Unfinished

 They just keep rolling in, you know?

It's just clouds. 

No. It isn't just clouds. It's stuff. So much stuff and I'm so weary of stuff.

There's sunshine beyond those dark clouds. 

Why can't I see that?

Sometimes you need clouds to shelter you from the harshness of the sun. The rain cleanses you.

What about the weight of those? The rain, the hail, the wind, the destruction?

The clouds pass and the sunshines again. What about the heat? The searing winds that scorch the life out of the grass? Dry air that blisters the skin? 

............. Why must it always be one or the other? Why isn't there a place in the middle where there's no pain, no grief, no hollowness?

There is. You're not there yet. You just have to keep going. 

I'm so tired. Things I used to think mattered don't anymore. I keep looking at everything and wondering why I still bother with it. You know, I've been working on this rug since January. I can only do a bit at time because of the pain in my hands. I'm 15 rows from being finished. Last night I looked at it and thought about just stopping and forgetting those 15 rows. They'll take days, maybe weeks, if my swollen hands have anything to do with it. I can stop now and it's finished. 

Or you can actually finish it, and it will look as you imagined. You will have completed the pattern. Every time you step on it, it will remind you of how hard you worked, the effort it took, and the joy it brings because you finished it. 

I'm not sure it's worth it anymore. It's just a rug. People will walk on it and never notice it except in passing. It will wear out and I'll toss it. No one will remember it, not even me.

Are we still talking about the same thing?

I don't know what I'm talking about. 

#Conversations With Him