Archive for the ‘Atheism’ Category

Covenant   Leave a comment

Not everything that breaks the skin
Is an affront to my senses
Some things are just more worth waiting for
While others are better left alone

From the jump
I lost my footing
And found myself spinning
Out of control and going under
There is always a rhythm
That escapes my knowing
And I flail as I fail

But I get up
And I try, try again

You’re like my “watched pot”
That I can’t seem to ever catch boiling
I feel like no matter how I trick time
It’s me that gets covered in
Lost anthems of relationships
And wasted moments of inner conflicts

Night terrors and static and the reincarnation of everything
I thought I laid to rest
Here again
Pressing me up hard against the glass
To be examined by the doctors of my failures
And the professors of my testaments
Battle weary Argonauts
And the wreckage left of sunken ships

Everything repeats
Only now I’m tired
And I’m less inclined to seek the Holy Grail
Now seeking out a new covenant

This is my gospel
According to me

Jen

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Sweet Things   Leave a comment

Dear friends,

I love you all. First and foremost, let me just say that because I, by now you know, don’t wait for “special occasions” like Thanksgiving to say sweet things or show my emotions. I have been bitten once too often by the misfortune of time to know that we don’t often get to reach the anniversary of milestones before the definition of our existence is qualified by the manifest of our character. By that I simply mean, it is not the memories of those gathered around a table on holidays that make me filled with love and gratitude, but instead all of those times past when minutes slipped by silent and unknowing and one of you or another had helped me justify my reality that lends to me now this feeling of such full honor and reward. As I prepare for a quiet celebration this Thursday, just a small meal that I will prepare myself for the two of us and then in the evening meeting up with my dearest friend for some not-so-casual conversation, I am thinking of everyone living up to their traditions who are surrounded by families and friends and busy with the coming of Christmas. I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore because I live its message all year round and no longer believe in its foundational origination. The same as I gave up faith for knowledge and prayer for learning, I have given up telling stories for sincere communication and dwelling on the past for weaving my timeline so that I can constantly be present while ever moving forward, slow and with purpose. I come to you now, humble and with a sincere heart, offering you with all the hope, honesty and innocent commitment I can muster, my love and friendship and my constant effort to be a quiet place where your weary heart may find comfort, your tired soul may find peace and your restless mind may find refuge. As you have all done for me, from time to time, whether you know it or not, I extend to give you now and always. I love you, my friends. Thank you for bringing me to this place of self love and acceptance. I could never have found me without you.

Enjoy your holiday,
Jen

Train   Leave a comment

Rivers follow down to this little stream in me
That cross divides
The beggar and the believer
Even though neither has felt sunlight
For as long as sunlight has been a thing

The ache in my head grows deep
And finds its way into my ears
The sound of everything
Comes passed a hissing and a rattle
And the doctors say it’s just another
Infection or irritation but I can’t help but wonder
Just what has crawled inside of me
And died
This time

I wanted to bury things that bothered me
I wanted to let go of the ones that have lived and died
I wished on stars and burned the images of a god
That never answered back
And here I am
Surrounded by voices and shadows and the crippled lover
Who promises she’ll never leave me
Unless that’s what I want from her

I can’t be the only one to see the sick side of humor
I can’t be the only one left understanding the joke
My life has become
Or was diagramed to be from the jump

But no one really comes and sits beside me and says
Hey girl I get it
And I won’t judge you if you cut and run
I’ve seen what you’re juggling and this shit is serious
And you need to go get yourself a bottle of pills, a razor, a gun

All I get is some talk about how shit gets easier
And how there are loved ones who need me
And then there is all this promise that somehow tomorrow is going to be
Something better than today and all the yesterdays combined
Like life is a fucked up version of a word problem from some 4th grade math class

Well, I never did follow along with those
I was too busy wondering which mother I was going home to or
Which father was going to pick me up that weekend or
What it might be like if the wrong neighborhood boy
Caught me in the cornfield
I’m sorry
I just never felt the need to daydream
So far in advance as to wonder about
That eastbound train heading out of Chicago
At 80mph
But maybe that would’ve been a better thing to focus on
All along
Because all this worrying
This shit hasn’t gotten me anywhere either
And I’m ready
I’m ready
To take that ride.

Jen

Wildflowers   Leave a comment

wildflowers1

Wildflowers grow up in all sorts of random locations.  I suppose, all flowers that grow in nature are wild while the ones that grow in greenhouses, gardens and in pots along side windows and such are more like toddlers cared for by mothers in the suburbs.  They are still beautiful and full of possibilities, but they are less a ramshackle work of art then a landscaped carving of design.  They stand out only in that they modify what was predetermined and they foster little in the way of creativity or style.

Wildflowers come in all colors and they extend to all heights and varieties.  Upon further examination, someone with a particular knowledge of such things can tell you that this bud or that stem belongs to a certain weed or perhaps a variation of blossom that is common only to a specific season or climate or what have you.  While someone such as myself with little to no expertise on the subject will merely witness these charming blooms as the lively shoots of earth that break from the soil and reach for the mighty sun.  It’s poetic and inspiring and I don’t really need much more information about them then to know that they each, the short, the tall, the brilliant and the subtle stretch out in their own way for the benefit of the daylight.

It doesn’t occur to me to judge them by their colors or the heartiness of the leaves that brush against the ground or the way that some seem pleasant fodder for the ever present bumble bees.  I do not care to separate them based on how numerous some lay in the field while others are more rare and alone hiding perhaps on the shaded side of a large rock coupled with some bold mushroom or patch of grass.  They do not press me for status.  They simply do their best to soak up their share of the earth and water and take in their fill of the sun and leave me to do my walking or thinking or singing and we seem quite confident in one another’s ability to be exactly who we are without changing one another and that suits me in away that I don’t often find with those hothouse flowers.  Or those potted plants always begging me to trim back leaves or move them from shade to sun or back again.

No, wildflowers seem to understand me better even though they have never set root in my “neck of the woods” and I marvel at their capacity to learn my needs without so much as a word of lesson, a bark of threat, a grovel of bargain.  And this sets me to wonder just why I’ve taken so much time with these silly house plants and garden flowers who need constant reassurance and hour upon hour of pruning and watering and reference book after reference book of study merely to keep them alive let alone to bloom and flourish like my dear wildflower friends who just seem to always know just what to do all on their own without so much as a water bucket or stick of processed food from me.

Everywhere we roam in this world there are wildflowers.  They grow because they grow.  We don’t have to tend to them we simply need to respect their right to be there.  And it serves us an invaluable lesson to be ever mindful that while we journey around in our travels, we too are wildflowers in the eyes of all those who encounters us.  Our roots are not always visible; our histories are not commonly known.  Who we are is simply what is immediately shown.  When someone else stumbles upon you during their journey, you have a choice.  You can be a vibrant flower that offers a unique, positive and triumphant take on your place in the world or you can be shabby weed that comes across as needing to be pulled.  But whatever you choose, however you present yourself, you are a wildflower.

As someone who spends a good portion of my time writing, I fuel my passion by meeting new people.  It’s the new people in my life that are the greatest source of my ideas and without these wildflowers I would’ve grown tired along time ago.  My friends and family are more the garden that I tend.  They require my attention, I have to water them, provide them shade and sun and make sure that they get trimmed and fed.  It’s a give and take relationship that can take a lot out of me and hopefully provides a great deal in return.  But magic doesn’t happen often in such stable, routine relationships.  It can, but not in the vast proportions that a creative type comes to expect and depend upon.

That’s why I wander.  That’s why I come to you, my wildflowers.  I talk to strangers.  I make friends with people for a blissful 10 minute conversation perhaps never to speak to them again, but for those 10 minutes I am completely invested in them.  I love with all my heart and I truly listen and care.  My church is made of the streets of each and every town I have ever walked or driven in and it will continue to grow as I drift through my life until my final steps are taken.  And all along my journey, gathered up on either side, my beautiful wildflowers will blanket my path and usher me from here to there and I will know that I am loved as I have loved because I allowed you to be you as you have enjoyed me being me.

And for that, my dear friends, I am not only grateful.  I feel I have finally reached the sun.

Jen Czahur

This Jen   Leave a comment

 

It’s all in the way you look at it.  People can shape shift and in that they can also make you believe some twisted shit.  I can become just about anything I can imagine and in that I can really take every little thing and make it out to be some radical conceptualization.  I have been dealing with some deeply frustrating feelings lately that make me angry, on the verge of violent really.  But I have not lost control.  And now that I have been tagged as a possible threat, I have decided to go back inside, deep inside.

I’m not sure if this is self-preservation or some sort of abuse, but it is what my natural default setting has always been and remains.  So I will be handed off to better suited professionals.  But I will also become a better client.  I will be calm, controlled and deliberate.  Will this serve me better?  Hell no.  But if you really wanted to help me, you would’ve just kept talking to me instead of passing me off to someone else like I begged you to.

You can’t say I didn’t ask.  You can’t say I didn’t beg, cry, explain.  You can’t say you didn’t know.  And as long as you admit that, I’m fine with letting the many pieces fall where they may.

So say hello to this Jen.  This Jen, the one so many have met before; the one who will make you laugh, who will charm you and who will not appear to need your help because, and here’s the secret, she’s realized you have none to offer her.

This Jen is pleased to meet you.  Now, tell me, what can I do for you today?

Time   Leave a comment

 

It appears

That I only know

The ways

Of

Shame or blame

And that for me to be

Greater than the sum

Of my misgivings

I need to learn something

New

Of how life can move forward

I am not sure

There is a way for me

Other than this

I feel trapped

And lost

And alone

I am trying

But I am failing

I am hoping

But I gave up on praying

And now all that I know

For sure

Is that time is both

My greatest enemy

And the only friend

That has the trusted ability

Of being there

In the end

jc

My Path   Leave a comment

 

This is what we do?  We sit and we play these games with my life, going back and forth sharing intimate details as if they were just puzzle pieces.  But what I’m sharing I have no reason to share, not anymore.  I wanted you to be some sort of sounding board.  No, it was more than that.  I wanted you to be a warm receiver who took it all in and kept me safe from it.  I wanted you to be there for me to pour it out into.  You see, I’ve been carrying this around with me for as long as I could remember, even longer than that to be perfectly honest.  There hasn’t been a time when these sins and these fears weren’t wrapped around my neck, draped over my shoulders pulling me down.  My footsteps have grown heavy and with each breath I have grown more and more tired of this death march.  I want release.  I want someone to tell me it’s OK to surrender.  I don’t want to find strength to fight, I simply want to be allowed to let it all go and to sink deeper into the subtle waters of my own lacking self interest.

And I know that you would never be the one to give me that permission.  I just wanted to unburden myself of some of this treachery, these crimes I’ve committed and have thought to commit before I moved on to ask for redemption from a score of others who have actually been the victims.  Somehow, it had all made sense to me a short while ago.  But now it fails to matter.

I do not blame you for any of this falling to pieces.  I wrap up the edges of my mind, tucking it all back in safely and neat, away from the sights of anyone who would dare come close enough to witness me.  This is the way I was intended to be, alone and barred up, deeply hidden.  This is where monsters belong.  And I know that now.

I never doubted for a minute that I was making a mistake.  I just trusted for a second too long that somehow I would be able to recover more from it than I lost.

Even monsters underestimate the darkness sometimes.

Jen Czahur

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