Am I really me? I am myself, I have been given this body, this mind, and this life. I am me, this particular collection of hopes, fears, loves, hates, discrepancies, useless knowledge, body masses and shapes.
What is a soul? We never finished that discussion. All I know is that mine is aching, throbbing with memories, sadness, and yet… I have to be here. I’ve given this day so much, wrung out my heart upon His altar, but nothing concrete. Is it supposed to be concrete? There is faith; am I learning that? Do I want to learn that? The quietness of the room offers no replies, only the watery sounds of the fish tank and the soundless noise of the light striking the walls. I could lose myself in music–no. I could bury my head in my arms like I have so many times today–no. I could attempt absolution through occupation–but I have to face the realities. Things will be said soon enough–am I ready? Can I be? I have to say no; the full extent of which I know not yet.
I see I’m not the only one waxing philosophical of late… Have you weeded through your troubled mind as of yet?