When the wind blows through trees or the earth is kicked up but subterranean movements humanity writes poetry. We story tell. We lament in the streets. We gird ourselves for war. We right songs and books to fire from our guns. We aim those guns at circumstance, each other, and sometimes we eat the bullets for nourishment. We in the majority flail about looking for something to grasp and we may or may not find it. Man demands purpose; if that man is hungry his purpose becomes clear, eat. If that man is cold or rained on then his purpose becomes clear, shelter. If that man is fed, clothed and sheltered that is when things get fuzzy. Yet man still desires to know his purpose. I am sure that there are some that have died starving and naked asking if they were born just to suffer and die.
Purpose is a thing that question anymore. I know that as a child and young man I asked many times “why am I here” but like the big thinking computer from “Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy” I have been given the answer and it is less confusing than the number 42. I found an answer for every single human being on the planet. Well I did not find it it was found long ago and placed in the Westminster’s Catechism.
What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and enjoy Him forever. This is my purpose this is my reason for living and it is yours as well weather or not you accept it. Well that is between you and creator.
15,098 is the number of words I have written in an outline for a book. The book was nebulous and unformed a fog that floated through my own forest of a mind. It licked the dew like experiences from the leaves of memory and added their moisture to it’s already thick miasma. In the course of writing this I found that there are characters and concepts inside of me and others that I want to spread like a thick paste over the surface of peoples brains. I want my mental spores to germinate in the folds of their brain so that we might share in a collected understanding.
I want to enjoy the people and places I go and enjoy and glorify God more and more. Till his kingdom is so well known till the undeniable thread weaved by the great Author through every single vibrating string of reality is hard to ignore. My top spins just off axis enough to think that in creating stories I might do my part.