THINGS TO ASK GOD

I am unwell. And crazy too. Well crazy in the best sense mostly, but to say insane would be a stretch.  Well there’s not an appropriate word to describe it really. I should make up my own. Who says I can’t? The situation is I’m too sane. I’ve a discernment that’s more than it should be. I see the reality in things, as I take myself fully out of the equation. THAT I’ve always been good at. The taking myself out part I mean. But I’m not insane, as being too grounded and practical and realistic has always been a part of who I am. I guess that’s been a means to survive. And on this I’ll never compromise. For this though I’m also a loner. But one who generally enjoys other people, and am good at encouraging and being a winning participant in a meaningful time too. But it’s all just a sham. I don’t mind this particular sham though (and I have a host of others), as there’s really no other way for one to DEAL with this world, and there’s no viable choice but to selectively engage it. I do prefer to be by myself though mostly. I’m the only one I relate to. And the one who relates to me.

Not a case of misanthrope.

I am sick though it’s true. And while I don’t have a particularly strong disdain for the medical community, the doctors and specialists I’ve consulted with over the years have been confounded by my condition. Just bewildered and unable to find any cure or even relief. So with sickness and pain and discomfort I sit, and while this feeds my (other word for) insanity, one could say the (other word for) insanity feeds the sickness. So I’m confounded too, but too grounded and practical and realistic to fret. I accept it and carry on. And don’t worry about it anymore.

Can’t make change.

Does this sound like self-pity? It’s anything but. I’m a spirit and soul born into the wrong place and time. Or needn’t have been born anywhere at all. At other times in history I’d be considered a brilliant eccentric.  And encouraged to make the most of that too. I’d also be considered a stand out individual, upstanding you know. And my talents and determination and amalgamation of traits would be a winning quality. But in these days and times I’m considered anything but.

I’m not even considered much generally.

It’s an all-encompassing death wish. Most certainly not by my own hand, although if I was a different sort I’d have nothing against it. But being too grounded, I know that’s not practical nor realistic at all. It just won’t happen. I’ve learned many moons ago that the relentless desire for the escape hatch is quite tolerable and usual for me, that the twenty-four-seven alarm bells, now that they’ve gone off for so long, are imaginary. I won’t escape anytime soon. So I’m here and I’m now and not going anywhere.

I’ve made the most of it, and need no help from anyone. Not even you.

Oh yeh, about you. How is it that you carry on? I mean are you not bored with how you’ve settled?  You say, “This is it” and “There’s not much more.” You believe that you struggle and so enjoy being the martyr. You say, “I work so hard” and “I’m so tired.” I don’t believe you know the meaning of tired. Unrealized yes, but not tired. You easily carry on with YOUR sham, and are resigned that you always will. I’d almost feel sorry for you if I believed that you couldn’t do better.

I’d rather be sick and be crazy than you.

I’ve learned everything in my life from observing others. Learning what I don’t want, seeing how I never want to be, absorbing some horrific traits and mores which I’d never envy. Nor ever strive for. In my youth I had a picture of how life should be, which over the last ten years with the escalation of my sickness and (another word for) insanity has changed much for the better. I’m quite in touch, and at times too much, with who I really am and what I’d like to become. And it’s nothing that anyone could imagine. I’ve started my list, Things To Ask God. I mean that’s when I finally get to meet him. And although it’s a fluid Top Ten, I’m sure as the years go by the list will keep growing, and contracting too. I think having ten is reasonable, and I’m not one to be overindulgent. But it really could be an infinite number. The list is the only thing I truly wait for with any anticipation. I’m excited about the opportunity to just ask.  And I don’t think the answers or reaction will be anything but affirming.

For both me and for God.

So yes I’m unwell. And crazy too. But I feel quite calm and have absolute conviction of this road that I’m on. I’m certain of the fact that I’ll make out just fine. I’ll learn the whos and the whats and the whys and the hows, and the significance and purpose of this particular life that I’ve lived.

And what’s in store for the next one. 

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