finding the hero

I found the hero today. Or I found his edges. He was off in a corner full of the dust of my house, still as heroic as ever. I set him up on my table and asked him about his heroic deeds and why he had done them. And he told me it was all because of the love that he had and the love that was him. I smiled because I knew that answer. And he didn’t offer anymore information about his heroism because I already knew, and he knew I knew.

But he remained with his eyes just fixated on me, so I decided to keep talking so things wouldn’t get uncomfortable. So we just talked about all sorts of stuff – marriage, my problems and depression, other people’s problems and depression, and more about him.

And I asked him what else he did for a living. And he named a lot of things, but what I remember is that he said he really liked art. All kinds of art. And I thought that was cool. He said his art reflected him but that it was not him. And I thought that was kind of an obvious thing to say, and kind of weird. But I just nodded. He offered me one of his paintings then, and I took it gladly, thinking that that made it all worth my while, taking him out of the corner and onto my table like I did. He seemed glad that I liked the painting, so I smiled. And he was smiling back.

I think he liked me a lot and liked to talk about his stuff too.

And then I backed up and looked at him because, you know, I had just realized that I really liked him too, and I couldn’t believe I had left such an intriguing guy to sit and get dusty in the corner. I backed up mentally, too, just to take it all in. He had told me about all these things he had done and how wonderful his character was and everything, and for the first time in my life, I kind of felt like he was the only guy who really deserved to talk about himself like that. And I just found him so interesting, you know? So perfect and talented and good and loving. So that’s why I backed up – because I had suddenly realized that my stuff wasn’t even really worth talking about and his was.

And when I backed up, he was just so beautiful… I can’t… I can’t even… His beauty just so outshone mine that I really just disappeared – kind of like a fragment of color in a whole big painting. Then we just sat silently together, admiring all his stuff and him. And he was God.

clamour

They shot around words and ideas
like they were the enemy
instead of the tools of the enemy.
Others dodged bullets and called
for fairness and a fight.
They called for “justice for all”
and liberty now and here,
unaware that they’d have it
if they’d just shut up.

I watched and smiled – and cried –
because I felt like I was on the other side
and in the hand of peace,
still sad to know that they thought
it was all about the fight.
But maybe I was still in the fight.
I didn’t know because everything
was just so loud.

I told myself I was on the safe shore now –
the dangerous one –
where we take the hits and speak love
and all for the glory of God.