Silence and Sirens: A Slant Rhyme

Poetry is sensory. I pull phrases together from what I feel, what I imagine those around me feel. I pull phrases from what I wish I knew how to feel. Curiously enough, sensory overload represses the phrases and pulls me only to feel.

I'm not sure why I thought that a divine calling required a skill. Or why I thought senses to be overrated; I wished they would fall away, pave the way--get out the way!--of the truth. I expected the truth to end profoundly, to comfort me, to push me, to call me to thrive. I expected a truth to list the steps to discovering truth. And no, I didn't/still don't care that truth is objective, subjective, vague, and up to interpretation. Its ability to be interpreted is only your interpretation of it.

Sorry. I sound like a philosopher.

What I'm getting at is a discovery. I discovered, while pushing to listen past the sirens for something profound, something supernatural to guide my feet, that the sirens are profound. My ability to pull them apart from each other, to try and transform them, X-men style, into the sound of falling rain, is a calling in itself. I am called as a follower of Jesus Christ, submerged in the center of the world, to sense.

Because, friends, those who say (while I see what they're getting at) "love is senseless..." are choosing to take love's kaleidoscope and peer through a single facet. I'm striving to go beyond the direct, past the peripheral. The warrior I am for Christ sees supernaturally, and I realize now that while writing about what I see naturally--and sometimes supernaturally--brings what I see as my God-given influence to those around me, I can't prioritize it over simply soaking in what God puts in front of me. Poetry is sensory, love is sensory, God is love. Love is good. God is good!

We good?