Doubt creeps in through the cracks. Doubt creeps in through the moments of silence. I wanted this post to be about boys, and about loves, but from the first keystroke it has swollen; it expands and becomes general. Generally, doubt creeps in. Doubt in myself. Doubt in the world. Sometimes I have doubt in the perpetual motion of this ever-expanding universe. I guess that the creeping, sneakiness of doubt is fair, because faith creeps in on the same silent paws. The thing is that no one ever exudes the stealth of faith. But it is there, side by side with it’s counterpart, practicing the fine art of surprise. Faith creeps in. It creeps in through the cracks, and the dark, silent nights. Faith is borne in the shininess of the moon, and the bright streak of a falling star. Doubt is the scar that the star left behind. Doubt is in the memories; the bright burns behind closed eyelids that you cannot quite touch. Faith is in the future; it lives on the tongue and in the toes. Doubt is a dark, still place deep inside that I am afraid to feel around in for the chance that I will become lost in it. Faith vibrates around the body like a seaside breeze, raising the hairs.
Doubt and faith are smoke and spirits. They have no power. They cannot touch you. They can not strangle you, and can not save you. But we give them power. We let them guide us, pulling us along like docile, harnessed ponies. We bow to them. Faith and doubt. We compose ourselves of them. Faith and doubt, desire and fear. They build. They grow and multiply until everything is significant and solid.
Sometimes I just want to exhale, just for a moment, and unwrap all of these layers of possibility and live just in the now, and feel just the here. No past, no future, no inside, and no outside.