Doubt Is Not an Ink Blot

Doubt Is Not an Ink Blot

(“Calling two of his disciples to him, sent them to the Lord, saying, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?’” Luke 7:19)

Doubt is not an ink blot,
not an erasure,
not a final forecast of gray.
Doubt is not blindness,
not soulless,
not a symptom of falling away.

You can go around the same block,
this day, under the sun’s rays, watching blue jays,
or wishing you had stayed a hundred miles away.

The forecast says rain,
the daisies and daffodils, intoxicated,
sway with the barely breeze, and beg us to notice
their debut appearance. Doubt I’ll miss them
this time around.

Questions no longer frighten me, thinking is my
favorite pastime. No longer cast inside plaster,
beauty is the language I crave. Why would I
want
a warrior shooting blood from a lily-white cannon
when there are
sheep in the fields that turn my thoughts to
feasts for enemies and goodness surely following?

Faith is not certainty,
not an iron rod,
not a rule that is cast in stone.
Faith is not foresight,
not tap dance,
not a promise of simply whole tones.

You can take the same walk again,
this day.