These days, as wavelengths pulse and one season bows to its cousin, my mind finds a groove, a theme.
I am grateful. Very grateful.
I wish to express thanks and know only barely on the surface whom to share with. How did this benefit come to me? These benefits, I should say; there are many. Centuries march down from the places whence my gratitude springs. Yet those places and people are mingling with me. Their legacies journey on within the church services and throughout the church writings, those more and less significant, each pointing to the One to whom we pray, as individuals, together.
Unless, of course, I'm imagining everything. As I venture into writing about this road fork, this new (old) Way I now travel, I am not necessarily being helpful.
People don't just dismiss me, as I'm used to regarding other sensitive topics. Some friends read my words these days and are traumatized. While I understand the feeling completely, I tend to expect it only within myself. My melodrama, my issues.
Easily I forget I'm not the center of universal meaning, with others rotating about, shooting their missiles or bouquets my direction. For forgetting this, for not remembering even that I'm laboring to see differently in reality, I am sorry.
A rather worse problem, though, is that some friends read my processings and are inspired.
To carry anybody anywhere in connection with apprehending the spiritual is too enormous a burden. Maybe it has become real important for me to have to begin understanding this concept. Not that I'm saying thousands of readers discover me and are captivated. There've probably not been five, more likely not one. But one would be too many, to get into a mood from what I've written and go join a particular congregation.
Someone I know once described seeking to understand God through the Scriptures as a life of sober joy. I have heard that the Orthodox journey involves a joy-bearing sorrow. I don't think it's a downer to recognize how constant must be my vigilance, my repentance. I think this is the reason God wishes and provides (hence my gratitude) for me to ever keep coming back to receive His nurture.
In this healing space I can rest, and I can spring into exploration. Some days I do a bit of both.
I am grateful. Very grateful.
I wish to express thanks and know only barely on the surface whom to share with. How did this benefit come to me? These benefits, I should say; there are many. Centuries march down from the places whence my gratitude springs. Yet those places and people are mingling with me. Their legacies journey on within the church services and throughout the church writings, those more and less significant, each pointing to the One to whom we pray, as individuals, together.
Unless, of course, I'm imagining everything. As I venture into writing about this road fork, this new (old) Way I now travel, I am not necessarily being helpful.
People don't just dismiss me, as I'm used to regarding other sensitive topics. Some friends read my words these days and are traumatized. While I understand the feeling completely, I tend to expect it only within myself. My melodrama, my issues.
Easily I forget I'm not the center of universal meaning, with others rotating about, shooting their missiles or bouquets my direction. For forgetting this, for not remembering even that I'm laboring to see differently in reality, I am sorry.
A rather worse problem, though, is that some friends read my processings and are inspired.
To carry anybody anywhere in connection with apprehending the spiritual is too enormous a burden. Maybe it has become real important for me to have to begin understanding this concept. Not that I'm saying thousands of readers discover me and are captivated. There've probably not been five, more likely not one. But one would be too many, to get into a mood from what I've written and go join a particular congregation.
Someone I know once described seeking to understand God through the Scriptures as a life of sober joy. I have heard that the Orthodox journey involves a joy-bearing sorrow. I don't think it's a downer to recognize how constant must be my vigilance, my repentance. I think this is the reason God wishes and provides (hence my gratitude) for me to ever keep coming back to receive His nurture.
In this healing space I can rest, and I can spring into exploration. Some days I do a bit of both.
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