It's all about surrender. All of it.
I have had a very disgruntled week. I swing from hopelessness to depression. I want to run and let the wind blow in my hair and I want to breath in the new....but I feel so stuck here. I feel like I am walking around in old rags that will never let me go. It's about resistance, it's about longing, and it's about leaving all my ideas behind. It calls out to me from a deep river rushing past...inviting me to swim in the cool water and feel baptized.
To let go, release all the tension that is surrounded with control and let my guard down to bask in the grace and joy that is right there. I FIGHT it so hard though....
Ultimately It's all about surrender. It's all about laying down in the grass and letting my hands fall open. It's about looking up at the stars in the dark night with a chill and knowing there is more that I have not touched. It causes my soul to arch up, twist and wretch to fight all the fears. To fight hard that which would declare my own insecurities. I beat my chest and cry for mercy. For time to breath....
Time to breath....and knowing that that freedom will come...that my Papa knows my hearts cry. Knows it deeper then I let myself go with it. And there, that is where all I can do is trust.
2 comments:
Beautiful friend!
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of “Spiritus Mundi”
Troubles my sight:
somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast,
its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
– William Butler Yeats, “The Second Coming”, 1921
Love the photo!
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