I am wondering what it is to think of something which has no present reality. All of us are moving, whether by our own movements or somebody else’s upon us. It seems difficult to know where one is and where one might be going.
I am thinking now of trust; of who to trust and why and for how long? I exasperate at my obvious connection to trust invoking advertisements: political, religious, and capitalistic; I have not been able to turn my eyes away. In bars with friends, my eyes are drawn to the harsh but inviting light of flat screens rather than to the light of God moving in the darkness.
To trust that whatever small and paltry thing I might submit as passing for a sacrifice, that God will hold it in appropriate distance from myself, the world, His name. Where is the strength to endeavor? Not in success, i have ceased believing in it as a mode of justification. In money? I should say no, and I will, but not without admitting that it wouldn’t be bad to go forward in that way, having every idea funded and made physical… but no. The best thinkers, the best pray-ers, many of them, i realize, were dead when their thoughts and prayers published and brought into the hallowed halls of fame. Did they despair at lack of notoreity and money? Did they ever imagine their near sainthood of the present day? If they despaired and did not conceive of sainthood, then what was their strength? How did they continue to imagine, to innovate (that is, to pray), even as the walls and empires of boredom where being built around them and their church?
How can we stay elastic and inspired? Humble and contrary enough? Unknowingly innocent and knowingly guilty? I can feel the claws of the ordinary, the fearful, against my door, and I am scrambling to remember where the hidden passageway is.