I just returned from my meeting...it does feel good to receive the spiritual food for which I hunger. It was so encouraging; alas, it showed me that there is much more work to be done. Why have I allowed myself to get to this spot? What spot am I at? Was that last sentence grammatically correct? Why does my leg hurt? Alas, I digress. The Spiritual Account of DPLS is written following the pattern of Thomas Shepard's Spiritual Account. Alas, I must finish my Chinese work and a socio paper...so my spiritual recollections must come later. It wont be too late though.
The Spritual Accountof DPLS is an in-depth, possibly nonsensical recollection of my past, complete with all the religious turmoil that has tortured my soul many a night. It will show all that I am thinking, all that I know, all that I don't know and all that I hope. It will show me, on a level that no one else really knows. On a level that no one else will probably ever know. Only God and the Devil know this much - God knows it and and the Devil causes it.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Popped My Own Cherry
So...this is my first blog. Ever. Yeah I know, welcome to the 21st century DPLS. It's 3:47 in the morning, I'm listening to that Kanye song with Chris Martin on VH1 Soul right now. I just heard the line of my life, the line that drives me, that makes me get up every day..."reach for the stars so if you fall you land on the clouds". That part feeds my soul.
You know its funny - I must have performance anxiety. I'm here now and I can't seem to think of anything deep, significant, catchy or funny to say now that I finally have a legitimate place to put all my thoughts. Oh. Now a Trojan commercial is on. Hold on. I'll just turn to Lockup:Raw.
I'm devastating hungry, madly confused about my current state of affairs and like many of people my age, lost. I have a lot of baggage so blog, my dear blog, I guess this (and most other posts) will be a further expression of myself for myself, past the pink afro mohawk I so don't have (haha fooled ya there...you thought I had a pink afro mohawk).
What am I?
I am....
scared. Scared of what the future does and does not hold. Scared of uncertainty. Scared that I cannot figure out just what is wrong with me.
angry. Angry at the condition of blacks and the condition of women.
slightly racist. Against everyone - blacks, white, Latinos, everyone. Except Asians.
alone. Slightly. Maybe scratch that. In the familial setting, I am alone.
afraid. Afraid of the walls I have built up. Afraid of the walls I cannot take down. Afraid of these scars, all the scars I have..the ones I can and cannot see. The ones I have given to myself. The ones inflicted upon me by what I like to assume are equally unknowing people.
ever hopeful. Maybe its my youthful arrogance, but I just refuse to let my sprits be crushed. If that happens, whats the point of being alive? To suffer? I think not. The point of life is to conquer the world - your world. My world. To enjoy life, to be content. Self-satisfied. O if only I could find self-satifaction. If only I could find love.
loveless. I know that it's not me - too many females comment on the lack of decent males so I know that I'm not crazy in choosing to remain single despite what I want. I guess after starving for so long, I've realized that though I am ready for love, it won't happen for a while. Despite my best efforts (and my ensuing lack of effort to counteract anything I may have done...for I believe that if you wish and try to hard for something, it will forever elude you) it doesnt happen for me. In the end, nothing ever comes easily for me.
How long does this blog continue on for?
You know its funny - I must have performance anxiety. I'm here now and I can't seem to think of anything deep, significant, catchy or funny to say now that I finally have a legitimate place to put all my thoughts. Oh. Now a Trojan commercial is on. Hold on. I'll just turn to Lockup:Raw.
I'm devastating hungry, madly confused about my current state of affairs and like many of people my age, lost. I have a lot of baggage so blog, my dear blog, I guess this (and most other posts) will be a further expression of myself for myself, past the pink afro mohawk I so don't have (haha fooled ya there...you thought I had a pink afro mohawk).
What am I?
I am....
scared. Scared of what the future does and does not hold. Scared of uncertainty. Scared that I cannot figure out just what is wrong with me.
angry. Angry at the condition of blacks and the condition of women.
slightly racist. Against everyone - blacks, white, Latinos, everyone. Except Asians.
alone. Slightly. Maybe scratch that. In the familial setting, I am alone.
afraid. Afraid of the walls I have built up. Afraid of the walls I cannot take down. Afraid of these scars, all the scars I have..the ones I can and cannot see. The ones I have given to myself. The ones inflicted upon me by what I like to assume are equally unknowing people.
ever hopeful. Maybe its my youthful arrogance, but I just refuse to let my sprits be crushed. If that happens, whats the point of being alive? To suffer? I think not. The point of life is to conquer the world - your world. My world. To enjoy life, to be content. Self-satisfied. O if only I could find self-satifaction. If only I could find love.
loveless. I know that it's not me - too many females comment on the lack of decent males so I know that I'm not crazy in choosing to remain single despite what I want. I guess after starving for so long, I've realized that though I am ready for love, it won't happen for a while. Despite my best efforts (and my ensuing lack of effort to counteract anything I may have done...for I believe that if you wish and try to hard for something, it will forever elude you) it doesnt happen for me. In the end, nothing ever comes easily for me.
How long does this blog continue on for?
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