We call them choices; and yet they are laughable in their ignorance. I mean how do we know? I'm confident, I am secure, I am honest in my awareness of what I am willing and able to give in this season of my journey; however I am by no means sure, and I would be an idiot to say otherwise. I know the limitation of my logic and the immaturity of my emotions. I am a child. A three years old deciding his future's fate, yet unable to comprehend the depth of such a decision. But we are held to the choices we make and our LIFE progresses accordingly. Is it really that simple? Is it really that cruel? Am I really left to my own devices when dealing with issues of LIFE, LOVE, FAITH, and DESTINY? Seriously?! Getting what I deserve I can deal with (after all I’ve been working on my meta-spiritual karmic resonance for a while now) but getting what I choose . . . that I'm not so comfortable with. I'm selfish, and spoiled, and judgmental, and arrogant, and frustrated, and tired, and impatient, and insecure, and self hating, and emotionally and intellectually stunted. My choices are more likely than not to lead to disaster than joy; and yet still I choose. I constantly choose who, what, when, why, and to what degree. I deny men an opportunity because they don’t say my name with the inflections that I have come to expect, and I tell friends that they are that no longer because they thought that shade of green was blue. I want to know if I chose my choices right. If I am better off without, or if I have brought about my own tragedy. Will I be thirty-five and useless; forty-one and alone; fifty-three and pathetic; or sixty-seven and feeble, with no memory of a long term? I refuse. I will not be that guy. But how do I change the course that I have set when I do not know what I am doing wrong? Or worse than that . . . when I think my choices are true? How do I step outside myself and do what’s best for me, when it’s my soul that’s telling me what to do? It’s silly really . . . that he would put something as preciouse as my LIFE in my hands, when I hardly know the meaning of the word.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The Meaning of LIFE
We call them choices; and yet they are laughable in their ignorance. I mean how do we know? I'm confident, I am secure, I am honest in my awareness of what I am willing and able to give in this season of my journey; however I am by no means sure, and I would be an idiot to say otherwise. I know the limitation of my logic and the immaturity of my emotions. I am a child. A three years old deciding his future's fate, yet unable to comprehend the depth of such a decision. But we are held to the choices we make and our LIFE progresses accordingly. Is it really that simple? Is it really that cruel? Am I really left to my own devices when dealing with issues of LIFE, LOVE, FAITH, and DESTINY? Seriously?! Getting what I deserve I can deal with (after all I’ve been working on my meta-spiritual karmic resonance for a while now) but getting what I choose . . . that I'm not so comfortable with. I'm selfish, and spoiled, and judgmental, and arrogant, and frustrated, and tired, and impatient, and insecure, and self hating, and emotionally and intellectually stunted. My choices are more likely than not to lead to disaster than joy; and yet still I choose. I constantly choose who, what, when, why, and to what degree. I deny men an opportunity because they don’t say my name with the inflections that I have come to expect, and I tell friends that they are that no longer because they thought that shade of green was blue. I want to know if I chose my choices right. If I am better off without, or if I have brought about my own tragedy. Will I be thirty-five and useless; forty-one and alone; fifty-three and pathetic; or sixty-seven and feeble, with no memory of a long term? I refuse. I will not be that guy. But how do I change the course that I have set when I do not know what I am doing wrong? Or worse than that . . . when I think my choices are true? How do I step outside myself and do what’s best for me, when it’s my soul that’s telling me what to do? It’s silly really . . . that he would put something as preciouse as my LIFE in my hands, when I hardly know the meaning of the word.
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