the dance of the ink riddled fingers

vertigo

Posted in 52 pickup, epiphany tiffany, thought spills by enisea on 29/12/2009

It appears over the last few days (with my mild craving for direction and drive for the new year) I’ve only succeeded in busying myself.  Yet if you were to ask what exactly it is I’ve been doing, I’d have to think long and hard. So yesterday I spent 15 or so hours attending and helping set up and “being useful” a wedding, the day before we hosted our “Christmas-After Party” which proceeded church 12 hours. It seems memories of the activities I’ve been engaging in prior to 72 hours of the present have been expendable of late.  Everyday has seemed like a weekend and I’ve begun to forget the days, only that it is few days till the new year.  Apparently the state of my bedroom has coincidentally begun to resemble my state of mind. My cloth disguises strewn across my floor, overflowing from my wardrobe and thrown on my bed; a stack of photo frames I’ve hoarded without photos to pride; mounts of books I insist on accumulating yet not reading, and bric-a-brac I cannot imagine parting with yet wouldn’t notice missing, fill the expanse of the rectangle space I call mine. I cannot live  here because my mess has evicted me. There is no longer floor space to dance on let alone much space at all to stand.

Turns out there is eternity. Well I believe in it anyway, but I forget too often it exists; I suppose how everybody knows oxygen exists, we just forget we breathe it and need it for life. 

So what about tomorrow? What about it?

So what about eternity? What about it?

I’ve just finished my first book since graduating from high school. You may or may not be familiar with it, titled The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, allow me to regale a paragraph I enjoyed:

Flesh and blood cannot come to the Mountains. Not because they are rank, but because they are too weak. What is a lizard compared with a stallion? Lust is a poor, weak, whimpering, whispering thing compared with that richness and energy of desire which will arise when lust has been killed.

I lust over an entertaining tomorrow, a reputable sort of prettiness and perhaps a handsome counterpart. Yet my desires for an inexhaustible hunger of truth, of wisdom, a longing hope that the hurting become loved and my assurance and focus on the truer reality that is eternity, are barely half-conscious within me.  My last few days have been a pitiful attempt at wanting intimacy with a God whose existence alone is outside mortal comprehension. I wanted half-heartedly, I tried feebly when I remembered and hardly remembered apart from obvious displays, for example, during church, when reading Christian literature etc.  So now 3 days before the new year and though I’ve been pretending to have made progress, the most progress I’ve probably made is this here realisation!!

I do this a lot. I beat myself down for being a failed Christian time and time again, I wince at the thought of the magnitude of investment required me for the relationship I assume I want with God-who is not at all as distant as I guiltily perceive at times. So now, deeply inhaling and with eyes learning to focus, I’ll ask God to cover me with the love and forgiveness from whom endlessly flows. And proceed to spill my hopeless heart and messy mind to the acclaimed Prince of Peace whose burden, easy and light, will be exchanged for my vertigo of temporary lusts, adamant prides and flirtatious complications.

You hem me in – behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
What can I flee from your presence?
If I go up  to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

Psalm138. I love my God. And I know as long as I’m alive and perhaps into forever and ever, I might never know the containment of His love for me, the richness and the measure of that love. But I’ll try with the little I have to love him back (when I remember to).

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