I walked outside to check on my corn and hamburgers, and noticed the moon. Half moon, really, accompanied by a bright star, a planet really. Jupiter I discovered. Such a lovely sight, those two bright spots in the sky, inspiring, and I don’t know why. They let us feel eternity in a certain way I think, pointing out an existence in which really we bear little consequence, except for this brief speck in which we have our turn to stare.
The great philosopher Douglas Adams noted that eternity was really an impossible image to grasp, so something which is merely extremely huge or distant gives us a better image. Eternity is meaningless from our perspective, which is why the baubles of this present life draw our attention, and why the relative nearness of our solar system inspires grand thoughts and wonderful emotions.
There is not explaining it really, it captures our soul in a way which few sights can, bypassing the intellect and tapping into something which we can’t identify, but we can love.
The hamburger and corn on the cob were nice as well.
All this week I kept at a task which really wasn’t supposed to last more than a day, maybe two. But I kept plugging away, fine tuning, enjoying the art, if my insignificant efforts in that great field could be called such.
I also started reading a book by Jack London, well more from Jack London. A collection of his letters and essays. I identify with that man for some reason, odd given our quite distinct backgrounds. Yet, there is a similarity of perspective, a similar manner of expression, which always drew me to his writing. He said to write a thousand words a day, the best a person can write, anything more and they turn into second or third rate words. I knew he had said this, which is why last August I started doing just that.
What I didn’t know was that he said to write a thousand words a day, everyday, for sixty days. Then take thirty days off. Then back at writing for sixty days, and another thirty days off. Three attempted flights to immortality a year was a noble effort he wrote.
I didn’t know he wrote that, but it has been what I’ve been doing. July comes soon, and with it likely changes of pace, new frontiers to explore. This month I’ve learned, learned more than I have in many, many years, certainly more new material than I learned at seminary during a year. But, what satisfies my soul is not this learning, it is the writing, the expressing, the delving deeply through digging mine shafts into spirituality, rather than simply pondering the subject.
If I can ever make the leap, the complete jump out into what awaits there is no doubt I will find something beautiful. I think I am learning, preparing, practicing, for when the time ripens and I can make that jump.
I am eager for it, though not too eager. I don’t want to be caught unprepared, unready for the opportunity. This last week was a manner of preparation, oddly so, though profoundly so.
I really don’t know what any of this means, nothing of what I have done has made rational sense this year, except from the perspective of seeking complete freedom through obedience, and complete wisdom through fluidity.
So, I must trust, I must continue to seek, to be responsive in the drawing calls upon my life. There is nothing else. And that is a frightening and wonderful place to be.