It's like the whole world is waiting for something big to happen. We all line up, hoping to catch a glimpse of, well, anything. Something to make us chuckle and something to make us weep. Something to help us remember and something to let us forget. Something to tell us we are doing just fine an something to reveal that we have been doing it wrong all along. Some of us want calculated rationale and some of us want experiential mysticism.

They forgot to tell us that this isn' t the circus or a freak show. There are no bearded women or lions jumping through rings of fire or midgets on the trapeze. We are sitting in the wrong seats, hoping to shriek in terror and squeal with delight. We do not want entertainment--we want chaos. Insanity in our days in order to stifle the piercing quiet in our souls. We want to run life at breakneck speed in order to prove to the others careening about that we have accomplished something. Something important. We do not cast off the disorder, why? Because we are afraid of what we will encounter in the clarity. We refuse to stop muttering or to turn off the music, or to unplug the computer and TV because the silence is screaming for survival and we dread its gasping connotations.

For what is there in the nothingness of the wind's taunts? What man-made deception has removed the taste of damp earth from our feet, forcing us to distance our extremities from the elements? And why do we curse the elements so, buttoning up when in frost, and delayering when under sun-glare?

I feel awful. Awfully comfortable. Oddly secure, yet fretfully ill at ease.

Who is God, my Creator? Why have I cheaped His favour? To whom shall I belong?