Butterflies
One day, a small opening appeared in a cocoon; a man sat and watched for the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole. Then, it seems to stop making any progress.
It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and it could not go any further.
So the man decided to help the butterfly: he took a pair of scissors and opened the cocoon.
The butterfly then emerged easily.
But it had a withered body; it was tiny and had shriveled wings. The man continued to watch because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would open, enlarge and expand, to be able to support the butterfly’s body, and become firm.
Neither happened! In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a withered body and shriveled wings. It never was able to fly.
~Thanks to Jessica for the story~
Tonight as I walked back from Gator Nights at the Reitz Union, the paltry atmosphere on University overtook me. My stride carried me past overcrowded bars, with the intoxicated underage singing praise to pop culture. Pop culture, that which lauds men for singing rap songs about beating their “bi#$%,” permeated the air. The overly “joyed” stumbled their way back to their various abodes to sleep off the poison. Or perhaps it was not their abodes they waddled to, perhaps it was a “lucky night” they would spend in a stranger’s sheets.
I saw butterflies emerging from their cocoons as they whirled about in this plastered scene; butterflies as young adults, breaking out of the shells of home, aided by mistaken men. No scissors needed in the process, floods had drenched the classrooms with propaganda, scantily clad women on fliers, enticing these winged beauties to their new lives as withered souls; writhe upon the ground.
This scene truly breaks my heart. There is mettle in this dross, gold mixed among impurities. What will separate this clashing compound? How may we refine these impure elements? Should we? Could we? May we?
Will we?
Dandelions – Five Iron Frenzy
In a field of yellow flowers,
underneath the sun,
bluest eyes that spark with lightning,
boy with shoes undone.
He is young, so full of hope,
reveling in tiny dreams,
filling up, his arms with flowers,
right for giving any queen.
Running to her beaming bright,
while cradling his prize.
A flickering of yellow light,
within his mother’s eyes.
She holds them to her heart,
keeping them where they’ll be safe,
clasped within her very marrow,
dandelions in a vase.
She sees love, where anyone else would see weeds.
all hope is found.
Here is everything he needs.
Fathomless your endless mercy,
weight I could not lift.
Where do I fit in this puzzle,
what good are these gifts?
Not a martyr, or a saint,
scarcely can I struggle through.
All that I have ever wanted,
was to give my best to you.
Lord, search my heart,
create in me something clean.
Dandelions
you see flowers in these weeds.
Gently lifting hands to heaven,
softened by the sweetest hush,
a Father sings over his children,
loving them so very much.
More than words could warrant,
deeper than the darkest blue,
more than sacrifice could merit,
Lord, I give my heart to you.
Vanity Is
Vanity is when I do a search on Google for “super cheap music” and my page is the first search result. Of course, this juvenile announcement only serves to further prove my status as a website novice, but hey, I think it’s cool. See the screen shot. Read the rest of this entry »
Space
Two Navy boats bobbed in the gentle waves on the shoreline. “What the he&% are you guys doing out here?” The leader of three Navy personnel questioned us, squinting his eyes in the intense afternoon sun. His companions shifted restlessly in the background, one caressing his M-16, the other with a sub-machine gun strewn haphazardly across his shoulder.
It all began two weeks ago when my friend mentioned his family’s catamaran and their intention to sail it the following week during their stay at Cocoa Beach. Upon hearing of the opportunity to go sailing, I became elated. My friend noticed my immediate interest and invited me to come out and stay with them for a night during their beach stay. I readily accepted the offer.
Fast forward to last Friday. After a few wrong turns looking for the no longer existent “Bee Line” Expressway (now named State Road 528), I finally made my way into Cocoa Beach. I arrived at my friend’s five star accommodations and soon found myself out on the ocean waves in their catamaran with him and his father. After a few hours of sailing around, eating lunch, and grabbing some ice cream, we headed for our intended destination to pull the catamaran out of the water and prepare it for my friend’s family’s trip back home. As we sailed towards the channel, we were also sailing towards Cape Canaveral, the Kennedy Space Center. As we neared the channel, we noticed curious objects in the waters nearer the Space Center and decided to head over sating our inquisitive nature. One thing led to another, and eventually we found ourselves on the beaches of Cape Canaveral, walking around gathering seashells and coconuts. We noticed the signs out there “Air Force Base, no admittance beyond this point,” but thought it okay as long as we remained ocean side of the signs. After 45 minutes of strolling along the beach, my friend’s father jokingly remarked, “Uh-oh, here come the Seals to get us” as we looked at a boat approaching rapidly in the distance. We thought little of it as we made our way back to the catamaran on the beach.
By the time we reached the catamaran on the beach, the speck in the distance had become a full sized boat, complete with flashing blue lights, and the word “Navy” written on the side. Eventually, after some failed attempts at communication, we were able to gather that they wanted us to remain where we were as another boat approached in the distance. They directed our gaze up the beach, and we saw two dots, soon joined by a third, walking towards us in the haze of the heat.
Fortunately, nothing too bad came of it. The elderly officer scolded us, another officer made us well aware of the restrictions surrounding the Kennedy Space Center and they gathered information on us for an incident report that they would have to fill out later. However, we learned our lesson and the Navy boat politely escorted us back to the boat ramp where we would pull out our boat and ready it for the family’s drive home.
Oh, and the restrictions: Nothing north of the channel for three miles out, up until the end of the Kennedy Space Center, just so you know.
