It’s been long enough that I’d like to put up some more writing stuff. I actually wrote this earlier this month, but I think it reflects where I am right now well. I don’t have a title yet, so I’m open to suggestions. Let me know what you think.
I wear feathers because I want to fly. I want to explore the depths, and heights of things. I want to go in soul, and in spirit to places most people are afraid of because they are uncomfortable. Comfort should not be allowed to stop adventure, virtue maybe, or the Holy spirit, but not comfort. Comfort doesn’t like battling evil, or throwing caution to the wind for curiosity’s sake. There are lines. There are lines that I will not cross, but there are deserts, and rainforests far beyond civilization whose only lines involve danger, and comfort which I will stubbornly force myself to cross in the pursuit of…something.
God never meant for us to be content. We are far too easily satisfied; we trade the ocean for our slums, and mud pies. We trade vastness for narrow-minded life. We kill ourselves off slowly by denying ourselves the wonder of wandering at will. Productivity will never trump playfulness. Sometimes I lose the wonder for a moment or a day. Sometimes I don’t even notice that it’s gone. It creeps out slowly upon overexposure to them: the safe and simple-minded ones.
When I notice the emptiness I leave them in order to seek wonder, and I find it somewhere between the ocean and the mountaintop. I forgo sophisticatedness for a time. Though sometimes I am forced back into high society, and when I am I wear feathers: my reminder to fly.