The mind, the mind is powerful.
They are drunk with the power their own narratives afford them. And heaving, man vomits his unquenchable desires, uncertain love, and unbridled fear upon the world.
To wake is to be borne again into time. Before, I dreamed a thousand dreams of potential and anguish. Then I awoke, and one path stretched out obligingly before me. Is the path altered, maintained, manicured while I sleep. A thousand years pass in the searching of that time. I’ve already lived lives far more boring than this.
An eternal unease drifts by and remembers its origin within. Something other shimmers throughout, ebbing and flowing with tides of time.
Heat is collecting, pooling itself in the stillness between those far off gusts of wind. And the sun marches on.
This moment will pass through and continue on. It will fade away from the surface of my perceptions. But deeper still, it will thrive and join the many other divine moments of glory in their eternal song to the Creator. Lord, hasten the day when the surface of my perceptions will be nothing but these moments of divine glory.