Myth of Mine

So often I think that this belief is all a myth. . . like any other in the world’s layered cultural history.

And I ask myself, ‘why am I in this at all?’

But when I step to that crossroads another question confronts me: “To whom else will we go?”

I consider my options: A lonely wandering in the gaze of no God? Or one of the myriad of other myths?

And I come back to consider my own.

And I feel the life my creator channels into me in every one of these shallow breaths, and I remember the story of our noble king who left his palace to come visit us in our homes, which got him killed in our dirty streets, and I think of the spirit that takes walks with me and quietly shared the weight of this morning’s burdens, every morning.

And I realize. . . I am so thankful that, of anything in the world, I do have this belief.

Raw Spoon


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