Of Many Things

I am in the mood to write. Sometimes the urge just arrives and presents itself to be dealt with respectfully and kindly, regardless of what else I was doing at the time. That might mean picking up a pen and doing a quick line or two about the context of my writing at the time. Where am I? What am I doing? Who is there? What are they doing? What time is it? Where am I headed?– so often it comes when I am out making haste on the pavement enroute to or from somewhere specific or no where in particular. Sometimes I simply stop and record the thought that I am pursuing at the moment.

No matter what comes out, I have learned over time that it is a good thing to honor that urge. The urge to write, the urge to pray, the urge to nap, the urge to be silent…somehow, all instinctive interior calls to ‘center-down’ in whatever ways situations allow.

Here are some lines from the last week’s entries…

“John, choir director, told me the other day that notes are made up of harmonic waves. What if the note of the voice of God is also made up of those waves? Those waves being bits of the wind, bits of laughter, wailing, loving, soothing, shouting, mourning, foghorns, ram’s horns, car horns… elements of the noise of life’s fullness harmonizing into the note that is the voice of God.”

“I just hit ‘send’ for my Discernment of Call for final profession. That’s all I can say right now….it seems contemplating the direction I’d like to go for the rest of my life has overshadowed the formation of words. Oh, let me add– Amen.”

“Having just seen Inkheart…have to say that the plot is a grand and glorious one for me to consider– The whole idea that reading aloud, giving voice, brings Word to life! Augh. The idea thrills me-the mystical power of the Word well proclaimed. Too, the idea of not living quite so bound to the here and now…the idea that I could be read into Robin Hood or The Swiss Family Robinson or send myself into the drawing room with Miss Marple or be climbing out of a hansom cab, swirling through gaslight taunting fog to knock on the door of 221B… Absolutely a dream.”

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