[from this week's PostSecret]what i wouldn't give for some certainty.
it is hard to come to terms with the fact that some things are simply not meant to be known. and yet knowledge is what makes me feel comfortable and in control. perhaps i am not meant to feel either of these things right now. if there is a purpose in all of it, i am willing to go through the discomfort and the chaos, but the problem is, i want to know if / what the purpose is, but that knowledge must be thrown out with the rest if i am truly to let go.
letting go . . . one of my battles. like an old arch enemy you're forever fighting, but each of you refuses to die, because without the other, you can't exist. you must both live to fulfill the whole. your nemesis is the one you need. the thought makes me want to collapse.
it's time to listen to Tori Amos' The Beekeeper.
when i come to terms
when i come to terms
to terms with this
when i come to terms with this . . .
2 comments:
I feel so often that each and every word you write lately harkens so unto my soul.
This is incredibly rare for me to find such kindred sameness (I usually find opposites in friendships and do love it, but it's nice to feel same sometimes).
How do we take our lives, thoughts, breaths, loves so seriousyl and intentionaly and also keep from wanting to control their effects on us? Tell me, sister same, intense night-owl writer-friend, tell me how we are to be intentinal AND let go when it's time?
It feels like it's never time
"how do we take our lives, thoughts, breaths, loves so seriously and intentionally and also keep from wanting to control their effects on us?"
i think this is the question that started the internal war, and i think the war itself is meant to eventually yield an answer. i suppose that after my lifespan of twentysomething years, it's finally dawning on me that perhaps an answer is never found? perhaps the battle is what's meant to go on forever, refining and teaching and shaping?
i hate cliches, especially the "journey is the destination" one, but unfortunately it seems to ring with some truth. i prefer Rilke's way of putting it: we are "living our way into the answers".
"sister same" --- i like it.
and no. it never feels like it's time. that's another one of our problems (or mine, i'm only assuming it's been yours at one time): we're trying so hard to discern when it's time, that we miss it altogether.
here's to blogging in the comment section :)
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