colourfully grey

I like danger. I like heights, poisonous things, or anything that makes me feel slightly unsafe like exploring the woods alone in the middle of the night. I'm slowly figuring out why that is. It isn't the adrenaline, nor even the curiosity of being atypical, but it's a sense that reminds me I could die. such wakes up a survival instinct that captures me so that for a few moments I can forget to be needing a reason to be alive in the first place.

I was walking through the ruins of a burnt forest. I sang a song to Him, but it felt sarcastic. I don't question His presence anymore, but the question is now, what difference does it make anyway? I have no legitimate prayers left. I can ask for wisdom, I can ask for discipline, for His presence, I can ask for all the right things. But ultimately, I am not entitled to ask for anything. I'm tired of continuing to ask, it's growing to feel like I'm praying a pagan prayer. I still don't get it at all, why I have to be here on this Earth. I guess He is here with me, He is everywhere, I am still just as lost either way, so just what difference does it make?

do I sound a little angry? no. I thought I wanted to be, but I don't feel it. I don't know when the last time was I felt anything at all. everything is dead. I gave up not because I wanted to, but I did because I am realistic. the only indication I receive that confirms I am still a sentient being is guilt. sometimes it feels like every moment of every day I'm feeling guilty about some sense of insincerity towards God, towards my actions, towards my brothers and sisters, from conflicting thoughts and feelings. and in some messed up way I want this guilt to stay, like maybe this is what keeps me in line, and without it I'm afraid of falling away. so all I can do is continue to write, I continue to write as if it makes any difference. yet the drier I feel the more I want to do. Only if I could've made a difference, for God, for some children of His, for one, for any, maybe then all of this had a reason after all. it's a desperate attempt to justify existence. I'm sick of waking up everyday just trying to find enough things to occupy myself so that maybe the day can be over before I have to notice it.

I was utterly speechless when I read the article on "Come be my light" about Mother Teresa. She could've written everything I just did, her words identified with me at such reticent level as if we're all one silently in the void we experience. Astonishment aside, I'm not sure whether I am encouraged or, scared by this. 50 years, so sometimes God never answers in this lifetime. And if God won't even respond to Mother Teresa, I'm just going to laugh, who am I to be asking. all I can say is, I may not be looking forward to the next 50 years, if He doesn't take me away anytime soon.

The encouragement though, is that God can still use you to change the world despite everything else you feel. It's a reassuring confirmation of a distinction between calling and feeling. I don't know how this conclusion really helps, practically. but it'll have to do, I've got no more rope

He said, drink of this water and you'll never thirst, and eat of this bread to never hunger. It had to be some sort of a promise