Silence in the face of a question repeatedly asked by my father. I can't bring myself to say it. If I say it, it'll become real. If I say it, I acknowledge the actuality. The words I fear to speak would thoroughly trace the outline of where she once was, an outline where the memory remains so vivid that I feel her head against my chest in each other's embrace. Yahweh, please, I beg you; help me through this. I stand weak against this grief, and I can hardly find the privacy to break.

Yeshua, cleanse me of all the speculative questions and visions if they are not from you. I remain too afraid to acknowledge this reality. The burden is heavy, Lord, I beg you, please help me find rest or some sense of outlet to channel it. I feel nauseous and on the verge of vomiting; my head feels heavy, and the lump in my throat is far too prominent. I'm lost, God. I'm truly lost. She was my last semblance of belonging where I felt accepted, and even that is gone, for my pain was beyond her capacity to accept.

I have no one beyond you, Lord, for my world has become devoid of any safety or connections. Your church is far too busy, and my burden is far too heavy. They've appreciated my writing for a moment, but patience eventually runs thin, for how long can someone empathize? Each friend has their own path to tread, and I must now tread mine alone, for I was always meant to be alone. It is only in being alone that I stand before you, Lord. I miss her, Lord, thoroughly. I miss her hands in mine as we prayed out to you. Our prayer had strength for it was our prayer that touched your Spirit to bring us our jobs.

I am surrounded by a plastic society of depravity clothed in modernity. Wolves in sheep's clothing surround me, Lord, for each is chasing wealth so effervescently at the cost of one another. Your church and followers have been my only respite, and even then, I find myself away from them to make time for my worldly father. I crave your presence, Lord. I thirst for your healing and righteousness as a parched leaf for a droplet of rain; A droplet of your presence would fill my being for this mortal body's lifetime, yet I am greedy, Lord, to be awash in your glory through which my grieve is but a droplet in the ocean.

I spoke the words, Lord. I spoke the words through the courage that you gave me. My partner has chosen to leave me. Fickle was her faith in our relationship, and so she walked away. Scarce was her understanding, so she chose to leave me rather than understand me. Lord, I long for her deeply, and so I plead that you cauterize the wounds of the torn tethers so that I may no longer long for her when she so clearly made her decision. Let every ounce of pain over her loss be a moment of praise for your presence, Lord, for your love and acceptance is far greater than any that I could ever hope for from any human.

Lay your eyes upon my weakness, Lord, so that your strength may be made perfect within me by the Holy Spirit. Let my heart and mind's words be a bubbling brook that puts out the scorching flames of my longing, Lord, for the absence of my beloved burns with a deeper presence than I could have ever imagined. Let the blood of your Son cleanse me of bitterness, Lord, for my grief oscillates between anger, bargaining, and denial. By your Spirit, Lord, empower me to not remember the former things and not to consider the things of old. Open my eyes to the new things that you'll do, to the roads in the wilderness you'll create and the rivers in the desert.

Let your presence be a river of living water in the scorching desert of my longing, through which my thirst is quenched. Let your presence be a road through the wilderness of my grief so that I may be guided through it by the Holy Spirit.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

The Tightrope

I walk a tightrope

with a flame in hand.

I can't just scream yet,

or I'll fall apart.

-

I must keep walking

to find the shower.

Somewhere where screaming

is not a threat.

-

A place where these flames

may, at last, be felt

in pain of all the

love that has left me.

-

There is a weight that

I must carry now.

If flames affect me

then all things will fall.

-

I feel quite nauseous

during this walk.

I can't throw up yet

until I'm through.

-

There's much to carry,

but not with might.

It is the Spirit

that heals this blight.

-

I sit in stillness

for God to fight.

I pray through illness

and healing comes.

-

Though I carry flames,

the Lord has declared

that I will be healed.

Thus, it is proclaimed

that my joy is near.

I recall my biggest fear prior to starting our relationship was that you would not have the capacity to empathize and bear the weight of my trauma. I recall having asked you why you would choose a person as burdened as I am when you could literally be with anyone else. I recall how out of my comfort zone I was to hear an extensive list of what you appreciate about me. Now I stand with an extensive list that did not warrant worthiness and the trauma you did not have the capacity for.

What am I to do with this, beloved? What am I to do with an assurance of loving-kindness after having put the warning sign "Beware: This person is traumatized," only to end up being told, "I don't have the capacity"? What am I to with the list that you've given me when the pain of your abandonment clearly puts my pain above my virtue on the scale? Unlike you, I can't abandon myself to get closer to God. To deny oneself is not to abandon it but to empty it of the world so that it may be joined with God. To be in the world, but not of it.

Could we not have traveled this journey with one another? Is the path to God not one where we learn a love that's kind, patient, and edifying? How do you claim to abandon me to get close to God, when you could not even get close to God by showing my pain love, but rather considered it eggshells to be walked around? Are we not supposed to be perfect as the heavenly father is, demonstrating his endless love that leads to reconciliation?

I am not one of the boys in the prophecy; I am the man you chose to walk away from, the man who spent his life seeking God, the man who, for six years, has shown love, care, compassion, and respect, unlike any boy you've encountered. I've worked tirelessly to unlearn much of what I've grown up with, constantly killing myself to be born anew, far before I was born again. None of that, however, was enough, and quite frankly, I can't quite discern what is "enough" for you.

Take your steps, beloved; Walk away knowing that you walked away not from a person who hurt you, but from the choice to show the loving-kindness of the same godliness that you so effervescently seek. Walk away knowing that God is not found by isolating ourselves from loved ones and challenges, but by letting those challenges be the chance to sow the seeds of the Spirit, out of which we bear the fruits of forbearance, love, kindness, and more.

Walk away knowing that I deserve my heart to be guarded as much as you do, and just as you have, I, too, have begged for my heart to be guarded in understanding, patience, and compassion. You indeed did not have the capacity, for you have not shown the fruit of forbearance, to either be mindful in your expression or understanding in your response. That does not put you below me, nor I above you, for I, too, have not shown such forbearance. So please, beloved, walk away knowing that whatever seed you now seek to sow is a seed we could have sowed with one another to mature in godliness.

It was never about two people who were not a right fit for each other. It was about one person who did not have the capacity to persevere, build character, and find hope in the relationship. Walk away in the name of God and prophecy if it makes you feel any better, but remember that you walked away not from incompatibility, but simply from a path you no longer wanted to walk because of a stormy season. Your faith was too little to walk into the storm with me, so you walked away and then called me the storm.

My trauma is not eggshells to be walked around. I am not a victim. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I do not bleed my trauma on other people with cruelty, nor do I impose it on anyone. The path of healing is one I've been on for years, and just because you haven't seen it in the very little time you spent with me, I see the large degree of healing that took place in my soul over the years. My trauma is not a blade with which I cut those around me but a wound that is gradually healing, and I, as a human, have every right to request mindfulness and empathy toward that wound. Your incapability to do so is your responsibility, not my weakness.

This relationship did not end because of my trauma, which I continuously put in the works to heal with faith as the foundation. This relationship ended because of a promise that was broken; the promise that my trauma is worthy of compassion. It ended because it lacked belief on one side, the belief that stems out of the same very godly love that you seek. It ended because the extensive list you've given on our first date was secondary to my pain. It ended because you did not trust us to walk through the narrow road, so you chose the easy way out.

Unlike you, I choose to believe that I am worthy of acceptance, and I choose to bask in the sun as I relish the unconditional love of the Son who walks with me through this journey. Unlike you, I choose to build the capacity for my trauma, not by might nor by power, but by his Spirit. Unlike you, I will show myself the love that I deserve and I will receive from him who is greater than you and I, the love that I deserve. I am not shackled by fears, for he holds my right hand. I am not bound by wounds, for he declared that my wounds will be healed and my health will be restored. So will yours, beloved.

Who can I relish the silliness of the world with in childly innocence, my dear, when gone is the one who would laughingly push me on the trolley? I read my books with a void on my lap where your head used to rest, a nothingness that so deeply pulsates with what once was. I dance out of rhythm with no mate who would laugh at the abysmal chaos of my movement and appreciate its earnestness. Gone is the joy of being so lovingly appreciated, and so is the lover who has once given this joy.

The taste of cardamom in my tea has gone stale, left only with the memory of whom I served tea. I painfully tear the tethers with prayers, and each one torn bleeds out the grief of longing that coagulates into the acceptance of having lost you. My wrists feel the phantom of your fingers caressing them, yet I must sever the ties in my soul with which I feel your phantom. Gone is the intricate sensuousness of affection, and so is the touch that has once ignited it.

Who's balm of sweet prayer can I lay on my wounds, when gone are the hands that held mine to feel God in unison? Though you may be gone, it is God who stays with me. Though you may not have the capacity to accept me, it is God who accepts me. Though our hands are no longer intertwined in prayer, he tells me not to fear, for he holds my right hand as I walk this path toward him.

But beloved, I must confess my sorrow that yearns for you all the same, not to draw further from him who is all, but to draw near to him so that he may draw near to me. Beloved, I must confess that my soul is parched for your presence and pines in your absence. I live moments of joy with the bitter aftertaste of having lost you, yet live I must, for my life was never driven by you, nor was it ever meant to be lived for you.

I push against the grain of my instinct to call out your name by calling out the name of he who created you and I, for it is through his name that flow rivers of living water out of my heart. I push against the instinct to seek your embrace, for your decision to deny me has been made, and my wellspring of life yearns for an acceptance that you cannot provide.

Forgive me, beloved, for I write not to condemn, which is something that I am not in a position to do, given that I have denied you as much as you denied me, but to confess a longing that I ethically cannot express to you, and so I pour it out to my image of you before God. Forgive me, God, for I write of my sorrowful longing not to deny your blessings, but to seek your blessing of comfort, for today, I am he who mourns.

A robin walks on the balcony, singing as he flies. A father and a son tear up in one another's embrace after half a decade apart. There is beauty in the moments, Lord. Let my heart rest in the beauty of your blessings, and let my sorrow be comforted by your presence, for I praise you both in joy and in sorrow alike.

For each narrative that takes place, I leave upon it seeds of praise so that mourning may be replaced with dancing and so that I may dance through my mourning. The sorrowful sobs and streaming tears are laid upon him who had set eternity in my heart, so that the temporal that I am and the eternal that he is may meet in the moment of sorrow with reconciliation. I lay before him a burden far too heavy for me to carry, for his yoke is easy and his burden light.

I walk with a right hand held by the eternal so that I may not fear, for I am the blessed mourning who seeks the comfort promised. I have lost the world countless times, and with each loss, I have gained him who has overcome the world. Lord, let my sorrow bring me closer to you, for I have yet again lost all belonging to the world. Let my bitterness be cleansed in the blood of the Son with love that endures all things in patience.

The barbwires tug at the edges of the void within with pulses of pain, Lord. My soul weeps for the loss of my beloved, yet it is you who I seek to call. My name is engraved on the palm of your hand, Lord; See the pain that my name carries and let your name come to my heart before mine, so that I may be anchored in your love and not in my sorrows of past. Lift up your banner in my soul so that all I see is your eternal glory and not my temporal sorrow.

My heart yearns for my beloved, Lord; let the tethers of my heart be tied to your name, so that I may find the stillness in which you are exalted. My mind runs amok with narratives of why, how, and what if; let my fixation be on your Son so that I may live not a life of regretful speculation, but of hope for all things and belief in all things. I walk through the familiar depths of sorrow in which I find myself with a renewed heart in your Son, free of the thoughts of death that once plagued me; let me be steadfast in my walk so that my heart illuminates the way not by might nor by power, but by your Spirit.

You have declared that you will restore me to health and heal all my wounds; Liberate me from the wounds of the past that weigh me down and distort my views with outdated instincts. You have protected me from trouble and surrounded me with songs of deliverance, Lord. I know you will never leave me nor forsake me. Let my heart be confident and free of fear, for you are my helper. Release the blades that tear through my being and let the shards of this broken self be mended in your light, Lord.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

Some hold on with every ounce of their energy to keep the possibility of heartbreak from actuality, and others push to give birth to it in hopes of relief from the anxiety of possibility. Then there's a third, one that stands in paralysis before the pathways ahead. Fearful of what may come to be, he stands frozen with transience as his only hope, that this, too, shall pass. Within each is a fear of life and its endless possibilities. Within each is an endless chasm between oneself and God. Within me is each of them with heavy weights pulling me down.

Against my instinct and will, I pushed myself to church today. Against everything that my senses could feel and everything that my senses couldn't, I praised God today. With deadened cells surrounded by dancing people, the heaviness behind my eyes only increased in weight, yet I kept on calling out to God. Fix your eyes on Jesus, as Pastor Clarance would say. I surrender my senses to live through God's will, and gradually, there is movement in my body as my senses are taken to a path in a desert on which I have fallen.

My tears had coagulated through the sand under my face as the grains gritted against my teeth while I sobbed. He was seated beside me, in presence with my sorrow as I called for him through my failing senses. "I'm right here whenever you are ready," he soothingly said in acknowledgment of my sorrow and with confidence that I'll move by his Spirit, not by might nor by power. The music permeated my being as my feet started moving with my hips, arms, and shoulders. Though physically dancing, I felt the steps ethereally, and in this realm where the path lies, I had gotten up on my feet.

With the first attempt at a step, I had fallen again, and I felt his arms gradually pulling me back up. "Slow and steady; I'm right here with you," and so I tried again, limping, walking with wounds of sorrow. Limping turned to walking, walking turned to dancing, and dancing turned to healing. This path has revealed that he is the greatest source of joy and comfort, for a heart anchored elsewhere is faced with the imminence of death rather than the immanence of life. How terrifying it is to deny oneself and not be of this world so that one would be of the Father.

"For I, the LORD your God, will hold your right hand, Saying to you, 'Fear not, I will help you,'"

¬ Isaiah 41:13

Though I am dipped into an abyss where my senses are lost, I trust that my right hand is held by the writer of my story. So, I take the quill out of his divine ink box, trusting that he will guide my hand to trace the words that he has written. He gives, and he takes away. My heart breaks; he mends it, I learn, and it breaks again, so he mends it again, and so I learn again. With each time he mends me, I grow closer to him and mature in his Son. As downcast as I may be, as sleepless as my nights may be, I praise he who had set eternity in my heart, with absolute trust in his protection and the songs of deliverance he continues to surround me by.

I've been here before; the pervading feeling of death that weighs down my senses against each movement they attempts. The blades of a barbwire that aren't quite tied around my heart just yet, but their edges tease the tightness of sorrow that will tear it all apart. I am here now in the same very place, with a different face, one empowered by Christ. I fall into the sunken place, knowing that I am not alone and that with me is a God who holds my right hand. I put in the works with faith that I shall emerge victorious, that I am already victorious, for the victory has been achieved in the eternity that is clothed in the temporal.

Wounds (5 April)

When wounds run deeply,

I fill them with words

of philosophy

to piece all the shards

of my broken self.

-

Tell me, Kierkegaard;

Why does life get hard?

Why's my mind apart?

What's tearing my heart?

Where should my thoughts start?

-

Tell me, Alan Watts;

what's with hide and seek?

If there's God within,

what hides him from me?

-

God, see how I bleed.

Watch how my mind leaks.

Look how my heart breaks.

Witness my soul wane.

Where is your Spirit?

-

I call out for it,

yet I hear silence.

I lost your essence,

so I called for Christ.

He gave me a cross.

-

He said, "Carry it

and deny yourself

so you follow me."

He promised me rest,

if I am burdened.

-

His heart is humble

and his yoke is light.

I carried my cross

to a waterfall

and read Kierkegaard

to find Jesus Christ.

Blood (9 April)

I see blood slowly seep

from fingers torn by teeth.

What’s under these fingers

through the skin that I peel?

-

What is it exactly

that needs to be released?

How can I find my peace

by biting till I bleed?

-

How can I find safety

by tearing my body?

I call for somebody,

but my sound’s unsteady.

-

My vocal chords fail me.

My thoughts have all left me.

My focus is shaken.

My being is breaking.

-

I call for my savior.

Save me from this winter.

Please clothe me in your blood.

Take me beyond this flesh

in which my soul’s enmeshed

-

Though there is suffering,

I am persevering

to build my character

and find my hope in Christ.

Here I am, a walking anomaly among people who preach acceptance. Come into my embrace, friend, but do so in my image, or you're unworthy. My faith is great for its love and compassion, but woe to you who dares disagree with what I believe to be the seed of what life means to me. Look at all those misguided souls preaching the Trinity; Come judgment day, they'll see the man they claim to be the Son is but a prophet. Did you know that those who fill their eyes with pornography, God fills their eyes with flames in Jahannam? Why would you not skip the kissing scenes? Why would you let your wife wear tight clothes? Be a man and dress her decently.

Being a man, yes. How very empowering it must be to oppress women and keep them from talking to other men because that opens the door to sin. My my, the horror of a partner being good friends with her male classmate; How creative my mind gets with the most horrifying scenarios of infidelity. Yes, I need to control my partner, or else she'll go astray from the Sirat Bridge. I must not also leave out the horror of music; all the time I wasted listening to music when I could have been praising Allah is far too abominable to speak of. I still recall how angry my father was when I refused to memorize the Quran at the mosque, and I am all the worse for it.

Falling short when seeking God

Not enough for God, never enough for God, as everyone around had said. Wanting to be with him was not enough. Speaking to him was not enough. 5 times a day, I must dedicate my time. Not only that, I must also make up for all the prayers that I have missed over the years. I carried with me the indoctrination of oppression, pressing it not only on those around me but also on myself. The self-loathing reached new heights with sprinkles of wisdom here and there. I chased after God on a bicycle racing against the wind, and I felt him in the thrill of it, yet it was a cruel world I came back to when I stopped riding the bicycle.

The wheels of my skates also took me to him, as did mountain tops, vibrant roses, and sunflowers, but worldly words brought me back to a cruelty that screams inadequate. I found glimpses of God in books of poetic reflection, yet after flipping the last page, I am met with turning heads that silently speak disapproval. I walked, looking for God among people who were looking to save my soul, yet they were averse to looking into my soul; there was always something to tweak, after all. I found belonging in the words of dead people who preached a godliness that resonated yet could not be found around me.

Finding Jesus

In comes Kierkegaard, the first man who points me to Jesus not in a way that inspires, seeks to "save my soul" or change who I am, but in a way that makes sense of this senselessness that surrounds me. To walk with Jesus is to walk with him in contemporaneity, to walk with the God-man through the abasement of the world. There he is, not a God that looks down on me in disappointment, but a God that comes down for me to lift me up. The beauty of it had me in fear and trembling at the thought of unworthiness, yet it is this very unworthiness that had him come down in loving-kindness.

"To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you."

¬ C.S Lewis

For the absolute eternal being to see the sorrow of a relative temporal being and bridge the endless abyss between absolute eternity and relative temporality is an act of absolute love that uplifts the most abased. The persecution a man would face for claiming to be God is unimaginable, and to walk with him in contemporaneity is to have a love that abides all things, for his love abided my relative temporality through the eternity he had set in my heart and the bridge to it he created. To walk with the Son is to walk to the Father with steps of righteousness that seek righteousness. Though I stumble upon sin, I fall not into it, for it is with steps of righteousness that I get back up.

One Absolute God, Many Relative Views

The greatest stumbling block I found is that of other people's expectations. It turns out that it is not God that I am not enough for, but the people around me. In finding Jesus, I found a path to God, yet this path makes me no less an anomaly than the other paths I've walked on. From those judging those who praise the trinity, I now meet those who judge ones who praise Allah. From those who told me to be close friends with Muslims, first and foremost, I am now with those who tell me to be close to Christians.

How can God, an eternal and universal being, be learned about only through one book? Growing up with Muslims, I was warned against reading philosophy because it "corrupts" the soul. My path of books led me to Jesus, and now I'm warned against reading that which is not of Christian faith. Everyone is open-minded until they're asked to explore views that are not their own. The Bible is not just a book of eternal life but a lens through which I better grasp life when I read books of other faiths and books of other views.

"yes, if you call out for insight and raise your voice for understanding, if you seek it like silver and search for it as for hidden treasures, you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God."

¬ Proverbs 2:1-5

"My son, do not let wisdom and understanding out of your sight, preserve sound judgment and discretion; they will be life for you, an ornament to grace your neck."

¬ Proverbs 3:21-22

I am tasked by God to seek knowledge of him with discernment and sound judgment. God speaks to all beings, Christian or not. It was he who reached out to me and led me to him through the people he set in my path and the books he guided me to find. God is the God of all creation, not a particular group, for many are inspired by his wonder, and many seek him as I do. The wonder of God runs deeper than the narratives that took place, and so I seek him as I always have; in the wonder of my interactions with him and the accounts of other people.

God is in the Details

The world is his creation, and in it are signs and wonders that point to him. The complex intricacy of science points to him through its immaculate design. The maze of psychology points to him through the endless variables that make the human mind. The deep network of neurology points to him through how synapses travel across the grey matter of one's brain. The chemistry of hormones points to him in the concoctions that make our emotions. The reflective depth of philosophy points to him in how people long for him by seeking wisdom, even when all wisdom is meaningless.

My walk with Jesus is not to restrict my intimacy with God to a particular type of author or school of thought, for the Father has tasked me with an endless treasure hunt and gave me the duty to do so with sound judgment and discretion. My pursuit of wisdom has been and always will be to grow closer to him, and now that Jesus accompanies me in this journey, wisdom has never tasted sweeter, for everything that I read is beautified with the beautitude of his presence. My faith in him is not endangered by different points of view; it reconciles all points of view into peace.

Reconciled to Christ through Christ

"For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross."

¬ Colossians 1:19-20

People will always have something to say about my practice of faith, about what I consume, and about what I think. People will shake their heads in disapproval. People will tell me what is holy and what isn't. Muslims will speak against violent content, saying it's unholy, when the Quran has verses that vividly describe beheading and drinking lava. Christians will speak of violent content as unholy when the Bible depicts the circumcision of Israelites on the "hill of foreskins" in Joshua and vividly describes the genitals of lovers as that of donkeys and their semen as that of horses.

Citing these depictions is not to undermine either scripture, but to point out the very obvious fact that violence has been and remains a key element in the world from which one can’t turn away, from which one can find plenty of wisdom. It was an act of violence that led to our salvation. It is blood that cleanses us. To describe depictions of violence and blood as unholy is to downplay the fundamental role it played in the fall of man and his salvation. This is not to say that violence in and of itself is to be relished but that the theme of violence in a well-constructed narrative deserves attention and understanding to be reconciled through Christ to Christ.

My Walk Ahead

What, then, am I to do? I am to remember that my walk is with Jesus, not with people. I am to deny myself, take up my cross daily, and walk with him. I am to remember that all things, whether on earth or in heaven, are reconciled to Jesus. What I do, I do with mindfulness of his presence. What I learn, I learn through guidance by the Holy Spirit. I may lose what is of the world along the way;  loved ones, money, acceptance, and more, but I do so with my eyes fixed on him with whom I have risen through the grave of my shame, for to him I dedicate my life.

I am not to be molded into the world's image nor into the image of those who dwell in it. This is my path with God, in which I learn what truly grows me closer to him, not for anyone else, but for him. Here I am, a walking anomaly among people who preach acceptance, praying that my walk with Jesus would inculcate in me the love that endures all things so that I may be accepting of those who refuse to accept me.

Below is an entry I’ve written in my personal blog during my college days, dedicated to some of the things I’ve learned from his art.

— -

As a child, I eagerly awaited every Sunday at 9 AM to watch an action-packed episode of Dragon Ball Z. Going into my adolescence, I’ve gotten to catch up with over 300 episodes. Within the first year of my Bachelor’s degree, Dragon Ball Super started to air.

The ongoing journey of Goku, Vegeta and friends has been deeply embedded into my coming of age up until this day. What reminds me of this journey and has me nostalgic is the “Tournament of Power” Arc, in which 8 universes were represented by 10 warriors each. The royal rumble is one in which the last universe standing wins and is granted a wish, whereas all the other universes are literally “erased”.

This fantasy-filled storyline felt like a search for hope in humanity in its narratives. Different teams displayed different sets of values or human elements that took part in the turn of events as if meant to tell the viewer something. As each team fought for something different e.g. love, trust, strength, and selfish agendas, two teams remained to face off with one another after the elimination and erasure of 6 teams and 6 universes.

As selfless trust fought against absolute individual strength, trust was cornered by the sheer domination of strength. Broken down amidst his teammates, stood Goku as the leader to find in the sheer pain of his battle, a greater power within. The typical “he magically got stronger” plot has me sentimentally attached for several reasons; amidst the great pain that challenges bring along, one feels absolutely drained out of energy. To be completely out of strength and energy is to reach your limits. To be pushed to one’s limits is to reach a point through which you seek further heights.

I find that Goku’s journey is a metaphor for humanity’s evolution across its own journey; starting out quite small and weak, but with limitless potential. We find ourselves climbing this mountain of potential with no peak to set milestones for our offspring to climb even further. Some of us hang onto different reasons for this climb that extends across the infinity of the universe, and some reasons help us get further than others.

The key idea that Dragon Ball Super delivered is that what truly counts in this climb is the ability to breathe in the fresh air and embrace every bit of it; the good, the bad and the ugly. Is there a definitive objective reason for the climb out there? Who knows, but it remains a beautiful climb nonetheless; one that we cannot climb on our own. Goku and friends climbed with one another, pushed to the limits and though worn out, they put their trust in one another interdependently, bringing out each individual light shining independently.

Following an exciting final battle; Goku’s team wished for all the erased universes back as “The Omni-King” has reflected that the winning universe would have been erased, had it not wished for those universes back.

If one goes for a far-fetched metaphor of this entire plot being inside a human being, I’d go as far as to say that this “Omni King” was a human being and all the characters were his internal values in conflict. As the values fought it out with one another, trust remained to invest in all the other values with the belief in internal harmony for self-betterment. All that is required is to breathe in and live it all with the excitement of constantly getting stronger when faced with challenges.

Seek knowledge, growth and acceptance in all that is; maybe check out Dragon Ball Super?

keep me far from God.

When will I belong?

Where will I be safe?

All truths are effaced

by intelligence

and the lack thereof

so I’m either judged

or I am the judge.

It builds up a grudge

and kills all my trust.

Trusting my reason

puts faith through treason.

I’m stuck in seasons

where my soul’s weeping.

Tears boil my being.

My sight is bleeding

when all I’m seeing

are hard rock ceilings.

A cat grooms herself.

She rests in sunlight.

We’re in the same place

but a different space.

I seek dopamine

and it locks me in

with more despairing.

My mind’s ensnaring

all thoughts of freedom.

Will I ever be

with a heart that’s free?

Dead at thirty-three

to show he loves me.

Yet I’m still stuck here

with a soul that bleeds.

I can’t feel a thing

beyond these shackles.

Holy Spirit, please

edify my soul

to give up control.

Every twist and turn

locks me deeper in.

I am chained by sin.

I’m buried in spite.

The coffin’s wrapped tight.

God’s word is around

but by thorns, I’m bound.

They’re deeply rooted

in flesh and spirit.

Please, Holy Spirit,

take these thorns from me.

Tear them from my soul.

Guide my hands to hold

where I need to pull

all these poisoned thorns.

Please give me the strength

to bear all the pain

of the blades that cut

making their way out.

I’m deeply buried.

It’s you, dear Spirit

who can guide me through

the soil and the thorns,

so I’d find the Lord.