Lately I feel like a punching bag for the Universe. Blow after blow. Crashing wave after wave. I'm gonna say it's a good 46% self inflicted from my choices that haven't panned out quite so well. Eh. That's gonna happen I guess, I'm human.
The other 54% is from bad luck, or sad circumstances. Tragedy dropping anchor near me.
I'd like to sit here and say that I'm being prepared for great things. That there is reason and rhyme to the pounding and clambering on the windows and edges of my peaceful ship called contentment. That I'll reach the other side and see that the deafening sound of the waves crashing over me and the thunder from the storm was music all along.
I recently realised that I don't like who I've become - shutting myself off from a sense of spirituality in favour of realism and science. So I've turned the ship around but the current that I'm now sailing against has never been stronger or more treacherous.
All I know is that I can't continue in the direction I was going, a life without spiritual sense of self is no life for me.
And yet I can't help but wonder if my belief that there is purpose to all of this means that I'm enlightened, or just delusional. It's a fine line between the two.
At the very least, it's comforting to know that I can question myself, because if we can't question our choices and beliefs and check in with who we are, what we're becoming and what we want to be, then we're all at risk of turning into shells of ourselves, broken and washed up on the beach.
So I'm tired from all this emotional rowing. But hey, for somebody lost out at sea, at least my hair looks pretty. 🌊🐚🛶