Because it’s halted moment between midnight and dawn.
Because it’s roughened edges of blur, hazy knowledge.
Because the whisper “this is not good” is not enough to change reality.
Awareness is not always congruent with reformation.
Sometimes the knowing is the peak verb. The rest may take time to convalesce.
I frustrate self with self.
I think too much in many.
It isn’t about me.
Most days it isn’t.
Most days I unreservedly long it not to be.
Then the paradox of diminish and pridefulness collide into unintelligible particles.
Jigsaw pieces without corners to contain.
out of place in the sturdy. The crispness declaring the health, while one feeble tatter clings barely to belong.
Yet I am part of a whole. Without deny. I am told. Shown. Reminded.
Still….times stream where the only awareness without daze is this feels wrong – why unsettled, O my soul?
When you pass through deep waters, I will be with you;
your troubles will not overwhelm you.
When you pass through fire, you will not be burned;
the hard trials that come will not hurt you.
Good is real.
Present ever-surging struggle to be seen. Good in all things. Good in unknown.
Good in absence. Good in want. Good in measure of every proportion.
That is the clear in the incomprehensible.
So the Author keeps writing to me.
Stirring the passion – the inability to keep still from the grasping.
So I cling. Crumpled though I may be amidst cleaner, stronger companions.
Because sometimes grasping on is the only strength left.