Thomas,

My right hand clasps faith, as my left gently grasps doubt. my right embraces doubt; left gently clasps faith. Can certainty accompany faith? How can this be? Again my gaze struggles to look past the cumbersome shadow of doubt. It blots out the sun, leaving me the simple sight of its silhouette and the light thereof. My struggle gains no meaning. My eyes yearn a divine blinding. I desire for his light to pierce doubt's ever-thick shadow.


Morgan

from the past

These words seem to be useless. Why take this time and put my thoughts into words, when I have so little hope that they will matter? But on I write this useless letter to no one. My faith is draining like a leaky facet. Little by little the drops of my faith slowly pour out. It is very sad, and indeed I can feel wetness in my eyes accumulating. Knowledge, I have. Wisdom, I’ve gained. Faith, I had. Shall I continue to bow my head to a God who will not show himself? Why is their a fear inside me in speaking of this? Even now, in the stillness and loneliness of my room I fear writing the silent words. Is this really real? Am I really touching the plastic on my keyboard? And why is there this longing inside of me for the God of the bible to show himself? Are we really all this empty? Is this all there is to life? Is our calling really only to have faith in an unseen God, and to promote this blindness? Shall we give out eye covers to people and say, “see this is much better.”

I didn’t even think I was going to write any questions when I started this.

And everything I write turns into a prayer. As it does now:

God, look at me right now. See my heart which desires you. How can a blind man find what needs to be seen? Or the mute what needs to be heard? Father, I am inadequately prepared for this task. I am Thomas. I am Morgan. Together let us feel your hands and side

I want to see God. I want to touch God. Refresh me. Who can make a stale bread fresh? Who can make fresh the withered fruit? This needs be done supernaturally. So again, I pray the simple words of, God show yourself.

God show yourself.

Where are you?

Once I looked under the bed.

Then I looked out by a lake.

I searched for you in the churches.

And in every corner of this dark room,

But you are nowhere to be found.

-Written in the past. My thoughts have changed since then. This was a letter I wrote a while ago intending it not to be seen by others, but I think this is good. Posting it, that is.

i see that i don't see

i hold dreams in my right hand, and failures in my left. one day i will pass up emptiness for fulfillment, but today i am retrogressing. this misery is long and fearful. it seems no one can alleviate my burden.

you've heard familiar words of life represented as a dark room, but i say it is a hall. it is long and narrow. the ceiling is not seen, nor can it be touched. it is dully lighted along the edges of the wall and floor, but it's dimness brings about feelings of fear and emptiness. yea, i say emptiness is an adequate description of this predicament. i ran for days, even years to find the the halls end, but this task proved useless. it seemed to constrict in a slow manner despite my haste. so i looked behind for a glimpse of the past, but the dim lights reply with a few quiet blinks before turning off permanently. "why has this task been brought upon me?" i cry out. again, no answer is given. i am cold, alone and frail.


Why can I not breathe?

Clarity!

she groans at the thought of his presence. touch this bowl, you can not. her teeth being shown ever more with each new engagement. her slow movements reduce a full mouth to single bites. the hunger is not for her stomach, but she'll tell you otherwise.

you, me, her wish this division in clarity! yet it is not.

her thoughts ponder ever so subtly the thought of sweet surrender, but only half a moment. so rudely awakened as a new one paces near. walks over and touches her head. pride seeps in as ink drops in water. thoughts of, "backwardness one has, if i won't bite." but the light comes through first small then great. more small than great. then, more great than small. and the center for selfishness diminishes as darkness against light.

you, me, her wish this division to be clarified clearly! it is what it appears not.

the pursuit of nothing in the appearance of everything

cease the war inside of me against my God-absent flesh.

i prayed once "lord take this from me, i desire it not."

but the prayer returned void.

for i am a dog chasing cars.

everytime i see one, i run a little faster, but what to do with them once i reach them?

this empty goal will never have a destination.

i stare at the dried creek bed wondering if it will flow again. it feels as if it's been years. i don't move, but instead sit still with my feet in the dried dirt. my thoughts eagerly contemplate if the high rocks will pour in the next hour and wet this parched land. all i want is to clean my feet. i know this, that it will not rain, but on i wait. such an emptiness this is.

i looked and thought, "look, the skies turned gray!" but drips dropped not.

and so my eyes continue to be the source of wetness, for no other fount flows.

as i stare at them and weep, my feet appear a little more dirty than before.

oh lord, free my hands to put down the sword and shield. i wish not to fight nor defend. why have you placed these weapons in my hands, when they are too heavy to bear. father i wish for peace. no more fame lord, take it from me. just burn the earth already, for we are wicked. we can't escape our wickedness for even one second. lord it's too hard. just burn the earth already, and me with it. burn my flesh, for i desire only my spirit.

this dog who desires all the scraps off our table and all the food in his bowl grows fatter. he is never satisfied and never leaves his bowl. so on we fill it, but it is useless. he still grows more concerned about his food than the day before today.

lord, you have heard me say take this from me, yet you take not.

you take not.

God, kill me. for i am a fattened dog. no matter how my bowl gets filled, i only want more and nothing else. do not touch me when i am near my bowl. for i only growl now, but someday i swear i will bite.

"suppression" by Morgan J. Smith
Self-Portrait

miss, that's irrelevant.

miss, that's irrelevant. you must convince yourself in whatever you are. if you wish to be them, thoroughly convince yourself. if you know you are not this, think otherwise; show satisfaction in what you are. if it is a serious countenance you will, then let your thoughts be deep in this moment and think of nothing else. you see, what I desire is you to be confident and content in who you are and for you to show this. remember, this is all a show and shows always represent something. there is always a representation. today, the act is a representation of you. the prerequisites are none other than you understanding yourself. please be diligent, for this will take merely half the upcoming hour.

I can only snap the photographs. it is not I who works; it is you. now pick your outfit and we'll begin.

"cruciality" by Morgan J. Smith
Model: Amber Dawn