An Arrow Into the Night-Sky: Searching

“Call to me and I will answer you, and I will tell you great and mighty things, which you do not know…” – Jeremiah, 33:3

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His divergent mind sought not to believe, for that notion birthed the germ of its own negation: the possibility of being wrong. That wasn’t enough for him, for he loathed the thick bog to which so many have succumbed: the muddied waters that soil the opened mind; those swamps where uncertainty lurks inside; the contaminated oceans that separate “Sinners” from a “Divine.”

Inside such a conflicted mind, even to be convinced was ne’er the goal. Thunder and lightning sure roared within, but they were merely 24 years old. And, he finds, that to be convinced, despite its apparent appeal, is only the acceptance of someone else’s will — their swill. It’s essence is accepting defeat; its virtue is in someone else’s skills. Finally, it demands a faith in something  the heart does not feel; faith in something to which our all-too-human cries could never, in a thousand years, reach nor appeal.

But, Alas! Inside his addled mind of turmoil and calm, of here and there, of his and everyone’s, of all and nothing, there is a clamour — a call — a loud request wrapped in armor. He clamours because he wants to be heard. He seeks the Answer because he wants the next step.

“Faith is no excuse for pusillanimity!” he growls aloud, for he’d chosen sides long ago. Rather, it is a virtue, but which he wants earned, not bought.

So he awaits…Awaits for an Answer to wash down upon him. For a light or a voice to illuminate the darkness. For a sign or a feeling to jolt the nerves. For the First Lightning to strike the night. For the kind of knowing that only he who is, and he who wants, can ever truly come to ignite.

And he remembers, as he vanishes in smoke, that faith is worth all when Earned, but nothing when Bought.

…Lifeless…

There it was! There it is! Dear god, it’s still here!

The pile – that heap – lifeless but sick, there always! It hums and it moans, and it haunts me in my sleep — it taunts me!

Because it knows I loathe and despise its presence; that I abhor its plain and full existence. But it also knows that I could never bring myself to kill it, to maim it — just to even contain it. For I fathered it’s putrid and rotten experience: the layers of grease — and all things immaterial —  that now weigh it down and kill its spirit.

So it slithers….around the entire house it goes leaving a thick mucus behind. Rotten stench. Ugly. But deceitful to fearful eyes. The others are blind. They see it not. They believe it is the mere stench of death.

But I know it. I see it. It follows me around to taunt me. I conquer it every day; slay it every night; drink it every morning; caress it in the evening. It devours me, and I destroy it from inside.  It remains in my skin as it moves around. Then it returns to do it all over again!