Dark Night of the Pen

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.

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