I am an unstoppable storm of creative ingenuity. I love to walk along the confines of my mind and pull pieces of myself out to show to the world.
I am alive. Sometimes I forget that. I forget to dig deep and keep becoming. I get lost in repetition and tradition, hours after hours of folding laundry and making small noises in the wake of a passing storm, like my little voice does not matter.
It's not like anyone reminds me that it does matter. Every day the news keeps on screaming and scheming and Hollywood's lost in diets and fashion, to money hungry to be still and listen. Thus, in many ways I'm alone, in a bubble buffeted by thin images dreaming my own dreams where maybe I'll eventually like myself. For myself.
Usually I fall back on what I do know. I'm me and nobody else, and although others impact my story I'm the only one writing it. Even if I've never felt that fascinating fear of the "one that grew too old" like a cold warrior done with play locked forever behind expectations and distrust; I'm still here and kicking, moving, and sometimes focusing on this is enough. But when it's not the world crumbles and leaves me just old and gone, like a thing once amused but now used up.
I want to be free in a way I've never been before.
With Christ I'm more alive then I ever was, knowing myself and dreaming of creating all the plans He has for me. I'm learning more and more every day that a moment without Him is a moment I don't want. Ever. But still the lies breed on in this world we've created with first world problems where everyone has learned to put themselves first and promote their own agenda. If you don't agree you might be hated, but to change would be to compromise your own reflections.
And I still wonder why all the hurt and pain. Why all the lies and self-preservation? What is it all worth in the end, this drive to be better, stronger and higher? It's all empty. Better to be still and listen. Sure at the top you can see the farthest, but at what cost?
The best life is one that has loved others, I think. But those are just my small words in all the noise. Not to be remembered, because you've got Gucci shoes on your mind and perhaps a shopping spree to buy more pieces of fabric to clothe your aging body. Perhaps a different print will disguise you enough, take away your humanity and replace it with lust. Because everyone needs more things.
The need for more cripples me, it leave me thirsty and hungry--always reaching beyond my grasp to take from others like a dragon with his horde of plunder. I need it, it's mine, to add to my box I call a home that is empty of life but full of all these plastic things that for a time bring me small comfort if only I give in. They say "you won't suffer here; among your electronic pleasures all your troubles will disappear" So I listen and exchange money for a lie and friendship for a black box that shines.
If you're reaching for the top at the envy of all, think about your motives. You might want to stop. It matters not one jot or tittle how the world perceives you--that can turn on a dime. It matters most what you do. So breathe and relax, find your cornerstone and build your foundations. But not for yourself. And not with height in mind.
Instead build with curiosity. Build with love towards the clay in your hands and let your feet wander without regard to falling--be safe, but don't live in terror of breaking a few expectations. Know that you are free to dream and build. Even if naught can be seen of your toil with the naked eye.
After all maybe one day at 25 you'll stop and learn that sometimes the building can change the world. But often, it's the process that has changed the builder. And that is more important.