The Old Testament grabbed me by the throat yesterday and wouldn’t let go. Everything was “vanity under the sun” and lamentations. Writing anything at all suddenly seemed so self-centered and vain. The pen, and my fingers on the keys, turned heavy.
I think that self-directed reproach, using a biblical cudgel, came from a welling up of sorrow for a 9-year old girl (and others, but it is her face I see) shot dead in Tucson and a lovely, gifted, dedicated young Congresswoman in ICU. The victims were connected by service to country, community, family and school.
It aged me. I listened to the Royal Philharmonic sing Handel’s Messiah last night while I propped up on pillows and wrote in a notebook . I reflected on life, random events with spectacularly good or horrifically bad outcomes, the mystery of insanity, obligation, service to others, and the stewardship of time.