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Living on the surface interests me little.  That facet of myself frustrates many in my orbit.  And yet I have managed to find few others who are willing to delve deeper with me, despite my knowing.  This, I sense, is one of my very great flaws.

In my youth, I committed.  I refused to spend much time at all with anyone who dallied with the superficial.

But it wasn't long before I caved in on that commitment.  Out of sheer loneliness, and malnourishment in my faith.

Such has gone on a very long time.  I brush shoulders with others who dabble with me at fishing midst the depths... but for the most part, I too have become one who settles for fumbling my way through the daily routine.

Sure, I have heroic moments.  I am a giving person; an honest one; a kind person.  A seeker of fulfillment.  My days have meaning.  But they are not profound.  They are not unwaveringly authentic... because the superficiality is prevalent.

Note that I write 'superficiality' and not 'mediocrity.'  Very different words.  I can laze here in superficiality without living in mediocrity.  And some people -many others I know, in fact-  find great satisfaction living in superficiality... and therefore they are missing perhaps nothing.  And their lives are by no means mediocre.

But me?  As I remain here, tiptoeing on the surface, I am starving myself.  And I know better.  And therefore it is a sin.

...Is it my codependence that keeps me here?  Is it fear of being alone?  Is it lethargy?  Desperation?  Weariness?

I must coax myself to recall who I am; I must again reach for the courage and determination to be myself fully.  To plumb those depths; to quest for the truths and silences and complexities and simplicities that meet me there.  I hunger for it.  I must away again to that sacred quest, that is my own.





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