Conceit of Knowing
We’d all be screwed with just one shot to figure our lives out, then make our mark. All this doing can’t possibly be what it means to be alive. How can we truly measure one life, yet alone all of life? I still hold the conceit of knowing, and it becomes less satisfying every day. So now I readjust my aim, yet still can’t discern my target. Those with good intentions have done less for me than others with ill-intent, who play in the gaping holes of our well-constructed reality. My dogs have given me more than my rational mind can reduce into easily digestible answers. They turn round and round, then flop down knowing full well, there’s not always a comfortable place to sit.
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- Second Communion · November 28‹ Lots MoreSo Hungry for This Day ›