The Mustard Seed


Austen Siebenaler's blog

Ask me anything

a wedding dress

you and i danced once

creating our own music as the stars bore witness to our sadness

momentarily forgetting the pile of expectations we made for each other

a paper mache house 

destined to collapse

I slipped on my wedding gown and danced with you barefoot across the linoleum

i tried every excuse to stay with you

you were the only real thing i knew

but I received a calling that made me choose

and no amount of adhesive could turn this tissue into brick

so we danced together that last night

both pretending the ending would never come

it’s been two years and i still can’t step into our old restaurant

or walk past the bench where you first admitted you loved me

i tried relationships on like band-aids, but now as i begin this process of exchanging dreams, it’s as if I’m saying good-bye to you for the first time

as i trade our wedding dress for an eternal promise, i have faith we’ll dance again someday

photojojo:

Falling gracefully is an art.
Photo by Anka Zhuaravleva via Fubiz

photojojo:

Falling gracefully is an art.

Photo by Anka Zhuaravleva via Fubiz

clumsy wings

clumsy butterfly

wet new wings wrestle the air

it’s hard to feign strength against the tempest

i find myself missing something that i never had

but too scared to consider the commitments I never made

or worse, the ones I abandoned with the green leaves

the world I knew, but it never knew me

a few spider webs plucked at my heart strings

but these clumsy wings only know freedom

denverpost:

Animal Photo of the Day
A veterinarian  stretches her hands to protect a little owl, which is poisoned by  pesticide and suffering from a neurological disorder that makes it  difficult to keep its balance while standing, after a medical check at  the Beijing Raptor Rescue Center in Beijing, China. As Beijing falls  along a north-south migratory route that the birds use, more than 43  types of raptors can be found in the city year-round, some of which die  or are injured in collisions with skyscrapers and overhead lines or   trapped by illegal bird catchers. 
(AP Photo/Alexander F. Yuan)

denverpost:

Animal Photo of the Day

A veterinarian stretches her hands to protect a little owl, which is poisoned by pesticide and suffering from a neurological disorder that makes it difficult to keep its balance while standing, after a medical check at the Beijing Raptor Rescue Center in Beijing, China. As Beijing falls along a north-south migratory route that the birds use, more than 43 types of raptors can be found in the city year-round, some of which die or are injured in collisions with skyscrapers and overhead lines or trapped by illegal bird catchers.

(AP Photo/Alexander F. Yuan)

Source: The Denver Post

Source: swimmiesofdoom

shhh

Love tiptoes in while you’re asleep

simply to sweep the wayward tears from your pillow

and sit by your bedside

all day it has been separated by the glass barricade you have constructed

beveled glass

you think you are seeing her but it’s only a manipulation of the truth

the bride still hidden beneath her veil

you imitate her beauty in vain attempts for freedom

but you have boxed yourself in lies

She can blow them down with a gentle breath of truth

if you let her

or you can stain your pillow with unattainable illusions

melwren:

Millie has been hanging out on Austen’s bed today. Hehe. I guess she’s ready for some sort of change. Maybe I can finally put that red backpack away!

red balloons

Once upon a time there was a little girl holding hundreds of red balloons… she grasped so many balloons that they fought against the forces of gravity and lifted her small body.  She dangled delicately above the earth, a splash of red against the blue tapestry of the sky.  Her heart delighted in the world beneath her, a collage of vibrant colors, a sea of life-  greens fading into blues and purples- hues of light beyond appellation.  A divine symphony of life radiated from the ground.  Her heart strings danced to the rhythm of the earth’s melody, mingling with the hundreds of balloon ribbons. 

Sometimes I visit her up in the heavens, cradled by her faith in the red balloons, humbled by the world’s beauty- the radiance which is forgotten with proximity. 

Tonight, as I sit in my car on Monument Avenue, I feel as if I am waiting for something that is never going to come.  A nostalgic anticipation for a feeling I once knew; however the red balloons which represented the vehicle to this sensation have been deflated by fears and doubts- thousands of little pinholes in the latex skin of misplaced faith.

I feel close to God, yet far away from where I should be.  Discontent and restless, I am absorbed into the viscous river of my thoughts, as I utter emotional words to my celestial husband.  A wayward thought heeds the passersby and traffic to my left, but I am reminded that I am only a guest in a strange land- thus I am not bound to the fetters of their transitory fashions and acceptable conducts.

The clock reads 12:34am, but my heart reads eternity.

 

My soul is aching.  I find myself striving, binding myself to the familiar shackles of worry and mundane appeasement- a vanity which reaches deeper than the external; it sinks its fishing hook into the heart, rotting flesh from the inside out.

 

You died for my freedom; You died to be my red balloons… so what am I doing here, tying my shoelaces to the ground?

The Flavor of Loss

I stretch out on the bed of grass blades, pushing each blade silently into the ground.  The sun’s blanket seduces me with its warmth.  The eternity of this glowing moment kisses my nose and promises sleep. 

Ashley and I used to come here and throw pebbles across the glass surface of the lake.  Hers would skip across the hazel plane before settling quietly into the mysterious murk; meanwhile, mine would plunge from my fingertips and disrupt the water’s eloquence.  Angry ripples would interrupt the water’s self-possession.

Ashley would meet me with those soft pitying eyes, and I would wish so desperately to be her.  Her golden hair mingling with the wind, and her eyes always seemed capable of hiding so many secrets.  I still feign apathy, but I cannot satiate my craving to know the surreptitious thoughts which tiptoe like shadows through the cracks of hazel in her cobalt iris. 

Ashley used to tell me that I was the other half of her soul.  She claimed that God looked down from Heaven and realized that He had forgotten something when He made her, and so He sent me.  In spite of my entreaties, Ashley never could articulate what attributes God put in me that she did not already possess. 

My dad always said that I contained the confidence which Ashley lacked, but I have never felt assured of myself about anything.  While Ashley would sneak out with different shadowy figures each night, I would tear into books- searching for friends  who were incapable of abandoning me to my own thoughts.  Whereas Ashley champions her wounds before the world without allowing anyone to touch them, I pretend that I am invulnerable.  God must have given one of us strength, and maybe if I stand long enough like a tree in the surf, the waves will back off… or I will crumple to the earth and be absorbed into the sandy loam. After all, Goethe did say that “all is born of water, all is sustained by water,” and someday maybe I will return to it.  The question is will I skip calmly across the still surface, or plunge desperately in a belligerent protest of this incomplete soul.

I may never know what happened to the sister I used to know.  Who found the festering wound and ripped it beyond repair?  I thought we would break each other.  In our tight rope walk of a relationship, one of us was bound to jostle the wire, but instead we found strength in our shared position.  However, a third party climbed up to our height, and now I stand alone.  Jesus, where are you? I long so desperately for companionship up here, but no one knows the rope like Ashley.  No one has been able to find me. God, find me.  Hide here with me.

Lullaby in a Troubled World

Sunlight dancing on bare feet

as little blades of grass tickle toes and cling to ankles

This is my ode to the boy in the truck pajamas

My anthem for the girl wishing good-night to the moon

A melody composed to our forgotten innocence

Forts disguised as blankets

Fingers as paintbrushes

Here’s to pirates sailing across the sky

and the wild things that come out at night

I tiptoe beside your bed

and covet your dreams

race cars and flying ships

Sleep tight, little one

I will protect you from the crocodile in the closet

and the bear beneath the bed

forever mine, little one, forever mine