My Words

 I sit here staring at the blinking cursor trying to place the words in my head into some cohesive order. Flashes of memory skirt across and I’m left with traces only as I seek to pick up the disconnected pieces. The words are like tiny anarchists, they seek not to destroy but to disrupt, mayhem is their motto and in my head they move swiftly. Various dreams still haunt me, dreams of disconnection, of being lost in the midst of everything. The words are there but refuse to be tamed instead they mark out their time, laying in wait until their prey is tired, then they pounce.  “Dear God”, at least this is what I hear at this moment, a letter, a chance to write, to seek a way to tame the words. I give thanks for the gift of free will while at the same time I curse its availability. Like Janus, it is a dual face, that looks back into my not so perfect past yet looks forward into an, as yet unknown, future. Stumbling along the path where there are many twists and turns, facing crossroads where life and faith intersect and where the choices are not clear. Grasping for answers, hearing little and yet moving forward in an endless journey where the destination is but a shadow on the horizon. 

 Last night, laying there listening to my heart beating, imagining myself as a blood cell being pushed along the pulsating tide, much like life. The tide is at once strong and at other times tame, I drift along the currents unable to reach the peacefulness of the meadows that lie just beyond the trees. These words come out, I see them forming along on the page like watching a flock of geese fly overhead. Streaming along, seemingly in order but going simply nowhere and yet I write them down. There is an insanity to all of this, a crazed part of the mind that cannot rest as ideas bounce around like ping pong balls let loose on a gym floor. 

 In my deepest self I wonder what all of this means. Is it a faith wavering in the midst of the worlds insanity, or is it a faith so strong that it seeks to find its voice in the maelstrom of the storm. Maybe it’s time for confession, a confession not so much of sin but a confession of my own deepest fears. I sit here on the precipice of transition, my future lies out there, my heart remains here. The words fight for preeminence all seeking to be heard, all seeking their own way, my hope is to tame them, bring order into the chaos and life onto the blank page. 

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