Hey folks. Have you ever written a song in a dream, and it was FREAKING AWESOME!?!? Well, I have. "Awesome" is relative. Well, this morning in a hypnopompic state, I wrote the following song. Realizing that I liked it a really lot, I willed myself awake and wrote down as much as I could remember. I lost a bit in the waking, but I filled it out and here is the current draft:
As I amble though the back roads of the place inside my mind
Hauling 'round the carcass of the boy I left behind
Enjoying, loathing lonely freedom, not expecting what to find
I'm stuck within this synapse, on a frozen beam of time
Is it God or Christ
Is it sin or vice
Which will make this dead boy live?
To find within
This aching skin
The will and strength to forgive?
My eyes look ever downward and I kick a single stone
I'm surrounded by the masses, yet choose to be alone
The bitterness of exile infects my very bones
Resplendent joy has waned away; this is why I roam
I long to resurrect the splendid boy who once was me
To lift my head from being dead, to look with eyes that see
The locusts died from famine as they spread their wings to fly
My first-born son, my inner-child, was passed and did not die
But a requiem inside of him will soar toward the sky
Shall he die in truth an honest youth, or give life to a lie?
Is it me or them
Who stand condemned
Or can we hope for all?
O hear me now
The words of my mouth
And save us from the Fall
My fractured spine is re-aligned, my bones are filled with marrow
Yet within mere faith is still a place and a need for sorrow
This strengthened sinew and health-filled navel finds hope beyond the morrow
Yet within mere faith is still a place and a need for sorrow
Feb 27, 2005
Feb 21, 2005
With a Little Help from My Friends...
Okay genkibrady blog readers, here is an email describing what has been placed in my mind about 18 hours ago. I think that those of you who are cheering for me to return to full fellowship are in for a treat. Even those of you who are where I have been/am/will be as far as the why's of the church, I hope that you can appreciate the conclusions which are congealing in my head. Although the Spirit has told certain things to me, I do not expect any of you to come to the same realizations that I have. I am me; you are you. Do what is best for you and allow me to do the same. God bless you all, and here is the email:
Robert:
I was invited to church with a friend on Sunday up at the U Institute, so I went. I figured that while I was in the area, I'd stop by my sister's place just to, you know, chill with the fam and my niece to be (due in 2 mos--how are Lisa and Grace?!). Well, they had their home teachers over, which was nice. The message was out of this month's Ensign, obviously, the one by President Monson called "To Truly See."
Now I think you know that I do not excuse myself for my behavior, but the other day when we were online, I was pretty forlorn and upset when I wondered to you "Did you ever imagine that I would be here on the outside looking in? What happened to my life?"
Now we've spoken before of childhood circumstances and so forth, yours versus mine versus Clayton's, and the like. I have often postulated as to why I have the family I do, as well as gazing on the seemingly better circumstances of others. I can't say that I have NEVER been envious, but I can say that it is not an attitude which I have adopted. I don't want other peoples' families, but what I DO want is an explanation. I know that this is in opposition to the principle of faith, but with my hypersensitive emotions and my temperament, an explanation would certainly go a long way for me.
Last night I got that explanation. Quoted by President Monson in his message:
"Long ago and at a place far distant, as Jesus passed by He saw a man who was blind from birth. His disciples questioned the Master as to why this person was blind. Had he sinned or had his parents sinned, causing him to have this affliction?
"'Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him. . . .
"'As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.
"'When he had thus spoken, he spat on the ground, and made clay of the spittle, and he anointed the eyes of the blind man with the clay,
"'And said unto him, Go, wash in the pool of Siloam. . . . He went his way therefore, and washed, and came seeing.'"
Okay, it's one of those "I've read that one a zillion times" deals, right? Okay, not being able to perfectly arrogate this example to my own life, I can still extract the doctrine placed in my mind by the spirit, and lay it out before you.
God didn't make my parents get married when perhaps they should not have, and he certainly didn't make them fight or divorce. It's neither my parents' fault nor mine that my emotions are such as they are, or that my endocrine system is shorting me on certain chemicals. My life is the way that it is simply because. That's just it-- and here comes the explanation: " but that the works of God should be made manifest in him ..."
This goes along with one of my favorite, and thus oft-quoted passages, found in Mosiah 24. This is where Alma and his folks have escaped into the wilderness and have settled in the valley of Helam. These are a righteous people truly striving to recant their wicked pasts by faith in the Christ, and could be examples to us all. Amulon, Alma's former partner-in-crime, happens upon their sovereign colony, with some Lamanites and they begin to place the heavy burdens on their backs, yadda yadda, you know, the standard oppression story from the scriptures.
So why do bad things happen to good people? Had they sinned or had their parents sinned, causing them to have this affliction?
13
And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage.
14
And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions .
I have been given such a tremendous opportunity to allow the works of God to be made manifest in me . Okay, I can mope around and bitch about my crappy circumstances, or I can excercise a little bit of faith, use the Atonement, and have the power of Christ change my very nature. I'm tired of all this. Right now I am riding the crest of a wave. Next week I may be back in the trough. Who knows? But what is on my mind right now is: how do I approach the Lord? What kind of entreaties can I offer that would be worthy of his mercy? How do I get him to administer that proverbial spittle-clay into my eyes, and where is my pool of Siloam?
I have been issued a letter from the bishopric that disfellowshipped me, and outlined in it are the steps I need to take. That is the administration. I don't need to plead to Christ at all to be granted mercy, as he is already the catalyst of that most sublime virtue. I need to make the journey to the pool and wash myself in it.
I can already stand as his witness , and will be empowered to stand taller and with increased resolve in being that man described in my patriarchal blessing. I will again become the "Genki Brady" from the mission, but with wisdom and first-hand experience.
I pray now for consistency in my efforts, and would ask that if I cross your mind during your prayers that a similar plea be offered from you on my behalf. I am yet too weak to get my ass to church on my own. I need invitations from friends (sheesh, as if Christ isn't my friend, and as if his invitation isn't valid!). I need a support system. The gospel is again appearing resplendent and inviting to me.
Rob (and others, whom I am cc'ing), I love you all and have been blessed by your friendship. I have divine friends in all of you, in that I can be honest with my shortcomings and not be looked down upon.
God will continue to bless you all,
Mike
Robert:
I was invited to church with a friend on Sunday up at the U Institute, so I went. I figured that while I was in the area, I'd stop by my sister's place just to, you know, chill with the fam and my niece to be (due in 2 mos--how are Lisa and Grace?!). Well, they had their home teachers over, which was nice. The message was out of this month's Ensign, obviously, the one by President Monson called "To Truly See."
Now I think you know that I do not excuse myself for my behavior, but the other day when we were online, I was pretty forlorn and upset when I wondered to you "Did you ever imagine that I would be here on the outside looking in? What happened to my life?"
Now we've spoken before of childhood circumstances and so forth, yours versus mine versus Clayton's, and the like. I have often postulated as to why I have the family I do, as well as gazing on the seemingly better circumstances of others. I can't say that I have NEVER been envious, but I can say that it is not an attitude which I have adopted. I don't want other peoples' families, but what I DO want is an explanation. I know that this is in opposition to the principle of faith, but with my hypersensitive emotions and my temperament, an explanation would certainly go a long way for me.
Last night I got that explanation. Quoted by President Monson in his message:
"Long ago and at a place far distant, as Jesus passed by He saw a man who was blind from birth. His disciples questioned the Master as to why this person was blind. Had he sinned or had his parents sinned, causing him to have this affliction?
"'Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him. . . .
"'As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.
"'When he had thus spoken, he spat on the ground, and made clay of the spittle, and he anointed the eyes of the blind man with the clay,
"'And said unto him, Go, wash in the pool of Siloam. . . . He went his way therefore, and washed, and came seeing.'"
Okay, it's one of those "I've read that one a zillion times" deals, right? Okay, not being able to perfectly arrogate this example to my own life, I can still extract the doctrine placed in my mind by the spirit, and lay it out before you.
God didn't make my parents get married when perhaps they should not have, and he certainly didn't make them fight or divorce. It's neither my parents' fault nor mine that my emotions are such as they are, or that my endocrine system is shorting me on certain chemicals. My life is the way that it is simply because. That's just it-- and here comes the explanation: " but that the works of God should be made manifest in him ..."
This goes along with one of my favorite, and thus oft-quoted passages, found in Mosiah 24. This is where Alma and his folks have escaped into the wilderness and have settled in the valley of Helam. These are a righteous people truly striving to recant their wicked pasts by faith in the Christ, and could be examples to us all. Amulon, Alma's former partner-in-crime, happens upon their sovereign colony, with some Lamanites and they begin to place the heavy burdens on their backs, yadda yadda, you know, the standard oppression story from the scriptures.
So why do bad things happen to good people? Had they sinned or had their parents sinned, causing them to have this affliction?
13
And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage.
14
And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions .
I have been given such a tremendous opportunity to allow the works of God to be made manifest in me . Okay, I can mope around and bitch about my crappy circumstances, or I can excercise a little bit of faith, use the Atonement, and have the power of Christ change my very nature. I'm tired of all this. Right now I am riding the crest of a wave. Next week I may be back in the trough. Who knows? But what is on my mind right now is: how do I approach the Lord? What kind of entreaties can I offer that would be worthy of his mercy? How do I get him to administer that proverbial spittle-clay into my eyes, and where is my pool of Siloam?
I have been issued a letter from the bishopric that disfellowshipped me, and outlined in it are the steps I need to take. That is the administration. I don't need to plead to Christ at all to be granted mercy, as he is already the catalyst of that most sublime virtue. I need to make the journey to the pool and wash myself in it.
I can already stand as his witness , and will be empowered to stand taller and with increased resolve in being that man described in my patriarchal blessing. I will again become the "Genki Brady" from the mission, but with wisdom and first-hand experience.
I pray now for consistency in my efforts, and would ask that if I cross your mind during your prayers that a similar plea be offered from you on my behalf. I am yet too weak to get my ass to church on my own. I need invitations from friends (sheesh, as if Christ isn't my friend, and as if his invitation isn't valid!). I need a support system. The gospel is again appearing resplendent and inviting to me.
Rob (and others, whom I am cc'ing), I love you all and have been blessed by your friendship. I have divine friends in all of you, in that I can be honest with my shortcomings and not be looked down upon.
God will continue to bless you all,
Mike
Feb 14, 2005
Melancholy Milieu: An Unholy Sacrament
Taken quite sick, my queasy amber guts
take on some food--and why? For life's sake.
Feeding that which causes the pain of every day,
is it hunger or eating which causes this frame to quake?
Assimilating bread and dead flesh into my own,
I ponder silently on what might someday consume me.
Gnashing my teeth to break down the substance,
I see that I only contribute to endless entropy.
The flavor of spice is lost in my tongue; a waste.
I swallow that which was raised to be eaten, without taste.
Disdain of my species, I mix it with wine
to inebriate what optimism still suffers inside me,
and hate the feeling of being a human, loathing
the loathsome beings that we refer to as "family."
Their rage feeds my rage. Can we not love? Jesus said...
but to see my family spread filth and foul deeds, I weep.
Dissociation from these, whom I love and despise
I wish to heal them, which fights my wish to simply sleep.
Food and drink wash through my bowels, along with the air that I breathe.
I cannot be alive, I cannot be dead, and endlessly I gnash my teeth.
take on some food--and why? For life's sake.
Feeding that which causes the pain of every day,
is it hunger or eating which causes this frame to quake?
Assimilating bread and dead flesh into my own,
I ponder silently on what might someday consume me.
Gnashing my teeth to break down the substance,
I see that I only contribute to endless entropy.
The flavor of spice is lost in my tongue; a waste.
I swallow that which was raised to be eaten, without taste.
Disdain of my species, I mix it with wine
to inebriate what optimism still suffers inside me,
and hate the feeling of being a human, loathing
the loathsome beings that we refer to as "family."
Their rage feeds my rage. Can we not love? Jesus said...
but to see my family spread filth and foul deeds, I weep.
Dissociation from these, whom I love and despise
I wish to heal them, which fights my wish to simply sleep.
Food and drink wash through my bowels, along with the air that I breathe.
I cannot be alive, I cannot be dead, and endlessly I gnash my teeth.
A Horizon in Turmoil
Take the bloody organ couched within my breast,
and remove it with the passionless act of forceful rape.
Take my heart and grate it, grind it, squeeze and stretch it.
Inject it with poison, lucid and potent
until my extremeties are pulsating with the savory juice,
and my body is a walking shroud of self-deprecation and loathing.
A hearty sailor with a love for salt-filled air, I was often invited in
to the captain's quarters. There we conversed, laughed, philosophized,
and cared with a love deep as the bowels of the sea upon which we lived.
The captain is my friend still, but where am I now?
I cling to a solitary buoy, which is my testimony.
Alone, circumscribed within the horizon of the sea.
Adrift.
The flashing beacon mounted atop the welded steel girters flashes,
fades,
flickers,
and is left sparkless.
My waning soul conjures sweat and tears,
the salt of which mixes with the frothy ebbing waves
as they lap up into my frayed garment.
Mingling the outside sodium poison solution
with that which I have released from within,
the osmosis of death waxes within and without.
A passing ship offers to take me in tow,
but extends no fellowship to bring me aboard.
Not even as cargo.
Captain, where am I? High Priest of Good Things to COME,
and yet here I am, ragged and scorched by the sun and my mind,
wanting a drop from Lazarus' fingertip to moisten my lips
for even a moment, with saltless water.
My captain, my friend, I deserted post and swam in unsafe waters.
But am I beyond deliverance? Where is thy ship!
With sextant and Polaris, once I could command any vessel,
tame the harsh waves of life and Satan himself!
The vessel of my life, it was, navigated by me,
but captained by my friend; that captain.
That beating heart still beats for you, and my loyalty,
well...where is that loyalty?
I pledged it to you and wandered away.
"Prone to wander."
This lifeless shroud waits. The fruitlessness of longing and waiting!
Yet my fortitude is sapped by despair.
Despair be damned! The captain of my chosen vessel,
the object of my desires,
is the Lord of the seas! Give me the energy to move the currents,
direct my testimony,
and though my sun-baked body is naked and weak,
dying,
let my beacon flicker with light once again.
Save me, my captain savior. Find me,
take back my mind and heal it.
Lazarus, a ship-mate in days passed,
extend your finger, that the water of life may invigorate me,
that resilience may preface my rescue,
that effort and hope will tighten the sinew of my neck,
that my eyes may peer heavenward again,
to see my friend captain and his majestic ship.
A drop of salt-free water?
Just a drop, I implore you.
and remove it with the passionless act of forceful rape.
Take my heart and grate it, grind it, squeeze and stretch it.
Inject it with poison, lucid and potent
until my extremeties are pulsating with the savory juice,
and my body is a walking shroud of self-deprecation and loathing.
A hearty sailor with a love for salt-filled air, I was often invited in
to the captain's quarters. There we conversed, laughed, philosophized,
and cared with a love deep as the bowels of the sea upon which we lived.
The captain is my friend still, but where am I now?
I cling to a solitary buoy, which is my testimony.
Alone, circumscribed within the horizon of the sea.
Adrift.
The flashing beacon mounted atop the welded steel girters flashes,
fades,
flickers,
and is left sparkless.
My waning soul conjures sweat and tears,
the salt of which mixes with the frothy ebbing waves
as they lap up into my frayed garment.
Mingling the outside sodium poison solution
with that which I have released from within,
the osmosis of death waxes within and without.
A passing ship offers to take me in tow,
but extends no fellowship to bring me aboard.
Not even as cargo.
Captain, where am I? High Priest of Good Things to COME,
and yet here I am, ragged and scorched by the sun and my mind,
wanting a drop from Lazarus' fingertip to moisten my lips
for even a moment, with saltless water.
My captain, my friend, I deserted post and swam in unsafe waters.
But am I beyond deliverance? Where is thy ship!
With sextant and Polaris, once I could command any vessel,
tame the harsh waves of life and Satan himself!
The vessel of my life, it was, navigated by me,
but captained by my friend; that captain.
That beating heart still beats for you, and my loyalty,
well...where is that loyalty?
I pledged it to you and wandered away.
"Prone to wander."
This lifeless shroud waits. The fruitlessness of longing and waiting!
Yet my fortitude is sapped by despair.
Despair be damned! The captain of my chosen vessel,
the object of my desires,
is the Lord of the seas! Give me the energy to move the currents,
direct my testimony,
and though my sun-baked body is naked and weak,
dying,
let my beacon flicker with light once again.
Save me, my captain savior. Find me,
take back my mind and heal it.
Lazarus, a ship-mate in days passed,
extend your finger, that the water of life may invigorate me,
that resilience may preface my rescue,
that effort and hope will tighten the sinew of my neck,
that my eyes may peer heavenward again,
to see my friend captain and his majestic ship.
A drop of salt-free water?
Just a drop, I implore you.
Feb 6, 2005
Initial entry
So yes, I am starting a Weblog. This seems a good way of not only getting things out, but of letting others in. This, I hope, will help make me see things more subjectively, and make me a more accepting person.
Let me tell you who I am. My name is Michael Kiyoshi Brady. I was born in Kamagaya, Chiba, Japan on 13 June 1979. My parents are both members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; my father is of Mormon pioneer stock and my mother is a Japanese native who converted to the religion in the mid 70's. This, by default, makes me, too, a Mormon, right?
Wrong. I was raised in an LDS home where I read LDS scriptures and prayed in the manner taught to me. I was raised to believe that alcohol and drugs are bad for you and that sexual intercourse is something to participate in after marriage. This is how I was raised, but I am not a Mormon.
Let me explain myself: I am making a distinction between being a Mormon (culture) and being a Latter-day Saint (religion). Being raised in a bigoted society where "tolerance" is merely a buzzword, I have defined myself by my religion for far too long--because I was raised to think this way. I seek enlightenment.
I believe in Jesus Christ and that he is the savior of my soul, and of yours. I believe that Joseph Smith experienced his theophany just as he said he did. As of this moment, I believe that Gordon B. Hinckley is a man leading a church which was founded by God. But why am I a Mormon? "Wait!" you might be crying out, "You just said that you aren't a Mormon, didn't you?" There is a multi-dimensional gradient between what I am appropriating to the terms "Mormon" and "Latter-day Saint." I was raised as a Mormon, and I still cling fast to many of the cultural attributes. Why? Because it is the old, familiar coat which has kept me warm for these 25-plus years. I would love to expand and become that "Saint." But rather than affiliate myself with a religion, I would like to be able to claim that I am a disciple of Christ--which I am--but allow my actions to demonstrate my sincerity.
"I am a Mormon, and will therefore go to Heaven." I believe it was the esteemed Reverend Lovejoy who said "I'll see you in Hell!...from Heaven." If Christ wants me to be a Latter-day Saint, then as his proclaimed disciple, I will do it. If he feels that the parameters of the LDS Church are what I need, then this is the direction he will lead me, in accordance with my personal beliefs. And you can feel free to disagree! This is what makes humanity marvelously wonderful, but equally despicable: that we can disagree. Peace and love, people. And yet, if he deems that my salvation would better be hinged on some Zoroastrian philosophy, or a mixture of Judaic and Shinto thought with a vein of Tao in there too, then so be it. But as a Christian who believes that he truly is "the way, the truth and the life," the Old and New Testaments will be my bread and my butter. Mormons don't go to heaven by mere virtue of a baptismal certificate signed by their LDS bishop. It requires much more, and demands that the individual facet his or her soul to the tenets of Christian faith, or at least do their damnedest and let the Savior save them from the faults that come with being human and mortal.
You can be Moslem, LDS, agnostic, Zulu, atheist or whomever you want to be. I will try not to judge you, but please know that I am Mormon and it is in my nature. The goal is to become a non-judgmental Christian. Let's bee friends.
My thoughts were everywhere tonight, and so I will let your weary eyes rest. There is a lot about me and my thoughts to put out in this, my initial blog. I will retire for the evening.
At least I was able to quote somebody from "The Simpsons." My goal will to include something from this wonderful television series in at least every-other blog.
Let me tell you who I am. My name is Michael Kiyoshi Brady. I was born in Kamagaya, Chiba, Japan on 13 June 1979. My parents are both members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; my father is of Mormon pioneer stock and my mother is a Japanese native who converted to the religion in the mid 70's. This, by default, makes me, too, a Mormon, right?
Wrong. I was raised in an LDS home where I read LDS scriptures and prayed in the manner taught to me. I was raised to believe that alcohol and drugs are bad for you and that sexual intercourse is something to participate in after marriage. This is how I was raised, but I am not a Mormon.
Let me explain myself: I am making a distinction between being a Mormon (culture) and being a Latter-day Saint (religion). Being raised in a bigoted society where "tolerance" is merely a buzzword, I have defined myself by my religion for far too long--because I was raised to think this way. I seek enlightenment.
I believe in Jesus Christ and that he is the savior of my soul, and of yours. I believe that Joseph Smith experienced his theophany just as he said he did. As of this moment, I believe that Gordon B. Hinckley is a man leading a church which was founded by God. But why am I a Mormon? "Wait!" you might be crying out, "You just said that you aren't a Mormon, didn't you?" There is a multi-dimensional gradient between what I am appropriating to the terms "Mormon" and "Latter-day Saint." I was raised as a Mormon, and I still cling fast to many of the cultural attributes. Why? Because it is the old, familiar coat which has kept me warm for these 25-plus years. I would love to expand and become that "Saint." But rather than affiliate myself with a religion, I would like to be able to claim that I am a disciple of Christ--which I am--but allow my actions to demonstrate my sincerity.
"I am a Mormon, and will therefore go to Heaven." I believe it was the esteemed Reverend Lovejoy who said "I'll see you in Hell!...from Heaven." If Christ wants me to be a Latter-day Saint, then as his proclaimed disciple, I will do it. If he feels that the parameters of the LDS Church are what I need, then this is the direction he will lead me, in accordance with my personal beliefs. And you can feel free to disagree! This is what makes humanity marvelously wonderful, but equally despicable: that we can disagree. Peace and love, people. And yet, if he deems that my salvation would better be hinged on some Zoroastrian philosophy, or a mixture of Judaic and Shinto thought with a vein of Tao in there too, then so be it. But as a Christian who believes that he truly is "the way, the truth and the life," the Old and New Testaments will be my bread and my butter. Mormons don't go to heaven by mere virtue of a baptismal certificate signed by their LDS bishop. It requires much more, and demands that the individual facet his or her soul to the tenets of Christian faith, or at least do their damnedest and let the Savior save them from the faults that come with being human and mortal.
You can be Moslem, LDS, agnostic, Zulu, atheist or whomever you want to be. I will try not to judge you, but please know that I am Mormon and it is in my nature. The goal is to become a non-judgmental Christian. Let's bee friends.
My thoughts were everywhere tonight, and so I will let your weary eyes rest. There is a lot about me and my thoughts to put out in this, my initial blog. I will retire for the evening.
At least I was able to quote somebody from "The Simpsons." My goal will to include something from this wonderful television series in at least every-other blog.
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