It is cold again tonight, a chill in the air even without the wind. Clouds came this afternoon, filling the sky by dark, though not a fog, higher up. Something patters across the roof, I’ve no idea what, maybe a flying squirrel not quite flying.
I felt lethargic all day, pressing on despite the feelings, even exercising for a couple of hours. It is the ebb, I believe.
There is a rhythm to the spiritual life, which I don’t remember reading about (to be honest, I tend to read a lot and absorb it, forgetting inspiration, as it is ingested within, forgetting it came from somewhere). It ebbs and flows, light the day, like the tide, like so many other things. I wonder if there is, for me at least, a sense of grace being there when needed. I’m in a time between tasks, for the most part, so I am not charged with the same spiritual focus.
Or it could be creeping acedia, silenced beneath the weight of occupation, only stifled not silenced.
I don’t know, either way there is only to keep on with that which I know to do, those things which present themselves in the present. I pray for direction, for freedom, for understanding, and having prayed I must then do what can be done. Fretting is not worthwhile.
I end the day having made forward leaps, and yet feeling an emptiness, an emptiness that comes from perception of teases, carrots before my eyes which always retreat before me, never within grasp.
Not that this is an evil thing, I suppose. Joseph had his cup-bearer to be sure.
At the end of the day there is only obedience in doing what is right, and making progress in what I can. Having committed myself to the void, there isn’t any purpose in flailing about. Even if my heart is not in it, and feels an emptiness of being.
This all will make coming to the other side that much more beautiful.