I've kept holding off and holding off on this second realization of Easter, mostly because I really had no clue what to say. I've had so many thoughts and thoughts on top of those thoughts that it just felt like a lot of things at once. So I've spent some time today away from people and secluded myself to my journal (the real one I have that feels and smells a lot better and sexier than this one). I don't have a whole lot I want to say about it, except I'm going to put an excerpt here. Maybe some of you feel this way, and if you do… I understand.
…I feel unsettled. To boil down how I am in one word feels like I'm missing something, but it could be absolutely perfect. It's not as if I'm not happy – I can look around me and see all the wonderful things that are happening… I'm finding myself recommitting to my faith and my identity by "throwing thoughts away, destroying bets made" to "Joining thoughts, preparing every part" for You. That's where I am…
I thought of adding more, but the rest seems too personal to just broadcast to a random populous. It's as though it wouldn't do it justice, and really just whore it out because I had an epiphany.
I still feel unsettled, but I feel unsettled with purpose. I feel like I'm made to be at this space at this time – if for anything to take the days as they come and discover them.
I can never deny the fact that if I stare at my life long enough it will get more and more complicated. I can look at my hand right now as it types as see an extension of my body to four fingers and a thumb to multiple hairs and skin cells to mitochondria to DNA to adenine and so on a so forth with complexity beyond my ability to understand. I can't deny the fact, either, that the more complicated it gets, the more beautiful it becomes because it all works together in harmony: adenine connects with thymine, it works in such a way that constructs me. But if I just stared at the cells in my hand, really only tried to focus on one, I'd miss out on writing to you right now, because my hands wouldn't by typing at all, but paralyzed as my 10th grade biology education tries to make sense of all that's going on.
I feel like I might have just contradicted myself, but that's where I think it all works out. If I look at my hand for what it is, and understand what it's for, knowing full well about the DNA and loving it for what it is, and occasionally stopping to appreciate it, it makes typing seem so much more beautiful.
But I can't stop typing.