triptych

I see myself -- I mean my SELF -- as three parts.

Mind does my reasoning, makes puns, learns facts, and is how I consciously act.

Heart feels emotions, makes friendships, cares about little things in life.

Soul talks to God, and complains to him, too. It's the only moral part.

Most of the time I just listen to my mind. It's easy and comfortable.

Sometimes the soul gets a word in. It's rarer than it should be though.

Now, as anyone who reads this knows, I tend to oversensitize, overdramatize, and generally see too much tragedy in life.

So most of the time, I get through life by ignoring my heart. There are times when it won't shut up, and then I end up writing good poetry. (Yeah, I try to write poetry the rest of the time. Forgive me for that!)

There have. however, been times when I haven't needed to ignore it or shut it up. The past couple days have been one such time.

Jesus replied: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment.

knowledge and not knowledge

Well, there's that, too.

I learned this morning about the importance of doing God's will with joy, not just doing God's will.

I always thought at least that, the sacrifice, was untouchably right.

In reality it was among the worst of what I did.

I let a person down and called it righteousness.

May God know that,

however blind, ignorant, and harmful it turned out,

I only ever tried to be good --

to her, to him, to Him.

I only ever loved.

Have mercy on my intentions.

This is for you,

everyone.

sharing and not sharing

Tonight I observed that I keep nothing of myself back

but am honest with everyone who asks

(and even some who don't)

I have no idea what a secret is.

However, I didn't realize


not everything in my head is mine

I got a lot of it from other people and it's hard to tell

to whom what I have belongs

this has led to some mistakes,

some terrible.

I would go on but I can't

written in stone

At some point the past becomes unalterable.
It petrifies into history.
Then you write it down,
the startling facts.

Did I just say the past becomes unalterable?