Cheryl Reeves Writing – from my shelves of journals
Sharing from my many shelves of journals. The mostly biographical poetry and writing of an Australian Christian woman living with schizoaffective disorder.
I’m feeling a little lost. I’m searching for something in my relationship with God. I always thought it was possible but today I am not sure. It’s so much harder on medication.
At least I can search again. For so long the medication made it impossible to even look. Cas
How do I write words capable of entreating a King? Cas
Day after day I will come to you……
I wish I could find a way to pump your own exquisite Holy Spirit into the very ink upon this page. I would that the Great High Priest, the LORD JESUS CHRIST, would personally offer my words to you oh Great JE-HO’-VAH!
“Awake my love! Awake and hear what the Spirit says! What the Son says! She loves You. She loves You with all her broken humanity. Smell the sweet scent of her adoration.” Cas
I want to write to you. I want to talk to you. Oh, to find the words that entreat! I would sing a new song, sweeter than the spring rain that now falls.
Groom of my heart! Bridegroom of the universal church, please hear my prayers.
I wish my heart and head were instruments and I, with my soul, could play upon them music so powerful and mellow that it would melt yours reservations like hot caramel sauce on cold, creamy ice cream.
I wish I could delight your being, distract and divert your sense of humour so much that eternity would seem but a moment shared by friends.
My LORD, I would build worlds with words and give these worlds to you to amuse you. For your pleasure are all things. Cas
I would find a thousand sisters to stand with me, and we would cry out to you night and day, begging for your return, longing for the Rapture, desperate to please you.
Only one life to offer, I offer it!
“Oh, for a thousand tounges to sing my great redeemers praise.”
I have but one tongue, but with it, I shall offer more love than a thousand could.
The pen is mightier then the sword, I take it like a dagger and plunge it into my own heart thereby to pierce yours, my Father, my brother, my KING, my friend.
“A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.” Romeo & Juliet
I long for the Rapture still, even on medication. There is an aching, longing, yearning, more than just hoping, that the Rapture will come. Still, I carve COME 4 ME on the cave walls of Heaven in the desperate hope, the God of mercy will send His Son Jesus Christ to Rapture all the church and rescue us from the tribulation to come. Cas
Lord, I am lonely. I long to be able to have deep and beautiful conversations with you. Medication makes me numb. I can’t feel you. I miss the existential love affair we used to have. Cas
I find being on medication is like having the inside of me, hollowed out. I wish I could go off medication and have deep and meaningful thoughts and interactions with God, myself and the universe. The inside of me feels so empty.
I am lonely for my imaginary friends. I don’t want to trigger my mental illness. I don’t want to be delusional and end up in the hospital again. But I also hate this emptiness, the silence, the loneliness. All my imaginary friends are gone, my mind palaces are rubble, and the white rabbit is so calm it’s gone to sleep. I haven’t seen Aslan for a year. Cas
Little by Little Cas Reeves 2018 I’d like to make music for you, Lord. If I was a harp how I’d sing, For you my dear Saviour Are so much more, Then even just God, You’re my King. I fell through a hole in the ground To a lost, sad world without words But slowly I rise to my feet, You lift me a little, So gentle and kind. Somehow, I’m less lost And not out of my mind. I write a sentence, a page. Not much, no manic or rage, But perhaps what follows Will be greater than all The push and the drama Before my mind’s fall. Will my words change the world? I don’t know, But the fact that I’m here Goes to show, That little by little, Like a retuned fiddle My words are a song changing me. With my heart fit to burst I come with my thirst And sing, I have a story set free.
The Circus Cas Reeves 2020 I can barely walk the path before me. I stumble, and I fall, and then I crawl. Like pictures torn from a yellow book, My thoughts are dark, but still, I look. My mind is like performance art, A circus troop that’s full of glee Dancing in the big top that’s me. Where’s the clown? I see the acrobats move faster. The girl standing on the horse And the ringmaster. Nobody is selling popcorn anymore. The monkey lost his jacket long ago. And the little girl who’s only three Who thinks that she is me Rides on her Pa’s shoulders once again. If I had everything, I’d still be poor But I’m as rich as I can ever get Because I live life over and over With a little girl who can’t forget.
Cheryl Reeves Writing - from my shelves of journals 