My mind is buried in Pascal's Pensées and a thick stack of readings on Fascism, my heart is graffitied with Poison & Wine lyrics and the dark ink of bad News, my hand is aching to be held, my head is gravitating toward my pillow...and my whole being is longing to be living abroad again.
Mind, heart, and head are heavy.
Hand and being are reaching, reaching.
Love and death and happiness and purpose and suffering and God...I try to comprehend them then shrink back and want to stay in bed and not get up for a long time.
The intentionality with which I wish to conduct all the nuances of my thoughts, my intentions, my prayers, and my actions has been replaced by tumbleweeds of weariness and distractions and apathy and irritation.
Everything and nothing is under our control.
Everything and nothing is as God intended it to be.
May every soul disquieted and discomforted turn in the right direction, to the right person...
No matter how buried or graffitied or aching or weighted or filled with longing.
Mind, heart, and head are heavy.
Hand and being are reaching, reaching.
Love and death and happiness and purpose and suffering and God...I try to comprehend them then shrink back and want to stay in bed and not get up for a long time.
The intentionality with which I wish to conduct all the nuances of my thoughts, my intentions, my prayers, and my actions has been replaced by tumbleweeds of weariness and distractions and apathy and irritation.
Everything and nothing is under our control.
Everything and nothing is as God intended it to be.
May every soul disquieted and discomforted turn in the right direction, to the right person...
No matter how buried or graffitied or aching or weighted or filled with longing.
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