Picture It, Rare! (Mar. 02, 2011)

This is a new section of the blog that I'll be adding every Wednesday, just to add some visual spice to everybody's hump day.  Feel free to email me your own cool pics or cool pics you find on the web:  therarepoet@yahoo.com.  (I do not own the rights to any of these photos, but I hope the owners understand my natural inclination towards sharing.  If not, and it is desired that I remove any of these, email me immediately.)

Enjoy the pictures!

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

I Guess I Was Led to Share This

Back in July of last year, I reached a point in my life where I needed to express what I was feeling.  Most people who know me probably believe I already do this, far more often than the average person.   I imagine they are right.  And yet, I found myself full of an aching need.  I needed to let some things out.  And while I have some wonderful family members and friends, at that moment, I couldn't think of one of them who I felt like talking to.  Looking back, I understand there was a reason for this.  But in that moment, I felt desperate.

Perhaps encouraged by the main character in one of my all-time favorite books, I reached for a notebook and a pen, and poured out my thoughts onto the page.  Timed and dated, I wrote my feelings in letter form.  I began the letter Dear God.

It is interesting to me what a soul in need will do, and even more interesting who they choose to turn to.  In that moment of helplessness, I chose to turn to God.  Not sure what that says about me, but I'm hoping that it is something good.

Fast forward, nearly eight months later.  This blue notebook, which I keep in a drawer not far from my computer, now contains several Dear God letters.  The dates are stretched out and, although I didn't record the time in them all, I find that I often write them well after midnight.  Reflection hours, it has been often said.

A few moments ago, I inadvertently noticed my blue notebook, while looking for something that now eludes my memory.  I opened it to an entry, reading the words that sat on the page.  And so, I am led to share.

(Names, for the sake of privacy, will not be fully disclosed.)

Jan. 23, 2011

Dear God,

It's been far too long.  I really should write to you daily.  It amazes me how we find the time for things but fail to just acknowledge your presence.  Well, I want to take the time to thank you for everything, period.  You are a mighty and awesome God.  I give you honor.  I give you praise.

Been thinking a lot about T_____  these last few moments.  How bad did I let her down?  Is this spirit to roam, that kept me from her, my own or a tool of destruction?

Lord I ask that you reveal this to me.

Marcus

----

As I've mentioned on here before, I am a very spiritual person.  Even if I don't always put forth the proper efforts, I am a firm believer in God and the love and guidance he gives to each of us.  I'm starting to recognize how badly people get caught up in titles and religion.  Holding firmly to things they've been taught and told, instead of simply taking the time to feel.  God is universal.  That's all I'll say on that subject.

I'm more interested in the second part of the letter.  That discusses my spirit to roam.  

The women of my past all know it well.  Something always grabs at me, pulls me from the confines of the familiar and stable, and forces me to run towards the unknown.  I feel like there is something in me that just won't allow me to be still.  Which means that my heart roams with me, causing far too much wreckage as it moves.  Even as I write this, my mind is forced to focus on two women currently caught in the currents of my restless tide.  The scariest part of this, is accepting the possibility that this something is me.  Maybe I'm the one forcing myself to roam, which means I'm ruining my own chance at happiness.  This is a painful thought.

I don't want to destroy me....

Maybe that's why I write so much on this same subject.  Maybe that's why it's always on my mind.  The woman I mentioned in my Dear God letter is the one who I feel suffered the most from my restlessness.  I feel like I'll probably apologize to her forever.  I think maybe it's the least that I can do.

If my soul simply longs to roam, I hope there is something or someone out there, able to make it cease.  And if this is merely a tool designed for my destruction, I pray that somewhere within this constant dissection of it, there is a wake-up call waiting to happen.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet