Some unfashionable fear
Repels me from the blinding light of
The moment
Knowing full well that to bask in that glow
Brings the only peace I'm destined to know
My flesh sinning against the Spirit in the conviction
That it isn't enough
Grasping ahold of all I've come to hate
With one hand
With the other all I thought I loved
All that is before me
All that is within me
It all belongs to the moment
Even as I belong to the moment
Though my stubborn will won't admit it

One constant in my unremarkable life
The infinite ringing of tinnitus
Ignored by methods learned so long ago
I could not remember to teach them to you
Certainly not fail safe methods
With age it seems harder not to listen
And lament as it gets louder
Slowly, slowly, barely perceptibly
Louder
As through a screen I listen to things
From the dullest congressional hearing
To the most exquisite music
Of Gustav Mahler and Sigur Rós
I know there will come a day
I will not be able to dissect the intricacies of a randomly chosen Mahler symphony
Or appreciate the perfect bliss
Of Jónsi channeling angels
Breaking barriers, cerebral and ethereal
How will I remember this divine sound
When tinnitus masks the music of the spheres?
Will my memory ability do it justice?
Soon, oh graceful Lord, soon the curse will overshadow the blessing
And I will have to stand condemned of it being my own fault
It makes me want to cry when I say
I'll miss all music
For music has been the most trusted and reliable friend I've ever known
Sacrificed for what? Persistent ringing
But who knows, perhaps the tinnitus
Is to keep me from hearing the voices that accompany schizophrenia
Perhaps that's the sacrifice, the trade-off
Godsent music the price to keep insanity at bay
I must not think that way
Though my years are getting shorter
And tinnitus will surely claim my hearing sooner rather than later
I can't let myself feel guilty
For basking in the sonic waves of comfort
For playing Riceboy Sleeps again
Listening for the million musical noises
Floating around in the atmosphere like fire flies on a dark, humid summer night
There are recordings of ghosts on the record
I'm no para psychologist and I don't even believe in ghosts
But I swear I hear their mournful cries
Pianos in empty rooms
Simple melodies picked out by no hand at all
Sounds that cannot be identified
Pin ***** starlight shines pencil thin bright light beams
That show the moths and dustmites hanging from the air
Riceboy Sleeps you can wear like a cool coat or hide beneath like a sheet waiting for Answer Man to come get you
Stalling, stalling to keep you here until the absolute last minute
Something so strong that even tinnitus can never fail to steal it's otherworldly beauty
And though it's true I would choose Mahler over Sigur Rós and Jónsi/Alex
To be stuck on that desert island with
It's only because I think his symphonies would be better tools against boredom, so complex and intricate they are
I could live 50 more years and still not have heard what waits in his symphonies
Jónsi's voice is carved on my heart
I take it with me everywhere I go
I will never lose it
It is indeed part of me, even as it grows in it's mythology
Jónsi will be with me always
Even through the gates and down streets of gold
Mahler, though, will take a long, long time to work his way into my memory banks
Though he my not totally succeed I know
I'll get more than enough
And the desert island experience
Was only made tolerable by those 9 symphonies either in the Claudio Abaddo versions or the Muchael Tilson-Thomas cycle
So I keep 'em both
And in similar ways my tinnitus is staved off by
Message For Bears
Immanu El
Stafraenn Hakon
Yeasayer
Jean Sibelius
Gregor Samsa
...there are many others
   Stand against tinnitus
   Pray a miracle from God
   To point out
   Unrecognized silence

There is an exquisite melancholy that comes
When basking in the revelation that
I was never as good as I thought I was
With a good number of years stuffed between
Halcyon days
and
The dull-edged moment

Who waits for me
At the end of the road
With arms wide open
For me to throw myself into
And disappear?
Whose gift is eternity?
Will I be given the chance to see you
Growing and slowly filling
My field of vision
With the beauty of permanence?
Or will you sneak up from behind
To strike me down with mercy?
Such a blessing to know you'll be there
To take me from the present suffering.
An even greater blessing to forget you altogether.

This may come as some surprise
To the way you despise and the knives in your eyes
I got respect to the highest degree
For the three in in one, the Holy Trinity
And I hear mean folk, insatiable
Dragging down our Revelation bible
NIV or dead old King James I doth salute ya
These copious onion skin pages contain the secrets of the universe
Hidden from those who think they know what they're looking for
Revealed to the man of simple trust
Given to the man who understands the way of grace
That bible condemns judging
And all hypocrisy
Truth be told there's not a soul
Least of which you and me
Whose even a fraction prepared to
Speak from on that Rock
All you got, baby, all you've  ever had is
Talk talk talk
Think on it a little while
Your mind will draw the same
Conclusion I reluctantly have carried in my brain

The bible is a singularity
It's powers beyond measuring
Like it's author it works in mysterious ways
To amaze the dull and confound the proud
It can bring whole cities down
It's the battle map of the philosopher/warriors mind
Stained with the blood of mere men and a King
To whom all will bow down
Each and all will bow down
Be we in our own particular spheres of understanding and/or ignorance
Our knees will hit the ground
And we'll gladly acknowledge Truth has been made known to all

A couple thousand onion skin pages with script so tiny an old man's got to squint
66 books that changed millions of lives
Fought a few wars, it's true, expected
Each on the side of the right whether you realized it or not. Each battle a jigsaw puzzle piece in a verse that reads ALL THINGS WORK TOGETHER FOR GOOD FOR THOSE WHO LOVE THE LORD AND WHO ARE CALLED ACCORDING TO HIS PURPOSE!

Monks in the day would memorize the entire bible
I never knew how they could do it
I'm sure I never will
But if God helped me write those 66 books in my heart and mind completely
Where I would not forget 'em
Nay, they'd be working on me the whole time
I'm sure my remaining years would
Make up for the frivolous disbelief
That has haunted my young adulthood
It would be a blessing that I would fain cast aside when my Lord Jesus puts His arm around my shoulder and escorts me cross to the other side

It's hard to read the bible
Because it shows me what I am
Boastful of my own good works
But still such a sinful man
Through lines of wisdom
And the love of a Savior
I recognize the reality of the supernatural
The abode of the infinite God
Of countless Names
In the Bible Yahwah and Yashua
But they are just the same

The process is to accept
The progressive retardation
Wrought by chemicals
A necessary adjustment
Reevaluating meaning
Value and worth
There comes a point when realization dawns
The point where intellects breaks down to the base line of ignorance
Where attachment is severed
The process takes everything away from you
But not before draining it dry of anything worth having
And so the grandest theft
Becomes
The most glorious gift
Of nothing
(This is not easy to understand or comprehend,
It is the  chemicals patient handiwork that allows eyes to see
To see and ears to hear
To hear
Without their scientifically regulated tutelage there are very very few methods that work in the 21st century that give them that side car joy ride straight the ribbon of BEING into to prayer closet of Nievana
Those of us who aren't willing to give up the things we attach to
The very things through which we define our selves, our souls, our minds, our hearts and our spirits
Drop them, move on a live without
When you realize you are living without, drip dmsomething else
It is the most difficult thing in the world
Yet by the end of the pilgrimage it has become too easy
Happiness is with nothing
Nothing is a clean slate for your imagination to create upon
This is heaven - wants nothing to do with the world
Process of chemicals and lack of sleep
It's a good thing
Though they who follow the path  will be laughed at and scorned
By people who will never understand them
White trash bad *** and Rhoads scholar on the same page
"How can they live if not like us?"
You keep living, it's your calling
We are called to the realm of the supernatural
Where we will create our own heavens
Songs, stories,books , interactive movies we may never die
But if we do we know what we left behind
I wii not find I difficult to close my eyes
Having created in such a grand scale
Albeit with chemicals and ignorance guiding my way

Time was you could turn on the radio
And the first song you heard would contain
A message to you directly from God
He'd tell you what was happening in your life
Sometimes He'd tell you what to do about it
Always a surprise, good to hear from Him
But not always what you'd want to hear
A lot of it depended upon the radio station you chose
These days fewer people listen to the radio
Opting for streaming music or perhaps internet or satellite radio
The last two sometimes seem to work in a pinch
But it's just not the same, I don't know why
Yahweh just seems to like good old fashioned terrestrial radio
Probably makes His voice clearer on the AM band than FM
Not that He doesn't respect progress
He's got a nostalgic streak in him, that's all
And some really poor people can only afford a cheap AM radio
So there you go
Practically any song can drip with profound meaning
If you use the radio like a Ouija board
Try it sometime
It could change your life
Even for the better