Impatience is the greatest sin, I’ve heard — or the only. Either way, I’m guilty. How long does it take for one’s voice to mature? For life force to find steady current, wisdom to become solid enough to build a life upon it? My ideas are all pallor, no design or momentum. I think of my friends from college, brilliant minds, seeds of genius. But aren’t…
If I should lose faith in the message that lies like untapped ore or oil deep in bedrock of the life beneath my life, fine. But let me not give up my trust in the creative act, that restores as it opens the inlets to the heart’s flood of longing, whose currents connect with other rivulets of Intelligence — some vast, mysterious network. Let me not lose faith in this, which justifies every being’s attempt to let in, to let out the voice that wishes to bring them back into the commonality that seems all but lost, yet works through our individuality, to bring greater diversity, aliveness, knowledge, back to the center of orbit, which we are all trying to return to.
How much time it seems I’ve wasted, trying to explain to people in their criticism what I knew but could not yet understand. But haven’t they, too, taught me of the very thing they denied, as I grappled with the paradox that the simplest things I tried to make fit cannot be contained? ~ 2015