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Silence:


I don't know that anything is really wrong...in a lot of ways it's right...but I'm bored with myself...and, maybe that is normal and I am only now entering a world of normalcy other humans live in most of their lives...

I want my life to matter, I want it to be interesting but I don't think life has ever been so daily as it is here. I mean it is uneventful. I rise at 7:30 I read and eat breakfast. I go to work. I eat lunch at noon and dinner when I get off. I usually work out in the evening. I think about writing but just keep coming face to face with the fact that my life is very uneventful...it seems just another figure on somebody's data chart for days worked, hours banked, income earned, tasks completed or in process. I am a measuring tool for an external thing which is not me and it's success...I do not hate it, but I suppose not hating your life is hardly a destination. I am bored with myself and my adventures...or lack there of. A weekend get away to a frisbee golf course doesn't quit cut it for my inspiration quota.

Even the words in the old stories seem less meaningful, less worthy of being written, or maybe I just feel less qualified to write them. A writer that feels he cannot write from his heart I suppose hardly feels a writer at all, the emotions so rich with color that once would fill in the ink lines on your page start seeming dry and brittle, the words flaking off ones pen as dust, so lacking in substance and density are they that they are blown away by the author's own breath before they can settle.

I am comfortable here. I make good money, I am provided for. My job is consistent and guaranteed for a couple of years if I want it...but my words have dried up. The heart struggles and pain of life seem less venomous but the colors in the trees and heart both seem more dull.

To what end does one aim his life if, comfort being provided, he still finds his soul wanting. Ought he seek to conjure the things his soul needs in what feels a barren waste land? Does he move on until his soul finds greener pasture?...Surely this is a life that will be spent always looking on, always the next hill, always the next offering plate must be more full. Or does he say “Thy Will be done” and bow the knee? This may be the hardest thing. It assume God allows waiting, he allows silence, he allows for questions to be unanswered and sometimes seemingly even unacknowledged.

I have struggled with why God does or does not do things...why he does or does not heal, or move, or change hearts, souls, minds, hopes, or dreams, as fast as I'd like. I suppose the same answer would be given as to that of a similar question. Why do bad things happen to good people? Because there are no “good” people. As there are no “bad” people, only other people who think they are good and see their failures and imperfections as the exception and not the rule...But we live in a flawed world. Most often the bad things that happen, we do them to each other, or ourselves. Each action part of a dizzying spiral of possibility all wound into a world that does not function like a card trick, a man cannot control his destiny...only his choices.

As to why is life boring or un-fulfilling? Why does God not step in?...Maybe he would ask me why I hadn't tried to push on more of the doors he'd left in front of me. Maybe then I'd see more miracles. I suppose I can only trust, that should he really need me to open a door, he will help guide my hand. For the rest I can choose daily to believe He is enough or not...and it is a choice most of us come to everyday.  

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