Some days you wake up and say fuck the world. Some days are worse than others, some days you lie in bed awake wondering where you’re going, what it’s all about, what there is in God’s great plan for you.
If He exists, that is.
You believe He exists, to some degree.
You see Him in the bursts of inspiration that flow from your fingertips, from your overheated head, from your brain festering activity, from your eyelids seeping filth.
Some days you want it all to end, and He won’t let it. You plead, your fingers curled around flimsy cloth-like robes, fluid streaming down your face from every open crevice, pain searing from old war wounds suddenly renewed… those old self-wars that ended without absolution.
And He waits.
So you give Him everything, throwing in body heart and soul on top of prayer, so you give Him everything and then some, hanging on fervently to that vague flicker of hope for salvation, dangling precariously on that precipice of self-doubt, in wait of something better…… anything better than this.
You grow tired of waiting, filth collecting like dust under your fingernails digging into flimsy cloth-like robes atop worn, torn Godlike flesh weary of your humanness, your weakness, your inefficiency, your inferiority.
And He laughs.
And gives you nothing.
And you wait.
For nothing.
And He tells you to trust Him, to release your grip, to have faith, to take a chance, to close your eyes, to blindly leap, to let yourself fall. He tells you to let go.
But you don’t because you can’t and so you cling desperately to these cloth-like God-like robes, fingers accumulating filth, the same filth seeping from your eyes into your overheated brain breeding festering activity, and so you cling desperately murmuring prayers that won’t be answered because you don’t because you won’t because you can’t let go.
And He laughs, and gives you nothing, and you wait, for nothing, and He gives you nothing.
And you wait.
