The temerity to continue

Without a brazen, incendiary hope that is ultimately Christian in its character and content, I imagine I would have been dead and buried some years ago. Without the innocent simplicity it takes to walk away, neglect and near malign your projects and then return to them and act as though you’d never left, I’d never have the gall to come back to the page, as I’ve done again and again. I would plead that it isn’t hubris that draws one back. That wouldn’t do it. It would be too shameful to let the dust gather as it does, and then be the one to haphazardly try to wipe it off, as it sticks to your hands and your clothes and decries the weeks you let slip by without the discipline, the order, the temerity to continue. 

You simply realise again and again that you need this to make sense of it all. We all have our methods, our means, and for me, this is one of them. And I thank God for the grace of a method and a means. It is many things, a literary prayer, among other things. A public admission. A line traced in the sand, along the shore. A declaration of intent. A refusal to acquiesce, I suppose... to what, you can decide. But here, the cadence and colour of the words against the wasteland bring hope. To one soul, if no more.