I hate things. How is it that we, not that I mean to generalize and sterotypically lump sum us by using the preposition we, but how is it that we, rather I, tend to forget to be grateful? We, oh sorry, I meant to say I...I have this tendancy to forget how grateful that I should be, but life's struggle has a way of imposing itself upon my memory. Things could be worse for me and I know this, we all do, yet being thankful is hard work...who wants to work hard? O.K., so most people have the desire to work hard to be grateful...but the things I've seen in my life...the things that I've been through, horrible things. Things that most people who know me and love me do not know. It can make one tired. Tired of things. And life has a way of hurting all the time, leaving tiny cracks that slowly turn the foundation of hope and faith into ruin. Dramatic? Maybe. Nonetheless, it is my truth. The truth that I carry around with me in my heavy heart. I cannot escape. My burdens will not leave me alone so that I may repair the cracks to have peace, alas. The pain does not subside to allow the light I cannot see shine upon my face with warmth, caressing my brow with its tenderness, offering hope. And yet sometimes, somedays, I can feel that light, just as if a whisper of suggestion races by but is quickly forgotten again. A serene dream you can almost remember, but then fades ever so gently away into nothingness. How is it that I cannot find the strength or courage to let go of these truths, and find all the things in this world for which to be grateful?
1 comment:
Answer me this, answer me that, what is the meaning of life? The song "life is a roller coaster" it's true, life is. There has to be some bend in everyone. Think about those really bad storms with the wind whipping around at 70-80mph or more, what trees break? The old tuff trees that are so hard and stiff, on the other hand the young trees give a little to the wind, and put up less of a force against the wind and survive. You see what I'm saying?
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