An Inadequate Man

Now let's be real…that's always my way out. My saving clutch back to the truth. A safety word, if you need one.

Not literal. Subliminal. Let's be real about where we actually are. The empty room is not the same as a clean room. A clean room is what you scroll past on someone else's page…the color palette, the aesthetic, the bold ideas and the timid ones, laid out for you to admire. You may never see them in it. Just the vision. Clean. Clear. Curated.

No. The empty room is something else. A seasonal reboot. Neo to the Source. The morning comes…the sun sets…the night arrives and stays peaceful. This has always been my timespace. Where I am, somehow, most efficient.

An inefficient man does not feel…beautiful. If I had to describe one, I'd point outside, to my bewildered neighbors. Rugged. Jagged. Free. Picasso, smudged into colossus. Giants who roam the block like they own the light. Still beautiful, if you ask me.

I can find God everywhere. See Him everywhere. But the sensation…it feels terrible. At least to me. Liberating, probably, to everyone else. Still, I hear it — the endless call of purpose, of intention. It sounds faintly like the warmest morning. My comforting friend.

That liberation lies dormant, somewhere in the bows of everything I haven't made yet. I must create. It's waiting on me. Create this life. Fulfill this purpose. That's the only real distinction there is.

So to the room we go. We clean. We start again. We become giant, and we become free.

We cannot stay an inadequate man.