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I am confronted with the reality that
no matter how much joy I can produce in people’s lives. no
matter how much pain I can help ease. No matter how much good
I can do. It all pales in comparison to the amount of
suffering that is around me. That is in me.
I am quite aware of the resigned tone
of the statement. I am also, however, painfully aware of the
feelings that this truth creates in my body.
The helplessness.
The desire to stop.
To not be,
simply because being can be so unbearable and understanding
comes at such a high price.
I do not know peace.
I want to say that I can not know peace
but my faith instructs me differently. So differently, that I
am embarrassed to admit that I do not know peace. I have
turned my comforter into an accuser...
Time is passing as I write this, as you
read this. How much time I have wasted is only outdone by how
much I am wasting right now and will probably waste tomorrow.
“Squandered”, that would have to be my
self titled autobiography. So little with so much.
Everything that I have I have
prostituted for something, anything. Never finding what it is
that I so desperately need.
Always afraid to honestly seek the one
answer that seems to linger through the years.
Halfway is such a terrible destination,
it would be better if I never even started the journey. Too
late for that though, after all here I am.
Empty and frustrated because the truth
that would set me free is too intense to actually accept.
To actually
live
Instead I suffer. |
