It was a warm day, hazy and peaceful. Not really all that warm, only in comparison with recent weeks. It’s certainly fully Spring.

Not surprisingly I’ve let my regular, non-website, writing fall off. I’m not surprised but I am a little disappointed. The initial fervor which drove me up into the mountains has cooled, petering out in late February, pushed aside in March, and exhausted in April. Now May is here and little in me even cares about pumping out any words not related to online consumption.

This bothers me as I actually have a project to do now, albeit a simple project.

Some of the trouble is me to be sure. I’ve lost heart, even as I’ve found myself busy in other ways, when I stop I know I’ve lost heart. I guess the constant voices of “do this or do that besides writing” got into my soul. “You should have stayed in academics!” “You should be a teacher!” “You should be anything more explicable!”

There is a lot of support for talent and creativity, etc. and so on, but very little for me. I feel that tonight. I feel a loss of inspiration coming from a rather complete loss of impetus, that I know would be greatly reignited by even a single voice unrelated to me who says, “I believe in you.”

I say that to others, and I know I say those kinds of things because I need to hear them. I need to hear someone who asks me how I am doing with my writing, what I am learning, who I’ve sent things off to recently, how I’ve dealt with having silence in the PO Box after sending things out. I need that outside support that doesn’t engage me in continual explanations or arguments, having me try to define one through the other. I am whole, I know, just discouraged, and need some whole others to spark my waning enthusiasm. In the past I suffered from a lack of wholeness, overcoming this with some inner ambition. Now that I am whole, I am proven to myself, and find peace in my being… just no push in my prose.

I find myself wanting to pray and read the greats of the faith, knowing that all the while I am supposed to write with more purpose. I see sloth beginning a slow creep towards me and I’m not really caring.

It’s fine and good that there are many people excelling on paths that I might have gone down. I value praying and offering encouragement and finding connection because I have been an often rare voice in saying certain people are really much grander than they think of themselves.

But I came here in a way because those voices of frustration were plaguing me down the hill, voices of such discontent they do not know how to see hope in struggling against it. I occasionally slough off those voices… but never completely.

I seek out new voices, where peace and light seem to shine. While those aren’t silenced they are inconstant.

So, I delve into the masters of solitude and stillness, finding in my sharper moments words of revelation that confirm my soul’s longing. Finding in times of lesser being such words not continuing to echo.

I am young in the faith, and I know this, still trapped between here and there, not sure where to be.

I guess I need that voice of light to inspire my soul. Whither that voice I don’t know or control, and so I wait, uninspired, wishing desperately for renewed inspiration, finding in this moment a sadness of unshared longing and shriveled impetus.

I myself am on a shore, walking alone along the beach. It is either dawn or dusk, and so completely between this and that.

Other than the impetus and enthusiasm about my own present purpose I am doing rather well. It’s just that those things are bothering me right now, as I wonder what happened to that initial fire and wonder how that fire can be renewed. It bothers me a lot right now really.

But what is one to do when impetus itself is fading away?

Pray, I suppose. There’s always that.