Often I start out removed, feeling the heat and not quiet sure I can battle the blaze:
Impartial, imperfect perceptions tangle up with each other and the amalgamations of fragments and dissimilar cultural artifacts pile up like junk yard sculpture. The noise of any channel of communication reduces the completeness and accuracy of the transmission. To hear the trustworthy still small voice within, not only does the noise out and about need to fall away, quiet needs to well up from within me.
And then I plunge into the personal and descriptive right after penning " ...but I am almost afraid to write in my own journal. " But of course I do write in it, and I suppose I can always do a little redacting with a black pen... process is messy... sorting out what others are up to can be helpful if it ultimately leads to kneeling down and checking out my own heart.
And eventually I wind up able to look out again...
There are wars and rumors of wars and boats on the bay and birds in the trees. Pelicans fly by and elections take place in distant lands. Men hold guns and children cower while grain grows in golden fields and bakers fire up ovens in the early hours of unbroken mornings. Trucks rumble by and birds cry out from their nests.And I get up and do the next thing...
I so often need to hear...."Therefore strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees..." ( Hebrews 12:12) and "Let us not grow weary of doing good..." ( Galatians 6:9).