Everyday Create
Forgetting: A Poetic Essay
"It’s happening so much lately I feel so out of control. Somehow, I’m losing grip on my very own soul. When the conversation goes awry. When the envy strikes. When I run out of ambition for good. When I am convinced I could mess up the entire cosmos with one single slip—(they tell me this is impossible, but I can’t forget the Mother of All Living. Sometimes the story haunts me in my dreams, and I am startled, woken up, right before the fig-leaf scene.)
I am so talented at forgetting Him. Then, when I realize I forgot, my heart skips—how do I keep forgetting—what could this mean? Am I doomed to fall flat on grace forever, running Him slap out of love? Forever unhinged to my own animal of a soul? Someone, please—My God—find a key, box me in. Quick. Do whatever you need to do before I undo us all.
And in my realization of forgetting, I forget the cross. The soft landing for my every mess up. I forget the written Word, the historical permission slip for all my million questions. I forget You care about the clothes of bypass wildflowers and tweety birds I pass in the street. I forget the lightness of it all. I forget You, arms stretched wide, holding them out for the sins of the world then—and for a bear hug just now.
There is a flicker of something soft in my chest; I am finally catching my breath. I think this is what it means for the Spirit to wipe my tears. One Day I will hold His face between my hands, and say “You really were with me all along. I wan’t in control at all. It was just like You said. I wasn’t an orphan, was I? I think I forgot.”
And praise be—
One Day,
by some magic we call Grace,
I will forget all of this forgetting, too."
For more of MM's writing: @earthtomm
"It’s happening so much lately I feel so out of control. Somehow, I’m losing grip on my very own soul. When the conversation goes awry. When the envy strikes. When I run out of ambition for good. When I am convinced I could mess up the entire cosmos with one single slip—(they tell me this is impossible, but I can’t forget the Mother of All Living. Sometimes the story haunts me in my dreams, and I am startled, woken up, right before the fig-leaf scene.)
I am so talented at forgetting Him. Then, when I realize I forgot, my heart skips—how do I keep forgetting—what could this mean? Am I doomed to fall flat on grace forever, running Him slap out of love? Forever unhinged to my own animal of a soul? Someone, please—My God—find a key, box me in. Quick. Do whatever you need to do before I undo us all.
And in my realization of forgetting, I forget the cross. The soft landing for my every mess up. I forget the written Word, the historical permission slip for all my million questions. I forget You care about the clothes of bypass wildflowers and tweety birds I pass in the street. I forget the lightness of it all. I forget You, arms stretched wide, holding them out for the sins of the world then—and for a bear hug just now.
There is a flicker of something soft in my chest; I am finally catching my breath. I think this is what it means for the Spirit to wipe my tears. One Day I will hold His face between my hands, and say “You really were with me all along. I wan’t in control at all. It was just like You said. I wasn’t an orphan, was I? I think I forgot.”
And praise be—
One Day,
by some magic we call Grace,
I will forget all of this forgetting, too."
For more of MM's writing: @earthtomm