A cool beautiful evening, the clouds seemed smudged on the blue sky, like an eraser overused. The day was crisp and beautiful, the weekend full of fun.

I woke up last night at around 2:30, and sat for a while pondering and praying as has been my habit recently. For whatever reason I couldn’t focus, until I picked up a pencil and wrote for a long while. A random short story, vaguely reminiscent of a Twilight Zone (as 3:00 am stories are apt to be), then I fell asleep.

I consider this a good sign, a sign that writing is entering my blood even further, getting to where it relaxes and eases my mind.

For still there is much swirling about, surprises to be sure as well. And so I press onwards, trusting that to follow the lead of the Spirit within me will bring me to the place of delight and joy, wherever, however, and with whomever this may be found. I write because I have to, I correspond with those I do because the Spirit has called me to, I reach out for that which is out of sight, and grab hold of that which I cannot yet identify.

I give up security for the sake of hope. And so I do it again this week, where the fractured rhythm of past weeks can now be restored. I have only the tasks before me at hand, without the regular interuptions, and now only myself and the Spirit to please.