You’re not Born Insignificant, you Choose to be.

Now the title, is just that;

A title, so leave it alone.

Significance or it’s absence isn’t as simple as a sentence.

Embodying insignificance is made possible,

Through wrong thinking and an ultimately self-destructing way of life.

And believing your significance rather than propagating it,

Isn’t actually any sort of egotism or pride.

It’s simply having the lovely knowledge we’re all rightfully able to possess,

That in being a living and created being who is has breath & a will to live;

We are unique and significant.

That’s where it ends and begins,

Significance being present in a person or being.

That it’s existence is not only in tact,

But reality.

Don’t let your significance be something I convince you of,

A clothing company supposedly sells you, an artist “expresses to you”, or however we might try convince ourselves it can come.

But I encourage you, to let your significance be revealed from both within and out;

In and through yourself, others, and the Creator.

You are Significant, Loved, Unique, Imperfectly Perfect, and important.

Or maybe a little more “hallmark” or film -appropriate “You is smart, you is kind, you is important”

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Here is a more favored, maybe less-often referenced, quote I’d also like to share in relation to these thoughts.

 “Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
    you formed me in my mother’s womb.
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!
    Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
    I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
    you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
    how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
    all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
    before I’d even lived one day.”

(Psalm 139:13-16 in the Message translation above and New American Standard below)

“For You formed my inward parts;
You wove me in my mother’s womb.
14 I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well.
15 My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;
16 Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in Your book were all written
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them.”

Walking in Cinder Block shoes

The statement to come is mostly believed as truth;

You have your good days and you have your bad days.

But, what about the days that aren’t necessarily good or bad?

The days where not everything went wrong,

But everything certainly did not go right.

The kind of days and times,

That mess with your head late into the night

And on in the next the day.

Feels like I’ve had a lot of those days lately,

And the bags under my eyes are bursting at the seams.

Every step I take feels as though I have cement for feet,

As opposed to my feet walking on the cement.

But amidst the heaviness,

The both soft and rough spots of skin remind of my humanness.

In all it’s sweet, humbling, perfectly, imperfect state.

I know that I’m sick of saying “I don’t know”,

But because I’ve only said words when I completely meant them;

I will keep saying them.

I really do not

Know.

No, I do not.

And even as my insecurities look back from the mirror at me,

Screaming at me angry and violently,

Something inside tells me that my lack of knowledge is actually for the best.

I don’t know if it’ll ever make sense,

But I’m again assured from within

that this realization is exactly right.

As I look down again,

Lost in thought or something along that line,

I see my feet;

Not the stone or cinder blocks I once thought were what moved from place to place.

They still feel heavy at times,

But the weight isn’t all mine to carry.

And so,

I move onward in the bearable heaviness of being.

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No Title Wanted

Some treat youth as a state of lack,

And yet so often the aged complain or remark at having various types of lack.

One particular thing that is said to escape youth is intelligence;

While I agree that many people refuse to be teachable

or always in a state of learning,

To say that being youthful means you lack intelligence; only proves that the person who’s making such statements lacks intelligence themselves.

They have already determined that through experience,

People who are youthful generally lack intelligence;

Generally speaking, this prevents any bright young individual from being noticed.
Only leaving the gift of intelligence to wither away.
Not for any reason beyond it’s discovery coming quicker to one person than another.
Another observation I’ve made amidst this aging process; the entitlement complex that seems to increase once an individual gains a certain lawful right according to their chronological age.
It’s as if their age has in an ultimately meaningless way, has somehow upgraded their willfulness from slightly childish to completely childish.
The fact that they can get what they want, when they want, and how they want simply because the “numbers” or their age is of legal requirement.
And down the spiral of entitlement, fueled by a whole mess of things whether it be emotional or irrationality, they go.
Why not instead of despising the age of others, or even ourselves; let’s agree to try enjoying this process of aging in all it’s various degrees and phases?

Echoes, Whispers, & Shouts

As a more often than not silent observer,

Maybe even spectator,

I am surrounded by sound waves of exuberant emotion.

This exuberance is sometimes an accessory to my sensory experience,

While other times it’s the bane of my existence.

As of late, it has been the latter.

I hate to sound so trite or whiney at best,

Pleading for pity at worst;

It’s the voices outside my head that surround my being,

That make my view of reality encompassed in loneliness.

At least if the choir of cacophony were within my mind,

I could possibly end their choruses at my will.

I digress, though.

For instead of submitting to despondency,

I do my best to let my footsteps stomp out the voices from my eardrums.

Falling and Getting back up( a sort of letter to & from the Author)

Dear fallen and weak one,

We’re here again and it’s alright. The grace you still explain or comprehend is yet again extended to you. And you also, still, continue trying to pick yourself up. Remain on the ground!

Wait patiently, for you know I will help you. My timing is perfect and right, just and fair; my timing is a teacher not a burden. Wait to find the listen within this fall as I reach out to help you back onto your feet.

In the midst of many trials and unanswerable questions, my truth will always be firm. You are my son, and you will never nor have you ever been forgotten. What I ask, though, is that you forget that you were able to be a savior within yourself. Yes, I enable you to help others out of love and compassion. But I, the supreme and only King/Creator/Father, am the only Savior. Lay down your “self-help” entitlement, and cry out as you’ve resisted doing for too long now. Plea for help until it comes, and await the surprising joy; for help may come from the most unexpected of sources whether it be directly from me or on my behalf through someone else.

I bless you and keep you always.

Love,

The Lord your Father.

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As may be obvious, this is to feed off of several themes we see throughout the scriptures of the Holy Bible. I also put some modern wording to make it bit more direct for any and all who might read. I hope this enriches and encourages, or at least inspires one to thought and gratitude for the existence & omnipresence of the one true God.

Quietly Screaming

I could act like my ancestor scrawling emotion upon the page,

Exhorting the Almighty to face the thousands for me;

But what good would it do?

I could cry any & every tear that seems to leave my tear ducts,

Transforming my weary face into a waterfall;

But what can be reaped when you only weep?

Troubles come and go,

Just as strength comes and goes when not continually maintained.

If we aren’t tested and tried,

What will become of the potential inside?

The muscles within seeking nourishment and growth,

Inactivity and laziness are loathed.

So while I may not be able to express verbally,

At least effectively,

The trouble I feel within my mind & being;

It is this trouble that keeps me going as much as it tears me apart.

And so, I will not surrender under the bearable weight that is only imagined to be more.

Quietly screaming as I move forward.

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How and What.

How am I going to do….

What am I going to….

Where am I…….

Who am……..

When is……………………….

Y?

 

Muttering all these questions,

When we’re not even seeking the answers.

We just want to be heard,

Yet we sometimes forget we even want it.

It’s the sentence never finished,

Cut off by a chance remark or random thought;

That can change a moment of inclusion

to being remembered as nothing be a delusion.

 

But in the quiet place,

The still life moments;

My arms reach into your hearse,

Taking your life back.

You see being alone,

Isn’t to be despised.

Unnecessarily this seems to be thought or somewhat held belief,

That in our moments of self;

We are at our most disliked,

Ignored and or forgotten.

But it’s these needed moments in ones day and life,

That you’re able to strip away the junk that comes up when around others.

 

Community is a lovely and needed things for all beings to thrive,

But so is moments of stillness and self-care done in private.

I’m not saying it can always be private,

And it will hardly ever look perfect;

In this I’m unfortunately certain,

But must take active responsibility for our sustenance.

No,

I’m not saying we can in ourselves exclusively we will be sustained.

But we must in ourselves remember that we need to know we need others,

Before we respond to someone needing us effectively.

We will effectively support people while still broken,

About as effectively as a  neglected child will know how to love their parents.

 

We may be east of paradise,

But let’s not make hell out of the gift that is life.