fate

Things do not carry on as they are supposed to. Plans are derailed and lives are lost and regained at alarming rates. I was to be a devout the rest of my life. To music; to God. I sit on the brink of paganism and complete burnout with one quavering thread holding me to any sense of reality. My poor love. My only love. Monogamy is not supposed to mean the only relationship of any kind. It means you don't sleep with other people. But such is the lot dealt to us in this meagre period of our lives. Old friends are changing their faces so quickly I find myself casting about for what was just there. For the old comforts and reassurances. It is all empty though, and we can only pray that it will be filled again. Only to be lost? There is no faith left in me, although there is grand reverence being born continually. I meet God in the animals thronging this place and the grasses for miles and miles. This is supposed to be idolatry, but who can care when it is breath to starved lungs? God has left the halls of churches and the minds of his son's followers. And these bastard children of such a thoughtless legacy are confused and bitter. We want the old rhythms and the comfortable liturgies. We want to know that our deaths are sealed with the stamp of His Blood. We want to despise this earth and our bodies with the rest of the believers who know that this is passing like the grass of the fields. But then, we look around and realize that this is all we have. And that it is beautiful. And that God has been waiting for so long to look us in the face with grandeur beyond imagination.