Am I looking for a way to a great escape? To laugh, to cry, to be the emotions that weigh me down, but to free me at the same time? To stuff, oppress, or even to compress will not settle the fact that this day is what it is. It is a brilliant day. It is a wonderful day, it is a magnificent day, however this is also a day in which I wrestle and fight. I punch and I stomp. I laugh and I put my glasses on to block my washed out blue eyes from the sun behind the clouds, somewhere up in the sky. It is up there, somewhere, right? I can run my hands through my hair and feel. I can chop vegetables into unrecognizable states, and feel. I can feel objects, but the subjects of sickness, offence against my household, the afflictions on the wounded, or the severity of one’s shame or humiliation pressed against the glass wall of hopelessness, I can but feel, only see, as if a part of a silent picture show in slow motion. July 24th will forever be a date in which time stood still for a brief moment, yet also for a lifetime. I am in awe of such stillness, a breathless moment in which my heart stopped for a moment, the air disappeared, and sound, all around became absent. A place to escape, there was none. A place to hide, there is none. This is real life. I must continue to stare at this through the rear view mirror. For it follows me constantly. It does its business around me, but it will not do it in me. Enough is enough. Bad news will not take me down into the currents of despair and impossibility, to the places of no shelter or provision. For I will not dwell in a domain like this. Though I can’t escape the nay-sayers in my path, I can escape their words on my life. And that is what I determine to do, with my hands blood stained from the jagged rocks of their words and labels. My knees bruised, and my legs scraped as I hike up the God mountain from where my help comes, to soothe and caress, to give and to nurture. It is here where I will escape to. My eyes not on what lies before me, but on He who goes before me.
Well, it wouldn’t be very consistent if I were to blog more than a month at a time. I can’t understand the speed of time and the slowness of an hour. I am in the process of gathering new recipes and experimenting with them to see what happens when I add or take something away from them. As I have been doing so, I have stumbled across this song by Lucia, an 18 year old Romanian girl. She reminds me a bit of Tori Amos mixed with Patrick Watson. Enjoy.