By definition, I will not turn. By choice I square the circle. There is a rush for substance. Unfortunately I only pretend something is ever happening. Everyday after my own heart mocks me. A mood swing of obedience to the swath of covering that holds my naked being. Ironically I return to the cold.
Darkness is not absence of light but the clear and present desire for light. A hunger.
My reason does not return to me. The gift of a busy and filled life is no gift at all.
Tear down the gravestone you have built to honor what God has helped you kill.
A child could count your graces.
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