Patron Ragamuffins

Rich Mullins, d. September 19th, 1997

Rich-Mullins-scars

Today is the 20th anniversary of Rich Mullins untimely death.  I never got to see Rich perform, but I’ve listened to enough of his music and read enough of his writings to feel like I knew him, at least a little bit.

To this day I struggle with the darkness, I struggle to find peace.  I don’t know how to think about the idea of God loving me.  I don’t know what that experience looks like.  But in Rich I have someone who did, so I try to learn from him as I learn what God’s love is.

There’s a wideness in God’s mercy
I cannot find in my own
And He keeps His fire burning
To melt this heart of stone
Keeps me aching with a yearning
Keeps me glad to have been caught
In the reckless raging fury
That they call the love of God

He is one of my Patron Ragamuffins, and he is sorely missed.

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Quotes

Toddlers in Cathedrals

I am convinced that poets are toddlers in a cathedral, slobbering on wooden blocks and piling them up in the light of the stained glass. We can hardly make anything beautiful that wasn’t beautiful in the first place. We aren’t writers, but gleeful rearrangers of words whose meanings we can’t begin to know. When we manage to make something pretty, it’s only so because we are ourselves a flourish on a greater canvas. That means there’s no end to the discovery. We may crawl around the cathedral floor for ages before we grow up enough to reach the doorknob and walk outside into a garden of delights. Beyond that, the city, then the rolling hills, then the sea. And when the world of every cell has been limned and painted and sung, we lie back on the grass, satisfied that our work is done. Then, of course, the sun sets and we see above us the dark dome of glittering stars.

 

On and on it goes, all the way to the lightless borderlands of time and space, which we come to discover in some future age are but the beginnings or endings of a single word spoken from the mouth of God. Some nights, while I traipse down the hill, I imagine that word isn’t a word at all, but a burst of laughter.

 

― Andrew Peterson

Soundtrack of a Castaway

Soundtrack of a Castaway – Bring Me to Life

There is such a thing as a Living Death, and it is not just the purview of zombies and monsters.  It is a state created and fashioned in a lack of love and affection.  It is grown over the flaming pits, in a young mind threatened with hell’s eternal face-fuck.  It thrives on fear and anxious trepidation, and it feeds on the hopes and dreams of the damned.

At times and in many ways, pure Death would be preferable.  But to be alive to one’s death…  To have a death that eats at you, that feeds on you…

THAT is unbearable.

It is consciousness to one’s soul-less-ness.

The spirit lives in the heartless tundra, the mind bloats in the desert.

Bid my blood to run, indeed.

Bring Me to Life

How can you see into my eyes, like open doors
Leading you down into my core
Where I’ve become so numb, without a soul
My spirit’s sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home

Wake me up, wake me up inside I can’t wake up,
Wake me up inside, save me,
Call my name and save me from the dark, wake me up
Bid my blood to run, I can’t wake up
Before I come undone, save me
Save me from the nothing I’ve become

Now that I know what I’m without
You can’t just leave me
Breathe into me and make me real, bring me to life

Wake me up, wake me up inside I can’t wake up,
Wake me up inside, save me,
Call my name and save me from the dark, wake me up
Bid my blood to run, I can’t wake up
Before I come undone, save me
Save me from the nothing I’ve become

Bring me to life, I’ve been living a lie
There’s nothing inside, bring me to life

Frozen inside without your touch
Without your love, darling
Only you are the life among the dead

All this time, I can’t believe I couldn’t see
Kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me

I’ve been sleeping a thousand years it seems
I’ve got to open my eyes to everything

Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul

Don’t let me die here
There must be something wrong, bring me to life

Wake me up, wake me up inside I can’t wake up,
Wake me up inside, save me,
Call my name and save me from the dark, wake me up
Bid my blood to run, I can’t wake up
Before I come undone, save me
Save me from the nothing I’ve become

Bring me to life, I’ve been living a lie, there’s nothing inside
Bring me to life

(featured image source)

Music, Sunday is for Art

Sunday is for Art – Rising Appalachia

The sister-duo Rising Appalachia.  From their website:

Rising Appalachia brings to the world new sounds, stories, and songs collected across oceans and originally sculpted to embody our human journey, our global community, and the treasures and troves of soul harmony.  Led by sisters Leah and Chloe, the band tears into sound with sensual prowess as stages ignite revolutions and words light up soul fires. Listen to their beautiful sound for poetic harmonies, soul singing, spoken word rallies, banjos, fiddles, organic bass and groove rhythms, and community building through SOUND. With an array of incredible collaborators, they are joined by everything from jazz trumpet to beat boxing, Afro-cuban percussion to Appalachian fiddlers, poets to circus art as their style redefines performance using sound as a tool to spark a cultural revolution and birth a new movement of unity and healing.