What are the keys to holiness and perfection? Practice, patience, time, and integrity. Like any good thing, it takes work and lots of it. You don't become Van Gogh, or Mozart, Michael Jordan or Mother Theresa overnight. Granted, some of these people have certain gifts and talents that make it easier, but it still took practice and consistent work. Patience is also necessary. There may be setbacks or failures, mistakes and sleepless nights, but one must be patient and endure, because if you keep going, things are going to look up and trials will strengthen and give us the tools we need for the future. Time is something we all have and never seem to have enough of. Make good use of your time and fill it with good and wholesome things. Do not hurry or rush perfection or holiness or any good thing. Nothing good comes to those who hurry and rush and do not wait. Finally, and perhaps most importantly is integrity. To be holy and strive for perfection, one must have true integrity. As Shakespeare said once "... above all else: To thine own self be true". Be true to who you are and who you were made to be. Do not try to live someone else's life or be someone else. You aren't. You are you and that is that. Be the best you that you can be. For, as Mother Theresa is quoted as saying: "in the final analysis it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway".

God bless us all on our path to holiness and perfection. Amen

i've yet to break out of my shell
i've yet to know who i am
i've yet to find a purpose

yet i've died a million times
rebirthed into a vacuous cocoon
wrapped, trapped, in restraints

i've yet to break
i've yet to live
i've yet to love

yet you have lost me too many times
you've yet to know me
you've yet to love me

you've yet to accept me
yet you say you love me,
trapped
but i've yet to find my own strength
and once i do -
i will break out
i will live
i will love
i will be.

So often I fall into sin. More often than not, it's the same one or two. I fall down again and again and it's hard to not get discouraged. I heard a beautiful song today that said "a saint is just a sinner who fell down... and got back up again. There are good days, weary days and bad days, but in the end the good days outweigh the bad days and so I won't complain". To me, it's a simple and beautiful reminder of something we all too often forget. In a contemplation from St. Thomas Merton, it said that hell is hatred and it's a hatred not of other, but of what we know others see in ourselves. It is the "curse of shattered sight". (A secular TV reference, but well applicable for these purposes). Sin is a symptom of this shattered sight as well. It is a desire for the good, but the good is twisted and distorted and we are caught in the trap of "looking for love in all the wrong places". We see the worst things that other people see in us and fail to see the good. We end up turning against each other and destroying ourselves. The love that satisfies and fulfills is the love of God for us, his beloved children. He loves us and accepts us for who we are: good, bad, shattered sight and all and he sent His only son to die for us when we were his foe. How great is the Father's love for us! To be truly free, we must admit to ourselves that we are imperfect, and we make mistakes. Even when we ***** up pretty bad, good family and friends still love us, accept us, encourage and challenge us to move forward and keep doing better. If there are those like us who can do that, then surely God, in his perfection, will do that all the more! Accept yourself fully and embrace all of who you are. We cannot truly love others or be loved by others if we don't love ourselves. Next time you fall, remember: Jesus fell (in love) for you, and he fell three times (out of the fullness of love) for you, and got back up again.

Lord Jesus, please grant us the strength and grace to get up again when we fall down. Help us accept and love ourselves without condition as you first did for us. By your grace and mercy, heal us from this shattered sight in accordance with your will and may we find comfort and solace by your side in the shadow of the cross. Amen.

i fake a smile at dinner;
try to recreate it in the mirror
when alone -
checking to see if they
could’ve seen through it.

I feel most beautiful when my hair is haphazardly thrown into a French barrette, my pajamas are loose, and my scented lotion on.

I couldn't tell how much of my usual actions tonight of quickly twisting my hair, or picking which scent to wear, were influenced by my love for me or you.

I gently pulled the frontmost curls from the barrette and clasped on a delicate necklace in my vanity mirror. I selected the small, expensive bottle from my collection to melt into my hands, wrists, and clavicles.

I would never leave the house without this evening routine, and even though we're only crossing the street, I indulge in my reflection. It's the most I've loved myself all week.

I don't look to see if the lashes are perfectly parted, if the hair is tamed, if anything. I just take in my sights and scents,

and I secretly hope you do too.

We appear to love as captives, shackled by the relentless whispers
of our hearts. The places we seek solace may very well be our final
resting spots; our beds could transform into our tombs. We exist
only as long as He allows, wrapped in blessings and gifts, while
you continue to frolic in this world, surrendering yourself to
become its plaything.

And still, you laugh—gasping for air, straying down a treacherous
path, while within, you weep silently; suffocating as you struggle
for breath… a twisted obsession of despaired wet dreams.

Tell me, in our yearning for mercy, why does it elude us –
for the mercy we long for, why doesn’t our own exist?

To worship life, sadly means  learning how to laugh at your
worth. You present yourself as a lump of sugar, yet your
thoughts are like a lump of coal, consuming you as you stare
into the glow of your phone…

                                        Ah, I pen these lines for my own reflection.

Be silent. Listen. Breathe. Easy enough to say, but much harder to put into practice. Sometimes I talk to fill a void. I talk to avoid having to feel the weight of silence like judgement, so I don't have to go down deep and see what actually lives there. Help me deal with my emotions, help me feel my emotions, especially those that are uncomfortable or unnatural to me. Be silent. Listen. Breathe. Maybe the hurts and sadness, the hungers and scars deserve to be recognized for what they are. They are part of life. The help me know and feel I am alive. They help me remember and be more grateful for the many wonderful blessings I have in my life. There is a time for talking, but now it is time To Be Silent. To Listen. To Breathe.

you can see my scars;
my face is riddled with them.
i often wonder,
how anyone could miss them -
yet, they always seem to.

it takes a good look, i guess -
to see how bad things really are.

perhaps they’re blinded
by the smile i put up;
a slick smile, it is -  
surgical -
like a scar…
a big scar,
that hides the smaller ones.

the other day,
it hit me like a truck -
while i was walking to the cigarette shop,
my vanity still in awe of
‘how anyone could miss them…!’  
a man, i saw.
an old man -  
with overgrown ****** hair,
and a yellow mustard duffle coat,  
walking my way.
a flash of traffic light
streaked across his face,
and a feeling took over me;
a strange feeling -
like i had seen a ghost from my past,
or perhaps,
my future.

as he passed me by,
he smiled at me.
ceremoniously, but still.  
as did i.
we timed it perfectly -
like an ambidextrous artist
were at work,
drawing identical curves
with their hands.
i noticed,
my smile had lasted longer
than i expected.

a few yards down the road,
i stopped abruptly…
and whimpered,
‘oh...’

Whatdya know?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMIV)


Pink smudges on the East long after sense
Was on its toes and I upon, t'avail,
The clock, I'd NOT warm til three hours sans bail
Passed, frozen to my toes til in defense
The sun now blinds me. Nary telly hence
Tae drive sense out of count'nance, which detail?
Dark choc'late pieces, pie, dip, porridge'd hail,
With coffee from my birthday like what thence?
I am a wreck? The wind comes like as t'were
A guest, just as John Clare wrote ere, thin blue
Skies fraught with streaky clouds, trees naked fer
Effect as how November's last day, through
Ole Winter, looks as wont. Blue shadows cure
The golden light as, LORD, all wait on You.

30Nov24a

I started building my house when I was five

Copying the words some pastor told me to say

I already had the foundation laid for me

But that was when it turned to concrete

Or so I thought



Slowly but surely the walls rose,

But they were built of twisted metal

Firm at first

But slowly it crumbles.



The roof is built, supposed to feel safe

But at this point it smothers me

In a house that is not my own

It is full of lies and deceit

It does not feel safe.



Then somewhere along the time,  

The hammers building turn to sledgehammers

Ripping down my walls

Revealing the carnage through the haze

I walk out, and walk away.



The freedom feels strange.

New words on my lips,

Ones I shudder to think of now.

I knew it wouldn’t last

But I wasn’t ready to return



But then music.

A single album, two friends.

Help lead me back down the path to the wreckage of my house

I know it is not all bad.

An intact siding here, a piece of tile there.

I collect the pieces I can still use

And I move to another spot.

I start to rebuild.



I still have questions about my faith, I’ll admit.

Sometimes I forget I’m not the only one I can depend on anymore.

But that’s normal.

I’m learning.

And I have people with me,

Visiting me and helping me rebuild.

I won’t lie and say it wasn’t hard.

But I’m proud of how far I’ve come.

In my journey of faith.