“The richness I achieve comes from Nature, the source of my inspiration.” –Claude Monet
I love it here when the leaves are changing. There are no real reds or pinks, mostly burnt orange and browning yellow – true autumnal colors. I only wish the cliff faced the west as the sun sinks behind a veil of trees at my back. But the sunset is still gently pinking the underbellies of clouds before me as they stretch out across the sky like cool-whip. It’s so quiet here, except for the undertones of crickets and the overtones of the creek below. The wind whispers coyly to the drying leaves and they purr their best response. The rock has a personality, though I can’t tell what it is. It is always here for me, ready to calm me, ready to coax me from whatever facade I am in back to myself for a while.
Even now, I don’t really know what it means to be myself. But at the moment I don’t mind the ambiguity. I breathe in air and I see and feel and hear and know this place and myself for whatever we are. Whatever we are, it is beautiful. I let myself forget that I am sometimes. My heart knows it’s true, but my mind tells me otherwise.
I wish I could find a job where they’d pay me to write about myself. Not in a self-serving way, but in a self-searching way. Maybe if people read it they would learn something about themselves as well. I could spend a lifetime on sabbatical searching myself and maybe before I died I would discover something to write on a resume cover letter. Me, I am intangible. The tangible part is just a package that holds it all together so that you can look at me and judge what you see and totally misunderstand the deeper meaning.
I suspect that God makes us too complex to grasp. Our souls are unattainable to us right now. Human beings hate not knowing, especially about ourselves. That’s why we get so uptight about it and bs like we’ve really got it all figured out. Sometimes we’re all just a bunch of sissies and liars. But that’s collectively. Individually, we’re beautiful and in strife. I know the strife will pass away someday and only the beauty will be left. But that part is heaven and I don’t know much about it yet.
I wish I could learn how to forgive myself more. I’m much better at forgiving other people, though sometimes that’s hard, too. For myself, I’m afraid to let go of the past in case I haven’t learned from it yet. Forgiving myself seems akin to not caring how I’ve botched things up and hurt people. But I always care, so I carry my mistakes with me.
I often wish that I could live a double life. I’m sure I’m misinformed in this- people who do it don’t seem to enjoy it all that much. But sometimes I just can’t decide about things. I want to try each choice, but that’s usually not an option. Selecting one choice negates other choices. They go away and you can never get them back. It’s all so final. What if, pressed by the moment and with little experience to back me up, I make the wrong choice?
People tell me to trust God and follow his plan, and I believe that’s good advice. But most of the time I can’t tell what God’s plan for me is. I almost wish I were a prophet so God would speak to me directly and tell me exactly what’s up. But that wish is misinformed, too. One look at the Bible shows that prophets usually don’t get off very easy. God asks them to do very difficult, unpleasant things. Since they heard it straight from the source, they better do it. Sometimes prophets need to be led like horses. God had to spell everything out for Moses- every time he had to think on his feet he messed it up. Maybe God hasn’t made me a prophet because he knows it’s not for me. Maybe he’s leaving my options open so I’ll learn to think for myself.
It’s getting dark and a cluster of high school kids have showed up with a guitar. Time for me to leave.