While stuck in a feverish stupor one fights many demons.
In my youth my brother and I would spent days on end at my grandparent’s house on the shores of the Mississippi sound. Early morning mass in the rectory of the Church on the bayou. Days of playing in the yard and fishing for crab ending with sunsets watched from the pier. After sunset my Nanny would often light the house with oil lamps. I enjoyed though days of bliss so much. I recently got my own lamp, with much reminiscence attached to it. Tonight I journal by lamplight.
Connecting withs work of music or art sometimes can be very frustrating. Sometimes I connect with something on a very deep and personal level. It’s not always for the better. Sometimes you find the connection is actually over a feeling or attitude you shouldn’t dwell in or brood over. But that work of art manages to capture than feeling so well, you allow yourself to commiserate with that feeling. Tonight I am allowing myself to commiserate. I will pull myself out and move on at dawn. At least, I will try to.
There is nothing worse than the groaning of a heart in the dark. It wants but will not have. Speaking without works, the mind cannot (or will not?) comprehend. It is an ache that seeks to consume all. I must learn to place my heart in His. The ache will not go away, but those hands can give it meaning. My cross becomes my salvation.
At such times his loneliness burst into flames–yes, it felt exactly like a fire in his breast, sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter. Whenever he prayed, it lost its obsessive quality, but never entirely ceased.
Michael D. O’Brien, The Father’s Tale
My friends, pray to God for gladness. Be glad as children, as the birds of heaven. And let not the sin of men confound you in your doings. Fear not that it will wear away your work and hinder its being accomplished.
-Fr. Zossima, Fydor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov.