘cros her path

while blazing went she

along dark alleys

past the dead and the ones

who wished they were

leaving fire in their hearts

 

they would remain in shadow

if not for beautiful hook

of lip and eye

of curve and gentle thigh

that held fast

tearing what needed tearing

so she wandered –

a cleansing sun

seeking Grecian seas

lost goddess heart

 

 

I would like to write something profound here but nothing has come. I wait sometimes for the inspiration to hit and it does – often unexpectedly…other times I try to manufacture inspiration through my most common muse – music. That can work often enough but sometimes the well runs dry and you just pray that it is refilled with something and soon.

 

One of my favorite poets, Charles Bukowski (WARNING: He’s a foul-mouthed beat poet but in my estimation as honest as they come for all the times he calls himself a liar) once didn’t write for more than 10 years…now that’s writer’s block. I may listen to the iPod while I write and see what happens but honestly there’s nothing there right now…like if I could climb into the well and go to the very bottom the sides would be dry and dusty as though there had never been any water.

 

As I write this in the living room Matt is on his fifth hour on the couch messing around with his guitar and practicing. He’s been through blues scales and Aerosmith, AC/DC and the Rolling Stones, etc. His emerging passion for the guitar sometimes overwhelms me. It absorbs him and he absorbs it. I can already tell he will be a much better musician then I am a writer. Don’t confuse this as some form of false modesty on my part…I know I am a good writer…he is simply going to be a better musician…his love for his art is deeper and will probably own him in a way I never let mine.

 

There it is – water is filling the well now; I can feel it and this time my muse was Matt. Cool.

 

 

 

Devil turtle on my shelf

stares down upon my forlorn self

little pitchfork held in hand

ruler of his bookish land

 

O devil turtle would you leave

why to me must you so cleave

hiding horns within your head

I wish a halo on you instead

 

so until you pack and flee

may my strife bring you no glee

but let your dreams be undone

as all you witness here is fun

 

NOTE ON ABOVE: This poem is meant to be taken in fun and is designed to mock a stuffed turtle on Corinna’s bookshelf.  🙂

 

I am reading C.S. Lewis’s book Surprised by Joy and have stumbled upon what I think to be a great quote:

 

 

 

I remember going to the university once and watching the engineering students as they tested their toothpick bridges. There they were taking one brick after another; more and more and more. I couldn’t believe it. So much strength in such fragile little sticks. It is amazing the load that things can take. One brick after another. I guess it’s all in how they’re carried.

 

there

 

i felt it

 

that…change

 

like the breeze shifted

a little draining of the sea

before tsunami rushes in

spirit stirs in the dry desert

nags on the edge of all things

hide before the sand comes

and strips you clean and bare

 

or

 

maybe

 

stand in the open and wait…