The road under the wheels would feel snug
As if I weren't even moving
Already miles away
But moving blindingly fast towards something more... Arcane
To be honest, I have nothing against what is obligatorily referred to as "this town". In fact, I am quite comfortable. That is the problem. Comfort is, in a way, paradoxical (in a grand sense). I love routine- I always know what is coming next, so I am always prepared for it. But what if I don't want to be prepared? Something inside me dies every time I write on a schedule. It is comforting to know I will be ready to complete the task, but at the same time, there is no romance, no adventure. And I suppose that is what I am after- adventure. I feel as though the schedule looked pretty well organized in Eden in the beginning. But a pretty big curve ball was thrown, and good or bad, this is where we are. Somehow, the chaos inspires me. Think of the story so far- sin enters a perfect world, and God himself reaches down and touches the world to bring us back to him after we ran away. It is the perfect love story. I mean, every true love begins out as perfect, right? Then there is some dynamic that throws that relationship for a loop at some point or another and the two fight for their love, tooth and nail.
What is the beauty of victory if you never understand defeat?
I want to hit the road. I want to get lost in some back road in Arizona. I want to see a tacky tourist attraction and pretend I care. I want to sleep in my car and wake up to a sunrise in the mountains. I want to watch the sunset on the California coast. I want to see the northern lights in Alaska. And I want to meet everyone in between. The world is a canvas painted with every color of the human experience- every story is waiting to be told, and thousands more to be written. I will one day tell this story to my children some cold evening cuddled up by the fire with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I will tell them of the friends I made along the way, all the funny things that had happened, the remarkable occurrences that I had experienced, and every time God touched my heart through it all. I will pull out a dusty old photo album and show them all the pictures as they gazed on the great adventure I had taken. The human experience can only be brought to the light of truth when given the light of other people. I can never understand the complexities of life until I put my ear to the hearts of a thousand people and listen closely to the song it sings. And part of finding this great human experience will come when I see the sun rise and set from every coast, when I see the creatures and flowers in every state, when I can see the world from a mountaintop rather than from flat ground.
I want to have no possession but God.
