stream of thought

berry blisters and chocolate Sunday’s melt like ice mirrors in potholes and pocks. grace writes my name in opaque fluff through periwinkle lace, calls to me in the musty mold of depression and vomit. a circle of unicyclists, people trying to pass through mountains with hand drills, and I’m there, too. my heart’s in my hand, shiny pointy glass shattered in six billion two shards reflecting my somber mask, droplets pool on the pieces stillborn like an ancient swamp, preserved and stuck, stoic and sad. I smell the smell for the first time I’ve breathed. No, that’s a lie. I smell it again, again. Maybe yet to come more. The smell of hospital wafts like chemicated medicated chalk rubber gloves, slick and concealing skin, hiding what lies below every throb. discreet. (or so they think). no hospital gown—that other lie of a dress, like undressed mess bare and raw before the front of accreditation.  the back ties barely glued conceal nothing as I sit square and cold like people do in waiting rooms, rocking themselves like mothers and moving sloths, remember. Just let it go, the fussy, hungry woman before me dictated. inject this in the spiral notebook spine holding you up some days: go to bed and rest, let go and dissect yourself until you come to the beginning of the circle.

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disclosure

I have no idea what I’m doing.

I’m a wife but how do I be married? I have a kid but how do I be a mom? I have a brain but how do I think healthily? I have a heart but what does it beat for? I have hands but for what do I use them? I have feet but where do I go?

I don’t know. I can’t pretend to know

any longer.

I can use internet to know,

but he is just as confused as I am.

I can ask all the people swimming around me,

but how can someone who doesn’t know how to swim save a drowning soul?

We’re all pretending we know.

We like to think we know.

Deep down we all know we don’t know. Look at sad. Look at worry. Look at mad and fear and reaching for the remote. the cigarette. the bottle. the pill. the credit card. the pennies. the other person.

Look at

the existence of bombs.

broken hearts.

spilled blood.

Fumbling my way through is not my avenue.

There’s this book called the Bible. the more I know it’s Author and I become what He says, the more I stop stumbling.

There’s this thing, this thing that I never knew existed, before I met Him. It’s called peace. And it’s awesome. Being at peace with God is the best. Living His way by His grace, there’s nothing like it on all the earth. No amount of money, makeup, work, being “good” can compare or purchase this happy, this joy. This joy is a gift. Available to all.

receive by faith.

I have no idea what I’m doing. but God knows exactly what He’s doing.

the only thing I know

is Him.

and I’m okay. ❤