Lately I have pretty much run away from the Internet. The retreat that sounded inside my little self was a good one for me to follow. I've thought about the you who have kindly been reading the me who likes the blog world. I have wished you well in your worlds and universes. I sometimes peek in on what you're doing.

What I'm doing is processing. Talking to myself by the woodstove when no one is home. Being angry at people I know, being resentful and resistant against the way life goes.

For years I have identified with the biblical story of the prodigal son. The Orthodox church my husband and daughter go to is today celebrating a remembrance of the prodigal, of his recognition that he had done certain things against reality. The part of the story I love is that "he came to himself." Common sense kicked in. And humility.

Whatever was going to happen next, the prodigal decided to follow and see where it led. He wasn't forced into coming home to his father. He wasn't conscripted, like a drone in the Borg collective from Star Trek TNG. He simply stopped trying to orchestrate the universe. Failure brought sensibility.

It's what I'm pondering today.


Karna Converse said…
This is beautiful, Deanna -- and so true. Have you read Henri Nouwen's "the Return of the Prodigal Son?" You might enjoy it.
Deanna said…
I haven't yet read more than quotes by Henri Nouwen, but that sounds like a wonderful work to get. It's great to hear from you, Karna. How're things in your writing world?
Wish we lived close enough to meet for tea and chocolate, preferably somewhere with a deep porch, rocking chairs and time to talk. I'm in a period of discernment, too.
Deanna said…
Beth, how I would love that. Guess it's no surprise we must take long moments to study, to chew on, to sip what's going on. It's in our natures.
The Internet said…
I wait for your return my child.
Deanna said…
Yep, I know you, Internet. But I can truthfully say I'm not your child. :o)