Chasing "false"

I think I heard this somewhere....

"Some people follow their dreams and never get anywhere. Others realize that dreams will only take one so far, and thus abandon dreams to pursue reality. Within reality, they accomplish that which only the former dreams about."

Abscess

lingering of indescribable feelings towards someone unknown
my single soul reaches out for companionship that cannot be found
then night has crept into the life that was so gay
these reminiscent feelings as if there were feelings to reminisce
trying to place emotion to face but in the end only shadows remain
the gossip is a heart that still feels for those in the past
those that are long gone towards paths that fates have prescribed
how false these claims made by those who only spin tale

these shivers and thoughts are ghosts of stories left to be continued
holes left in the journey, scripts that need to be filled, dialogue left unspoken
ultimately a wanderlust broken in pieces for a stable whole
these feelings of decrepit soles and audible inaction speaks slivers of mindless memories
a piecemeal of intertwined circular songs cut tangential to lives entangled
perhaps, just perhaps, these are unfinished dreams
played out not in reality but in fairytales

thus wakefulness compounds the desire for sleep
and sleep resolves the conflict of dreams
and dreams show the reality of life
wherein does the vicious cycle halt?
a deep slumber, never to awaken
so I dream lives of twists and turns
hoping that I too may one day sleep

Dreams

Who knew through magical colors collide
stories of life and love sprout
sunshine and darkness, suspense and happiness
who knew that dreams
within dreams have a life of their own

when mind wanders, the odds are good
the fairytale grows to encompass hearts
but storms rise and black clouds form
as half of two learns he is only one

through wakefulness "true" love grows
and in dreams our love unfolds
but when reality falls on a flourishing mind
within dreams it is the heart that dies

who says dreams are but dreams
is there no belief that dreams are alive
as such, when dreams fall short
in waking, mind reveals to heart
fairytales are but childhood fantasies
reality encompasses much more cruelty

pessimism seeps into slumber
the cruelty of life, women, and love
change these lines of poetry into prose
dangers of dreams unalterably begun to sow


so why keep singing those sweet lullabies
why hold dearly to those don quixote delusions
and by all that is good and holy
why keep dreaming those childhood fairytales

I too wish that prose may once more turn
into beautiful flowing poetry and gay rich song
sadly my dear, there is no happily ever after
there is only good riddance and good bye

so wake up, and let dreams be just those
dreams in a thoughtbucket floating for eternity
in purgatory never dead nor never truly living

Supposedly

Supposedly when you look back on the past
after sifting through the rough and all the crap
you should be able to easily find a little tiny gem called I

Supposedly when you look into the past
after digging through all the dirt and the mold
you should be able to find memories
trapped in little orbs of the soul

Supposedly when you look ahead to the future
after dreaming dreams and hallucinogen induced visions
you should be able to imagine the perfect life
a spouse, three kids, and a dog all living in a Victorian house with white picket fences and neighbors who care
all in this utopian society where your life matters

Supposedly when you look into the future
after asking horoscopes and voodoo doctors
you should be able to see a grown up face doing a grown up job in a grown up land with grown up problems
continuously isolated from childhood imagination all the while wishing and craving for youthful vigor and mind

Supposedly time is a circle, so supposedly the future resembles the past that resembles the future
and on and on and on ad infinitum (or so they say)
after moments of deja vu and butterfly effects
you should be able to figure out that the present doesn't exist

Supposedly this, our reality, is a figment of our neural circuitry
after much deliberation with puppy dogs and stuffed animals,
you should determine that all this supposedly is hypothetical
who says the words you see are real, but talking lollipops and dumb trees

Let us all hypothesize about supposed past and future
because supposedly the present isn't all that important

Creation of Man

Storms of rain and thunder
pound mercilessly against the unmoving earth.
Trees bend while shrubs hold firm
as torrents upon torrents of flood water
splash down on the tornadoes of dust below.
Lightening strikes with wicked force;
heat and sparks streak through the air.
Skies illuminate with the laughter of the gods!
Puddles like eyes look up and wonder
how clouds could feel such happiness in such chaos.

But, as air and ground trade guffaws,
beauty in rainbows left in their wake.
Wherein these rainbows, magic presides,
sprinkles of sunshine fall to the ground,
combine as dust and dew collide
in a mix and mash of unorthodox whirlwinds
tossing clumps of brownish goo.
Pinched and kneaded by the fingers of child's play
the mud is molded through
to arms and feet and body
leaving only the head unglued.
Now, a man created when head attached:
the merger of heart and mind.
What a beauty in child's delight
when seeing the two parts bind.

Soles, which soul
walking to find its habit
comes across a man with heart and mind
and in this body it comes to inhabit
while the hardening and cracking of sunshining light
define the child's twisted and turned delight

So as we find without the sole
from dust to dust
and ashes to ashes
a muddy trail we leave behind

Still the air and ground trade guffaws
while child's laughter blows our footsteps
unknowingly from time history's beckoning call

IM Champs

The Alt-tab team started off with a few kids from Danforth and Beau that loved to play soccer and one day decided to make a team. The brilliance of Phil and Kevin brought Team Alt-Tab into existence. From there, we played rather inconsistently for the first year, eventually losing out to WashU United :-(.

In our 2nd year, we picked up a few rather talented young individuals, or rather we attempted to pick them up. Sadly, we got disqualified during one of our playoff matches because we had an illegal player. Much drama surrounded this DQ, seeing as how that illegal player scored no goals for us, AND we had already put in about 4 goals by the time he got there. We didn't even know he was an illegal player until later. Secondly, we were playing 11 players (skilled) versus 8 players (not skilled) and we were willing to drop our numbers down to 8 players to even the teams out. Needless to say, the other team got destroyed and humiliated by WashU United in the next round of playoffs. But we pulled ourselves back up and were even more determined to win what was rightfully ours, the IM t-shirt.

In our 3rd year of existence, we picked up yet again another group of highly skilled athletes. I thought this would have been our year, but we were knocked out in the first round of the playoffs. We worked hard that year, but our team still didn't gel. Hopefully the next year we kept on telling ourselves after the playoff defeat.

This year, our 4th year as a team, we finally succeeded. 4 clean sheets, allowing only 1 goal. We had a goal differential of 16, with our top goal scorer being Murtaza (4). Coaching this team was a lot of fun, drawing up formations and lineups, yelling at the refs, and playing outside every day. The players did amazing this year, and we prospered from that. Mad props to the team for sticking to their guns, powering their way through the opponents, and eventually scoring those crucial goals.

We finally did it. We, Alt-Tab, are IM Champions. And, may this continue for years to come. Once the seniors leave, it will be left to the underclassmen to continue the team if they so choose. I hope they do.

Goodbye undergrad soccer....*sigh* I'll miss you! I'm glad we're able to leave each other on such great terms!

------------------------

Through all of this, I have learned that time, dedication, and perseverance can produce fine results. However, patience in the heat of battle, quickness in thinking, preparedness, and the confidence to take risks can produce results beyond the imagination. Just some food for thought: in many ways, life is like a game of soccer. Give and go, patience, holding or running with the ball, defense and attack, never giving up for what you believe in or want, never succumbing to laziness or tiredness, etc etc.

Heart to Soul to Body: A tragedy

A lonely soul rests on a park bench. His slumped shoulders and disturbed hair magnify the depressing drip drop of fall's downpour. Each drip, each drop mask the teary eyed man who only wishes to hide in the darkness of the cloudy day and scream curses to the gods above. Oh, what a wretched soul, a soul that is lost! Unwilling to return to the places he had called home; unwilling to bear the shame that rests so heavily in his deadened heart; unable to love the life he has led and completely incapable of changing the circumstances that has led him to this lonely, cold, wet bench.

Have you ever had the sky suddenly turn from grey to blue and the rain disappear? Neither has he. And, it didn't happen on that dark day. A heart full of malice, anger, spite, hate, and depression. A heart unable to contain such emotions, a bubbling concoction of metaphysical death. And, death it became. As the heart dies, the soul dies; and, as the soul dies, so the body dies.

And, on that fateful stormy night, a man wasted away because no one saw underneath his facade. No one dared to call him out; no one dared to pry; no one dared to try.

All he wanted to do was to happily say hello and happily say goodbye, instead of leaving this earth teary eyed.

Hear him whisper, " My friends, my family, my love, my God, goodbye."

He gets up from that park bench, drenched clothing, matted hair, bloodshot eyes with anguished stare, and languidly drags his feet towards the darkness. Silhouette enveloped by the shadows, and with tears merging with the pools of rain fading into the depths of despair, he disappears forever, vanishing from all memory, or lackthereof.

Screensaver

I've never wanted

to be so alone. Stranded in

a small room surrounded by

humming machines listening to

the soft whispers of country

I dream of standing on a balcony,

the top floor of a parking garage,

the tip of a mountain peak,

the landing overlooking ocean breezes,

laying in the flat plains of midwestern grain,

or even standing silently in the tundra of a winter desert

I strain my ears to hear the gentle breeze

I feel the tingle of the bristling grass underneath my feet

I warm from the sun drying the winter storm

I taste and smell the crisp spring air

I believe this is a figment of my imagination

as my eyes glaze over from emotions

flooding the brain, the lids close around

my newfound world. the blinding glare turns black,

the humming stops, and the dark of night envelopes

My only wish is to soar among the stars

after exploring the world

in dreams trapped by pixels of light

abolished

Mask

Quick, quick

the masquerade begins

flashing capes and royal gowns

dance lightly across this floor of

interlocking twine

where is my mask

o, my magnificent mask

decorated with gleaming jewels and plated gold

a loan on something I could not afford

to cover these hideous eyes

that shift, back and forth

I need to hide my bloodshot eyes

the lines of tears down the face

will fail to reveal

I need to hide the angry fire

flames that have engulfed my sight

water fails to smolder

I need to hide the loneliness

the shivering cold child

that seeks love

Look for it quickly

Look! Look!

here she comes from across the room

my last hope to hide myself

behind the mask of confidence

But, look...look

turn to the mirror on the wall

look in her gleaming eyes

see your reflection

where is this god forsaken mask?

it is but already worn.

Vita est....

You learn to cherish the good days because you know that they are the anomaly. They are the misfits among the pervasive bland, sad, and lonely mornings and evenings. Much like dreams, these good times are the times that are always forgotten. And just like dreams, one grasps for them, wishing to hold on forever, to live in that forbidden world of imagination, only to realize that they are but idealistic misconceptions of reality. As good times slip through the sieve created by fingertips and dreams begin to stink of rotting ideals, the usual, trite life returns to torment one's existence. But, if we were to nourish our dreams and bring it slowly back to health, then we discover that even the bad has its good. The dreams grow stronger, and the dreams become reality, no longer a figment of our deluded imagination. That is also when we discover that life is beautiful and that it is worth living.

In the wise words of Cicero: "Ut sementem feceris, its metes."

"Yesterday is but a dream, tomorrow but a vision. But today well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness, and every tomorrow a vision of hope. Look well, therefore, to this day."

Beer and Darts

As the numbers count down

from 301

eyes dart back and forth

scanning, ever searching

looking for that right

spot

a little metal needle

turns slowly between thumb and finger

what a beautiful object

feathers and a point

taking aim

only to realize that I

this drunken fool

hardly ever hits bullseye

always, always

close

alcohol makes the objective

harder to accomplish

but deceptively more enjoyable

with each miss comes greater laugh

so then, life

how much different is life

from a game of beer and darts?

toss my dart

see it wildly miss

is that not what makes everything so much more

beautiful?

Movement

Each had times when life stood

still

with events and people put on momentary

hold

brief moments in one's own head

when the world became

quiet and content

as quickly as those moments come

they become like dreams

after waking up; for some

the moment stays,

lingers; for others

the life of hectic charge resumes

these moments,

regardless,

pass

much like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day

come enjoyed gone, eventually

forgotten.

these moments reminisce of days

when sunrise and sunset

had meaning

I sometimes wonder

what silence on a knoll at sunrise during

a hot summer day

feels like;

what a cool breeze at sunset

smells and listens like

let not the little moments drift on by

or you too

like those watching the sky at the brink of dawn and dusk

shall be left

longing

for the beauty that was

Serenity.

Empty Airport

Where is the hustle and bustle?

empty bags left in solitude

sleeping children and mothers

pacing worried fathers

line the cold plastic seats

a place usually teeming with activity

now silent

eerily quiet

but, there is noise

chitter chattering of speakers

whirring of floor polishers

the low turning rumble of bags rolling

all meaningless white noise

in a land where movement has stopped

unseen structures masked

by constant perpetual movement

now, readily apparent

oh how great the architect

who designed such grand curves and beams

that go unnoticed through the night

dreams still alive before

then step outdoors

exiting to the world that turns

dreams to nightmares

---------------------------------------------------------

:-D Hartsfield-Jackson International...oh how I miss thy long security lines and quick baggage claims.

On time.

hours past

hours go

tick tock

tick tock

the minute hand slowly moves

agonizingly

I can see it taunting me

each mechanical wiggle

as the second hand rolls on by

laughingly saying

catch me if you can!

sighing, I reach for another

drink

the need to keep

on schedule

draining on the mind

on the body

on the soul

but time does not return

the world spins in

only one singular direction

I will adjust

like the tides

I will keep rhythm

with rhyme

less let the ages pass

undefined

Childhood innocence

oh how we dream of days of yore

how quickly we grasp for

that which duly lies in the past

that which has never grown old

that which relish in little joys

we hold on to them

as if childhood had once again

returned

but maturity calls

rather it beckons us

forth

and so we hopscotch

and jumprope our way towards

the land of ties and suitjackets galore

is this not to be guffawed?

little children walking about

pressed collars and windsor knots

khaki pants and shiny shoes

a game of dress up

that can't be all?

as we walk through

marbled halls and

glance dauntingly at doric pillars

legs stretch and arms strengthen

to fill brown loafers of

businessmen and doctors

professionals and tradesmen

soon after, as we grow

lives becoming evermore complex

childhood, seemingly a hazy door at the beginning of

a long, long hall

as doric pillars turn to ionic columns

we wear out these tiresome clothes

which sloth off to reveal

that inner child

crying.

Only then do we understand that

before the revolving door and grand hall

the childhood which we all dreamt for

was the most corinthian of all.

A curve and a dot

Life is

but a curve and a dot

Don't let that space in between

stop

the amazing leap

of thoughts and things

What mark do I make

in this grand scheme of life?

upon where, shall I be placed?

Let it not be a period.

or a semicolon;

or a comma no less,
Don't even strive to be an exclamation point!

as desirable as it may be.

Let me forever be a question:

for questions lead to answers

and answers are what we seek

a drag and a flip

a twirl and a bow

curves and curves

dots and dots

question me now

question me later

question me how

question, question, question

could not my life be any greater?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

new blog: a curve and a dot . blogspot. com

Poems will continue to be posted on here :-D

Stroll

stars blinking goodbye

high tide approaches the silent beach

a sad stranger saunters with slumped shoulders

unevenly placed prints mark

the jagged dragging steps of nightly debauchery

no sound but slow labored breathing

padding the damp, humid air

lacking that usual gay spring

mildly drunken to cover bloodshot eyes

as blood drains from the flushed face

along jagged lines reminiscent of ephemeral prints

flow the now solitary soul

as steps turn to staccatoed sinuous lines

a chalked outline the finale

as the Moirae watch

the line of life disentwine

leaving the gods to reveal

an empty fountain,

a dry well,

an ironic metaphor for deaden birth

Nightmare

You came to me in the night

saying kind words with soft touches

driving me from the light

because of want, not need

mind thoroughly grasped in evil clutches

within a fortnight, I was driven

insane

have I yet to be forgiven

even with no exterior

feigned?

Cursed dreams that teach

nothing

a reminder of past mistakes

forget

emotional surge of that I wish

disappear

Regret. despair. lunacy. rage.

byproducts of nightmares

mind trapped in sleepless cage

as body prostrated in prayer

a fortnight of writhing and crying

suddenly cease to be

those evil hands that spurned haunting

banished for eternity

Respect

Hard to gain

hard to maintain

but without the slightest strain

all my respect for you is slain

You may be a person

in that no one can deny

but respect is not given but gained

I could care less if you died

Evil comes and evil goes

facades plenty in tow

O, you will meet your Maker

and on that day I shall laugh

when your soul does burn in melting heater

I can see your motives inside

not even your decisions can hide

upon my life I swear I will find

a way to destroy your very kind

so learn to respect

me and all those I connect

because to them I will protect

and gladly see you wrecked

Respect.

Running water

Little dreams end

where rapids turn to calm,

gentle streams.

the rocky patches stall

mighty currents, torrents even

brush quickly by

seeking tranquil water

underneath lies

polished surfaces after years of wear

invisible rocks reveal flowing imperfections

a foundation of too much and too little

an abridged version of evident scars

I, like floodwaters on a rainy day,

seek the serenity that I will never find

Treasures in Jars of Clay

towards whom few may see

towards that which may not be

towards a life of sadness and glee

I strive forward ever so faithfully

God's workmanship crafted

so delicately

a body upon which

the scars of sin doth takes its toll

but through life I trek

through times of toil

that at the end of the day

when I meet my Maker

to me shall go all the spoils

so i dare not wish

upon or for worldly things

those things that never last

for from dust they were made

and to dust they shall return

this, the true cycle of earthly things

but my soul, O, my soul

that shall last forever

seated with holy high

so prepare I must

for that great day

when my body doth turns to dust

my soul will sing a jamboree

on that day,

when Christ does come for me

then, my dear, hear me laugh with glee.

but for now, I wait

i slowly wait...

and wait...

ever so patiently.

Encompassed by darkness

my spine

up

shivers run

the finish:

a released

si-

gh

music

f

l

o

w

i

n

g

ecsinimer reminisce

drifting to memories

A painted landscape

changing colors of rocks

covered with grime

aged through the ages

scratch marks of time

little boys contemplate great dreams

great men reminisce little memories

as such we all grow

to the greats and the smalls

into the toil

through white spires or stony arches

experience teaches

nothing but perspective

reigns supreme

O, a different land

towards which I no longer feel

I, an outsider

misplaced

dreaming of home

in a home that was my home

now lying in the past

Few words spoken

Little experiences

great changes

age an early indication of time

yet maturity and wisdom

calls to taunt me

from ascension to my rightful place

Parting ways from college gothic

onwards I travel

double-takes bar none

under arches I pass and spires traverse

a future undefined as defined

pick up my brush

one quick twirl, one quick flick

a line is drawn

completion of this painted

landscape...

Darkness settles

Boiling rage:

a combination of frustration and hate

the only release for a bleeding heart

Insanity:

driven by solemn solitude.

to whom do I speak to but

white walls

screaming death sounds

like a better fate

constantly consumed:

jailed in my own mind

no outlet to vent

I cannot sustain the day

grab my shattered, spilled Walker

I slowly

c r a w l

from the torrents of tears

of a niagra filled basin

mixed stench of urine, blood, and alcohol

I drip tainted water

once clear white turns blood red

drenched, I turn in

for the night

burdened, now.

only by pain and sadness

a loneliness only felt by one

I curse the days I wake...

watch my facade spring forth

but stare

deep, in my eyes

the life behind this stony mask

unveil

that which few do see

none will observe within

as my dark period begins

------------------------------------------------

Disclaimer:

I've gotten a lot of concerned responses to this poem. I am OKAY! It is just a poem! Don't read too much in to it. But, if you are worried even with this disclaimer, please come talk to me so I can clear things up.

Once again, I am fine!

One Path

This is the way things must progress.

Even through all the pain and duress,

I will come out as nothing less.

In the end, I will impress.

Listen well!

all this will no longer depress

I wipe my hands of this entire mess.

for now, to all this, I will aggress.

Actions and words,

later, one cannot redress.

Nevertheless,

this is my path to success.

-------------------------------------------

Sometimes the inspiration you need to get through the day is from people that are no longer with you. It makes you wonder why things turned out the way they did, and it reminds you that you need to keep on trekking through life. I am just glad to have been able to call them my friends. I'm thinking about ya'll.

Repost : Give us clean hands

Here's to the end of what was the beginning. Here's to a new chapter in my life written in hands washed clean. I flip back and I see sweat, tears, and blood infused into the weaves of wooden mesh. Every new beginning starts with clean hands, but how they become dirty with constant wear! Thus, we must wash our hands clean of this filth that clouds our mind's eye. Such skewed logic, such distorted images of life, such altered ideas of living must be cast out. Leave behind only that which remains pure, still, and pristine. When your hands are sterile, what is left behind? I only see lines: lines of fate intertwined. These nice, neat arches and ridges that define the ups and downs of our life lead not to death but to a greater understanding of ourselves and the world we live in. So, in essence, we cannot wash away all the filth, all the dirt, all the contamination, we can only remove that thin layer of putrid, molding tarp and see exactly who we are. And, we'll realize that the life underneath that sheet of grime lays that which is shaped by the experiences which give us the messy sewage that infects our mind and heart.

Single Awareness Day

Heavenly close

simple breathes sigh

to that so far below

in greenly pastures

dancingly glow

waving swaying

alas, no end good bye

upon which teary eyes rest

the sun does hellishly set

leaving marked cursive signature

that of life's greatest capture

tainted paint flies with penned rapture

who would have guessed

one lone soul

sits patiently high

waiting

no longer wishing

to be simply that

passerby

But sun head droops

light kept at bay

goes home

half hearted, no fruits

with only moonlight in starry night

does tauntingly say

Ha Ha big bright Sun

Here's to your single, lonely Valentine's Day

-----------------------------------------

Forgive me if it sucks. I wrote it on my plane ride back from UMich when I couldn't sleep.

Harro...Goobai.

I walk through life. It turns around and asks me how I'm doing. I simply say, "Well, good sir, I'm covered with your innards." Life turns to me with a curious expression, nods, then says sorry and walks to the nearest door. And I, being the foolish man I am, decide to walk in the opposite direction rather than following life's every single footstep. So as life and I go our separate ways, I am left with its blood drenching me.

I need to take a shower. But, I will never be able to get these stinking remnants off me; even if I were able to, the stench would stay with me forever.

I guess that's what I get for not chasing after life.

Time to go find it. It's had a massive head start, but I will catch up one day, and we will say hello. On that day, we will become best friends and I will learn to live.

Live in the moment. The memories we create will last forever; these memories, though not captured on film, are captured in our hearts and in our minds. Let's go chase life together.

When I was a kid, I used to walk around with my eyes closed. They were sealed with tape, not that expensive clear scotch tape, but the cheap frosted scotch tape. I didn't mean to walk around with my eyes closed; that's just the way things had been since I was a small child. I saw the world only through that frosted tape: obscurity reigned.

As I grew older, I was asked countless times why I liked to live in such a hazy world. My answer: why do you like to live in such a clear world? I prefer my hazy world because I know that once I take off these goggles that I will see exactly how disgusting you are and how disgusting this world is. Now, is it not better to live in ignorance?

Who would have guessed that in the middle of the night, terror amassed with the powerful stranglehold of fate, and in one felled swoop removed that frosted glass. Oh, the unbearable pain, not from removed skin and pulled lashes, but from the freedom of the eyes. The glare of truth and rightful understanding bore its branding iron onto the very flesh of my soul. To tell you the truth, I changed that night. Perception is key.

I hid from the light, preferring the opaque grey. Neither white nor black, neither truth nor lies. A life of half-truths...or should I say half-lies. Now with eyes wide open, there was only two paths to choose. How simple the task: pick white or black. A task so simple that it was difficult: pick life or death.

I chose life, and in that life, came my death.

Dream Symphony

oh bittersweet tears of reminisce

to what do we owe the honor?

orchestra of dreams

symphony of asynchronous bows

across strings of life

rhythms of the heart duly expressed

alongside melodic waves of finely tuned expressions

harmony joins to create splendor

interwoven images of beauty

a mosaic of bleeding canvases

upon these pages

mere notes, lines, and clefs

life is written

love is found

soul is created

through my dreams

my orchestra plays

through moments of dissonance

through moments of consonance

my life rests

Patience: A virtue?

What is patience? Isn't it the willingness to wait for something and to continue waiting through the hardships and struggles regardless of the outcome? But, even as I say this, I'm thinking to myself how much horseshit the "regardless of the outcome" part is of the poorly worded definition. Obviously, I want the outcome to be favorable for me. But, isn't that just wanting to control the situation? And, to what degree is this a bad thing? For me, its when the need to be patient consumes the entirety of my thoughts. It is when this need to be patient is causing me to have thoughts that create jealousy, rage, pain, or sadness. Then I just need to remind myself that what I'm feeling isn't what I really feel, instead, they are feelings brought about by the dark child that resides within me. The devil just sits there and whispers these thoughts in my head that make me question my actions, my motives, and even others. I realized that if I follow down that mindset that I end up overreacting and creating an even bigger mess. I guess I've learned to keep my mouth shut, but I can't seem to keep my mind silent.

So, I tried something today. When my mind started to wander, I breathed deeply and recited the Lord's prayer. As I turned my attention towards God, all those thoughts started to disappear. As I prayed for peace of heart, peace of mind, and as I let God fill my heart with His love, I could literally feel something leave me. I think it was that demon that was whispering to me. Funny thing was that I wasn't bothered for the rest of the night, even if my mind were to drift towards some topics I didn't want to tackle, I didn't start any mental spirals.

Anyways, what is impatience? A good friend told me recently that impatience is a form of unbelieve. Basically, you don't trust that God will handle that aspect of your life, thus, you want to have total control. Not just total control, but you also want to instruct God on how He should benefit your life. How crazy is that?! You telling God how your life should be lived. What a load of ridiculousness. Moreover, this lack of trust is just another indication that your will is not in alignment with God's will. This aspect of your life that you can't trust God with is the one thing that you hold in highest regard or what would be the satisfaction of your life.

So, I guess, that trust in God leads to patience. So is patience a virtue? Sure. But patience is also accepting the course God has planned for you.

For me, I need to keep reminding myself that God has His plan for me. Its in regards to something specific, but I'd rather not divulge what it is.

All of my life done for His glory, and may it always be so. I am but a vessel.

Profound right?