November 6, 2011

                The autumn chill has fallen upon us and the leaves have piled up on my porch. I would sweep them up—as the sun is providing a little warmth this morning— but I’m too lazy. I just don’t feel inspired at the moment. I don’t feel like quitting but I don’t feel like working either. I guess it’s going to be one of those dreary days.

                I wonder will I ever figure things out completely or if I’ll ever find the courage to be content. It’s so ironic that my body is so stationary but my soul is so restless. I hope that these two entities can reconcile before I die. It would be a dream to be completely at peace while living on such a war-torn planet. Or maybe I don’t want peace. Perhaps I have fallen in love with my own rage. Perhaps I enjoy the pleasures of falling for fallen women and all other things that are impure and detrimental to growth. Despite my shivering body under this thin blanket I think I secretly like the cold. I think I may be addicted to the idea of not knowing where I will find the heat to keep me alive.

                The clouds may burn away but I’m still just as confused as I was yesterday. I don’t know if I should find peace in knowing that the peace that I once pursued does not exist or should I battle all of my insecurities until I have arrived in the state of bliss. I have become saddened by an epiphany so the only thing left to do is suppress it. If I don’t acknowledge it then it is not there. It may as well be a pile of leaves that have been blown onto my porch. I’ll get to it one of these days.    

-YB