Metamorphose

I am a butterfly with resurrecting wings. The sky is painted with purple and pink and I am flying. The sky is painted with shades of grey and I am being captured by a net in the hands of a human, where I am torn wing from wing. 

Isn't it shameful how our emotions often times define our spirituality? Or at least, we believe that they define our spirituality.

Maybe if I spent all of my time with people everything would be perfect? Solomon sure seemed to spend a lot of time examining himself though, so I don't think there's anything intrinsically wrong with introspection.

I am at that reoccurring place again; the place that I did not imagine returning to. It is a place where I return to Agnosticism. It is a place where God does not make sense. It is a place where the arguments of Richard Dawkins appear to be truthful. It is a place where I do not want to use my mind anymore. It is a place where I constantly question superficiality. It is a place where I lack enjoyment. It is a place where I want enjoyment. It is a place where I wonder how much belief & faith I really have. If I was believing, if I was faithful, would these questions be tearing me down in the first place? 

I am admittedly depressed; I am admittedly anxious.

I am a beggar on the streets of the earth. I am begging for the keys to Heaven. My soul begs to see God face to face. I am bored of looking at the shattered pieces of God laying on the sidewalks. (Cult)ure defines us by our interests, our tastes, our clothes, our physical and mental abilities, our occupations. Fashion is not a part of me. Photography is not a part of me. Music is not a part of me. Writing is not a part of me. These are just handfuls of dirt that I toss in the air. It looks pretty against the glaring sun while it's in flight, but it eventually just hits the ground, and gets stepped on by an ongoing movement of people. Born to die. Dust to dust. God, are you a part of me?