Dear Pneuma,

Why is happiness so hard to write about? When I am blue, the words just ache to be written. When I am pink, they stack up behind my fingertips like adrenalin junkies in a roller coaster line. Today is a pink day.

The rain falling from the sky is a crisp, cleansing rain. The neighborhood is noisy with people going places and doing things. The dirt is black and smells like richness; there is a yellow daylily blooming in my back yard. Adventure beckons-a short step out of the house and down the street, a step fraught with potential and hope.

I believe this is how life is meant to be lived. Nothing radical has changed from the last time I wrote. I still don't feel as springy and strong as I did at seventeen, but today, I want to challenge the world. Today, I am unafraid and interested in what's going on outside. Today, I have room for other people.

My chest flutters and my mouth smiles. I like the color of my clothes and I can harldy wait until the hour my Beloved comes home. Today, I feel good about the little energy I spend, rather than feeling bad about the large energy I can no longer access.

Today, my monster is in its cage. I am its tamer and I stand outside.

It seems that this is a truth of faithfulness-life can only get better. As I wrestle day-to-day with the temptation to believe in the ascendancy of death and pain, I am being called to believe that life wins out. Life wins out because people care. Life wins out because pain is proof of feeling. Life wins out because lilies bloom in autumn and life wins out because tomorrow we can laugh at what grives us today.

So, I will leave this post, Pneuma, wishing you a life unafraid and hopeful, knowing that the radical is nothing more than the every day.

Love Always,
Cobalt Dreams