Yesterday I walked down the street, shoulders slumped, heart aching, just wishing that someone would throw me a bone. Then, right there in the middle of the dusty street taxi horns blaring, there was a bone. A yak bone, scant meat left on it but a little bit of hair. I nearly tripped over it. And then I wrote this...
I can feel it in my bones.
The eager urge to go home.
America's national anthem and a variety of patriotic songs hummed unintentionally in stressful situations.
I can feel it in my hair.
The dry crackle of things not there.
Words and languages which I'm desperate to catch pass like a breeze through the open window of my mind.
I can feel it in my skin.
Patience wearing thin.
The slightest distracted student in the most clumsily planned class feels like the fury of untold hoards of utter defeat.
I can feel it in my eyes.
A tangled web of lies.
A change in plans which sends the universe reeling but actually only betrays a shocking state of exhaustion.
I can feel it in my hands.
So many shifting grains of sand.
The list of things to do expands and shrinks and is forgotten and remembered ad nauseum.
The way things fall apart.
Needs so deep and complicated look like empty hands tickling filthy street children.
I can feel it in my soul.
A longing to be whole.
Such completion only found at the majestic throne and merciful cross of the One who is complete.
I can feel it.
