Sorting

There isn't really a reason not to write. It’s absurd not to take the time to research or soak in life. There's a trove of information out there, but it’s not waiting to be tapped. It’s doing whatever it wants, and you need to tap it when it saunters by the window or runs out in front of your car.

A million people, with a million things on their mind are becoming interesting, their trash your treasure. There is a blemish on the side of an old woman’s face that’s the shape of New Zealand, and she has small pearl earrings and pillows for earlobes, and she may be someone’s grandmother, her child may be somewhere in a large city, in or outside a hot dog stand or executive office. There are clouds that look like elephants and sprawling landscapes and armies laying waste to a camp on the river bank. Not to mention that the clouds themselves are an anomaly, something that should make our brains curl up and live. Life is art. God is creative.

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There is no you. Wisdom will only be found in drawing from others, your gift for giving yourself to them. That sounds illogical; maybe it isn’t well-founded or properly communicated. A correlation is bound to form between these two attributes of life. To live fully, we must give fully. That in its summation, is childish, but isn’t childhood relevant. Didn’t the Lord Himself carry a small child on His lap, as an example? Why couldn’t we. Why don’t we?