This night.

Now Listening to: Josh Garrels

"Hold on to my hand... it'll meet us like a dream... Call out our names... Walking where we heard the sound... Tomorrow mountain we will climb, tonight the stars and fire shines in our eyes..."

This time now has come. This time now has come. The pressure presses on and my soul and body are one. i'm so frustrated in the sense of a common anger of my fellow man. One question: How do i fix the problem? A brigade of questions follow: Am i supposed to fix it? Where is my divine voice telling me exactly what to do? What is the problem? What is the real problem.

This night has come from fire and from light. My pent up aggression of an incomplete man starts to throw rocks at the man in the mirror of my soul. The word 'why' becomes the hate of my own intellect. My thoughts merely seem to be stumbling blocks that prohibit me to walk. This night has left like the sight from the blind and words from the deaf. Tell me. Oh, please tell me. A letter sent upon the waves of the world wide web, only to be a simple unread journal entry of my hate for the selfishness of my life. Tell me this letter is not just letters.

Am i supposed to be here? Does it matter that i am. An e-mail in the middle of the morn telling me that it was only time before his mother passed away. An e-mail tearing my optimism apart and leaving only a desolate boy in a shroud of shrapnel. Tell me now. Answer me in my weakest moment. What does everyone need? What is everyone yearning for in their life? Then, how does that apply to my 30,000 dollars of debt and my want to provide this community a life without worry or struggle? Have i just made a temple of my worries and left all others to find their own Jesus Christ in the crap of their life? i think with thoughts that i don't understand, only to realize that i don't comprehend my own thoughts and the problem is still the problem that is bothering me.

Wants. Desires. Our inhibitions to change the world, be remembered, and make a mark in the scoreboard of history. Are our wants a thing of holy instincts, or merely a man-made obsession? Look up to the moon, wait for that silent man to yell the answers, watch the smoke rise from their lips like smoke from bullet wounds, search the smoke for the words of wisdom given from the lunar-lit clouds that are smeared across the canvas of midnight. The answer are to be found, are they not? But, on this night, they are not seen or percieved in the smallet sense of an easy mission in the life of a being. i throw it into the sky only to watch it fall back down. The thoughts have only tied themselves into a bigger knot, and i... have only come to the conclusion...

This night. This night has come.

shalom.