I want to be alive,
and I want the world to be alive.
But most importantly, I want the world to be alive in me.
I can scribble “just keep writing” a million times on a single paper.
In different styles and in various fonts;
With bold intensity, or in long, slender lines.
Each stroke with emotional aggression,
Screaming with passion and concern…
I can keep doing this, over and over,
Until I feel like I’ve finally got the point to never give up.
To feel as if I know exactly what I’m doing, and will never forget the purpose of doing it.
But I’m sure you have your doubts, too,
With whatever passion is in your heart.
Some days it seems like you’re an impostor at your own creativity, talent, or dream,
But you aren’t alone.
but the room is dark.
I search for the light switch,
but I’m stumbling.
I clumsily walk in circles,
with the blind fold of guilt.
It cripples me.
I long for passion,
for the faith that never falters.
And when I’m lacking just the slightest bit…
I feel dirty.
I feel the opposite of what I long to be,
Even when there is only but a smudge of dirt.
Breathing over and renewing parts of me that feel inadequate.
Each gust more present than the one before,
Reminding me I am right where I belong,
That I’m not walking on my own, but surrounded by Love on every angle.
I remember, as I brush the hair that has blown across my face,
That you designed every aspect of me, internally and externally.
You know who I am in this moment,
Who’ve I’ve been before,
And You say “I will be with you always,”
Even into the parts unknown…
And though I try to go to deeper lengths to explain this momentary feeling,
I realize that what has been said is enough.
I am secure.
I am safe.
I am where I belong with the one who designed me.
I am with the One who controls the wind and lets it blow around me,
In hopes that I’d take just a moment to see this mystery.