Jesus? May I?

April 15, 2008January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

Jesus?

I sit here at this laptop, a vision bouncing ‘round my head
to write a prose to you that shows your grace, beauty, and strength.
But I’m tired and I keep typoingt ypos, over and iver again.
And you know what? I’m not going to correct that above,
because that really was an accident.

I know, I know. “Nothing’s new” I heard the wise one once said.
No thought, no word, no deed has the sun not shone itself upon.
Looking down, looking down upon my filthy rags, mocking and burning,
mocking and burning. I just need to get this out!

Oh, Christ! Will thou not enable me to write these words?

He won’t.

Some may say I’m attempting some not so subtle display of irony,
trying to be original, profound, or cute; noting the use of prose to Him
as my medium for my diatribe on not being able to write a prose to Him,
but it’s not.

These words are nothing, they are filth, not fit for the King I serve.
No edits, no plans, no thoughts or “brainstorming” went into this.
Just the feeble cries of a broken man, wallowing, drowning, fighting,
losing. It seems.

The weight of people not yet known – their souls upon my shoulders.
The sin I bear upon my back, the doubt that grows within.
I’m lost. I’m depraved. My futile thinking, my hardened heart,
my ignoble desires, my Glorious King! the One I have! the One I need!

Oh Christ! Oh Sovereign Lord! Be the God to me You are!
Oh that my tongue were loosed with the tongues of angels
to say all your Grace could say!

Let my soul take flight! Rise me into Thy Love!
Faster. Faster! Make me only Thine! I need it!
I must! I lust, covet, and gluttonously gorge myself upon
the Grace I so desperately need desperately. . .

desperately.

And even with that, I end this now, not having said
what I wanted to say – what I needed to say.
Your Grace did not come, or at least in the measure I hoped.
This burden thus stays, this wineskin won’t burst,
this angst will continue to grow.

But I know, in the quietest parts of my soul, those deep whispers
and silent voices, echoing within:
my Beloved is mine and i am His, and His Grace is at His whim,
for if it were up to me, I would not need Him,

and it’s in my need I have Him most.

A Confession

March 20, 2007January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

” But you, O my love, for whom I faint with longing that I may be strong, you are not those material objects we can see, in heaven though they are, nor are you the beings which we do not see there, for you have created them and do not even count them as your highest works. How much more distant are you, then, from mere figments of my imagination, fantasy-bodies that have no reality at all! More real are the memory-pictures we form of objects which at least do exist, and more real again than these are the physical beings themselves; yet none of these are you. Better and more certain than the bodies of material creatures if the soul that gives life to their bodies, yet you are not the soul either. You are the life of souls, the life of all lives, the life who are yourself living and unchanging, the life of my own soul.”

— St. Augustine

Damascus

January 24, 2007January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

A troubled heart troubled still as I walk in the valley of the shadow of death but Im the shadow of that valley as I strike them with one rod while another comforts them why wont they die as I strike them with My Left as your right upholds them all Ill kill them inhale Ill kill them exhale Ill kill them inhale so on and so forth I walk as the dust of My sandals covers their face while Mine is clean Mine is pristine following none but MySelf on this dusty Damascus road and
then—

a Light . . .
i’m Yours . . .

an Emanating Illumination
eliminating all i thought i knew.
a Light i’ll see no more until
i see Your Face again.

There-

in that Place where every taste
is satisfied;
every desire fully known,

and consummation here,
but until such appointed time
i wait . . .

and endure . . .

a darkness, a pain, a thorn:
a longing for the Light
that keeps me running-
keeps me racing.

a longing for the Light . . .
a longing for the Sight

that took mine,

but left me not in darkness
then, now, and nevermore.

The Portrait of the Artist as a Never Ending Series of Talks and Inside Jokes

December 10, 2006January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

I
She stands alone,
lost in a process she only knows;
the reflection staring back in silent contemplation
of a piece going God knows where.

The streets lie lifeless in her eyes;
those eyes
never hidden,
speaking more than lips ever could –
or will.

Imitation sincerest form:
The arm-enveloped laugh wins again.

It wins the hearts of those around her,
a victory bitter in her mouth as unintentioned
as the persual of a lover
far less worthy than she.

II
A treasure to behold,
lost in the circles that bind her.
Unaware of the weary travelers,
knocking at her door.

What reason? What allure?
Presumption guiding every step,
obsession ceasing pleasant passion
as strangers ask for more

and more.

Find the part, feel the skin.
The skin of scalp under fingers raw
from scratching doors leading to air?
Maybe this time?

To freedom.

Freedom from pain, freedom from drama;
just twist the lone lock of so many colors once more
between the fingers and

sleep well this night and rest your head,
let not the demons haunt thy muse
as musings cascade down rivers gold
in dreams,
of a love:
due praise, and
worth honor.

A love Love’s loathing has kept you from knowing
this, these nineteen years gone past.
“A hope deferred makes the heart sick;”
indeed it ever has, but
“a hope that is seen is not hope at all,
for who hopes for what she sees?”

“A desire fulfilled is a tree of life.”

I hope beside you this still dark night
that you find
that which you’ve been made to have
but have had not ever still.

That you settle not for swine
as you are the pearl that is cast.
The pearl unknowing and unawares, of that which
thrusts one’s own out of the sea and into the arms

of He.

your Love.

[NOTE: Part II of the previous post will come very shortly.]

A Prose of Praise to the One who Saved Me.

November 4, 2006January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

Actually, this title is misleading. I know not what will come of this late night inspiration of necessitated typing. A prose? An essay? A treatise, perhaps? Ah, the leading of a Spirit whose word made the world! I sit here at my desk, 1:30am, and I just got home from work – a long 8 1/2 hour closing shift at a casual dining restaurant. I smell like smoke, I feel like grease, and all I can think about is getting all this out into the world for all to read.

God has been so amazing. Ushering me into a time of effectual Grace, intimacy, and stilling, I know not what He’s doing and why. I have to wake Him often from the cabin of the boat of my soul to step out and calm the storms – those torrid uprisings of emotions, pains, doubts, fears – the sea foam blocks my view, the winds push me about, but still, still my God rescues me. He has been drawing me to an intimacy I’ve never known. The intimacy of one alone on a wooded path that curves so sharply at every bend, you never know what’s coming – though you know where it’s going the whole time. I recall the first theological dilemma my developing mind ever tried to grasp and couldn’t. Not the usual trinity, eternity, or who created God, but the verses in 1 John that talk of God being in us, and we in Him at the same time. What? I walk down this path alone but never by myself as an Incarnation walks before me, a Father pushes behind me, and a Comforter stills me.

Ah, stills me.

That stilling of my soul that still stirs me now. Be still, my soul; be still. Ah, to feel the waves and storms turn to crystal waters reflecting the Glory of a God reflected in the sunset reflected in the water reflected in my soul. I love Him so little. I must have more. Daddy, give me more! Give me more! Be still, my soul; be still. Ah. . . to find one’s face upon the cold linoleum of a darkened night pillowed by tears flowing from a familiar hymn that carries with it more weight than it probably should but breaks you nonetheless because of recent reminisces of 2 1/2 months one is trying to forget. To see the God of the universe speak through the shuffle an Apple-gizmo-i-whatever to that damn song once more! to call God to Be Now My Vision and to Give Me Clean Hands as I try not to think of You and Me as My Soul Sings forevermore How Great You Are O God! Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty; who was and is and is to come!

As every facade by the hands of men comes crashing down about me, I’m quieted by the one support left still standing. A support that stands in silent adoration of the unfaltering faith of a broken woman who laid the foundation right. I stand on the shoulders of a Giant named Mama. Her faithfulness and prayers- the prayers she taught me- like the one when I was as young as five to always pray for my future wife. O my Beloved, how I long for you. So much more than I should. or should I? I don’t quite know. All I do know is that the faith of one woman is what will bring me to you in the glory of a Solomon, strong and worthy of trusting with your heart. Why did this typing turn to this topic? Am I meant to write these words? O God, if not, lead me to stop. Please stop me! Be still, my soul; be still. Daddy, speak through me as you will, as you want, as you must. Do this work. Oh Beloved, this is all for you – wherever, whoever, whenever if ever, you are. I’m meditating in the field. Draw your veil as I approach your beast of burden, led by One who works on my behalf to bring me to you. Why am I writing this? For whom? Me, or another? I don’t know.

Be still, my soul; be still.

The end is here as I prepare to fall more in love with the one whose Bride I am, for my next night of 60 minutes of time I give to His love letter, His praise, to Him. The time He has called me to only in the past few days, to give him 1/24th of my day devoted entirely to Him, everyday, to draw close to Him, or for Him to draw close to me – whichever. I am in Him, and He is in me.

I’m off to have couch time.

Daddy: still my soul; still my soul . . .

Until another restless night of meandering thoughts,

–paul<

Sorry for the L Word

October 19, 2006January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

[I wrote this a while ago, so no one get any ideas as to “certain interpretations”]

Is a hidden love a love at all?
For the sake or right, to fake not wrong,
are feelings feeling present pain
not aright, though actions wane?

For the sake of the past
shall the future lie in want-
lie in wait, for the past to become thus?
Become that?

That which aching hearts cry
and lie and die to, for the sake of a
grace yet to be revealed
though seen everyday:

in a glance, a look, a lasting lingering
lasting just too long. Or does it?

A grace found within a face whose frame
changes daily,
whose heart grows only deeper still as

his deep, and His deep, cry out for hers.

A Portrait of the Artist as God

October 13, 2006July 28, 2021 / Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

Summer is over. The autumn rains
Have descended like tears from an invisible god.
I lie on this rock, the ringing of the isle’s name
                                                                    drips off my ear
along with the stampede of water rushing
                                                             rushing through the silence

Clothed with beauty,
                              I began to understand,
The source of Jupiter-Zeus
And begin to form my own mythology
Within the realm of reality

I see the personality of the wind
The fright of the trees
                                the whispers of the water
The art of the sky the song of nature
My altar erected
                        I now understand

The quiver of twigs
                            the movement of fingers
through the hair of some autumn goddess
Golden; beloved and adored above all the others.

Birds in silent homage,
                                  while sabbatical flowers fall.
I smell the smell of my sacrifice
                                               burning at the altar
of my gods and goddesses as I long to merge.
Be made a tree,
                        the breeze
                                        the ground.

To know and experience all that I love
As lovers
              in one embrace
One flesh of flesh
                          Dust of dust.

My heart in one accord, in that which I was made for
Worship of somethings someone anything
                                                             never nothing
In hopes of finding joy.
                                   But,
As I lie in the midst of beauty’s nature’s beauty
I grow sad because:
For although they knew him,
                                          they did not honor him as such
or give thanks to him,
                                but they became futile in their thinking,
and their foolish hearts were darkened.

Claiming to be wise,
                              they became fools,
and exchanged the glory of the immortal for images
resembling mortal man and birds and animals and reptiles.

Because they exchanged the truth about him for a lie
and worshiped and served the creation rather than
                                                                          the Creator.

And I am no different.

If We Could Only Lose Those Damned Pedestals

August 27, 2006January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

[From the famed statue of the goddess “Nike”]

So . . .
you’re so angelic that you don’t need
a head?
or arms?
or feet?
or a bra?

But . . .
you’re not so angelic that you don’t need
some wings?
a slip?
a pedestal?
or a belly button?

(Wait . . .
did you really have an umbilical cord?
because I dont’ believe you.)

And . . .
if gravity has no effect
(as evidenced by your gown and breasts)
what’s the need of wings?

Or . . .
are you as we all are:
created with questions concerning purpose,
and meaning,
and origin.

Always wanting to defy the forces pushing us down,
while lacking feet to do so;
Always attached to our pedestals that bind us.

Dear,

August 25, 2006January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

God,

How I love thee as I sin,

How I love thee as I cry;

How I love the as I look upon

The work your hands have made.

But I fear I fall more and more

In love with You for Your Works,

when

I want to fall in love with you.

Re: Dear,

I am in my works

I am He:

Who was,

and is,

and is to come.

I am.

I am He who gives mercy on whom I will,

And I have

opened your eyes

Given you life, given you freedom

And you have taken my mercy,

My favored child whom I love.

This, this Beauty before you: Take it.

I give freely to you; Love it.

Partake in all my Goodness- Taste it.

Come, rest thy head in me

My beloved child whom I love.

Yes, cry.

Feel it.

Feel me more in you,

and to you,

and through you.

Seek not me ( because you can’t).

Just fix your eyes,

open your arms,

and allow Me

To allure you with all that is before you;

Allow me to smash your idols as I

Whisper tenderly in your ear:

Sweet Everythings

Child,

I plea,

I cry,

I run,

I will,

I endeavor,

I die

That you will allow this burden to fall

And just taste

(that’s all you will need,

but return as you might,

To all Beauty I surround you with.)

Child, just taste and you will see

I am Good.

I do all things for the sake of my children,

Child.

I love you.

Enjoy,

How to be a Christian at Virginia Commonwealth University & Hopefully Maintain the Respect of those Around You

July 28, 2006January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

You will decide to go Virginia Commonwealth University after being accepted into both The College of William & Mary and Liberty University. Your school will want you to go to William & Mary. Your youth group will want you to go to Liberty.

You will–for a reason unknown to you–not go to William & Mary but never regret the decision for even a second. Your school friends will not care as much as you’d expect.

You will not go to Liberty because it is Liberty University, but you will tell people it’s because you couldn’t stand being in a place where everyone agreed with you. Your youth group will care much more than you’d expect. They will keep accidentally forgetting you aren’t going to God’s school, Liberty, but keep purposely forgetting you are going to Satan’s school, VCU.

First and foremost, upon arrival, understand that every word you say in some way, shape, and form can and will offend someone. You realize this is a fact; you get used to it and quit your whining.

Also, you will understand it is by the very nature of who you are that every word will be scrutinized, analyzed, and criticized for every error inherent in the words you say. Sometimes, they will find said errors. Understand that no, contrary to the victory smile on their faces, these moments do not amount to the complete and utter destruction of the past 2,000 years of Christian belief and thought.

Next, ignore last point and treat the survival of Christianity as the weight borne on your shoulders and only yours. Understand that yes, the whole of God’s will for the earth is in your hands to make or break.

Remind yourself again this isn’t true.

Never, ever under any circumstances use the a-word, the b-word, s-word, gd-phrase, or the worst of all: the f-words. (Note for the pagans, these words are: Absolutist, Book of Revelation, Sin Nature, Gays & Damnation, Fundamentalist & Falwell)

You will try your hardest to tell the liberal intellectual elitist feminist urban artists that you don’t think that voting Republican is a stated Christian virtue. They will not believe you and continue to call you closed-minded and spoon-fed by your parents to always vote Republican. You will grow accustomed to these phrases being applied to you. Other wonderful colloquialisms to look out for: intolerant, racist, misogynist, homophobic, Jew-hater, prideful, arrogant, radical, Mel Gibsonite, asshole, and “fucking God-lover.”

Every once and a while, to show people you are not a legalistic Pharisee- say a curse word. You shouldn’t use it as an expletive, though. Be sure to only use it sparingly to sprinkle conversation with colour. Make sure it’s funny.

Live with a Buddhist, an Atheist, and a Jew. You will get no sleep for the entire year you do so, but the parties, sex, and the food will make up for it. You will abstain from the first two activities. You will partake in the third. Again: you will partake in the third.

Do things that people wouldn’t expect Christians to do. These may include having gay friends, voting Democrat, watching rated-R movies, kissing girls, admitting you’re wrong, not judging people, talking about your sins and weaknesses, working on Sundays, being active in politics, giving money to people, forgiving people, missing church on a Sunday to help someone else, reading, and pretty much being a real, feeling, loving human.

You will go through many faith crises. You will be scared to tell anyone about them because the Christians will shame your doubt, and the Non-Christians will gloat in the seeming affirmation of their beliefs (or rather, disbeliefs). You will start to view yourself as isolated in the world, with only God and some feeble hope for a future earthly love beside you to keep you going.

You will constantly hear that people only use religion as a crutch. You will feel the violent urge to prove this wrong while God is whispering in your ear the entire time to just rest your head on His shoulder as He holds you and wipes away your tears. You relent, but not as often as you should.

You will need to always be right, always be strong, always be secure and interesting, never wavering in any of this lest those around you think they have stood victorious over Almighty God.

Embrace all this.

You will realize that God is God even if you are not.

You will realize that the pains of life you go through will help you relate to and love more people than you could ever imagine. They will become your joy in a strange, quiet, unspeakable way.

You will realize that God saves people; you don’t.

Weight upon weight, burden upon burden, will fall away as you see that you are meant to glorify this God by enjoying Him, being satisfied in Him, and rooting your joy and pleasure in Him, in an eternal, unshakeable place that no situation, power, or seemingly wise human can touch. This will make you happy.

Still, people will be offended by everything you say. They will either misunderstand or understand all too well that which you have tried to soften through tact. Tact will be both your best friend and worst enemy. Love to hate to love it.

Be sure to accept early on that the most sensitive issues are the ones that will come up the most: Free Will, Abortion, Homosexuality, and most of all, Hypocrisy.

You will slowly realize that every form of disbelief is rooted in a past pain inflicted on someone by a Christian, the Church, or seemingly by a misunderstood God. No disbelief is purely intellectual. You will see, it’s a heart issue, not a mind issue. You will spend almost all your time apologizing for all other Christians everyone has ever met, trying to be the one exception to the rule.

"Extended Engagement" From John Singer Sargent’s "Madame Erraruiz," ver. 2

December 16, 2005January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / 2 Comments

What is it can act as deity,
And cause your blushing lips to turn?
The art? The artist?

What romance lies within your thought?
What word are you about to say:
“Mine forever”?

Do you long for one to approach
And so carefully, delicately,
Deliberately
Lightly brush your cheek
As the single stroke of the brush?

Do your lips burn from
The fresh application of the hue
So as to bring him to you
And push that bang to the side
Caress your head in his hand
And suspend you in disbelief?

Oh Madame in sublimity,
Do teach us how we can catch
A glimpse of One like you just long enough
To paint a picture for ourselves
and know we can
attain that which we seek: to
feel
know
experience
Love
Love & Romance as it seems you finally have.

"Extended Engagement" From John Singer Sargent’s "Madame Erraruiz," ver. 1

December 15, 2005January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

The Wistful, winsome, andwitty,
A girlish charm in every stroke;
A touch of gray and bit o’ gold.
A bashful look in which he took:
Beauty candid the elder behold.

Staccato continuity
Minimalist within thy sweeps
Maximimalist; in thy pathos.
Evidences caress thy cheek:
Hallward’s success still rather close

at hand to perfect purity.
Your soul’s quintessence forever known,
Yet ambiguity reigns here still;
For coquettishness is ever not
without source compelling will.

What is it can act as deity,
And cause blushing lips to turn?
What romance lies within your thought?
Behind your eyes what image runs,
And is it true or all for naught?

Oh Madame in sublimity,
Do teach us how we can catch
A glimpse of One just long enough
To paint a picture and know we can
– feel –
– know –
– experience –
– Love –

_______ Love & Romance though so tough.

On the Ecclesiastical Ramifications of Worship

December 14, 2005January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

It’s uncontrollable!

And my person
is
barely even
knowable

But it is.

By joy
satisfaction
contentment
You.

If all this were a color
it would be
skyyy pale
blue

Like the look in the skies
of your eyes
as I sit here
In this moment

Staring in the face
Of eternity as the
Living waters continue
Flowing

Like the skirt.
Of a dress.
Of a girl.
In the wind.

You know.

A Portrait of the Artist as God

October 27, 2005January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

Summer is over. The autumn rains
Have descended like tears from an invisible god.
I lie on this rock, the ringing of the isle’s name
drips off my ear
along with the stampede of water rushing
rushing through the silence

Clothed with beauty,
I began to understand,
The source of Jupiter-Zeus
And begin to form my own mythology
Within the realm of reality

I see the personality of the wind
The fright of the trees
the whispers of the water
The art of the sky the song of nature
My altar erected;
I now understand

My heart in one accord, in that which I was made for
Worship of somethings someone anything
never nothing
In hopes of finding joy.

But,
As I lie in the midst of beauty’s nature’s beauty
I grow sad because:
For although they knew him,
they did not honor him as such
or give thanks to him,
but they became futile in their thinking,
and their foolish hearts were darkened.

Claiming to be wise,
they became fools,
and exchanged the glory of the immortal for images
resembling mortal man and birds and animals and reptiles.

Because they exchanged the truth about him for a lie
and worshiped and served the creation rather than
the Creator.

And I am no different.

“My Cali Girl?” (a poem)

September 26, 2005January 13, 2014 / Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

Oh, God, I knew it!!

Right when I stopped seeking
is right when I would find
the right one!
I mean, the right one? Because I don’t know . . .

First inductee into the club of my infatuation
So many years ago, but only for a time.
Shot down once, so I moved right along,
Losing closeness day by day, week by week, month by month
Class by class

But now you’re back-
But I thought you left!
Off to see the real sunset and the real ocean,
And the real you; but nonetheless.

Strange occurrences accompany this new reacquaintance:

Images of rings and white
and things so right
flood my conscious mind;
Images of laying and lying
And praying and dying
For You:

A face horizontal caressed by
sunlight slits through bedroom blinds
days, years after a honeymoon shared.
Counting wrinkles day by day
And counting sheep night by night
Beside you.

But the night is dark and hard to see
Are you the face that will set me free?
I strain my eyes, while confusion sets in,

And now you’re coming back, away from real sunsets, and real oceans,
The real you – Is it a sign?

Oh God, I don’t know it!