This is a happy day.

The sky was blue and now it's gray.

Oh, happy day.

The sun just came out and I have nothing simple to say.

I want a big yard and a border collie

without care.

What is care? What is worry?

It's the waiting.

Torn between crying for that other country but

blurring out so many simple beauties in this Creation.

I could make a list of the life I believe I "would" be living.

But know it's missing key elements.

Is this waiting (it's tangible, like thick clay) a biological signal I was designed for company?

Like rehearsing the Gospel

I forget to think about who I am--not the clay I'm stuck in.

The heart yearns for all things made right.

My soul knows I could be better than this.

If I could just forget.

(what?)

the waiting.

no, really, forget what?

Worry. Care.

I want to be as carefree as I was before--

before--

I was born.

Did our souls exist before bonded to a body?

I can't help but wonder, so deeply etched the conviction that I came from somewhere better.

What a tragedy it would be if angels in perfect obedience took on human nature and fell all the way.

I'd focus totally on music.

Or, or, or.

Self consciousness is a perpetual mirror burned on your eyelids.

If I could just know. If I could just know it's true.

If I could know that book was addressed to me.

If I could stop always being skeptical of the traditions.

Maybe I'm just waiting to get to the last page.

like a junkie looking for that last, that ultimate dose, the one that finally satisfies.

Cerebrally I know better.

Maybe I'll consider some graves of monsters I've beat in Christ's strength.