Today, the Universe saw fit to rip open an old wound for debridement, sans anesthetic. As I sit here with my soul still throbbing from the procedure, I am unsure as to the prognosis. There was an awful lot of damaged spirit. Perhaps I should apply leeches.
There is some point when you keep getting smacked with the same message over and over again, you just want to grab God by the shoulders and scream, “I don’t understand! Try telling me another way, already!” It’s like when you’re playing Pictionary, and someone draws something that no one can guess what it’s supposed to be; rather than draw more, they just keep pointing at what they already drew, as if pointing at it again will suddenly make it a better drawing. You want to yell at them to draw something else because obviously that’s not getting the message across, right? You know you do. Sometimes the Universe is a crappy Pictionary player.
So that’s the type of message I’ve been dealing with. It’s either the most toxic, messed-up, I don’t want to live in this Universe kind of message, or I’m just not understanding what it’s trying to get across to me. As I spent many years operating under the belief of the former and that got me nowhere, I’ve come to believe it’s got to be the latter. But God just keeps pointing at that same drawing again and again.
Today, I stared down into that gaping wound and saw exactly what it had been doing to my insides. But I still don’t understand the message. I would really, really like the Universe to just draw something else.
I understand what subconscious thoughts and beliefs it gave birth to within me. I understand how those subconscious little viruses ate away at my spirit. But I still don’t understand what the message was supposed to be that got lost in translation.
Perhaps God is better at charades.