breaths and sighing

It is quite possible to go through life with ease.

Put simply: shut your heart off.
Detatch. Ignore. Run swiftly, strongly, to elusive horizons.
Grow wings. Fly away.

I've tried so hard to resist the tumult and as it turns out, it's irresistible. It's impossible to ignore. It creeps up and snatches the best and slaps you in the face and shakes you by the shoulders and says HEY, LIFE IS DIFFICULT. As a response, finally, I let go of my grip on the situation. I took that cliff dive and landed on what felt like rocks. I spoke truth into my heart when I couldn't hear it from anyone else, and I clung to my lifeline instead.

Peace is a funny thing. Like Grace, it shows up at the oddest moments. When I expected most to experience emotional demise, I was enveloped instead by a strange calm. Perhaps it was passivity, masquerading as peace, but it felt releasing nonetheless. You see, I think I've finally given up. Maybe I've settled on hope without fruition and work without pause.

There was a day quite some time ago, I took a walk in the Farmer's fields, along the dusted road and outward skirts of golden yellow. There, waiting for me, with my name on it, was a satchel. Rough fabric, loosely tied; full of seeds. Instinctively, I knew what each one was for. Though there were thousands of these tiny presents, my soul labelled each one with a specific purpose. Sow these, came a voice. Sow these.

So I did. I came back home from my walk, feeling quite hemmed in. My hands and heart were fresh and ready to plant. I'd been given a purpose, you see. When I looked, soil.

Sadly, some dirt isn't ready to be planted, and sometimes there are snakes in the garden. Many of those seeds, God-breathed, have dried up where I left them. Someone else stayed the water away from them so they'd die, and they died. My callouses are all for seeming naught.

I took another walk since then, and posted a sign where I first found promise. In that Farmer's field, a marker: these seeds didn't work.

A hand, then, pulling mine back open. Another satchel. Rough fabric, loosely tied, and full of seeds. As it turns out, there's more to be done.



song of the moment: up we go, by Lights.
stunning photography by journeyseye