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CW: suicide


Today, yesterday, and generally each moment leading up to now has been overwhelmingly strange.

What does the world look like, if we try to be completely real? Completely honest?


I'm bombarded each moment with another perspective - another word - another thought - influence and manipulation around each digital corner - heck, reality isn't real - or is it?

Skies clear after rain. Rain I wished upon myself. Rain I asked for.

Breath of fresh air. A walk outside. Time not alone.

Fixated and focused on what matters* - starve your distractions, feed your focus.

*but, what matters?

Clear cut: LOVE.

All else is vapor - seems something, but when we attempt to hold it...fades instantly. Hevel (meaningless) Vapor. Ecclesiastes.

"We are not those without hope or hoping in hope alone..." ~Propaganda, Made Straight (or was it Beautiful Eulogy, Weight) I can't remember but they go together nicely.

I'm reading through Jeremiah right now and wondering how much I would want to say "no" if God were to ask me to be a prophet. Scold a people? No sir. Tell someone they're wrong? No thanks.

Consolation and desolation roll around in my head like marbles and paint, drafting new pictures I can't possibly control. Thanks Drew Miller.

Enneagram Four. Me. I hated it at first. @justmyenneatype on instagram said Biblical ancestor is the prophets. I love that. I am not alone - many predecessors.

Sweet, sticky individualism means we can get all the credit for success and all the blame for failure. Yet somehow we expect to also be able to ride along the backs to slaves who worked harder and humbler...

"Credit is free is you give it away."

I drag my feet to move forward on Create Freedom as if it's all I'm meant to do. I move forward virtually alone, cheaply, with a dying fire - and yet I know all along it continues to be the thing worth doing (or is it? QUIT QUIT QUIT she screams internally). Battles.

My Entrepreneurship professor explained the process of Creative Problem Solving (CPS) and how, with each step, there is expansion and contraction - and that the process of contraction is called "the groan zone" - switching from divergent thinking to convergent thinking.

Sure feels like giving birth, anyway.

"Now that I have collected this beautiful, inarticulate mess of concept...I must narrow."

"Into the darkness?"

"Well, into a dreadful unknown, at the very least. I'm afraid."

"Rightfully so - so why must you go on?"

Why must I go on? Living, I mean.

(Please withdraw your deeper concerns, I ask this question as a means to sharpen the purposes of living - while I welcome the day I join my Father finally - I will not self-impose that day).

To live is Christ to die is gain.

Has lost its ring, maybe.

But truly it is the way.

I wait in willing emptiness - desolation - to be ultimately filled - consolation - to move yet again.

Or, simply, I move.

And, in moving, let go.

And, in letgo, move on.

Move on. Move along. Movements outside of me begging me to stand entirely into myself.

Would I dare to believe I'm worth something?

Or else, worth nothing, but blessed to contribute some kind of small something while being somewhere for a time (yet that somewhere being entirely not home)?

Sweet displacement knocks us full-swing out of our comfort to realize how truly unable we could be. We are.

Still, action. What am I to be, these next ten minutes? Next ten minutes. Next ten minutes. Awake. Be awake, alert; ready now, child.

Love that person right in front of you before you try to love the whole world.

"Love Me because I'll never fail to love you back and fill you up to keep loving..."

"Okay, Jesus."

So now for basically no reason whatsoever


For love. For the One I know somehow.

I move forward with my face planted in the dirt.

Make me lower, Lord.

And allow me the grace to endure the humiliation.

To stop taking up my reputation as some kind of need.

You. You alone.

I'm tired of anything else.

Help me believe it - live it...


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