Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

Interludes of action.

March 20, 2018


Optimism doesn't come easily for me, not because of cynicism or bitterness, but because of a wariness to get one's hopes up. I think some of us are more gifted at optimism, at hope, at manifesting (all one and the same thing), and some of us struggle to find purchase in the faint hope that everything will be okay. 


I keep writing about this because I keep hoping that something will click, that one day optimism and faith will settle and stay. As it is, I wake up on a handful of mornings each week or month were everything *feels* okay, and I think--this is it! I've found my way to evenness, to a steady hand on the hopeful tiller. But inevitably, a morning comes when it all falls apart--the yacht is nothing more than a jury-rigged dinghy, the land ahead nothing more than mirage. 


So I don't know. I guess the fact that hope, that lightness revisits from time to time should be beacon enough that shifts happen. At least, I truly hope so...





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