I sit in the same spot where night turns into day and day into night as they slip under my windowsill. Awaiting God, time, the universe, all one and the same. I wait for what I’m not capable of doing on my own, dreading a handout here and there, the land of pity.
It’s neither a save haven nor a burial place as there too the voices are still loud and clear. There are expectations, responsibilities that don’t disappear just because God follows a different timeline. I seep into unknowing. I can’t get lost there but maybe I’d find more of me. Bit by bit, piece by piece I try to reclaim a self that’s yielding to uncertainty.
What I could do if I could! How I build and uphold! If nothing else, this message echoes all about: powerlessness is its own suffering. When you’ve run out of viable options that gave you a sense of control, over you, your circumstances, your destiny, who are you then? There’s no one to blame, anger solves not a thing and regret is a lack of accountability of your choices in response to unexpected, painful circumstances. Never that when integrity is the least and last compass you’re trying to hold on to.
Who are you when you can’t control your future? Dependent. You’re nothing but a dependent of serendipity, God, karma, the universe, energy, whatever it is you accept that makes the wheel go ’round and ’round.
For someone who lives by well crafted goals, plans, losing control is a tragedy. There’s something about faith best not forgotten. You don’t belong to you but the one who’s in control. Whatever the consequence and outcome, no matter how excruciating they may be or joyful they sometimes can be, you really can’t take the credit. Your will is adaptable to happenstance. Outside of consequence, circumstance, the will is worth nary a thing.