top of page

The Beauty in a Pile of Rubble

Waves of cleansing reality wash up piles of rubble on the shore from your shattered past.

I am that person.

That person that runs head long into the wind to go out of my way to help people and expects nothing in return.

That person that no matter what storm is raging I will set sail with you and try to ride it out, or get you to where you can run at your own infinity with a passion again.

I am that person.

The one that when I start faltering.



Grasping at the river bank myself....

I see nothing and no one.

Not a hand. Not a soul.

I am screaming at the top of my lungs and there is only shatteredness.

Slammed doors.

Doused lights.

Everyone is nestled into their comfortable lives.

And I...

I am left to scream into the darkness of my own insanity.

Falling to my knees crying out to the One who...

In the beginning...



Infinite darkness...

And then something...

Out of total nothingness was birthed somethingness.

I strip down my soul, with bloody knees from kneel and crying out, to the bare core of the insanity that has always been my infinite soul was created from nothingness to be so much more then just shattered pieces of somethingness.

Shattered pieces of a Mosaic


Stained glass really starts as nothingness.

So many shattered pieces.

The Soul is the framework.

The artist creates the boundary.

The artist takes someone's old nothingness.

And rearranges it into somethingness.


As I sit at the shore of my inevitable ocean of possibilities and realities mixed all into one, I realize something profound. Out of the nothingness of the deep is produced so many "shattered" pieces to be re-purposed into infinite somethingness that creates who I am. If I am truly clay then pieces of my soul break off, wear off, fall off; such is life.

In all those moments I thought wasted loving, really what I was doing was sharpening iron. The hard iron realities of life were chipping away to get down to the framework in order to take broken pieces of eternal legacies that wash up on my shores to create an infinite legacy in me.

I cry out injustice!

Give me justice.

Give me meaning.

Give me legacy.

Blinded by my own vision, and not seeing that even this very blog is an epitaph to leaving a legacy. "Write the Frontier."

I created the title...yes, but do I really understand it fully.

All those pieces of my soul raining off me, are pieces that someone will pick up one day as they are screaming into their soul's dark void from the banks of all that shattered nothingness, and place in the eternal framework of somethingness.

Iron beating iron.

Clay wearing away at clay.

It is all the legacy that I intend to live.

My screaming into nothingness has produced the "faith of a mustard seed" miracle I yearn for in this life.

To love deeply with a passion for the infinite souls and where they are headed.

And to be loved deeply for all that my passionate, infinite soul has to offer.

I want a "kindred" soul, not just many souls, but a faithful one that when you are walking into the deep they are not afraid to follow, or at times lead because like me they are running after their own infinity with a passion that not even the threat of nothingness itself can squelch the fire that was given by the Only One who can scream into anyone's nothingness, and in a matter of moments you realize your mortal shell was the only thing keeping you from seeing all the infinite somethingness.

17 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page