My ramblings....

Laboured Breathing

The truth of it, in the most comprehensive explanation I can divulge.

There are those among us who are artists. Some building and some rearranging, some growing and picking. Some lift to your eyes and waft the arroma, some merely turn on the light. But all are filled. Their hearts are never dry but pulsing with oceans and grass winds and downpours. Their minds never go a moment without taking the upright and turning it on it's side, or throwing it out the window.

Life is vivid.

There are also those, fewer in number, who are constantly reshaping not only the world around them but that within. And they are not soft, nor kind. They cut and mold and break and bend until they themselves are their self build ideal. But this ideal is not always true. They are the thinkers, mullers, musers, and analyzers who push the envelope and fuel the thoughts of the rest in the world. Honest and self-defined, not urged by anyone but themselves.

To be perfected.

But the truth of it is not the being, but the afterthought. Yes these people exsist and feel deeply...but this deepness dips to lower lows than most have seen or heard of. The pendelum is not balanced. The joy is steady and even, where as the darkness overwhelms and sinks. There are many who, in one day out of one hundred, are never able to draw their head back up again. What of those who are faced with the perpetual morning empty, or the nightly corrupting terror?

I never thought that my world, which at one point not long ago was so vivid and full of growth...could suddenly mean nothing at all to me. Falling into the sky and encapsulated by the surrounding expanse, crushed by the emptiness and black that has chosen me in this moment. How do I climb my way back?

And learning.

Learning to close my mind to all that creeps and seeps into the corners of my mind and hear which have never been indulged in before...and when I dare to look only evil arises then. So never look...this is the hard and ernest. And when I am there it seems the only thing I can do to resist my own emotions course is to cry out to God.

Oh God? I'm afraid I'll forget you now. I've thought about it, leaving everything behind. Am I weak because I am taken? This is just the flipside of your gifts, and I can't control it. God? I am not joyful. I am not happy. Not that I don't try, I just don't have those things. They're nowhere in me to be found. Not in my soul or body or anywhere else I've tried looking. I can't even see them in you sometimes. I've tried looking there too. Am I weak because I'm drowning? What if I can barely move my limbs to keep myself afloat? God? I know your there...but I am at a point of lack. A lack of feeling...love...joy...strength...wisdom...clarity...bravery...

That's the truth sometimes.

posted by Unknown @ 10:29 AM