Listen and Hear Me
How do you know when it’s all worthwhile? How do you know that everything you’ve put forth is right? How do you know when you’ll be hurt, or when you’ll be healed? How do you know what step to take next? Will it be for you, or for the collective, or some other incomprehensible congress? How do you know…?
Sitting – soaking – sinking into my thoughts; my insecurities, my fears. Immobilized by my own mind, though my body has already claimed this control, I feel lost and don’t know how to fix this; this feeling of gross uncertainty. I seek council, guidance, and support.
‘Help me, God,’ runs unbroken through my mind – thoughts of desperation. I reach out and feel nothing; out again, feeling walled. I retract my reach and wrap around to find comfort in myself – I will listen.
We call unceasing talk a “broken record.” But in saying this, do we in fact break the record? For though we communicate through sight, sound, body, and pen, it is the security of being heard – listened to and understood – through which we know our wondering can be finite; and if broken prematurely by impatient annoyance, risky leaps of a decisive nature are taken; some vital, some not. So listen and hear me; and I will do the same.