Sometimes when I write . . . I don't want to. Sometimes I stare at blank lines that look to be filled. The pen rests and stares back at me with questioning eyes. I pick up the pen with exceeding effort, and I feel like I'm peeling off pieces of myself with something really sharp. But I continue even though it gets painful. I feel like it's my life or my identity, and I must continue, I must press forward even though I have no desire or will to. I wonder if this is healthy. I wonder . . . if something is not ready to leave the safety of my self. But I still push it. For I fear that if I do not write, then I will lose the desire or the will altogether. If I do not write, if I do not force myself, the pages will never have any meaning. People look at a painting and assume it was naturally done. Maybe it was. But naturally does not always mean easy. Sometimes . . . to write is to urge something out of oneself with great pain. And the hope that someday it will be worth it.
"Do you say your prayers night and morning?" continued my interrogator.
"Yes, sir."
"Do you read your Bible?"
"Sometimes."
"With pleasure? Are you fond of it?"
"I like Revelations, and the book of Daniel, and Genesis and Samuel, and a little bit of Exodus, and some parts of Kings and Chronicles, and Job and Jonah."
"And the Psalms? I hope you like them?"
"No, sir."
"No? oh, shocking! I have a little boy, younger than you, who knows six Psalms by heart: and when you ask him which he would rather have, a ginger-bread nut to eat, or a verse of a Psalm to learn, he says: 'Oh! the verse of a Psalm! angels sing Psalms;' says he, "I wish to be a little angel here below;' he then gets two nuts in recompense for his infant piety."
"Psalms are not interesting," I remarked.
"That proves you have a wicked heart; and you must pray to God to change it: to give you a new and clean one: to take away your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh."
--Jane Eyre, Chapter 4
"Your eyes are windows into your body. If you open your eyes wide in wonder and belief, your body fills up with light. If you live squinty-eyed in greed and distrust, your body is a dank cellar. If you pull the blinds on your windows, what a dark life you will have!" - Jesus
I think we often forget that windows are meant to be two-way. When we think of windows, we imagine looking out. When we search for windows in Google Images, we find images of people looking out. But when Jesus starts off this announcement, it seems as if people are to look in. And he ends with saying that we need to be open so light can come in. What a dark life you will have... when you hold your money too close in greed... when you turn away from the needy stranger in distrust... when your fear takes hold of your freedom to love and be open and let somebody inside.
What happened to open doors and making too much bread or cake or tea because you could always expect somebody to stop by? Oh, nobody stops by? Maybe they want to. Maybe you just haven't made it known to them that they could. Anytime they wanted to. Of course you said, "Come by anytime!" but so does every one else. That's the equivalent of "How are you? I'm fine." Neither question or response is ever sincere. It's sincerity, people. Sincerity and integrity. Two of the three things I try to live my life by. I can't remember the third one. That's why I have them written down, but I don't have that piece of paper with me.
That's what I already miss about dorm life. As long as we were there (and even if we weren't) the TV or the computer or the microwave or the refrigerator or the bed was available. And we were available. I wish the world knew that.
Days come when I wonder "Why am I here?" and I can't focus on anything because of that question. And then days end when a boy wants to walk me home because he's a nice boy, and for no other reason. When I reach those days where I feel like I'm losing the grip on who I am, it's refreshing to have someone else say "Your existence matters." Even if it's in the form of "Let me get some shoes and I'll walk you back." Or, It's late, and you shouldn't get raped and murdered on your way back. Whatever. I still like knowing that selfless people exist.
Also, classes are in full swing, and I still have a hard time believing that I'm back at school. 12 hours. Slow. I need papers and tests and assignments and grades. I need that stress to be in my head to say "Hey you better work hard or you'll fail and you'll be a failure for the rest of your life and your whole future will be screwed if you don't make an A on this test." I love college.
It is strange to me how when the moments before, my motivation level drops. I have a final tomorrow and I've yet to study. I have to wash my sheets and fold my laundry. I have to clean my room and pack up what I'm taking with me. I have to study my manual for work. I have to get out of my pj's. I have to balance my checkbook. I have to remember things forgotten. I have to get internet in my apartment. I have to wash my face. I should probably brush my teeth. I have to write.
I have to search for that long lost.
