SENSORY MEMORY #3
As I clean my rooms I stare at the pictures on their walls. They're of family, friends, and
images of themselves in younger years. Then I think to myself "There is so much life here, so much experience."
these people, coming from different places, different lives, all end them in the same place. Sometimes I wish I could just
cry because those lives, those wonderful memories, end in that one small building.
SENSORY MEMORY #4
sitting in my grandmother's dining room with a notebook in hand. The smell of fried squash fills the room , and I start writing,
my hand making angry strokes on paper. I'm angry because I put my pride, lust, desire, and selfish thoughts befor the Lord.
I stare at my work in disgust. I close the book and go to my room, where I sin again.
SENSORY MEMORY #5
Noises all around me. Sounds of the preacher loudly but gently telling his congregation to be fed up with their sin
and pray that Jesus save you from it.
I am already there.
I was fed-up. I was tired of acting like a horny teenage
child who's sole purpose was to find a way to get pleasured. I was tired of ME!
So I knelt there, a cousion under my arms,
and earnestly sought out Yeshua BarYahweh. I was ready to turn away from myself, to not look back. I was open to Him.
He told me that it was OK. He said that because I thrist for righteousness,I shall receive it. He also said that
the walk about is coming soon.
SENSORY MEMORY #6
A quickening in my heart as silence
creates a stir of echoes. I look towards the sun, the light catching rainbows in my sunglasses. A small draft moves a strand
of my hair and flows through my beard as I close my eyes and see the task ahead. My body vibrates, reflecting the bumps the
Greyhound bus hits along it's sojourn.
SENSORY MEMORY #7
I look through cards of solem farewells
and new beginnings. Cards from friends whose faces, sadly, I've almost forgotton; and family, who came to honor my grandmother's
request and see another ignorant child shoved into the real world.
I get to my class picture. You know, the one where
we're all lined up in our gowns, smiling like the world is in our hands. I can remember all of ther names, except one.
close it and move on to The Document. That one document that for twelce years I endured to receive, and now to me it's just
a simple peice of paper, signed by a man who is now dead.
I sigh as I close it, painful memories rushing back.
A vision, a metaphor:
A sea of faces meet my every word. I'm alone in a crowd, solo in a global organism.
I melt away, agony screaming in my ears.
I look out through the glass, seeing houses, churches, buildings, and I marvel at the stories
that these people hold. I can't hear them, but they're there. The living picture moves to the countryside, where
the snow-covered hills and fields are dimly lit. I don't know where the light comes from, but I can see
every tree as clear as day.
And slowly, softly, I fall asleep, dreaming of a couch, a woman, a soft blanket, and a sigh
I look in the sky and watch a snow fall in a blizzard of white. It looks like the stars
falling from the Heaven. I close my eyes and let the icy flakes brick my face in frosty fury. I smile and remember
days of old.
The western horison glows in deep shades of purple and blue as the sun cradles it's self in
it's evening home. the wind, spring-like in warmth, blows over the suberbanesque landscape, bringing the smell of moisture
and a hint of life. I look up to see a half-moon illuminating the complex sculpture Yahweh is creating with His hands.
It's a song, with the stars playing the tune to the ballet of Creation. I smile at it's complex yet simple design.
Every star shone in the canopy of black, my breath reflected on the cliffs across the river.
I take a breath and slowly start the sorrowfull aria. the singer in the cliffs reflects each tone half a second after
it reaches the world. It ends in a deep tone, and the silence envelopes myself again.
I remember being a small, skinney kid, sitting by my grandma's old radio, smelling the
smell of history. I played with my toys in the light of a single lamp. The scent will last forever
I write this, sitting on a bench in the town square. The moist wind threatens rain and
is scented with the aroma of the hills. I take a deep breath and thunder rolls in the distance. The buildings,
antique and crumbling, surround the city's new courthouse, much like elderly pagans around a new idol.
My mind gets to thinking again, remembering how I used to be before the Change. I I had
not changed, my taste for things would be totally different. My brother's and I were given an X-Box today, and while they
were estatic, I looked at it and thought of how silly it seemed to be excited about a mere Thing. In the mean time,
the sprinkles signal rain, and I must leave.
I stop, pausing a moment in the early hours of a morning not yet born. I remember
things, bits of my past that bring forth a nostalgia not sorely missed. Now an adult, I go over my past with eyes of
a new found wisdom. Such memories nearly bring tears. People I've loved, cared for, longed for, prayed for, all
gone. They've sunken into the cisturn of my memeory, from whose bittersweet waters come the images of a time forgotten.
I lookinto those waters with regret, longing to go back and change the stupid and foolish acts
I comitted. My comforts are such: God is never-failing and my future can be lived without regret.
For this moment, I have hope.