Saturday, March 14, 2015

I thought about how we could die any day, any minute, and how nothing on this earth but the souls it nurtures will matter, and that's always a sobering thought. I looked over an old draft for that novel I want to write but can't seem to piece any of it together again. And I thought. I always think. I think too much. We all have secrets, right? Is it ok to have secrets? Probably not, because they eat you alive. I know. But they happen. 

Life is like that, a lot... pieces that don't make sense. And deep, scary feelings that make you uncertain of there source or reliability or legitimacy.  Feelings that breed secrets. We hide inside ourselves, mixing things, like the galaxy mixes stars, in our middles that can sit there and sprout, take root, and keep on growing until we have enough clarity to either weed or prune them.

It's nice to not be sad. To just be still, and accept what you can't change, even though it can be one of the most frustrating things known to man. Can it be possible to be in pain, yet be healing, at the same time?

I turned 22 last week. I don't feel any different. Maybe I should. Maybe I will in six months because maybe I'll be somewhere I never thought I could be. And again, I'll find myself in gaping amazement at the sly, subtle ways God pieces together the broken and the senseless pieces. 

A cage may be golden, but it is still a cage. Trust me, and always remember that.