How is love supposed to read?

What is Courage?
How is love supposed to read?

Watching women sell their bodies for cash, is this what it means to be alone?

Tear out my Heart
Feed it to Lions
For this one wish I beg you this tonight

Thinking of a Gomar tonight...She was young, just 17. Didn't have to go, but it was the girl she knew she could be, just like every other daughter in this family.

Freedom is nothing to look over, until each Gomar can stand upon its shoulder.

May Silent Angels light the road up ahead...Lord Jesus come and guard the way on these streets of borrowed time.

Walking down into our space behind the City Hall, I am almost home.
Here is our corner up ahead...I'm alive and I am dead...As I lift my eyes, they burn. Sometimes i feel like I can't watch anymore...
Tear out my Heart, someone please, feed it to the Lions...

Freedom is nothing to look over, until each Gomar can stand upon its shoulder.

The pieces dont fit anymore...

Here I am waiting

For how long

I don't know

It's a long way back from where I've been

But there's no where else to go

So I'll stand

With my face to the wind

I'll follow You

And I'll go where You tell me to go

No I won't be afraid

No I won't be afraid

I feel Your wind is moving

I'm not sure where it's going

But I'll let it carry me away

And I won't turn around...

Its a big girl world now?!

Found my heart weeping to these words...I wonder is this a little glimpse into the heart of our Gomar's...they maybe didn't find themselves in India...but Clarence Street may just be as foreign...

On this Thursday night to come...may we offer these women a map to guide them home...it is a big girl world now, full of big girl things...and everyday I wish our Gomar's were small...

Matthew 18
v2 Jesus called a little child to him and put the child among them. 3 Then he said, “I tell you the truth, unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven. 4 So anyone who becomes as humble as this little child is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Its a big girl world now
Full of big girl things
And every day I wish I was small
I've been counting on nothing
But he keeps giving me his word
And I am tired of hearing myself speak
Do you get weary?
Do you ever get weak?
How do you dream when you can't fall asleep?
I've been wondering what you're thinking
And if you liked my dress tonight
Would you still say you loved me
Under this ordinary moonlight
I'm so afraid of what you'll say
I'd like to know if you'd be open to starting over from scratch
I'd like to know if you'd be open to giving me a second chance
I used to think I was special
And only I have proved me wrong
I thought I could change the world with a song
But I have ended up in India
With no map to guide me home
The strangest place I think I've ever been
And all this time I thought that we were friends
But my stubborn will is learning to bend

Kendall Payne

…here is the answer to the riddle…you must lose life in order to find it.

…for most of us, to ask for anything more than a puncturing of the numbness, for all too short a moment, is to ask far too much. For us, to ask for life in all its fullness is a luxury beyond the knit of our lives. We make do with pick pocketing pennies from the pockets of life…crumbs off the table. We steal, for life does not lie down willingly for us to sate ourselves.
…these stolen morsels; they are not what we need. We need water, but we drink wine. We need love, but instead we do sex. We need to follow our desires, but instead we lose ourselves in wanting. These are the diuretics of the soul. We appease ourselves with pitifully poor substitutes. Little titillations that make us feel, something like ‘alive’, for a brief fragile tragic moment. Hooked and empty…hooked and empty.
…all we like children have uttered vows…“I will never let this to happen to me again”…and we long to re-enact a drama where we have power, where we have an ounce of control over our own destinies. We would do anything, pay for any delusion, and exchange anything for the fantasy of control…just a little morsel of control over my own feelings…the feelings of another. We let go of any desire to have real power over our worlds…but we appease ourselves with these little unrealities…these bitter, twisted little delusions.
…suffer the little children, for they have suffered enough…
…what is exchanged in these interactions is rarely what is literally exchanged. The currency changing hands is a sleight of hand that hides the more esoteric exchange. Monies become metaphors. With this currency we buy our delusions, secreted within the masquerade…we step on stage…we sell ourselves to have a taste of this control. This is the poison…this is the addiction.
…hooked on reliving the past, finding safety in the repetition…a paradoxical safety…safety in the most dangerous and violent of worlds…reliving and re-enacting the shortest of tragedies. Tragic stories; painful histories scraped into the walls of our heart. The prisoner within engraves a story on the walls, desperately hoping the words bleed through into the world of the appearances and apparitions. Bleeding like prayers.
…will the truth set you free…will the truth set us free…will the truth set me free
we are waiting for the miracle. The miracle of The One whose very touch resonates at the core, an intimacy that melts our defences, reminds us that we are loveable for no other reason, than because we are.
…we are longing…we are hungry…longing for His Jesus to come…Jesus who sees through the walls of our identity, beyond what we allow the world to see…the one who sees the truth of the hidden self, behind who I say that I am. The hidden self with the secret name…a secret name hidden in a secret place that no one will utter. These are the names on the white stones…the names that do not bind us, or reduce us. These names speak of everything that we are, all the things we were but were afraid to live…a name like thunder that decimates the defences we try to hold up with feigned strength.




"I long to be loved. I long to be loved. I long to be loved. I long to be loved.
I long to allow myself to be loved. I long to allow myself to be loved.
I long to love without fear. I long to love without fear. I long to love without fear.
I long to be loved beyond my defences, right into the hinterlands of my shadowy soul
Hear my prayer hear my prayer hear my prayer hear my prayer hear my prayer hear my pr..."

From The Cure at Troy

Human beings suffer,
they torture one another,
they get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or song
can fully right a wrong
inflicted or endured.

The innocent in gaols
beat on their bars together.
A hunger-striker's father
stands in the graveyard dumb.
The police widow in veils
faints at the funeral home.

History says, Don't hope
on this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
the longed for tidal wave
of justice can rise up,
and hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change
on the far side of revenge.
Believe that a further shore
is reachable from here.
Believe in miracles
and cures and healing wells.

Call the miracle self-healing:
The utter self-revealing
double-take of feeling.
If there's fire on the mountain
Or lightning and storm
And a god speaks from the sky

That means someone is hearing
the outcry and the birth-cry
of new life at its term.


~ Seamus Heaney ~

What if they cannot get away?

"A story like mine should never be told.

For my world is as forbidden as it is fragile.

Without its mysteries it cannot survive.

I certainly wasn't born to the life of a Geisha.

Like so much in my strange life I was carried there by the current."

Memoirs of a Geisha

Marbled White: Nothing is more powerful than Beauty in a wicked world.

The Butterfly

I love that you can chase but never touch their wings

Like if you cling to life you will lose it. If you cling to the things you love too tighlty, the touch of love becomes a strangle.

One has to have the space to dance.

Gomars...I commit my life to chasing you, may I never clip your wings.

Ricky you never fail to help me see...thank you...