I, Pastor
When I fix my life this time, I’m going to remember how I did it. I’m going to craft a system. A very well-designed web of logic, meaning and enough feels to finally convince me that I don’t suffer the human condition. A disdain feasts off my cells, eating me up leaving nothing but the shell of my soul.
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I talk myself into this lie every morning.
A very sure part of me suggests I’m making all of this up. It convinces me that not every conversation matters. Not every meal matters. It’s just supposed to be this way; while another part of me fights for meaning, wired to sculpt conflicts and birth fairy tale like resolutions. How do they exist with such a balance within me, I do not know. A greater force wakes me up, sometimes choosing to weather me from the times of yesterday, or sometimes sparking a flame to pursue meaning emanating from the world around me. Do I create it? In the time between a blink? There are no answers. I’ve formulated enough to build a vulnerable castle of loosely tied conclusions and watch it be sieged by the storm outside. I say this standing at the epicentre of it. Is it a fool’s endeavour to look within? I may have looked in for too long, perhaps fallen into it, leaving me untethered from reality.
There’s a perfectly designed maze at play that doesn’t let me get through it. I make a step and the maze redesigns it’s way to negate it. The only means to find peace here is to not make the next step. A fear of change makes me recluse to the idea of taking too many steps, disoriented at the idea of not remaining where I started. I have only one shot at this. That’s all I’ve been promised. I wasn’t sure when it started. I’m not sure how it will end either. There is a brief, fleeting cloud of life that I watch float by, I hope to enjoy its shade today.
