the day is different after the (a) fall. a place marked by caution tape & hollow nerves that fuel vertigo. i’m trying to get back to the old earth. well, the garden really. the place where the sun doesn’t mock me & quiet doesn’t deafen. what happens when the Creator is separated from creation? basically hell, but not like with horns & flames & instead like counterfeit reality. having truth in front of you but a glass ceiling blocking. distance. how to get back?
we don’t like that though, because what’s a white flag when we could get our way?
but since when has our way given freedom or lightness of life?
surrender can conjure flashbacks of when we were powerless, or the crushing weight of grief & we barricade for protection.
surrender, though, if we’re getting to the root, is simply yielding to the power of another.
not to just to any other, though.
to our Creator.
Genesis tells me that Jacob wrestled with God & left with a blessing, but also a limp.
maybe surrender bypasses the limp.
surrender to the One who is all-knowing, all-seeing & works all for good.
surrender to Love.
& not the hollywood mirage-fueled concoction,
but Love that knew you before you were born.
back to the garden:
to the beginning.