I Want To Believe

Good days.

Bad days.

They are all merging into one.

One elastic existance
stretched so tight
that it has lost all elasticity.

Flux.

Change.

Yet somehow completely stagnant.

I am just one of a million
billion
trillion
gazillion
points
in the eternal question of life.

Yet
amongst all this
I have a feeling
that these are truly
the best days of my life.

My children are happy, healthy and adore me as much as they know I adore them.

My marriage is overflowing with love, support and connectedness.

My home is comfortable and is being paid off.

My friends are true blessings.

I have work.

I have food.

I have heat.

I have clothes.

I have many luxuries and many reasons to live.

It's hard to work out where my head is at
when I know these things
and I feel them
and I really do experience profound love and happiness
but sometimes I am just sad beyond sad.

I don't need a reason.

I don't need an explanation.

I just need some sort of consistency.

Some sort of logic.

Some motivation to keep going
that I feel in my heart
to support what I already know in my head.

I still believe this will come.

And I want to believe.

With Purpose

There has never been
a time in my life
where I have felt
on top of things.

I see now
that seeking control
over one's life
is folly
but I still see the difference
between a harmful state
of seeking control
and an unstable state
of feeling out of control.

My life
is well and truly
the latter.

Am I lazy
because I don't do the things
that I would like to do?

Or do I think to much
and spend so much time
in my head
planning
creating new ideas
that I don't leave enough time
after the mundane tasks are attended to
(or not attended to as the case may be)
to progress my ideas, plans and projects?

Ego hopes it's the latter.

But the little voice
full of words
that force cognitive fusion
tells me it is because I am useless
pathetic
worthless
incapable
weak
lazy
selfish
and so on
and so fifth.

However it is
or however I suppose it to be
I am not living
the life I want
to the point
where I don't feel
like I am living at all.

I have never felt
an absolute purpose
above random and whimsical desires
that lack any semblance of concrete reality.

There is nothing that I do
well enough
to forge into a vision
of who I am
that I would then be able to
manifest into being.

Drifting.

That is all.

Sometimes floating.

Sometimes sinking.

But never charging ahead
with purpose.