journals of cape town

He's in the trees.

He's in the branches

And he's in the leaves

He's in the fruit

He's in the seeds

He's in the roots

And he's in the weeds

He's in the wood

The solid foundation of all that's good

He's in the axe

That breaks down the charred

And prunes all the juices loose

He's in the breeze

That shakes and sheds the skin

And the warmth

That cooks and peels the layers outside in

He's in the snow

That covers and blankets as white as the invisible

And he's in the rain

That hydrates and glistens as the fresh morning dew

He's in the sun

That warms and breathes life into each seed

And He's in the light

That feeds the soil it's daily feed

He's in the branches.

He's in the leaves.

He's in the fruit

And he's in the seeds

A recent musing I thought to share...

Pain is love and love is pain I've heard it being said. 

I do think pain can be found in love. Pain is an indicator. Without pain, there is no indication of worth, something of value. Our bodies are wired this way. Our minds are wired this way. And so are our hearts. 

Pain not necessarily in the format of suffering. no. Pain found within compassion. An indication that there is something incorrect that is needful of correcting. A pain that seeks to save and solve.

Table Mountain hike, via Skeleton's Gorge route (the hardest route btw). 

All these crossing lines that elude you

Taking their place in and all around you

Circular things

And mood swings 

That protrude and confuse the truth

But the millipedes and centipedes

That grow as your weeds and seeds

Are the fields of glory that await you

The failures that betrayed you 

The doubts that swayed you

Onto the tracks

Where your destination is settled.

Looking back is a prelude 

An innuendo of a mighty deluge

Of all things new

A battle you cannot lose

A destiny too good to refuse 

And a cause bigger than your oversized shoes 

No, because the shoes your feet were made to fill