Deceiver

-Deceiver-

This isn't a new drawing, but I wanted to post it for the idea it represents. The deceiver demon is a concept I came up with about a year ago. It is basically a leeching insect with two actively independent heads with different voices and personalities, but one goal, lure victims close enough for the larger insect to feed off of them. (This picture has been digitally modified from its previous state to have more contrast. )

The picture is symbolic of the way the devil works in our lives, lying to us and leading us further from the truth. One lie reinforces another, and with more than one voice involved in the process, it is easy to be fooled. But I was thinking that this can work with our feelings as well. Sometimes our own feelings deceive us. Sometimes we blindly follow our feelings down the wrong paths.

The only way to best this demon is to stay in the word of God, and staying in contact with God to know His voice.

The Sleepy Cat

This particular cat is not sleepy, but I am sleepy. It would explain my inactivity. And I have plenty of ideas to forge, but time is limited. So day by day I work on something, but I only accomplish little. Good thing I am still young! For now...

The painting above is a picture I did of my friends' cat. (Probably the cutest cat ever.)

Wish

A picture inspired by a dream

A couple of days ago I had a dream. I was in a generic dream land, and there was quite a bustle about one picture I drew. Some of the feedback was good as I recall, but I pushed my way through the crowd to see the picture. And this was it:

I drew it because I never really see my drawings in my dream, so this was a novel experience (and rare one).

This one doesn't have one original meaning, but I interpret it as a representation of an ironic, yet morbid duality of the nature of human life. Where one person (or people) are experiencing the best time of their lives, someone in the world is experiencing the worst time in their life (maybe even the very last time of their remaining lives). It is a sad thought, but it makes me think about human suffering and how real it is.

We should be more receptive to the sadness of people around us. We may just save them from experiencing the worst moment of their lives alone.

Enemies of the friendless

No church can save you. No building can lift your spirits. No assembly is your friend. When tragedy strikes we come to the knowledge that we are truly alone in the world.

What wisdom can be found in the tales of an individual’s pursuit of friendship beyond the walls of his home? He goes to the church, and it is full of insincere people. They come and go; none will stay to see hear him. They merely perpetuate what pain isolates him in his life.

Is he to be made an object of pity as he generalizes his weakness by divulging to a congregation of strangers. These are not his brothers or sisters, nor friends or neighbors. He does not know them, and they do not wish to know him. They are satisfied with weekly routine, “Good morning”, “How do you do?” Are they really concerned for his well-being when it is much easier to just pass him by with a rhetoric phrase to get on with the rest of their day? Go on and eat, and spend glorious moments with your family and friends. There is absolutely no possibility that the person sitting next to you is suffering loss, instability, insufficiency, or even insecurity.

Is he a victim of self-pity or of life? All people need is a shoulder to cry on; all people seemingly, except for him because he was not fortunate enough to make and grow up with childhood friends, it is surely the only way to enter a person’s exclusive circle before it is formed and fortified. Can love be weighed for value? Are kind favors never purely altruistic, but are done to act as contingencies? It wears the meaning of friendship, and of fellowship.

What is a friend? A friend is someone close to you, a companion, someone to talk to when times are good and also when times are rough. A friend is someone who is genuinely concerned for you and for your happiness. Someone to share thoughts with, and someone to collaborate with. A friend corrects you, but also encourages you. A friend prays with you and for you, but is not bound to prayer alone. A friend calls you to see how you are doing, and is ready to help should a need arise.

A “true friend” is a compliment, not a state of being because no one is perfect, but most of these characteristics can be found in certain people that we regard as close to us. I have not had one of these people in my life, and I probably never will. If God wills it, He will put these people in my life, or, perhaps, He will remain my only friend. In truth, God is our only friend. He remains faithful even when He has every reason to abandon us. He perfectly exemplifies a “true friend”. Why shouldn’t we follow His example?

A WIP of Sedness

I call it "Beautiful Soul"

For whatever makes you sad or feeling inadequate; whoever you are, I want you to know that you are beautiful, and you have an even more beautiful soul.

What Am I

I am the voice in the silence when you thought you were alone

I am the flower that blooms from the seeds you have sown

I am the breath of air when you are submerged deep

I am the pillow when worries deprive you your sleep

I am the plumb line that keeps you straight

I am the sibling found in faith

I am the sun when you are the night

I am with you when you enter the fight

I am watcher, listener, student, teacher

Equal, alike; abroad, or beside

None can break what is forged inside

Fire tried love will never die

I am the cloth that dries your tears

I am the journal that keeps your fears

I am the one who remembers joys before

And you are the one who does these and more

The child’s toy of which you’ve grown apart

Yet the supportive voice that always shares your heart

Invaluable treasure proved by working hands of time

And rare luxury many people will never find

A virtue lost in the grains we grind

Have you already forgotten?

What am I?

Rotting Legacy

Preach to me his rotting legacy

His crumbling fortress on wobbly stilts

His home amongst a fantastic image

Still laid amidst a canopy of leaves.

Pity a soul who has never loved

Abandoned to invent his own stimulation

To fantasize over things that can never be

There is no contempt in this vessel

No malevolence, or fulfillment

But there is a groan for contentment

It can never be.

Ostracized

He plays with the idea

Of living comfortably, humbly

While still making a change

Chiseling his story into the harbor stone

Overlapped by aquatic growth

Draped in the feces of the gulls

But the tale winds through every one.

The irony of the favored ones

The blessed are invited to dine

The servants are fed the crumbs

But he is not fed at all

And he has the greatest story.

A heart to offer.

A sacrifice to make.

His is a sweet passing scent

A wisp without a trail

A life, a love, but mere luxury

In light of others' suffering

And do the quakes shake him violently?

Does the mist depress his soul?

For the sake of this mission

He has rightfully served

Be it a whisper or a shout

Be it a breeze or a gale

His spirit shall find him rest

And leave his rotting legacy for his home.

Dreamer

Sing in my heart a tale of wonder

Majestic mountains and meadows under

With vibrant lands and climbing cities

A world at peace where no one pities.

Live a life that lasts so long

Where nature thrives and sings this song

Where sorrow ends and love is found

Where none, by fear, are ever bound.

A paradise

A land so free

A peaceful place

Amidst the trees

I see glistening groves growing amongst

The showers of summer’s swallowing sun

And the land below blessed beholds

The story of life, impeccably told:

As the clouds are washed; the land is hush

The creator gives the finishing touch

A beam of red, yellow, and blue

Admire the details in brilliant hues

Blending together; binding and set

Creator and creation brilliantly met.

Yet after this Eve of creation’s beset

The serpent bit man and left him for dead.

But on hallowed ground one vessel resides

Hidden away from critical eyes

Seeking no ardor or agreement with men

It works with its hands, no action condemned.

It nurtures its talents on stone, sand, and sea

Peaks on its toes so that it may see

Wonders and wishes; it will never grow old

And hopes to find this dream come unfold.

Will it venture beyond what is known to all

To see the grandeur of life and grains so small?

To drift away from the sea of doubt

And traverse the land untouched by drought?

Famine and turmoil

Death and disease

Has no influence upon what it sees.

The visible construct of one person’s dreams

Wishful thinking, or so it may seem

How distant in sight, and hard to achieve

Maybe not so far off for that one who still dreams.