The Art Of Losing Myself

These days, nothing ever satisfies. Nothing. Not TV, not them crap movies, not even those intellectual political movies. Sex on the big screen is just plain boring. Nothing. Not even money, fast cars, suggestive fun women, magazines, borders, shopping malls, nada. Nothing that used to tantalize satisfies anymore. Like the life I used to know has given up it's hold on me.

Life begins once again. This time, it's so real I can't even put words to it. I begin to fumble, like I am losing my sight yet like a blind man regaining his sight learning to cope with the new light he sees before him. I feel clumsy but I feel so elated, excited and expectant like a mother carrying her first born.

These days life is evolving into a different realm. Even the sins that used to hold me down like ten thousand pins to the ground feel like just cobwebs easily pulled apart. There is power, there is might, but there is the spirit - the Holy Spirit. Dwelling. Moaning, crying out for redemption, for restoration, for renewal for this body to rise up once again. Out of the grave, out of darkness, out of shame, out of dire desperation.

Let the mice that gnawed at the soles of my feet scurry along and hide. For there is fire that will burn and extinguish these petty criminals to shame.

Something on the inside took a shift. A kairos shift. This is the art of losing myself. To the one true God whom we can never fathom. Who cares if my fingers hurt and I lose sleep. Heaven's just round the corner.