Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Pain of Remaining the Same

I am not sure I am being a good journaler, in that I am logging in for the mere sake of logging in and writing something, but then again, the hallmark of a truly good writer is one who gets up and practices their art, or their craft if you will, daily. I've always found it difficult to do anything daily, except perhaps brushing my teeth, and there have been times even that was a stretch.

I just read another blog by C.H. Featherstone in which he simply discussed various religious services he had attended in several different languages, and stated if one was open, intimating that whether the language was completely understood or not, one could find the Spirit anywhere, and I suppose I agree with that to a great extent. I have found myself in much worse places than edifices housing religious services not coinciding with my avowed flavor, and been able to call upon the Holy Spirit of My Father in heaven, and found Him there, in a heartbeat, so to speak.

He also stated that he intended to pursue a Masters of Divinity program at the Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago this fall. He has been working as a journalist for a decade, and I found a great admiration for his having the chutzpah to be able to state "Journalism is no longer my calling, if it ever was."

It was a brief, but thought-provoking, and not un-coincidental, blog reading for me. I have been sensing the breezes of change for a while whispering about my life. Hinting to me there might be something more planned for me to do, to pursue. But the thought of breaking out of my safety net of a living which I had always believed to be that last career... well I have not been handling it well. I believe my inability to grasp the possibility that I might still have some unrecognized potential left in this deteriorating temple of mine... it has contributed to the self-abuse. It occurs to me I've spent so much energy attempting to keep change-- and growth!-- at bay, I've actually developed stress cracks that extend from my flesh into the center of my soul. Maybe that accounts for some of the bitterness one of my friends claims she can see in me. Maybe that accounts for the emotional aloofness and bulldog tenacity with which I pursue anything I perceive to be slightly within my right of control, which angers my eldest son to the point of maternal renunciation.

It has been two decades since I was shaken to my core, to my immense betterment and complete physical and spiritual renovation. For some odd reason, I did not take the lesson of Faust, and I paused... and allowed myself to think "I am done. It is enough." Well of course it is not. Pause much longer, and I am destined to become the devil's fodder. Instead, it is return to the basics of the serenity prayer, to accept the flow of life's current, to ask for the courage to withstand the knocks of the rocks surely to impede my new path, to throw myself upon the mercy of God and His Universe of Love, and to embrace the adventure.

I believe I am ready... I will be pursuing a new regime of studying the effect of raw food on my body, this fall, until late November, and again for a semester in January. I am no longer fearful of where it may take me, but eager to see my life be renewed again.

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