UNTITLED ENTRY 07

 

I haven't found love in religion but religion in love. That blind letting go of restraints and loosening of ropes? That comfortable faith, one of a child stumbling in the dark through their home, believing that their sides will not hit a corner? I've only felt it looking through my own eyes at the life around me. The world beamed with an energy I could not sense within me, and seemed to me real while I was only air. There wasn't a thing I did not envy for the blessing of being, from the proud trunks of trees to their frail brown leaves snapping free with the wind, or people standing and sitting and breathing and smiling. 

I wholeheartedly trusted and cherished the moment, anything 'other'. My one fear from a source unknown is the death of this world which I observe, not the death of me. My own death is simply my inability to look anymore. The only stable and real thing I know is this world, and not I. 

I believe because I live. Of course I believe. I believe in the harmonious wails of funerals and the black against red carpets, the infinity of thoughtless mistakes bred by ignorance which we can only regard with pity, the casual pain of older people which they wear in their bitterness and wrinkles, the absolute humanity of children, nature as a background to the spectacle and the centre of the universe too, my friends who would not stop seeking me and reminding me of my existence, war slipping under the cracked surface of rotten earth, warm, warm uncaring sun which will nourish all to fire. I believe in what I see and it is enough. Without the history it is enough. Without the miracles and the effort it is enough. I see it and it is enough. 

I cannot afford apathy. I vanish completely in the absence of my environment, without the sounds to ground me, without my reflection. Either I hold on or I die.