• 9/6/2025: Cockatiels

• 8/22/2025: On Finding Your Place

• 8/4/2025: The Great Blue Heron

8/4/2025The Great Blue Heron

Better one handful with tranquillity than two handfuls with toil and chasing after the wind.

I am becoming increasingly bewitched by a Great Blue Heron.


The first time I saw it was near Aster Cafe. I was out looking for good spots to take photos for my first official client, my friend Daniella. I had walked from the street near the cafe and started towards the river, making my way down a well tread but unpaved trail. I was actually on a FaceTime call with her as I walked, scoping the area and showing her places I thought would look good. The buildings of the city were quickly replaced by vegetation. Before long, I had reached a small wooden bridge, arching over a humble stream. The water flowed from a hill on the right of the bridge, spilling down it's steep slope before running down under the bridge and further down the stream. I was watching this miniature waterfall, camera in hand, when suddenly, a large movement from the top of the slope caught my attention. In a panic I realized the figure was headed towards me, gliding through the air at an alarming speed for it's size. As I looked closer I realized it was a bird.


The Great Blue Heron is the largest North American heron. They have a top speed at around 35mph. They eat mainly fish, but also small mammals and reptiles. They hunt for fish by standing in the water, then suddenly leaning forward and spearing it with their beaks. It's remarkable to watch. In terms of symbolism, they are said to represent stillness and patience in the way that they hunt. They also symbolize isolation and self reliance. Some view them as messengers of God.As the heron flew directly at my face, none of this went through my head. Fortunately, it's path diverted from my thankful head, instead following the slope of the stream down the hill. I ran to the other side of the bridge as it crossed under, watching it's wide wings carry it away.After watching in awe for a moment, I realized I had over $1000 dollars of camera equipment in my hands, a majestic bird flying directly in front of me, and not one photo to show for it. I frantically raised my camera and began to snap photos, but I was far too slow. By the time the first click, the bird was already too far for a good photo. I've included photos of what I was able to capture.From left to right: The small wooden bridge, the stream the heron flew down, and the same image zoomed in to show the Heron.

As I watched the Heron coast away I didn't move. It was a legitimately beautiful moment. Something about the way the Heron rose, sun shining behind it as it gently dipped under the bridge and down the stream touched me. This was to the confusion of my friend Daniella, who was still on the call, and could see nothing but the sky as I had put my phone down during the event. I tried to explain what had just happened, but nothing I could say would explain why it was so beautiful. In fact if you're reading this (and let's face it, no one probably is!) you don't get it either. I can describe it, but not nearly well enough. The moment was for me, and me alone. I liked that. I wanted more.

A few weeks later, my friends and I were playing tennis at a court in Burnsville, about a 30 minute drive from Minneapolis. There were about 10 of us, and we were having a good time. A side note here: I was tearing up the court. It was awful. It was a massacre. They put my 13 year old cousin on my team and it still wasn't close. I begged them to try a 3v1, but the potential shame of suffering such a humiliating defeat kept them from even attempting the match.


Racket skill aside, after a bit of playing I looked up to see what colors the setting sun was painting the sky. In the midst of the burning reds and oranges, I saw it. Another heron, flying high above the tennis court. I could tell it was a heron because as it flew its long neck curled in a sort of s shape allowing it's head to rest on top of it. It circled the area before leaving. I have seen heron a few more times, maybe four in total. Each time I never manage to get a decent photo.


I think it's funny. I went out chasing a good picture spot for my friend, and happened across something beautiful. Then, when I start chasing that thing, I start to see it everywhere, and each time it's just out of reach of my camera. It's like it's meant for me to enjoy, but not mine to capture. It's endlessly frustrating, but there's something wonderful about it. Part of me enjoys the mysticism of it all. Like something is keeping me from getting a good picture of one till the time is right, but it still wants to make it's presence in my life known. I like to think it's the same Heron, just following me around, sent to teach me some sort of lesson. Maybe I won't be able to get a good photo of one till I learn it, and then maybe in that very moment I'll get the perfect photograph, sell it for millions, and start my own Heron sanctuary. Whatever that lesson is I haven't gotten it yet, but I have got the address to a Heron roostery I found online, and I intend to get my picture even if it means tracking them down to their home.

See you soon Mr. Heron!


With Love,Dawit Gebremaryam

• Poems

8/22/2025On Finding Your Place

But now God has placed the members, each one of them, in the body, just as He desired

I think God is trying to teach me about the value of community.


I've never been good at building deep connections with people past a certain point. This is most unfortunate because that is a big part of what it means to be a Christian. It is true that God is interested in individual believers and will happily, "forsake the ninety nine to rescue the one", but it's also true that God does not intend on stopping there. Upon rescuing the "one", wherever he might be, won't God then turn around and bring him back to the flock? After all, God is shepherding the whole flock, not just a few sheep in it. Didn't He only leave so that He could have all His sheep back together?


Scripture is clear that God's intention for mankind is a unified end product. He wants a church and a bride, not a harem. And He wants His bride "together" in a sense. He doesn't want his bride's torso in one spot, and it's limbs in another. This isn't to speak on physical location of the church, rather the "togetherness" of it. He doesn't want an army of isolated Christians, each doing their own thing alone. He wants a cohesive organism. Not parts of a cell, but the entire thing operating together for the good of the whole.That's why in 1 Corinthians 12 the church (the entire collection of believers who belong to God, not a specific church building) is described as an organism. "There is one body, but it has many parts. But all its many parts make up one body. It is the same with Christ.". The chapter is amazing in it's detail on how each part is needed, each part serves a purpose, and cannot remove itself from the body. It also emphasizes that parts of the body cannot say to other parts that they are unneeded, and that it's the weaker parts that deserve the most honor. Your skin is most prominent, and is scratched and bumped and bruised every day. Your eye is far weaker than your skin, and it's treated with far more care.A hand that suddenly decides it needs nothing to do with the body does a disservice to it. Now the body is missing a hand, and it is far less capable. The hand itself is even worse off, since now it cannot move like it did, and it lacks its senses the rest of the body provided. Even if it agrees with the body on it's goal, it's lack of unity might cause it to get in the way. An artist can't paint with a hand 50 feet away from him.I find a few reasons that contribute to why I don't invest in community as much as I should. The first is a sort of fear and self doubt. Part of me feels that I offer no service to the body, and that I may even be dead weight to it. I figure the body got on find before I was around, and that it looks happy without me. I feel like in Minnesota especially, people tend to stick to their groups, and it can be hard to find a friend group after they have already been established. However, God's word is clear. The body needs all it's parts. Even if the hands and legs and all the viscera agreed that they didn't like the eyes, the eyes are still part of the body, and they are still needed. The head has already decided, so even if the rest of the body disagrees, what can they do but obey? In addition, I think in general it's very easy for me to assume the worst rather than the best. I am much more willing to believe that I am disliked by someone than that they really enjoy my being there. Sometimes it's best to ignore my head and play dumb, entering with a sort of childlike naivety, that everyone wants to play and be your friend. If they truly dislike you, let them prove it!I think the second thing that gets in the way is actually the exact opposite sentiment. It's a sort of prideful judgment that is actually strengthened by the feeling I just discussed. I've read scripture well enough to understand some of the principles and stories. I know some verses by memory. Sometimes I allow my knowledge to inflate my ego, and when others know less, I judge them for it. Or when others do something that isn't my tradition, it's much more comfortable for me to assume they are wrong for not conforming to my practice of faith and worship than it is to confront the notion that they could be just as "correct" as I am. It feels safer to condemn them as too emotional, not emotional enough, not intellectual, unstudied, or too legalistic. A plethora of labels at my disposal to ensure not a bit of self reflection and community gets through to me. Essentially, it's looking at the differences between me and a group of believers, and using those differences as a reason that I wouldn't be able to get along with those people, disqualifying them as well as myself before they even get a chance to respond. It's like turning in a test without writing anything on it because you thought you would fail, and trying to salvage some bit of control by not trying.This is such a silly idea as well. If the nose approached the face and looked at it and thought "Ah well look how different the eyes and mouth look, obviously I don't belong here", we wouldn't have proper faces. It's much more likely that God brought me to these groups exactly because they don't have anyone like me, and that I could provide some perspective, benefit, or strength. Of course, how much more benefit would I receive from the group? The nose provides one sense, and through the body it gains access to four more doesn't it? This is a wonderful deal for the nose!In addition, it's just true that being away from the body makes us much more susceptible to the current of sin. I'm one of the most stubborn people I know, but even I feel how being away from Christian community weakens my faith. It's simply a fact that being around Christian community strengthens your faith. You have good counsel, support, prayers, and fun. It's often hard for me to relax with people who don't know God, because their idea of relaxing tends to be different from mine. Even in the best of my friends who don't drink or smoke, it continues to feel like somethings missing. It's not enough to know someone else or to be known. I need to be loved with the kind of love that only God can provide. In His sovereignty and according to His design, He's made it so that His love is reflected by His people, who like mirrors shine that light on each other, and then on others. God's love can move powerfully through His people, and I suspect a reason He chooses to work in this way is precisely to bring His people closer together. There is a great power in the unity of God's people to accomplish His purposes. It's also nice to hand out with friends whom you love, and who can love you the right way.All that to say, it's very important. A Christian away from the church is like a hand away from the body, or a single blade of grass. It just ain't meant to be like that. God has actually been so faithful to me and blessed me with invitations and inclusion that I want to take advantage of this year. Of course I'm terribly nervous, but I have it on good authority it'll be for my good as well as His purpose and glory.So here goes nothing!With Love,
Dawit Gebremaryam

9/6/2025Cockatiels

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?

When I was a younger, probably around 11, I had two cockatiels. Cockatiels are these small birds with white or gray bodies, and bright yellow heads. An orange circle dots both of their cheeks, and atop their heads are these little mohawk like feathers that flip up and down. Here's a picture of me and one of my cockatiels, Rocky.

Rocky and I (Ignore my bulbous head. I had yet to discover the beauty of curly hair.)

Rocky was an absolute brat. He would bite my fingers constantly, even sometimes biting the very fingers he was perched on. He would angrily bare his beak at me when I changed his water or food, as if he didn't know what I was doing. He would shriek incessantly, a shrill sound different than his singing.

But I loved Rocky. It was just my mom and I in the house and she worked often. It was nice to have another being in the house when I got home from school. Sometimes I would talk to him about important matters, because he gave good advice. We continued with our funny little family until we gained another feathered member. The second cockatiels name was Yogi, and he was a much older bird. He had a calmer temperament, but unlike Rocky he would never let me hold him. However his song was much sweeter, and he was a gentler bird. I loved Yogi too.

One morning, after my mom had left for work, I went downstairs to make breakfast. When I looked at the cage, Yogi was splayed out on the bottom of it, wings spread at an awkward angle. His age had caught up to him, and he had passed. I remember being stunned. The house felt like it had always had the four of us in it, and now one of us was suddenly gone. I looked at him for a while, then I looked at Rocky, who also seemed scared. I didn't know what to do. So I made breakfast, and stayed in my room until my mom came home. My mom was mad at me about something I had done or left undone, so I didn't talk to her about it, and stayed in my room until the next day. When I went down the next day, Yogi was gone, and Rocky was looking at me from inside of his cage. I really wonder how he felt. Sometimes he and Yogi would fight, pecking at each other and chirping loudly. I wonder if Rocky regretted it now that Yogi was gone. I wonder if he missed him, and if he had ever considered Yogi his friend. I told Rocky I was sorry.


A while later, I can't remember if it was months or years, I was helping my mom bring in the groceries with a friend of mine. I was holding the garage door open for my mom, when my friend went inside the house and accidentally scared Rocky, who at the time was outside of his cage. Rocky took flight in a manner he normally did, flying down a hallway towards the garage door, at which point he would normally turn back and land on his cage. But I was holding the door open. He flew out of the house into the garage, past my mom and into the big blue sky. I was in a panic. I ran outside and watched him soar, landing in a tree about a football fields length away. I ran to follow him, calling to him. My mom followed, bringing his cage with us to try to convince him to come back to us. When we reached the tree, he was sitting on a branch far out of reach. He was shrieking, visibly breathing hard. I knew he was scared. The issue was, he was so scared he couldn't come down to us or his cage. His instincts told him to stay up high and get away, and he did just that. I watched him leave his perch on the tree, flapping his wings and soaring far out of sight. I cried until my mom told me to stop.

Rocky is now certainly dead. He isn't built to survive in Minnesota winters, it was only a matter of time. I'm sure he's in bird heaven with Yogi now.

I truly wish I could see what his life looked like from his liberation to his death. I wonder how long he had, and I wonder how he spent it. I loved having Rocky in the house, but he didn't belong there. He had seen the outside before. Sometimes we put his cage outside so that he could have some sun and experience the outdoors. But in a sudden moment, his world went from our small townhouse to a vast blue sky. I really wonder what it was like to take that first flight. Was he cold? Did he ever calm down? Did part of him feel that this was right? That something he was missing the whole time was finally here? Did he miss us? Did he ever wish he could go back home? Or did he feel that's where he finally was?

I wonder which bird had it better. Yogi lived comfortably with companions, and passed away in a cage much like the one he lived in all his life. He never knew what is was like to fly under a blue sky. I wonder if part of him felt unfulfilled. But Rocky was scared and anxious. He went from being fed and given water to having to find it himself. Did he even know what he was supposed to eat in the wild? He was probably scared and surprised at how big the world was. I wonder if part of him regretted his freedom and wanted to go back to his cage. When I go to heaven I'm going to ask God to show me his last moments. I want to also see what eventually did him in. I hope he had enough time to experience his freedom. I know it must have been incredible to stretch his wings for the first time. When I think about my death, I feel like it will be like Rocky's great flight. I don't think I'll be as scared, because I'll know what's happening and where I'm headed next. But I think it will be like throwing off a great weight and finally soaring away into something vast and wide, that I could spend forever exploring.

I think I'll choose the believe that it was better for Rocky to experience a few days of freedom in exchange for the rest of his life in captivity. I think it was good for him to truly be a bird, even if it cost him everything. I love Rocky, and I hope I'll get to see him again someday.I have lots to tell him.With Love,
Dawit Gebremaryam

• 10/12/2025: Ask

• 9/23/2025: Seen

• 5/27/2025: Monster

• 5/26/2025: Sunrise

• 5/14/2025: Soldier

5/27/2025The Monster In The House

My mom told me that she learned about her inner child. In between sobs, she apologized for all the things she had done to me in the past.She asked me to heal my inner child.I thought that was rather unfair, because I never asked for an inner child, or any sort of child for that matter.“You were the only one that consented to having a child, and now I have to take care of it?”But I thought it was probably good practice, so I thanked her and crept up the stairs to my room. I closed the door behind me softly, knelt to the ground, and shut my eyes.When I imagine my inner child, he’s always crying and trembling.
I can’t get close to him, he shrieks and runs away.
Of course he’s scared, fear is what keeps him alive.After all, he lives with a monster.He gets home from school.
He sneaks into the house and softly, so softly, shuts the door behind him.
He silently slides off his shoes.
He takes slow, gentle steps on the hard wooden floors. Each plank threatens to sing of his arrival.
He hugs the wall, listening for the tell tale signs of the monster. His ears are sharp.
The drone of the fridge, the quiet murmuring of the TV.
Snoring. Safety.He hugs the wall, turning left into the living room. The TV goes quiet, he holds his breath.
Commercials ended, the show is back on.
False alarm.
He times each step up the staircase to the sound of the audience's laugh track.
Softer.
Softer still.
Watch the fifth step, you know this.He climbs the final step and slinks down the hallway, creeping into his room. The final barrier.
He slowly creaks the door open, slips inside, and eases it shut, turning the knob until it clicks gently into the frame.Safe!He sighs, the kind of deep, aching sigh that children don’t know how to make.
He takes out his book and lays on his bed. Blissful escape.
The TV goes quiet.
Footsteps.
Loud, heavy.
Snarling, a low growl.
He listens closely, book still open, eyes glazed over.
Are they coming towards him?
The thudding of feet matched only by the pounding of his heart in his ears.
Too loud. Too loud.
She’s here.The door flies open, slamming against the bookshelf behind it.
Wide eyes, raised hands.
A snarl, the flash of teeth.A yelp. A short cry. A guttural howl. Ripped pages. A whispered plea. Deaf ears.
The crunch of a spine against the corner of a shelf.
A whimpered apology. Boiling blood. Torn skin. A stifled scream.
The gasps of air through a crushed throat.
Flesh on flesh. Discarded hair. Bruised esophagus. Empty eyes.
Heavy footsteps fading away.The sound of silence.Years of this. Rinse and repeat. But over time, the monster grows old. And the boy grows too.More silent.
More clever.
Quicker answers. Better lies.
A stronger, leaner frame.
Sharper teeth. Longer claws.The monster grows weaker still. Its fangs decay and rot. One day, they break right off against the boy, who himself is no longer recognizable. With a triumphant roar he breaks out of the house, no longer a boy but a man.When he finally returns to the house, the old monster is unrecognizable. Muscles atrophied, teeth reduced to gums. The monster makes one request, and asks him to heal his inner child. So, he climbs the stairs, claws leaving gashes in the steps below him. He slinks down the hallway, on silent, padded feet. He opens the door and sits on the floor, his tail coiling around him. Then he closes his eyes and tries again to meet the wide eyed boy, who only looks at him in horror.A better monster than she ever was.

5/14/2025
The Old Soldier

I live with the old soldier inside the shed in the middle of the woods.
The quiet, creaking, dusty old shed in the middle of the woods.
He wakes up early every day, and takes inventory of his arsenal. He counts bullets, guns.
Takes weapons apart and inspects the pieces.
He peers out of the windows, a frenzied look in his eye.
Like a tiger sharpening its fangs, he sharpens his blades incessantly. His eyes are dark and restless, in constant search of danger.
His hands are trained for war, a war that ended a long time ago.
But not for him.
I whisper that the war is over.
I yell it.
I shout.
I scream it until my voice is raw.
He pats me on the head and tells me he'll keep me safe.
I don't know if it's due to his age, or his years spent on a deafening battlefield, but he just can't hear me anymore. Only the sounds of war.
Sometimes, we have guests.
I make sure they hear me.
I tell them to run, run before he sees you. Get away from this place! He only knows one way to deal with outsiders.
Sometimes they listen.
Sometimes they don't.
He welcomes them the only way he knows how.
Afterwards he’s done, he looks at me, relief in his eyes. He kisses my forehead, and tells me he’ll always protect me.
I try to tell him the war is over, but he cannot hear. I tell him he doesn’t need to hurt anyone anymore, that all of his enemies are gone.
But after protecting me for so long, it’s all he knows how to do.I read about a man who opened deaf ears with spit and mud.
God, won’t you do the same for him?
Then, tell him that the war is over.
The war is over!
The war is over.
And he can put his weapons down.

5/26/2025
Sunrise

This morning the sun, that fair shining maiden,
Is giving me the cold shoulder, my heart is heavy laden.
Refusing to acknowledge me, her rays she will not share,
Memories of her warmth make the cold too much to bear.A cliche couple’s quarrel over working too much.
My workjob keeps me indoors, far away from her touch.
Seething, I sit and nd wrestle deep inside with my pride,
As she illuminates the faces of other men outside,No doubt to inspire my jealousy.
I write inspired by jealousy.
She always knew how to bring the ire out of me.
A rise out of me,
please rise for me again, my sunshine.

9/23/2025
To Be Seen

And maybe I will fall in love
But I will never be foolish enough to allow myself to be loved again
Let me be hated but never seen, despised but never known
Because to be seen and known is to be loved
And you can only be destroyed by the people who love youSo I will love you from a hundred thousand miles away
I will reach my hands out of these shadows and hold your weary head
I will give you all of the reassurances I wish I could hear
I will allow you to comfort my facade
I will let you wipe the tears off my mask
I will give you the hollow shape of love
The form but not the substance
You will love the image I create, and I will love youI will see you completely while remaining completely unseenYou will enter my gates, but never my home
You will smell dinner cooking but never taste it
You’ll read the sheet music of my life, but never hear it sungAnd maybe along the way you’ll realize it, as they often do
A mask can only do so much
But it doesn’t need to fool you forever
Just long enoughBecause when that day comes
As it always does
When you betray me with a kiss, and lead me to the cross
When you raise your hammer and bring it down with all your mightThis mask will shatter into a million pieces
And I’ll disappear into the crowd
And you’ll understand then
Exactly why
I never let you see my face

10/12/2025
Sometimes You'd Ask Me

Why I always snuck up behind you without a sound
Why I could always hear others approaching before you could
Why I’d flinch whenever you’d raise your hands too fast
Why I could go so long without eating
Why I often tensed at your touchAnd I never told youThat my silent feet saved me from many bruises
But not enough of them
That hearing it coming meant more time to hide
But never enough
That if you were quick you could turn into the blow
But it would still sting
That a loaf of bread can last a child weeks
But hunger is worse in the night
And that the feeling of hands
That aren’t trying to rip me apart
Is still newButYour footsteps are clumsy and loud
You aren’t quick enough to roll with a punch
You can’t hear people coming until they’re right in front of you
You always ask me to buy you food
And you often wrapped my arms around you as if they were your ownAnd it was in those moments
When I held you close and looked into your eyes
Your perfectly unbroken, innocent eyes
That I realized no matter what words I used
You would never be able to understand...And I thank God for that