Kingdoms and Allegiances -or- Did I Ever Tell You That I Feel Upside Down When I'm Around You, Especially When You Keep Saying Those Things

I wonder why Your words seem so foreign and why my versions of you are so irrelevant and out of touch. I don’t understand why you would operate so upside-down. Your metaphors have been lost on me. You do not make sense in my world, and I am shocked to find that you still refuse to change your tactics.

You talk of sacrifice and carrying heavy loads.
We feed off of accumulation and comfort.
You talk of small things, like mustard seeds and pine nuts; as if they are big things, like mountains moving and great trees with eagles in them.
We upgrade often in a world where “the bigger the better.”
You talk of the end of the line, no time to be offended by those who cut.
We wait impatiently and find the fastest ways to the front.
You talk of growing down and being simple again.
We are fueled by upward mobility and clutter.
You talk of the worst seat in the house, and humility.
We like the front row and the praise that is well overdue.
You talk about dinners with the misfits and the sick.
We are concerned with our many appearances.
You talk of wayward sons, and grace too great.
We keep our meticulous records of wrong.
You talk as if five loaves and two fish could feed them all.
We seriously doubt it.
You say to lose everything.
We like to believe that that’s not really what you meant.

There is a yoke upon us, and much to pull.
Teach us to pull our share of the load.
Teach us to move our feet and bare our burden.
You have measured our shoulders and you have noted the curves of our backs.
We observe our custom-made yoke and we’re sure it won’t fit us well, we’re sure it births discomfort and pain.
We think you are mistaken if you think we are the type of people who will wander in the desert, or plant gardens while we live in exile, or beat swords into plowshares, or take joy in our suffering.
We are desperate to be proven wrong.

New words for an old blog –or- Bringing something back to life is a difficult task that one would be better off leaving alone

Defibrillators are violent machines. They are meant to surprise a human body into being alive again, like a scare cures hiccups or like how being thrown in the deep end of the swimming pool is supposedly better than swimming lessons.
This blog is dead. It is, as they say, “kaput.” The last time I wrote words on this blog I was a student, and these words you are reading now find me in very dire straights as a teacher of students. The turn around from “learner” to “learned” is laughably and awkwardly quick. So quick, in fact, that you should rightly read this as me explaining that I am still very much the person that I was when I wrote last, just with a steady paycheck and health insurance. Which are both sweet.
There are old friends and new friends whose conversation (both spoken and unspoken) I prey on. I eat up text messages and facebook exchanges in a mess of facial hair and juices, looking up from conversations with these people with the protective, slightly insane glare of the lion. I am natural geographic depictions of feeding predators, with a mouthful of printer ink, computer plastic, and bits of paper hanging from my mouth. I feed off of these conversations.
I haven’t eaten in a long time. I am emaciated. And that is clearly a metaphor.
So I’m going to kick up the soil a bit on this blog again, and see if I can’t grow some food for thought. Let’s talk again like we used to.
I’m going to rub the paddles together, ask everyone to clear away, and shock the hell out of this thing to see if it can breathe again. Don’t worry, I’ve seen it done in the movies and on daytime television. I’m an expert, and what I don’t know, Wikipedia can surely teach me.
If what I write seems to reek of crap to you, you are probably right. But just remember, Jesus Christ raised a human being from death, and one imagines that Lazarus was a bit ripe despite the creator of the universe’s best efforts. If Jesus could not fix the stench, you can most assuredly expect my resurrected writing to burn the sensitive nerves of your sinuses.
Read gently… this blog is surprised to be breathing again.