For whatever reason it is a wonderful thing to sit at a desk, and suddenly have the sun peak over the ridge to the east, through the trees, as bright and bold as can be, blinding the eyes with its force of light.
There is no rational explanation for occasions of beauty, only those internal connections with the wider world which fill our souls.
Today I remain around the house, the issues of yesterday giving restraint to my own attempts at renewed flight. Which is fine. The great concern is not the progress, it is the heart which seeks the progress, which demands too much of its ability, and would eagerly overindulge if given a chance. There is the thought that there is no excess in the pursuit of virtue. I’m not sure. Not because virtue is an ill, but because our own souls are emaciated. One starving for many years should not feast on a full table immediately. It takes time for the stomach to expand. Not waiting means sickness, means death. Our own, my own, weakness wants to intrude and corrupt the growing light within, a reality, I think, which is the cause of so many of those who once sought and now reject. They ate too quickly of the rich delicacies without thought of their own fortitude.
They tasted too much, and became sick, so rejected the food rather than the condition.
So, I’ll be content reading around my room, doing tasks less lofty but just as important, learning to neither go too quickly or too slowly, discovering the rhythm of the Spirit whose music should become my only concern.