Note: Here I took one sentence (fragment) from the first free writing exercise and expanded and expounded on it for seven minutes without stopping. The same hazards of wandering and over pondering still apply. Here it is, unedited.
Purpose where there seems only pain
Pain, so often, makes us look away, to the mountains of mucky memories. It is universal, expressive, and poignant. Pain promises only more pain, but it rarely comes alone. Pain is like a fiery gift basket laden with glowing goodies. It is a harbinger of strength, fortitude, stamina, humility and even humor, to name a few. It can be like a sandwich with a missile inside. That missile is purpose, and in the land of pain, is instantly acknowledged as salvation. Purpose is something we gnaw at, feeding our time with the gristle of frustration and ineffectiveness. It is the go-to of maniacs who seem so ready to mangle through to a broken embrace. It is scary. It is the slayer of routine and happenstance, the seducer of the status quo. We yearn for it, but will we burn for it? Will it grow with us, or wither in indecision? Do you want a purpose? I do, most days, but what will it cost me? House, home, friends, family, life?
Note: The alarm on my phone sounded as the last sentence was penned. I had no time to answer all of life’s questions. Pity. Stay tuned, but not necessarily to me.