“Was that God or indigestion?” is the existential struggle in obscure waking hours of the night. The answer is likely, “both” or “a ghost” (jkz).
After sweeping away my nonsense dream panic of, “There’s not enough pipes, and there is no word!” I realized my thought wasn’t real, sat up, and burped. Through my window, a dull glow of mismatched night light dressed my bedroom walls in anxiety.
My brain felt like a tightly twisted, dry bath towel. Especially, if water were peace of mind. I set my default mode to the equivalent of mental leg cramps in case I forgot to be anxious about something.
In a state of spiritually wandering the night lands (we’ll call it prayer), I pictured a survival pouch with labels for what my mind needed daily. The rations were running low, and the SMTWTFS boxes had no “peace pills” left.
Unknowingly, we can go into conservation mode, which values perceived self-reliance and prides itself on efficacy having a minimal carbon footprint in our relationships. We weren’t meant to live like this. We were meant to need, to ask, and to depend.
Hoarding and rationing are poverty+scarity driven. Accepting unlimited peace feels reckless and irresponsible because it’s countercultural. But let that stand for evidence for a spiritual truth. Allow yourself the bewilderment of God, the audacity to believe in an endless supply.