(no subject)
This should probably be private, but I'll plop it out in public for a change.
I'm living in rush hour. I remember weeks as blurs, and can't pick it apart day by day for the life of me. My eyes hurt from insomnia. I haven't spent time with my darling since Wednesday, and won't be seeing him for the next two weeks other than for lunch. It hurts. There isn't even time for things to be holy. For one, I never look at the trees anymore. I used to believe God is in them, but I don't even have time to look for him. What am I making of myself? I feel like a single stroke on Monet's work. Blended. And just when I think I've lost myself, God finds me smackdab in the middle of the day. And I begin to think.
First of all, it doesn't matter if God is a man or a woman. That's not the point of God. Instead, God is a glorious indefinite It. I think Christinaity aims to grasp the concept but falls unbreabaly short, - the concept being, God wants us to be happy. Why else would there be sunsets and papayas and sex and autumn leaves and starry skies, spring rush? It's in the trees, it's in the water. It's in your eyes. There's something for you to call in love with wherever you look. So I think it doesn't matter if there's a heaven. This life here is so good, so intricate, what more can we ask for?
A few weeks ago after taking off Christopher's shirt (cathing my breath) and finding dozens of birthmark constellations there, I told him he was the reason I believed in God. He stopped me, his blue eyes serious, and said he didn't even begin to sum up or equal to God. But I hadn't mean it that way. My belief in God began with Christopher. Before I believed only halfheartedly because I was christened; Christopher was my real baptism. It happened simply in early September, when I pulled the shirt over his head and realized that so much beauty in one place cannot exist by happenstance.