I recently found myself suddenly trapped in a squall for which I was ill-prepared. All events being just an event and all happenings being just a happening; my fantastic mind was able to twist and delude all happenings and events into mystifying tales of dread. More potent was the ever-present sense of doom that lay just out of sight.
No peace was to be found in sleep, diversion, or even prayer. It was the uncertainty of it all that left my faith moribund, and I had abandoned hope at the first wisp of wind enveloped in the darkened heavens. Yet my spirit, impaled many times over in this passion of life, endures.
I find myself sinking into silence, and any thought of a word or compilation of words seems to fall short of the truth. I cling to the driftwood of devotion and even in this hazy and unsettling storm, I slowly find my faith. Yet I dare not hope. Hope is a delusion of time and space, and reeks of desperation. In faith, I find certainty that all is and will be as it should. This squall, is a necessary adventure on my path. The pain and agony of it all; my screams are for naught and are no match for the ethereal spirits of gale force winds.
I am a necessary ingredient of the universe uttered into being in a time long since passed. In the silent solitude of my consciousness, I find communion with others. This necessary event on my path of being is a well orchestrated concert, an unmatched beauty, an explosion of all things that came before; I am part of this perfect time and space. A well placed consciousness in the midst of other well placed consciousnesses; all perfectly matched to produce this profound squall… this magnificent utterance and reminder of love and of life.
In quiet contemplation, I wonder about the prodigious artist and their distinguished ability to just be.
