17
Feb
09

Smooth Talker

Smooth Talker

It’s like I had a stack of papers and I lost the yellow sticky with God’s secret to my life written on it.  When I dig through the papers for the second and third time, it’s like I can’t read the words. I find I need my glasses- or the ink is bleeding from the pages.  Then the pages fade away all together and I’m staring at my hands.  And there they are- just staring right back.

 

“Is there something I can help you with?” They ask politely.

“Funny, I don’t remember what I was looking for.”

“Well then, perhaps you’d like this shiny red ball.”

“Well heck, that sounds grand!” I say- and I mean it too.  Then I spend the rest of the evening sitting in a chair in a barren room in an empty house in the middle of nowhere staring at this stupid ball that was made in Taiwan like a moron who had a lobotomy.

 

Something led me there.  Something called me into that room and into that chair.

 

What is a man’s heart?

 

I need the sun to break the fog.  I need the sky blue again.

There is a trumpet sounding beyond the gray haze.  It’s faint, but it’s there and it’s calling me.

 

He says: “I got your purpose right here.  Right here in my hand, but it’s a secret.  Betcha can’t guess what I’m gonna have you do.”

 

Yes Sir, I hear your trumpet and I may be part deaf, but I can hear it.  I can feel it.

And I’m comin’.

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3 Responses to “Smooth Talker”


  1. February 18, 2009 at 11:31 am

    Bounce the shiny red ball, Tony. Bounce it off the wall, catch it when it comes back to you. Bounce it again. That’s it. Don’t just stare at it.

    Then, when you’re finished with that, let’s hang out.

  2. February 18, 2009 at 11:34 am

    By the way, a man’s heart is the place where God keeps the sticky notes. He can’t trust them in the hands. They get lost too easily, and the ink gets smeared from sweaty palms, anyway. Check your heart.

  3. 3 rerendered
    February 18, 2009 at 8:26 pm

    I thought the heart was the root of all evil…
    Anyway, this is an exerpt from a journal entry I wrote back in ’03. This sort of stuff is always relevant to me though. The fog stays at bay when I’m not focussed on it, the trumpet sounds over and over again- thank God. Sometimes it’s clearer than others though.


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