second hand thoughts

 

A deep thrust of joy into my body leaves me breathless, as I struggle to keep myself together while crawling on the floor I can only shout and scream. In an instant shock, my heart stops beating and starts beating itself. As I lay in my grave of the present I am searching for thoughts for the grave of my future, the pastures of now have left me to resent, and regrets are unforgettable. My nerves, a blood connection with my roots and veins call onto me, but in this state of stasis, I am content with existence. I have finally found happiness, at the gates of death, on this river of tears which I sail. 

The state of finality and the active state of being until finality, instrumentality is the start and the end. Alpha and Omega, God will bring into us a purity of thought for we are lacking on this earth in the purity of life. In dualism and poetry, words can only last so long in written language. 

What is, the individual, but a child of God, a driving force in the history of personal matters? A god-fearing man, a father and a husband, a lover and a shameless romantic, without sin and with sins; how can the prayer of one be more holy than the prayer of another? We forget ourselves in the countless lines drawn of this world separating man and man, woman and woman. But then again, the spirits of men are in union as is the Holy Spirit with God and the Son. 

It is clear, that our sins are ours alone, and that we are responsible for our actions. But then, how can one be blind against the injustice of this world? Shall we not condemn the individuals who have gone out of their way to commit crimes and do evil? Of course, we shall, as required by the law. People are not perfect, people can do great acts of evil. But we do not judge them on their passage to the presence of God, for we can only judge their earthly being. 

Now that I have laid my case, what am I to do with myself? My wrists have bled so much, has the blood purified me or is it the vile harm that I have committed against myself which has caused me so much misery. Does pain sanctify the flesh, or is it the flesh that sanctifies pain for us? A great struggle through years, of trials and tribulations, has led me to hate myself, to despise the vision of myself ever being even close to human or normal.  For me, flesh always was always the enemy, the root of the problem in this world. I was disgusted by it, I thought of it as unclean and corrupt. Why had God, so clean and pure, left to us this legacy of loneliness? 

''My body, a barren and empty wasteland, a corpse as a casket without touch, a rotten flower without water, is such a burden on the soul.'' What is the body without the flesh, but a troubling mirage. It might have taken me really long, but I've learned to love my body, with every part and property of it. As we are children of God, how could we admire the beauty of the soul without observing the beauty of the body, our earthly features? It is nonsensical to only wish for what awaits us in the presence of God, without enjoying the gift of God in this life. With all its silence and melancholy, this world is still so beautiful, even if I've taken this lesson through a painful path.