Accidentally up in the wee hours of the morning and my brain decided to get philosophical and introspective instead of going back to sleep. And I think I just got some insight as to why I’m so obsessed with the truth.
My mood, whether I’m ecstatic and alive or anxiety-ridden and depressed, whether I think I can feel the presence of this God guy or not, if people are happy with, agree with, available to, or like me…those things are exasperatingly unreliable in the long run, all over the place; I never know what’s coming next.
But truth, truth is something stable. I desperately want it, need the peace, no matter how subtle it can be, need the warm feeling of safety that comes from discovering another piece of it. I want to touch that solid yet elusive storm of a thing, truth. I want to cradle it in my arms, hold it tight to my chest. Keep it safe. Never let it go.
I want to let it make me good.