Dear Universe, do you speak?

I assume it is you who they call God, expecting miracles. I don’t know if  that praying works when you ask for a momentary respite. But I can’t remember the moment well enough to count on it. This scares me. Am I inviting more difficulty in mortal life by confessing? I think my asking this question implies an assumption that someone (another intelligent being) is making crucial decisions in my life and I am praying for mercy. The lack of a convincing rationale renders this widely perceived notion of faith childish. I wonder if sometimes, it engenders from a rush to end a convoy of thoughts seeking freedom, because asking the right questions seems like a long road? The length of the road – does that matter? If life is a cycle, does it matter still? What if the shape is composed of a sine curve instead of a curved line?

I am looking to change the nature of this curve because I don’t like how I feel here. I don’t feel good about myself. I don’t feel happy or content. I remind myself that I should be grateful, making it sound like a duty. Strangely, I have experienced in life the sincere light of gratitude that comes from the heart. Gratitude for my body, for my mind, for my soul. Gratitude for my fingers that type these words; for my eyes that allow me to see what I have written; my ears that allow me to witness this ensemble created by my fingers hitting the computer-keyboard, with the gentle rumble of the air blowing out from the HVAC vent. I expected the air to be cooler because it is hot outside. My room has three windows, which gives me plentiful light, and some warmth. And I know I am supposed to be grateful for the light and endure the warmth. But I do not want to ask someone else. I can not imagine another intelligence in charge. But I can imagine ‘life’ like an organically developed set of rules, which fits the pattern of a cycle. Is Time that cycle? Is time like a clock with concentric dials?

Apologies. I digress from my original question. So, O Universe, which is both the contained and the container, both a straight line and a curve, a moment and memories, possibly held together by the cycle called Time, do you speak?


P.S.: As I have decided to focus on writing as my craft and this blog as a support system, I want to ask a friend if she can be my first reader.


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