There is no wasted love.
There is no great unknown.
Rather, there are things we know too well, but are just too scared to uncover.
There is no holy grail, there’s no fairy tail that is too romantic. There’s love for sure, and there’s buried treasure, but it’s mostly buried within us and is found when our hearts are untethered.
There’s longing in a fairy story that’s far beyond the tails and glory. It’s truth deeper and truer then our own stories hold, because the things otherwise unseen are pictured in the form of battles and fantasy.
I can’t quite put my finger on the reason we feel so complete or incomplete or hopeful of something sweeter than these black top streets. The stories point to something, like the pain in my knees and the thoughts weighing heavy on my chest both have credence.
I know I’ve seen and felt things, heard and known things I had no business knowing. I know I’ve felt love and been loved by a being much grander than human, outside of a scope we can see. I know it might all sound crazy and more like delusion, but in the end, i have resolution. In the midst of calamity, we find camaraderie, within peace and anxiety and somewhere between joy and tragedy there’s a constant that has followed through history.
The earth has seen him and he’s seen the void before the earth’s beginning. His wisdom is unknowable and untamed, yet consistent all the same. He’s a story teller through and through, a creative; no, the creative; Creativity himself. I can not explain each stroke of his pen or why he penned me in. I can’t explain the earthquakes or tragedy amidst the innocent. I can’t fathom how this universe once wasn’t and now is or all the dimension, but I can tell you this.
When he said he loved me, for a while I didn’t believe him. In my mind I heard him say it, I believed it was just my mind, that I was perpetuating a lie I’d heard all my life.
But when you know, you know it. It took weeks, months, before I’d believed him. The way I’ve lived since sure has been different, but what I did in secret didn’t say I loved him. Kindness covered over my selfishness, and I didn’t care what God saw from his perspective, as long as his Christians thought I was “it”.
But there’s a difference between speaking and living it. My heart’s a mess without Jesus at the helm. No counterfeit can stand up to the genuine, even if no one else can tell.
But with my senses back on track, if it be good music or a movie or a painting, a bird singing, bees racing or a sunset that’s slowly fading, good art points to something, points to someone, points to the hope beyond me and you. It’s real, even if you don’t believe it, and if you conclude the truth, there’s no turning back, there’s only through.
Through the lense of questioning or blaming, It’s all a prism we find ourselves looking through when we try to fathom all truth.
In practicality, I’d rather be safe than sorry, to choose to trust a grander story that holds weight in history. To give everything for a treasure that’s forever.
It is the most logical and most unnerving thing to give up total autonomy to a being we can not see, but for what I’ve seen, it’s worth the risk.