touched with fire

The groundhog saw his shadow. 6 more weeks of winter!

In other news, for whatever reason, I did not have the most restful sleep last night, though it was certainly among the most numerous in terms of hours I spent in bed. As a result, today my mind is about as foggy as the weather outside. (How foggy is it, you ask? Extremely.)

I have a history midterm tomorrow and have had countless opportunities to study for it, but have avoided studying it for the past two days. Why? I wish I knew. I think I am feeling as though there’s something I’m not getting, something that’s staring me right in the face that I don’t see, and I feel compelled to figure out what it is but have no way of knowing where to start. It’s sort of like back in secondary school when I was studying this poem called “Snow” and I read it and loved the way the words were strung together and the images that were used and conveyed and I got to the last line and could tell that it was just bursting with profundity and it seized me in its great depth, but I just couldn’t get my head around it. I understood, yet I did not understand. I saw, but I did not see. There was more, there was more – surely, there was more. There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses. But what was the something more?!?!?! Did I get it, or didn’t I?

So simple, yet so profound. And I wonder, is there ever a point where one should stop questioning? Is there a point where you decide, “Okay, I’ve got it.” and leave it at that? Or do you keep pushing, keep asking, keep complicating? Is there always something more? Is it possible to fully understand? No, but then what does it mean to accept without fully understanding? To accept that you don’t have to fully understand? How do you know when you reach that point?

Can we ever stop fighting? How do you rest in the midst of a war? What does that look like?

Or maybe I’ve been focused on the wrong thing all along. Maybe while my eyes were on the glass, they should have been on the plurality of the world. Maybe the only way to see, sometimes, is to take your eyes off the thing you are trying so desperately to understand.

We’re all related somehow.


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