I wish I could show you my internal world. Really. I wish I had the days to tell you everything that has caused me to mourn. And that’s the thing — in the morning, I know I’m mourning. By the night, I am stretched thin and worn ragged. I wrote a lot in my journal yesterday, and it really began helping me. I felt it start peeling back the layers.
My reactions to him are wrong; they are all emotional outbursts. They’re not based on the truths that I know; they’re based on the fear from the boat, the sea-sickness of the storm, after having fought it all day. I know that when the winds die down, but as soon as I see the dark clouds and hear the thunder, I don’t remember the stillness, I only remember the fear the storm incited. And I know that–but only because the boat is still. For this little bit that it’s still.
The problem is, I keep fighting the storm, when you can’t fight storms. Storms just are; they aren’t personal, they aren’t malicious even. They’re just reactions to isolated incidents that collide. All of these isolated incidents colliding aren’t necessarily the fault of the passengers on the boat, yet I still find myself blaming him for enticing me out into a water that is known for dangerous weather patterns.
It’s not his fault, really. I suppose that, as I think about this character I’m attributed to (the “particular-ness” that I was destined to be of), I was made for this…
These are just thoughts, and haven’t been fully mapped out, but I’m wondering if this is my role so that “God” can express “his” greatness through me. Another means to orchestrate “his” greatness. I wish I could describe what I’m envisioning as I say this.
You are an aperture through which the universe is looking at and exploring itself. – Alan W. Watts