-predictably unpredictable-: I dug my nose on a friday morning and it smelt like tomatoes.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

I dug my nose on a friday morning and it smelt like tomatoes.

I just stepped out of a warm shower. The cozy afterfeelings paired with the scent of my rose milk shower gel aside; I became aware that somehow- along the way; the desire of "finding myself" has slowly ebbed away as I have "yielded" to the drudgery of life.

Everything that "I" have realized, seems to be less important now. The restless pursuit for epiphany and purpose has slowly become diffused by the clock that's ticking away. "I'm not going to be here for long," I tell myself. Life does not begin when I'm happy, or I have a sense of achievement, or when I have what I have or what I want or what I need. It does not begin from purpose. It just is. Like how time, is.

Reality and realization, are mutually exclusive. Just like how time and purpose is. It happens or exists whether we're happy or more well informed. But of course most of us are having a problem with it.

Maybe thats why being twentysomething; we make a big deal of ourselves. We want to be sure about what we're going to do with the rest of our lives, and we want to be sure of what to believe in. Sure about life partners, sure about what to study, sure about our careers. And we're only like that because we believe we have the luxury of time to do so.
But everything in life suddenly becomes so embracable when we don't have the time to be debatable.

I'm alittle bit lost right now. To explain myself, and to explain religion. Might be a really pathetic excuse for me to say this so that I can be evasive towards apolegetics, but maybe because of the lack of knowledge thats all I can be. Maybe if I could explain 6 billion people, I could explain God. But I can't even explain myself, whatmore the God that created everyone in His own image.

xing
bip
wek
ling.
yawn.

And even harder to believe, is a loving God.
I'm staring at a milky patch on the parquet floor in my room, thanks to the hingus I splattered on a weepy day. Possibly it came from a journey of me finding it hard to understand what being loved meant when things aren't going the way it should. Nobody's foreign to how that feels; irregardless of what caused that. But only a handful would decide that being loved by God is enough; and that love would overrule all other unreceived loves.

God's-love-is-Enough.

That's hard to believe. That means whatever that is rightfully ours, whatever that is needed, whatever that should have been, will be taken care by that 1 love that would put every other loves in place. Even if you're too ugly to be loved, or that you've done everything you can to deserve love and not getting it; at the end of the day: not being loved... its ok.

I think its not a question of esteem, or a question of masochism. You can't be a footrug or a skeptic to believe in such. And neither can I bring myself to believe it somedays. But everytime something pushes us to have to think of that as the last option... something dies. and that thing is spelt:
M-E.

posted by picibel @ 12:22 AM

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