I just don’t know anymore. No, that’s not fair. Someone else invented that. I invented reliance.
When I write my poetry, I get an intuitive sense that God is giving me the words sometimes. That’s not to boast, because that means the finished product belongs to him. It’s amazing how suggestive life can be.
Needing someone to share my life with me is getting to be a bore. I thought I could do this alone, and disappointingly, I can (perhaps must?) I’m not really isolated, though. I’m surrounded and maybe even enveloped by ideas. My desire is that I could sift through them quite more efficiently. “We claim spiritual progress, rather than spiritual perfection.” But isn’t a spirit always perfect, by virtue of its divine issue? I think the progress is far more mundane than that.
I’m not really depressed, anxious, or scared. Those are just situations that I’m finding myself within. I’ve got to believe that there’s something good in me, or I might forget what that is. Minds are complicated. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have one. I’ve prayed before for God to revoke my free will so that I could be nothing more than a servant to his will. That may be blasphemous, or contradictory to his divine plan, but sometimes it takes all you got just to stay on the beat.
Ideally, I could feel good and well within myself without recourse to outside influence.
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