I agree with this whole-heartedly. Have been thinking about it in particular recently, in regards to how we affect the lives of those around us so directly, intimately and sometimes (perhaps most often) unknowingly.
Which is of greater value? Justice or mercy? I'm stumped how to answer this. After considering it for quite a long time, I feel my concept of justice may be different from the norm. I feel if there's justice, then mercy has been taken into consideration--as opposed to criminal justice that so very often seems irrational. For me, justice is linked with right-doing, and right-doing by default has to consider many facets and angles of a given situation.
Mercy seems like forgiveness, which may or may not be linked with justice.
I feel they're slightly intertwined concepts. But for an either/or answer, I'm stumped.
I’m feeling stronger and stronger about what’s right for me in my life. I naturally like to counterbalance this with moments of extreme doubt and anxiety, but overall, I feel like I’m right on target and exactly where I need to be for my future.
This is a profound feeling. Amidst all the real life irritants/stressors/unknowns—selling off/donating my father’s library, slowly repairing the house in order to sell it, dealing with day-to-day regular job shenanigans, etc.—I feel sort of tremendously powerful about my art work and what I want to do with it.
This is joyful and brings peace to an otherwise hectic time. But it also adds a real urge to want to rush into things: an urge that has to be sublimated. I need focus to deal with the ‘real world’ items above, in order to create more space to do the ‘real work’ of my life.
Rushing is dangerous when ideas are fragile and taking shape. But so is extended delay. The trick is finding the balance. I’m pretty good at that lately. I get better as I refine my process and eliminate unnecessary distractions. The ideas and projects are valid, strong and worthy. They inspire me. They have their own confidence, their own existence, even before I create them: they are present.
I long for a studio! Oh a place to work and store supplies. Right now they’re scattered haphazardly throughout my house. Far from ideal. For the moment, it is what it is. A way will be found. My bright desire to create is fueling a lot of energy to get the monkey that is this house off my back. I cannot begin to imagine how much lighter, how free I’ll feel when the books are appropriately dispersed and I can get the house to market. I can’t wait.
I don’t have a game plan for what follows: unusual for me. Maybe it’ll be a smaller house, maybe I’ll rent something. I don’t know and I don’t care. I know everything’s going to go the way it needs to go and I know I’ll be alright. I won’t be surprised if I take some heavy blows between now and then. But all I have to do is keep hanging on until I get to the end—whenever and wherever that is. And I can do that. I’ve done that before.
I read a line many years ago that ran roughly like this:
“Everything will be fine in the end. If it’s not fine, it’s not the end.”
I’ve always felt that way. Through crushing, miserable times, I never, never, never gave up. I believe to my core that if you can just keep going, keep trying, keep believing in your vision…you’ll get to where you need to be. It takes work, dedication, commitment, faith and perseverance. It takes foolish optimism and it takes the pride out of you and it humbles you and you suffer for it. But in the end, when you get to the end, you’re exactly where you need to be. And it’s fine.
Sleep that proves to be elusive...restorative sleep. Sleep that dulls sharp anxieties and soothes taxed nerves. Sleep that heals aches and pains and clears the mind for a new day. Sleep that blankets in a cocoon of idleness and calm.
Alas, poor Pluto! I knew him, Reader: a planet of infinte smallness, of most excellent compression: it hath fueled speculation a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rims at it. Here hung that planetary mass that I have pondered I know not how oft. Where be your classifications now? your status? your flashes of mystery that were wont to set the scientists on a roar? Not one now, to maintain your planetdom? quite chap-fallen?