Comfortably numb...

Out on this perimeter I walk alone.  Lonely.  The spookiness of the invading real.  These objects arrive unannounced, uninvited, unplanned for, this strange otherness.

After all experience, after sense realism, the wonders of this life come alive.  Yet we are always alone no matter how conjoined we are.  Alone except for the objects that are always there while we wake -- looking, smelling, seeing, touching, sensing.

Never have I felt so alone as now.  Never have I failed so often.  Never have I been a real father.  Not real because I am powerless.  Not real because I have always failed.  Not real because success escapes.  Not real because I cannot provide.

I have been given a nature.  A strong desire to provide.  A strong desire to philosophize.  A strong desire for wisdom.  A strong desire to please my God.  This nature I have failed.  This life I have failed.  Misery.  Is it simple tragedy?  this existence?

How long, my God, must I wait?  How long, my God, must this perimeter be mine alone?  How long must I be jobless, homeless, hopeless?

"Blessed are the poor."  Not here, not now, not this.

Why have You foresaken me?

Powerless.

I wish for no numbness, but if I must be numbed, I wish for comfortable numbness.

The invasion of the real is suffocating.  Only the God fearing always have oxygen in the face of discomfort.

Hope.