I speak with a weak voice but fill the three chambers of my heart with the dark sayings of the wise. Things come and go, but every poet knows that. There is a majesty in people, their metaphors, their small acts of genius, unseen, unsuspected even by them. The brief moments when a slight crack splits down the middle of the face of a stranger and they speak past themselves.
Enjoy these moments and tell no one, but say to God, "Thank you for the eyes to see and the mind to receive these small treasures." Beauty may reproduce itself, but only after it has spent time in the womb of the mind.
There is glory in fleeting images, the glances behind the foggy eyes of doomed vessels. They are the strangest of us all. The flashes of brilliance they have, when it is clear that they are not their own. It is never ours, it was never ours to give. They give nothing, but I give less. There is a sea of glass dolls breaking on the stone of my life.
I will drown if I keep my back to the water. I either learn to breathe in water or drown. I either breathe in the midst of this great crowd, repenting for my lack of fascination, or continue on in bitterness and lost in the labyrinth of straw figurines.
I will either drown in this sea of distorted reflections or hold my hope for the boats I see floating above me. They burn like the sun on the surface of the water, broken boards soaring towards the sea bottom.
Repentance is breathing. We are rebels of God from the start of our day, when we choose to start a dialog with that voice which is not our conscience. At that very point, when we have forsaken talking to the Conscience for that other voice, we have lost. When the Holy Spirit Himself is left asking, "Where are you?" traipsing through the jungle inside our ribcage, we have forgotten the blessing of one day.
Goodbye, day. Bye, day.
Breath! Talk to Him. The man in the mirror has nothing to offer you. Those around you are not mirrors. Banish the thought. They are not mirrors. Your friends are not mirrors. Neither are your parents or siblings. They do not reflect you nor should they. You and them do not exist in the same place. You and your friend exist in different places, flailing in a separate stream, screaming for someone other than you or silent.
The only thing you can learn from them is to see the grace of God in their lives, whether they acknowledge it or not, whether they worship or not. They are not merely idols of God, they are vessels for Him to either shatter or fill with gold. God will give them what they do not deserve or not.
You will get what you deserve only if you ask for it. Plead to God, "Lord, I deserve more! I have earned more than them. Give me what I deserve."
And that is when God, as a just God, sends your soul straight into the labyrinth of midnight, after a time of silence, an opportunity for you to scream. Not all of us get what we deserve.
Ask God, "Lord, I deserve darkness. I deserve to be in darkness. But I do not want darkness. Give me what I do not deserve. I deserve nothing."
And then that strange vessel, gleaming through a crack, looks suddenly like a friend and not just an ocean. And then your friend, struggling down the rapids, looks suddenly like a brother and not just a distant motion. And a labyrinth is shaped into a heart with three chambers.