A Familiar Discomfort

The mind can be a prison of sorts. In some way, we are trapped. Our flesh contains us: our bones the bars, and our body the cell.

What do we do with the time that we are given? After all, how could you explain life without time? How can we desire to halt motion, for without motion, we are dead – existence is rooted in time.

And the importance of roots can never be stressed enough. We want good roots. Because we know we will need them to be sturdy in nature’s harsh winds.

We never face losing it all more than when we doubt the integrity of your roots. When you doubt the very thing that is holding you up, you begin to fear, with a swelling intensity, that you might fall. It’s impossible to be certain of anything without the confirmation of the persistent, function, soothing sound of your roots.

What sound you ask. . . the sound of life: the ebb and the flow; the expansion and the contraction; the on and the off.

Yet, more often than not we spend our lives flickering, never holding a light. Flickering light is better than no light at all, but it is far inferior than true light. For flickering lights still allow the way for darkness, but, when something is truly seen, one cannot fear.

When light shows somethings’s true colors, it cannot be unseen. For there are those that experience color and then there are those that experience art.