I do not understand the inner workings of my heart, although I am always trying, trying, trying. My bedroom looks like the Uni-bomber headquarters for psychology, prayer, and extreme coping. There are books, handwritten lists, my laptop, crystals, Kleenex, and good vibes. I am not a good candidate for having my heart thrown away. Figured that shit out. I must know why, how, when, and I just can't allow that to happen again. It won't.
I have strong days and setbacks (real or perceived). I look toward the east and then think the west may suit me. What a friggin' trip this has been.
Through it all, my faith is here. Not only here, but validated, justified, girded. God reminds me all day that my fragile state is what it's always been. We are all on the brink of getting our ass kicked. We are all a moment away from that phone call, that pain or someone else's, that metaphoric or actual blow to the ribs that takes your breath away. I can enjoy the happy minutes. And I will.
The path to enlightenment is long and interesting. But I am glad to be holding the hand of my God. As Evan and I like to maintain, the injured are dangerous. They know they can survive.
Absolutely.
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