What is faith to a non-believer?
Surely the word must translate, perhaps with a meaning transcended–yet not so far removed from the blind leap, stomach-churning, teary-eye invoking force.
I often wonder, what's there left to ponder–did the greats ask all the questions there were to be asked?
Maybe I just worry too much, but, I can't seem to help myself. There's always an interrogation itching to be matched with answers within me.
Prophetic dreams, premonitory thoughts, reflections of desires fulfilled by the mere push of chance, an unassuming question asked: "what if?".
It's such a fitting word–reflection. I find myself considering, turning thoughts on their every side, biting my lip in deep concentration as I stare at the way the light kisses the ripples on the water before me.
Maybe faith is in the knowing no matter where you are, there'll always be light reflected on the surface.
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