I am tired of the world. I’m tired of the despair, the darkness, the misery, the obsession with “things”, the false faiths, the violence, the perverseness, war, disease, snotty attitudes, lack of care or stewardship, vicious words and curses…I’m tired of all the corruption that man’s sin has wrought on the earth. We are so vile on the inside that we are leaving a physical effect on our planet. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of it. And what I hate most of all is how sin parades itself around like a prize, something to be envied and killed for. Sin haughtily flaunts its feathers in musical lyrics, books, news, cartoons, daily conversation…It is the most prevalent, vicious disease and the world is okay with it. We are okay with it! We love it! We cry when people die or get burned alive or are beaten to a pulp by their husbands or for war in other countries or sex slavery…we cry, but then, we go back to our tablets and magazines and sugary foods and laugh about which celebrity is caught in scandal or praise Bruce Jenner for his sickness. I’m disgusted. We care little, do nothing, and are satisfied to waste our lives here as eternity hangs in the balance. We think this life no longer matters because we’ve taught that we are evolved slime. We disregard babies and humanity and oxygen because depravity is just the “survival of the fittest”. Satan loves it. He lavishes temporal glory and riches and power to those who would caste aside their inheritance like a bowl of lentil soup. And we have been lied to, that this…all of THIS…is normal, progress, natural. A young girl being burned to death in a public square in Honduras is natural? Millions of infants with no voice being ripped from women’s wombs by surgical instruments is normal? Sodomy, pervasive greed, sexual torture and rape and slavery of children, rampant drug use, gang and military violence, worshiping trees and stone and wood and metal and gold is progress? Do we not see how we are no less better than every generation before us who has earned the judgment of God? Oh right…I forgot, Jesus Christ was only a prophet. He didn’t really love you enough to die and rise again so that you can escape this hell. I’m sorry. You are welcome to stay here. You are welcome to remain blind. You are welcome to be selfish. You are welcome to not care because evolution is going to weed out the weak, afterall. You are welcome to be your personalized version of “free”.
“Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world – the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions – is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.” ~ 1 John 2:15-17
The coffee shop is bustling with the typical faces one would see especially in a city such as this. The busy little shop is full of chatty voices minus my own. The absorbent crowd flows like a living creature – a spiritual combination of souls seeking an unanswerable question, but in the meantime, they swell their bellies with lattes and benign conversations. I am unsure why I wandered into this establishment. Perhaps there is a certain familiarity in the sea of ever-changing faces; a comfort in not truly recognizing any of them – a security.
Why do I feel safe among strangers?
The unease of their throbbing presence puts to rest personal anxieties and for a moment, I am capable of becoming anyone. There is the sudden realization that I am now a character in a novel that is unfolding. I am the heroine that breaks the molds and sits in solitary contemplation at a table in an unfamiliar coffee shop in a strange city awaiting a particular creature to approach in order for her story to truly take off. For what is a story if it is lacking an equally unique hero to defy the odds and break the barriers of prescribed behavioral decorum? I realize then that I need someone to enter my life who, like an alien on an adventure, recognizes something unusual in me that must be explained and thusly approaches my table to ask that unanswerable question that would connect our souls in a defining moment considered a spark of love. But love is a silly notion because it lends itself towards acquiring flame too quickly and ardently and so fizzles at the nearest contact of ice. I rather seek a budding friendship into which would bloom an un-ending affection. The word affection assumes the role of care, and in the end, that is all I can hope for in the truest relationship- someone to care. Because love does not always need to care in order to be felt. With caring comes the understanding that feeling is not always quite necessary to endure.
My alien would understand this. His subconscious culture will have birthed him into such knowledge and it is there – in the subconscious – where we will meet and no longer be alien and subject but partners on the most sublime level. There are levels to human interactions and as of yet, I have found not one fellow creature that has dug to the level of subconscious yearning I discover within my own person. Now, are we, as creatures of base nature, capable of exploring and discovering every level that comprises our personal humanity or that of another? If we are not, then I must consign myself to a fate of celibacy. Love will not be in my cards if this proves true. More than everything I crave in this life, it would be this connection with an alien on every level that makes us individuals for in an individual is the empty slot awaiting the portion of another to fulfill and bring a soul toward completion. I fear reaching “wholeness” without someone to share in my accomplishment. Those who claim to have reached completion of self must not need what I need, or they have learned some secret of the universe that I have not. Secretly, I envy them. But I know that their happiness would never leave me content. Is being content even possible? Is wholeness attainable? Is attraction always satisfied to begin on the surface? It is these questions that I would ask my partner, and he would answer me in the best way because it would not be the answers themselves that I would want but just his voice caring enough to attempt to satisfy my childish curiosities of the surrounding world.