06 14 2005 : 2.02
Too much wind over this cold ocean, not enough sunlight striking the high waves crashing on the bleached beachfront. Too much wind blowing around the hollowed out buildings. Too many words breaking like waves on the ears -- too much silence, too much weight, too much.
The little railing your leaning on isn't going to hold. The cliff you're standing on isn't going to stay. The rocks your climbing are going to fall.
So, this is what true confession feels like, is it? This is what it feels like to have the world to carry, to have the weights removed, to have that old rugged cross lifted. This is what life with direction and purpose and aim feels like, is it?
This rat race of getting beyond and getting ahead and leaving behind anything that matters -- so, this is life? That's it, huh? That's all we get out of it.
A little snippet of paradise in some remote location it'll cost you half your annual income to get to. A random rainbow in the middle of some old English parish somewhere. And after all the glory, all the warmth, all the dansing you can do -- there's the cold. The shards that will leave you bleeding like never before. The brokenness that will break you to pieces. The emptiness that will consume you, if you allow it way into your soul.
But if this is confession - you had better know. What do you think I'm lost for? Constantly, I doubt myself, make myself surrender my own body - my own life to the flames. Constantly, sick controls make ties in my own mind -- and constantly, they are tugged and tugged and tugged.
No one has the right to tug. No right to any ownership here. No right to -- no right to change things anymore. That was where it should have stopped. But it didn't, and it doesn't, and to this day the pain still comes back to me. The echoes of the scars and the wounds both you and I know were made.
...I should have been alseep. I should be sleeping now. But these fears, these terrors of what tomorrow will force before me next keep me awake. Nightmares, living like the daylight, keep me awake. Doubt and uncertainty and the still desire to give up and let death once again lead keep me awake.
So this is selfishness.
Love is not selfish. It does not seek itself. It does not covet what it cannot have. It does not seek destruction and pain over life. Love does not corrupt or ensnare or trap. Love does not hold like chains down to the ground the wounded bird. Love does not cage in the spirit of those begging to be free. Love does not push and break and bear thorns that cause love to bleed. It is not any of those things.
Love is, if anything in this world, both patient and kind. Most of us are neither.
-RK
The little railing your leaning on isn't going to hold. The cliff you're standing on isn't going to stay. The rocks your climbing are going to fall.
So, this is what true confession feels like, is it? This is what it feels like to have the world to carry, to have the weights removed, to have that old rugged cross lifted. This is what life with direction and purpose and aim feels like, is it?
This rat race of getting beyond and getting ahead and leaving behind anything that matters -- so, this is life? That's it, huh? That's all we get out of it.
A little snippet of paradise in some remote location it'll cost you half your annual income to get to. A random rainbow in the middle of some old English parish somewhere. And after all the glory, all the warmth, all the dansing you can do -- there's the cold. The shards that will leave you bleeding like never before. The brokenness that will break you to pieces. The emptiness that will consume you, if you allow it way into your soul.
But if this is confession - you had better know. What do you think I'm lost for? Constantly, I doubt myself, make myself surrender my own body - my own life to the flames. Constantly, sick controls make ties in my own mind -- and constantly, they are tugged and tugged and tugged.
No one has the right to tug. No right to any ownership here. No right to -- no right to change things anymore. That was where it should have stopped. But it didn't, and it doesn't, and to this day the pain still comes back to me. The echoes of the scars and the wounds both you and I know were made.
...I should have been alseep. I should be sleeping now. But these fears, these terrors of what tomorrow will force before me next keep me awake. Nightmares, living like the daylight, keep me awake. Doubt and uncertainty and the still desire to give up and let death once again lead keep me awake.
So this is selfishness.
Love is not selfish. It does not seek itself. It does not covet what it cannot have. It does not seek destruction and pain over life. Love does not corrupt or ensnare or trap. Love does not hold like chains down to the ground the wounded bird. Love does not cage in the spirit of those begging to be free. Love does not push and break and bear thorns that cause love to bleed. It is not any of those things.
Love is, if anything in this world, both patient and kind. Most of us are neither.
-RK
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