lenten lands

“By the waters of Babylon,
there we sat down and wept,
when we remembered Zion...
How shall we sing the Lord’s song
in a foreign land?”

~ Psalm 137


indefinite lent

As with any season of commemoration, Lent is equal parts remembrance and lived practice which points ahead. Both aspects, as they may be internalized, envelop our own references. For example, an observer of this season, which by definition concludes on Easter may be compelled to inhabit the time of year, may be compelled to inhabit the time of year and match their daily lives’ paces with the forty days whose start is Ash Wednesday. Speaking from my continuum, last year during Lent my landlords of many years notified all of us in the building to be ready to leave due to an impending sale. It’s been a protracted season of purgation and penitence ever since. In Lenten fashion, the season is one of mournful anticipation and persistent reach. Unable to find a sliver of mercy in my own hometown through four months of nonstop, full-bore searching and personal campaigning, the desperation move I had to make was to a cramped, remote, and oppressively loud hovel. Neither peace, nor comfort, nor space to unpack. Life by the Babylonian waters now slogs through its eighth month. Alongside the Psalmist, how do I sing the Lord’s song in an unwelcoming place? Applying the self-talk I wrote about earlier this year, there is a lifeline in my insisting that the current and painful exile is finite. This is transitional and something has got to give, considering all this unwavering effort. Yet at the same time, I’m careful not to presume to be owed anything. My intention is to press on.

spring takes shape

“Hell is the place of unsatisfied cravings,” Warren Weirsbe astutely observed in one of his broadcasts. I am intimately aware of this, vigilantly navigating a wilderness replete with roadblocks. En route to crosstown errands and to work, it is impossible not to notice the juxtaposition of elite waterfront construction and desperate homelessness along sidewalks and highway ramps. Both extremes of the housing scale are in vividly plain sight. The work I do requires extemporaneously helping the public, joining together learning and people; that means maintaining grounded and positive perspectives. And to be sure, genuineness and compassion must go together. After all, I must practice what I preach, implementing this for myself, too. Daylight extends, and I’m better able to run away from the invasive and shellshocking racket from immediately above those oppressively low ceilings. The best way out I can imagine is by perseverance, physically and spiritually, despite not having results in view. The present imperative is to hoist my spirits into spring. Last weekend, while Le Cirque des Éléphants upstairs was at full blast, with chair and journal out on the sidewalk, my exasperated stare probed the skies. Then I noticed sparrows collecting twigs, flying off with them, up toward their burgeoning abodes. Creatures such as these- including humans- have yearning instincts aimed toward survival. I’m reading the signs and taking notes.

expectations and exodus season

There is an Eastertide because there is a Passover season. Few really understand this. The chronology of purging and displacement must give way to resurrection and new promise, biblically and personally. Perhaps your own penitential season has also run off the calendar; you’re far from alone. Exodus is a search and an offer away. There’s nothing passive about it, to be sure. Easier said than done. How near I am to significant discovery cannot be forecasted. But while all my efforts, strength, soul, and savvy are pointed toward tangible improvements, I’m toiling away and keeping watch. At work, tenuous and temporary as it’s always felt, my industrious engagement unquestionably continues, as well as refining my innovations. During this pandemic era, many workers have had to compromise dreams, possessions- even homes and jobs. At times it takes twisting both arms to try counting blessings. An effective distraction (and a useful one, too) has been to help others succeed at their projects. A praying person intercedes for those in need. Turning within is necessary, but there are dangers: there are haunting reams of denied dreams, rejected applications, and elusive housing opportunities. At least I know enough to persevere in forward directions and dare to expect improvement. Every day, heaven help me. Too many evenings, after long workdays, returning to the compartment sends me back outside again to escape the building’s noise. Lengthened daylight provides expansive visibility, and the higher temperatures allow me to perch in the open air for longer periods of time. Pedestrians are more apt to stop and chat. By being seen, a friendly cat- who happens to be my favorite neighbor- can easily find me and ask for treats. Albeit on a shoestring, how about being hopeful just for its own sake? This is also the season of Divine Mercy.

traction

“I am like a desert owl of the wilderness,
like an owl of the waste places.”

~ Psalm 102:6


endurance

The need for endurance never dissipates. It is surely emphasized during this exhausting pandemic that vigilance cannot be interrupted. Lived experience- in real time, as opposed to looking back to the past through truncated perspective- is often vulnerable to mirages. Does time really “heal all wounds,” or is it simply that amidst our lived passage of time the immediacy of our thoughts and urgencies create distancing distractions? A lot more scrupulosity is required to accurately remember, than to supercede events with more events. I believe we are more prone to passively forget, as opposed to actively recollecting. Returning to the odyssey of surviving the pandemic, it is too easy to be fooled by the mere passage of time. Some significant developments have certainly transpired during the past year, but time has not made the danger go away. We could say that we’re buying time with our preventive measures, hoping to extend enough space for medicine to catch up and surpass the contagion. For the passage of time to be of constructive use, it must be combined with perspective...

...And levels of patience uncharacteristic of the on-demand culture that was indefinitely derailed last year. Discerning observers have seen, too many times, how impatience and self-centeredness can kill. But the pressure is not only in the swirl of wanderlust, but also steeped in economic duress. The need to earn a living is yoked to how most of us are scrambling to be relevant. Somewhere in the middle is a rarely-seen sense of prudent moderation. For a worker on the margins of sustenance, there are few means for influence. It’s a steep drive uphill with insufficient traction. Surviving this episode of undetermined duration is anything but passive: while the necessary kind of vigilance toughens, I am trying to prevent resistance from leading to callousness. Not easy, but worthwhile for the sake of conscience- albeit with thickened skin. Abiding in my thoughts is the unforgiving aspect of time; as it marches on, we all get older. Proving to be relevant is joined by the yokefellow of marketability. Those whose quests for better employment began long before the covid era wind up forced to apply even greater effort to compensate for the intense losses of rejection. But survival means standing up, dusting off, and recovering that requisite traction. Quarantining intensifies the challenge of perspective, and a spiritual backbone is all the more a sustaining means. Survival is also the willingness to improve every possible approach, from the present adversities, to open ends to the future. More than simply being aware of my surrounding factors, it is vital to be critical of them- but without being negative. Such constructive criticism- as it is in the arts- is meant to motivate change. Normally, and for years before April 2020, I would distract myself by “getting out of Dodge,” with road trips, cultural venues, and pilgrimages. Recently (as I wrote last month), the open horizons are through the inner life. Journaling, more than ever, is a storing-up of strength and recollection. It is less a buying of time, and more like “renting time,” considering how little I actually own.


traction and inertia

As spring arrives, notwithstanding the time mirages I’ve just written about, I’m expecting improvement. I’m also humbly remembering mild days aperch with books on the front stoop of my apartment. Perching on the granite steps will often bring me in contact with six- and eight-legged neighbors. For the most part, when a large ant rushes in my direction, I’ll flick it away. Fascinatingly, if I set the edge of my book down to obstruct an ant’s path, it tries to go around the barrier. Then I move the barrier, and the ant tries another route, not interested in backtracking. I can relate to this type of ant, quixotically trying every possible way-around. Inevitably and usually, I’ll simply raise my book and let it pass along on its determined way. Wouldn’t I love to receive such mercy.

Ever prying at the barricades, I can do only so much to try to influence circumstances. Admitting to my own naïveté, my persistent idealism continues to assume that honest, diligent, and excellent work leads to a better life. Or at least an open door. But what really opens the way to opportunity? How do social outsiders transcend the barricades? In much slower and with more complicated variables than those of the scurrying ant on the front stoop, I’ve yet to find significant success. With decades of pondering this, and conversing with numerous individuals, while observing many levels of these games of prejudicial sizing-up and upload-analytics, I’ve learned that traction comes from the receiving end. This is to say that without allies on the inside, an applicant is left to stand upon nothing more than their own substance. Ironically, the most valuable aspects- abilities, accomplishments, cooperativeness, and character- are made the least important. Traction and open doors are impossible without allies on the inside. I’ve conferred with no less than eight career counselors, and they each agree. There can surely be exceptions, but they emanate from the same unpredictable realm as that of the miraculous. And if the odds weren’t steep enough, there is the regional perception universally-known (and admitted by too many), which I call The Maine Paradox:

If you’re from here, we can trust you, but you’re no good;
If you’re from away, we can’t trust you,
but you’re better than us.

This is an unwritten truth finally written here. And it is as defeatist and universally acknowledged as the proverbial “gentleman’s agreement.” It is also sadly a major reason why most local talent reluctantly leaves this state for the cause of finding success elsewhere. I have witnessed this for more than thirty years. And it is more than unfortunate, not only for all the heartbroken souls that are barricaded out of building careers in their beloved and invested home state, but also for the cause of community depth and priceless historicity. Such widespread disregard for homegrown and locally-embraced ingenuity endangers community and corporate memory to the point of repeating mistakes. And this is not to mention unproductive and costly lunges for “outside experts” that do more harm than help. No-one I’ve met anywhere knows of a place attached to such an undercutting mindset. Of course, nativistic views are not productive, either, but what can really use some societal traction is fair competition for all. Are there Maine people in high places (and I have discussed this with various members of state government) who will address the paradox of which they dismayingly admit exists? Societal amnesia on a broader scale is such that prophetic messages as not being judged by race or ethnicity but by content of character (and I’ll add place of residence) seem as if they’ve never been preached at all.


time as preparatory

“People tend to overstate my resilience, but, of course, I hope they're right,” was famously said by the brilliant Boston University professor and radio commentator David Brudnoy. He poignantly titled his memoir “Life is Not a Rehearsal.” A strong sense of the preparatory dovetailed from graduate school into a protracted life of working while hunting for improved conditions. Far too much precious time has been consumed by treating the days and years as a kind of warmup for grander things- for something that will finally do justice to my hardworked cultivation. Grit, sweat, knuckling under, wincing through bullying, and settling for less. But the pandemic has forced downsized dreams upon countless souls. Now the victories are found in water-treading. For what are the dress-rehearsals, now?

The past year’s desert exile has led into a second round of perilous haul. As relief seems to near, it gets batted away, and we that survive must trudge on. And even-keeled, no less. Throughout this time, and long before, my energies and ambitions have been fueled by faith. In a strange and oddly biblical sequence, as my continuum worsens, my backbone strengthens. Indeed, things do level off- and then the threshold lowers some more. This is surely not to my preference, and I’d much prefer spiritual and intellectual growth in comfort and stride. Maybe that will come later. Within my personal belief is a real admiration for the directness in the journey between Creator and individual. Reading the literature left for us by faithful mortals, along with the scriptural texts, there’s even an admirable bluntness that weaves among the more poetic strands of psalmody. Let’s not perpetuate the unreality that “the saints” walked around all mild-mannered and aura-surrounded. They knew plenty about disappointment and frustration, and their holiness was tied to how and what they did with what they had. It’s normal, human, and downright honest to get sassy; it’s better than to be bitter. God can handle it.

I’ve often said to students and audiences that the best writing is honest writing. Be true to yourself, and tell the truth. It goes the same in the spiritual realm: be true and honor what is true. Express that disappointment. There are millennia of prophetic (which means “truth-tellers”) speakers who have done the same- however doing so dares to toe a fine line, and the sojourning individual must beware to not cause injury to their conscience or to their spiritual relationship. Declaring expectations for improvements is also a demand upon oneself. Prayer “with a vengeance” sounds like a conflict in terms, but it is not- so long as the insistent fierceness does not break communion. Not a place to take up residence, but a passing waystation. Traction’s purpose is to launch out of ruts and safely across ice-covered roads- both on land and within the soul.

This wilderness has yet to present a clearing. Vigilance cannot be interrupted. Whether or when the road turns favorably remains unknown. Some days begin with it will never, and some begin with hasn’t yet. My beloved home town has become even more of a deserted place than it was during the recession which gutted many places in the late 1980s. The fortunate are the water-treaders. A good friend and fellow curator, among a long list of neighbors who moved away, told me on the phone that “Maine is unforgiving.” I told him that I know this; I know this. Yes I know this. What happens next? Like the old guys spending their money on scratch tickets in convenience stores, I keep trying and applying. “You never know,” I say, sounding like the lottery ticket spenders. “All it takes is an open door. An even more perfect pitch and some recognition in high places. Just a bit more traction. Some of that deferred grace would be handy now. It could be right around the corner. And I go on, surely along with many other kindred spirits, renting some more time and procuring the consolations as well as possible.

translucence

lettered trails

“You must write throughout the whole of your intellectual life.
In the first place one writes for oneself, to see clearly
into one’s personal position and problems, to give definition to one’s thoughts, to keep up and stimulate attention which sometimes flags
if not kept on the alert by activity- to make a beginning on lines of investigation which prove to be necessary as one writes,
to encourage oneself in an effort that would be wearisome
in the absence of some visible result, lastly to form one’s style
and acquire that possession which puts the seal on all the others,
the writer’s art.”

~ A.G. Sertillanges, The Intellectual Life, p.199.


After considering the draw of physical pilgrimage, inward lettered paths provide the complement. By this I refer to the rewards of reading pursuits. Imagine the roads, air lanes, and waterways finding equivalents among library aisles, pages, and sketched images. Learning is implicit to discovery. Seeking to find is essentially a venturing forth to comprehend. Foraging through written words, books, conversations, even active listening, can mark paths to our own written words. As with geographic travel, voyages through ideas and words must be purposefully sought. In my experience, the lure of promising landscapes is akin to the drive for insight. The latter is a continuing search for practical knowledge and perspective, so that I can take to the trails more skillfully.

During a meandering walk, I noticed how thoughts naturally distill into ideas. In their own intangible ways, untethered musings become fruitful. Though not visibly productive, an adventure is in progress. Words, images, and aspirations are forming with each step. Consequently, thirsting for wisdom and insight proceeds as a continuing pursuit. One might not consider such studies necessary, but I’ve found learning to be vital, satisfying, and useful. As pilgrimage travels are beyond the perfunctory, so contemplative reading is far too compelling to be burdensome. Essentially, the whole of life’s advancement comprises different forms of research. Enjoyable reading and inquiry generates momentum, and I am able to find the narrow passages through thinly-sliced schedules. Such pilgrimage is a worthwhile continuum of construction and refinement.

Reflective reading and writing permit for the recording and charting of journeys past and upcoming. When ideas are in short supply, it generally means I’m not reading or observing enough. Inspiring written words, along with landscapes and skies, bring souls to pose questions. If not for inquiries into worlds of knowledge and Spirit, I’d be pulled into whirlpools turbid with time’s undertow. Yet indeed, the research passion is discreet by nature; thought processes not for their own sakes, but with hopes for application.

Ordinarily, elementary and secondary school experiences enforce study specifically toward the goals of passing exams. With fear and hope as tandem motivating factors, the shame of failure combines with the drive for timely completion. Between Chaucerian “fear fled with fury,” and Coleridge’s “work without hope draws nectar in a sieve,” potential joys in studies suffocate. Then, in the post-survival, comes the challenge of finding one’s own delight in learning that will last beyond time. For me, the steadily sweeter tastes evolved alongside my increased abilities to choose my own coursework- especially in graduate school.

A decade on since thesis-writing, the momentum remains, even intensifying with each exploration. I still recall how in my solitary jubilation at completing the heavy, source-cited, footnoted, field-tested document, I took that printed pack of paper out for a steak dinner. Raising a toast to the achievement was simultaneously a celebration of more freedom to read anything I want. And freedom to do more writing (albeit with less free time). That mixture of gratitude and exhilaration has not died away. It is surely reignited during sojourns in extraordinary libraries such as the Boston Athenaeum.

As a thirsting pilgrim, I seek the words of experienced narratives from times other than my own. For such forays, I’m “reading with a pencil,” slowly savoring turns of phrases and making notes. Often these notations become indexes for subsequent references which I’m able to use and share. Stored wisdom, like a cupboard’s ingredients, can find value in its uses. These mined gems are in themselves good reads. Not unlike journaling, the indexes are written and referred to, for memory and future navigation. The assembling of thoughts and words can be as gratifying as active reading. Maps drawn during one journey can inform explorations that follow.

(Below: How I've indexed Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's Citadelle.)

Recently, I attended a lecture given by a social commentator. It was entertaining, and I could see how the speaker draws remuneration from these sorts of presentations. About midway though the talk, it became obvious to me (and perhaps to others) how the speaker was far more an observer than a practitioner. There are significant differences between speaking about expressive processes evidently as an outside observer, compared to providing a practitioner’s experience while describing creative processes. Spectators that also participate on the playing field can attest to the ways both reading and writing complete a nourishing cycle of absorption and manifestation. The twin endeavors of reading and writing intertwine, being ways of inquiry and understanding.

The speaker’s words stumbled whenever it came to describing materials and processes, despite the implication that we were all to believe the speaker knew these things from the inside out. With respect, I hope there are chances for future projects that will bring the presenter into personal pursuits of applied process. Sertillanges once advised that:

“We must always be more than we are;
the philosopher must be something of a poet, the poet
something of a philosopher; the craftsman must be poet
and philosopher on occasion,
and the people recognize this fact.”

Perhaps the great “published work” is a self that develops an improving sense of perspective and of the sacred. Thus, reading, studying, and writing are components in a construction project. Aspiring to be at once observer and practitioner causes us to “be more than we are.” An invaluable pursuit, at many levels, and the type of path worthy of plotting, mapping, and travelling.

travel advisory

“When thou dost purpose aught, within thy power,
Be sure to do it, though it be but small:
Constancy knits the bones, and makes us stour
When wanton pleasures beckon us to thrall.”

~ George Herbert, Conduct


Routines, habits, and their observation have had their places in these pages. During this season, I'm reminded of distinctions between perfunctory and passion. As children, many of us recall fretting about what I call the haftas and the wannas. This is to say when what has to be accomplished obstructs what is so much more desirable. By adolescence, I'd begun to learn the discipline of attacking the haftas with gusto, looking forward to enjoying the wannas, once I’d successfully reach those hospitable shores. When certain obligations tend to require dragging my will and tail, they may be done according to the usual high standards, notwithstanding a few wreckingball swings through opaque reluctance. Then there are other matters, often more demanding than quotidian obligations, that I regularly seem to find the requisite energy to pursue. Seeking out new ideas and inspiration is essentially congruent to my pilgrimage travels. A search is in progress, and there isn’t a moment to be lost.

When we cannot choose enough details in our adventures, we may at least convert conditions into enlightening experiences. It is exceedingly worthwhile to continue discovering meaning and expression amidst the ephemeral. Intrinsic to the spiritual life is an insistence upon finding what is good in unconducive times. Search for pearls in the desert, and for the worthy in the wastelands. And day after day, the energy to persevere must be found. Recently, I was reminded once more of the benefits found in good company. Early one Saturday morning was a breakfast with one group of friends, and dinner that evening was still another meal with yet another group of friends. Exchanging stories amounted to discoveries of goodness I might not have otherwise noticed. Granted, much of the talk referred to these difficult times and how no end is in sight. Yet we continue and we carry on with cheer. Walking home, I wondered if the cheer is necessarily contingent upon any conditions. The quest for one’s passions may indeed be intensified by adversities. With this in mind, the Lenten journey implies an insistence upon discerning goodness and not permitting the negatory to implant lasting impressions.

The call of the Spirit to the soul is surely not aimless. Inquiry implies discovery. We continue to search because we continue to find, and thus driven onward. Even in my lesser moments, there is nothing more appealing than to aspire and continue. Now I’m remembering the portion of John’s gospel in which many perplexed disciples have drawn back from Christ, unwilling to risk another ounce of trust. Too much looks too frighteningly out of control. At this crossroads, Simon Peter spoke the immortal “to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” As I can only choose to journey onward, in a sense I haven’t a choice. What else could I do, having absorbed the words and the Spirit that speak directly to my condition, even the evidence of things unseen. We search because we’ve discovered, and we find because we’ve been recognized. It is as though one must hope and strive; beyond the precipice there is no choice- turning back has lost its lure. It may appear that we are driving our explorations, but indeed the source is as palpable as it is covert. Perhaps that explains an individual’s relentless quest for their creation, their origins, their purposes.

Though driven forward, the spiritual voyager is somehow both navigator and passenger. And the journey is not reluctantly pursued: surely more wanna than hafta- if anything, a vital gotta. The pursuit of holiness and knowledge ironically evolves into something less self-centered and more outward-looking. The grand voyage becomes a great travel with waystations for appreciation of detailed instances and sweeping landscapes alike. My work as an archivist reminds me that understanding must rely upon context, and that events and observations take shape in a developing succession. Like the search to discover, questions and answers evolve in an organic rotation such that a stumbling soul derives just enough reinforced direction to be able to advance. The desire to proceed and learn might be considered a grace, a gift recognized through an enjoyment of the cultivating continuum. What else could I do, but be grateful for the persistence to discover and the appetite for the light of the Spirit.

Last week, I participated in a pilgrimage gathering in Montréal, as a musician, for the twelfth consecutive year. Between there, here, and many points farther afield, I’ve made countless similar travels over tens of thousands of miles- often in challenging driving conditions, always at my own expenses, and each single time an invigorating joy. The adventures are golden occasions, replete with conviviality and insight. In a discussion, Brother Emile of Taizé spoke about daring to live by a trusting faith, instead of being driven by fearfulness. “Plus profond du mal, il y a la bonté,” he added- meaning that far deeper and more powerful than hardship, there is goodness. He put forth an open sentence that his prior liked to ask: “When we set forth with a trusting heart...” It is a statement for the listener to complete. I pencilled these notes at my music stand, sometimes using the top of my classical guitar as a support. The road home included a visibility-blocking snowstorm. It was not surprising, and I had no regrets- even as I had to slowly drive through the adverse conditions. Perhaps a heart that trusts can become capable of sculpting circumstances into worthwhile adventures. The great challenge is to do so consistently and meaningfully.

The image below is the song list for the Taizé Pilgrimage of Trust, held in Montreal in 2007 (I always write down the music lists in my journal!). This unusally large gathering was broadcast on the radio. The prior, Brother Aloïs of Taizé (France) spoke to all in attendance, as well as Cardinal Jean-Claude Turcotte (Montréal).

passing through

“when the water's too high
when the water's too high
I will carry you
I will carry you.

when the night is too black
when the night is too black
I will carry you
I will carry you"

~ Sixpence None the Richer, Carry You

Above: passthrough boxes for photographic film. Note the box at the upper left; our mutually- understood code was to leave 2 lids showing, to indicate there were no "live" contents to potentially expose to light.

awaiting, part 3 : looking on

“Guide me, O thou great Redeemer,
Pilgrim through this barren land;
I am weak, but thou art mighty;
Hold me with thy powerful hand:
Bread of heaven, bread of heaven
Feed me now and evermore...

Pan yn troedio glan Iorddonen,
Par i'm hofnau suddo i gyd;
Dwg fi drwy y tonnau geirwon
Draw i Ganaan -- gartref clyd:
Mawl diderfyn. Mawl diderfyn
Fydd i'th enw byth am hyn."

~ William Williams, Cwm Rhondda.

Through recent weeks, I’ve made many notes on the topic of looking forward. While negotiating dark valleys and clambering the barricaded roads of this season, it’s been a transformative experience. But it is a season of undetermined duration. Consistent with this aspect, there are no tidy and packaged conclusions. The whole of life as pilgrimage voyage, composed of travels and experiences, presents innumerable unknowns. All the more reason to be conscientiously grounded and sure-footed. Still, despite persistent adversities, hope must persevere. Looking ahead and motioning forward become all the more essential. Reaching forth demonstrates an outworking of hopefulness; it is the manifestation of trust. A writing exercise about the theme of awaiting has paralleled a portion of trying times. As always, the worthiness of articulating of thoughts matches that of the act of trust itself. Journeying without journaling is unimaginable.

Amidst grim landscape, hopelessness and pessimism must be uprooted; these objectives cannot take up space with essential personal effects. Experienced hikers and long-haul travellers can attest to the critical factors of bulk and capacity. Pilgrims (and vacationers alike) share the motivation of their circumstances in common. For me, to look ahead and to hope for better are longings fueled by past and present. While writing journal entries, I thought of many good people teaching me many good things through the years. As well and as it happens, the journal turned into a journalistic tool, and I asked friends about the value of looking forward. One said, “you have to. That’s what hope is.” Then my thoughts returned to awaiting, and whether it is healthful to live in a state of anticipation. I’ve met many whose faiths are fixated on an awaiting. Missing the present, it’s something of an “over yonder” brand of anticipation. By contrast, there is the sort of awaiting that impatiently looks at timepieces. What do you await? Trying at answering this myself began with hopes for blessings Divine and human. How about a goal, an object, for one’s hopes? Reaching forward through a murky immediate future, ends and means are as difficult to see as reasons for doing so. But the desire to look forward and proceed with one’s whole self is surely necessary; maybe even more so than to have a carrot at the end of a proverbial stick. Indeed, we are naturally oriented toward moving ahead. Consider how we are formed, facing forward. We are built to stride in a straight-ahead direction. (One person told me that turning around and going backward is too much work!) Consider how motion is tied to continuity and advancement.

Stilling my thoughts between tasks and blocks of time at work, I continued chipping away at answering the question about looking forward. At times, I chided myself for being so self-conscious, and at other times I wondered why I could not specify more than temporal task lists. Essentially, with an instinctive general wish for improvement all around, I’m drawn forward. Should forward movement always have specifics spelled out? There are more attainable objectives we tend to eagerly await, such as weekends, a special meal, visits, or making an acquisition. But do we anticipate continuity? Maybe so; it’s good to look forward to more journeys- even in these times. Even at such morning crossroads that cause one to ask whether the new day is another loss to futility, or is it a gainful opening for potentiality. Perhaps the plain, bare desire to look forward is sufficient. Daily in my prayers are the many imperiled people of Japan, who will be rebuilding portions of their country for a very long time. But they do so because they look forward, and they will continue to invest their energies into their lives and hopes. A great testament about looking ahead.

Determined that looking ahead is both worthwhile and clearly preferable, I’ll conclude these notes with a few thoughts. Journal pages, meant to be refuge from wearisome fragmentation, became laden themselves repeating themes. The best momentary thing to do was to write in a colorful venue, different enough to affect perspective. Unable to be exact, the deadlock seemed to be around specifically what to look forward to, not really why- or why it’s necessary. Often, my little stray notes would begin with: “what do you look forward to?” From there, I started to reason that I needn’t name an exact thing, but it was enough to eagerly look ahead to being, recognizing the corresponding motion as transcendent of circumstance, material, and frustration. Looking ahead, itself an action responding to grace, inclines the soul to embrace Divine providence. Words and concepts out of my grasp indicate hopes that- as yet- elude specificity. With the ancient Apostle Paul, who knew only to reach forward, we can reflect the vitality of prayer- even without detailed specifics. Perseverance aches for meaning, for communion, for an advent.

Very simply, I look forward to more learning and meaningfully-lived days. I’ll have to do more than persevere. It will take an indefatigable spirit of trust that can see above the appearances of circumstances and situations. It would all be feeble theory and idle talk, without practice and active application. To begin by looking ahead to increased grace launches from one consolation to another. Immediate and before me are proving-grounds for uncertainty to find the wellspring of certitude. A simple, open, and earnest willingness to living prayer is significant enough to be useful in the cause of bringing goodness to pass. Indeed, there is reassurance in the reminder that grace does not emanate from me, but is purposed to work through me as light through glass prisms.

So, once more, before I call it a night: What do I look forward to?
I look forward to better things, still, to more purpose to my steps and my days.
I look forward, because I am not compelled either to consider what I see now to be all there will ever be, and surely don’t think what is past is all that will ever be worthwhile.
I await and reach forward to better days.
I await and reach forward to better.
I await and reach forward.
I await and reach.
I await.