More Questions Than Answers

Back in November (when it was surprisingly warm for the season) I did a writing exercise where the group of us went out to a grassy area just beyond some trees to write. There were different prompts to write about, below is my responses. Enjoy!

Why is it that I cannot look directly at the sun? The plain answer is that it hurts my eyes. But Romans 1:20 says that God reveals Himself through His creation. The sun is our giver, God is our life giver. I cannot look directly at the sun, I cannot see Gods’s face. I need a certain degree of light and a certain degree of darkness to see, what does that mean for my relationship with God? I need a certain minimum amount of good in me to know that good is positive and I need a certain minimum amount of good in me to see that God is good. And yet I also need an amount of bad to see that God is better than me and that because of that He created me because I could not create a being better. The worse cannot create the better. From less, more does not come.


I can see forever in the sky – how far into the blue can I see? I can only see as far as an obstruction to my view, so does that mean I can see at all? Am I only seeing a difference in the sky because of the obstruction? I can’t look at the sky for long without an obstruction – a cloud. Not because of the blue, but because of what is behind my head – the sun. What does this mean? I can only see as far as my end (an obstruction, a cloud), but it is so much more. Wondering ceaselessly is what I feel and what I wish.


Why did I choose full sun instead of partial shade? The leaves and grass are fin beneath me, not a cushion and not rough, just there. I’m on a slight hill – maybe twenty degrees elevated. Most of my skin is covered with clothing and my fingers have gone into a state of apathy. I could feel my surroundings best with my lips and cheeks because they are not traumatized by the many materials of life. I don’t like it when my blood concentration slowly rises upward, from my feet to my head and hands. I can feel my pulse at my fingertips. My life signs at my fingertips. My life in my hands.


The tiniest movements of the grass and the leaves I can only hear because of the inaudible wind. The wind makes no sound but it affects are heard, some from silences and some from natural disaster.


The leaves and the students are the same – scattered in different concentrations about. Husks of what they once were. For the students countenances give away their thoughts like the condition of the leaves – fragile and wanting life.


The juxtaposition I saw while coming back to the building was the dying nature of autumn against the solid unchanging institution with lively youths. Dying next to unchanging next to life. Spots of green leaves against trees in an early winter slumber. Green of hops against signs of winter of death. A warm day in November. Normally November is when people bring down coats, hats, boots, and gloves, not shorts-wearing-weather. The dark blue against the bright yellow of the building flag. Opposite colors, we see and read the world by juxtaposition.



2 responses »

  1. I remember an assignment like this, maybe even the same one. I remember most clearly the feeling of calm and contentness I felt from being away from everyone, I could forget all my problems. I had never felt more free.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s