The Full, Inefficient Life

Steel blue veins do not, a heart, make.
They don’t seem to pump blood with the pulsing bass note that, brings warmth to the soul.
Their cold efficiency instead, causes a rush of thoughts that leave no room for others;
Not for their things, or their ideas, or their hearts, never mind souls.
Until efficiency has pushed out, all that is wonderfully broken and human.
Until bruised reeds and wildflowers are mowed down for the sake of level cut grass.

Until faint wicks are put out, for the need to move on to more important things.
Until the need for speed has left behind the beautiful- and the speeder, desolate and, unquenchably rife with always feeling, quite alone.
Until the efficient heart is left wondering why, efficiency hasn’t cured the ills, of such a disordered world.
But disorder wasn’t the cause of brokenness at all- it was the lack of warm humanity- of goodness, beauty and truth.
And those are not beings of efficiency, they are beings of arduous labor and persistent pursuit.
They slip away from your fingertips, just as you think you’ve got a hold of them.

They play trickster to the heart that wants to capture and, move on,

They tease until you beg for mercy and pledge your whole life to them, in return for an answer,

They teach what it means to find something worthy, of giving up your freedom for,

They point clearly to things worth dying for.

They pause along the way of great quests, to smile at a child and pick up things that someone else dropped.

They stare at beauty, mouth agape, realizing much too late that they never took a picture,

But never pause to regret the time spent fully examining the majestic sight, over choosing filters.

Only one will be told in stories to their grandkids and, the other will be deleted during the following spring cleaning.

These inefficient causes, they answer pining questions, only to make you realize that another question must be asked in the wake of newly discovered truths.

And while no part of such a quest is efficient, I would wholly prefer all my quests this way.

For who would prefer an adventure that is boringly predictable and, devoid of the delightful shrieks of utterly unexpected surprise and discovery- over the truly magnificent, and true to their name, adventures?

Give me rather, the intoxication- the loss of myself to something greater than me.

Something that consumes me whole, to make something much more, than anything I could have hoped to accomplish on my own.

Give me a life rife with interruptions, for people much more important than my things.

Give me people who burst into my compartmentalized world, to help me realize my lack of humanity.

Give me days when I forget to look at the clock and, nights when I forget to sleep.

Give me adventure, where time flows into the eternity and, sleep turns mysteriously, into eternal life.

Give me that which I must lose myself to and for-

I do think my mortality indicates, I should learn, to be willing, to lose myself well.



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