I sat there dumbfounded, so sure I was feeling everything. So sure that I felt it all. Every little teeny thing. And why....because I know how to cry?
I smirked in disbelief...I felt nothing. I felt that I was thinking. THINKing. Thinking about what it meant to feel. Thinking I knew how to feel how I felt. No, but I know how to feel about others. Intuition instructs me the best means to comfort them....these ones around me that inadvertently generate how I think I feel. This emotion that molds me into what I think I feel.
I feel that I talk. Talk much. Talk often. Talk fast. Talk about deep things that generate numbers and fascinations and sensationalism. "Thinking isn't your issue," he assured me, "you are very smart." But do I.....feel? Do I impress them with my feelings? With peace, you say? Do I feel peace or know peace or just think and talk about peace? And what of passion? That fire I seek in others as I know to be within me. HA....as I think about feeling I am reminded of the path and how I feel, with the deepest bits of my soul that this path is so necessary and righteous and will lead to where ever I need to be, surrounded by the best versions of what I hope to be. We could talk, but all I want to do is feel it. I want to look with these eyes. Feel with these hands, this skin. This very moment and until forever, even if it never comes. I take it as I take you into my life.
My life. My strife. So right.
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