I am sure that this is not how packing a box should feel. It has felt different, I suppose it can feel anyway it wants. But not this way.
Packing my box feel like a journey.
Without...anything really.
It feel like I am getting into a car, driving up to the traffic circle and having to choice between left or right. But I am so baffled and almost horrified by the fact that I have no clue where I am going. Then I start thinking how even that thought has some kind of direction and hope, that all I have to do is choose. Then the road in front of me gets clouded with mist, but even that does not explain my journey because even grey clouds have a sliver lining, all I have to do is move. Slowly. But move, knowing there is something in front to catch my foot.
Packing my box feels or is more like standing at a cliff. Packing my box means stepping off the cliff. Walking in the dark might even be better, but packing my box without a stamp on it is one of those things I wish to never experience again. Assuming that I survive the fall, and not that I wasn't falling before, but that I am falling at a different speed.
Part 2.
More than anything, packing a box like this is how I imagine faith to be.
Faith asked me to take a step with both my feet off the cliff and hope that I take the next one.
Faith says there is a bridge, its really there, the blind can not see it.
"But it will appear even before you: like disco blocks, like sensing lights, like a bride's aisle."
Packing my box feels like a journey really.
Packing a box like this is like getting into a car, starting the engine without a destination.
Packing my box is like faith really, packed with Hope.
Packing my box feel like a journey.
Without...anything really.
It feel like I am getting into a car, driving up to the traffic circle and having to choice between left or right. But I am so baffled and almost horrified by the fact that I have no clue where I am going. Then I start thinking how even that thought has some kind of direction and hope, that all I have to do is choose. Then the road in front of me gets clouded with mist, but even that does not explain my journey because even grey clouds have a sliver lining, all I have to do is move. Slowly. But move, knowing there is something in front to catch my foot.
Packing my box feels or is more like standing at a cliff. Packing my box means stepping off the cliff. Walking in the dark might even be better, but packing my box without a stamp on it is one of those things I wish to never experience again. Assuming that I survive the fall, and not that I wasn't falling before, but that I am falling at a different speed.
Part 2.
More than anything, packing a box like this is how I imagine faith to be.
Faith asked me to take a step with both my feet off the cliff and hope that I take the next one.
Faith says there is a bridge, its really there, the blind can not see it.
"But it will appear even before you: like disco blocks, like sensing lights, like a bride's aisle."
Packing my box feels like a journey really.
Packing a box like this is like getting into a car, starting the engine without a destination.
Packing my box is like faith really, packed with Hope.
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