I have discovered, in the course of starting this new blog, that I just can't write poetically as myself. Whether it's because I can't take myself seriously when I do, or because I have an odd case of writer's block, I just don't seem to have the knack for it as me.
Everything even remotely serious, poetic, or eloquent comes when I am writing as someone else. And, for the moment, I don't have a character to hide behind. So until I find a new one, I present another journal entry from the story I mentioned last time:
"Today, in the middle of the turmoil that I’ve found myself suddenly part of, I discovered peace. Real peace. Not simply an absence of war and conflict, for indeed there was no shortage of that.
"This night I looked up at the stars. I pondered the vastness of the Universe. The glory of majestic trees, their leaves changing beautifully. The simplicity of a tiny wildflower. The intense complexity of the human body.
"The indescribable beauty and grandeur of everything that surrounded me took hold of my soul. It gripped me in a deeper way than I have ever experienced before. I was filled with love. The love of a father to a child. I felt my worries melt away. I have been asking for a very long time for God, if there is one, to reveal himself to me, and I can not help but feel that this is His answer: That He already has...that everything speaks His name."