Akin to WB Yeat’s beast, I too am slouching towards Bethlehem to be born… or better yet, I am slouching toward that Gadamarian fused horizon, that post-easter glow upon the waters that hangs out there in the distance. Yes, it is “ordinary time” once again – life after the lament of lent, the disquiet of holy week, and the apocalypse of Easter. I haven’t really adjusted to the ordinary time yet – I want to return to lent for some reason. Perhaps I miss the building expectation amidst the sorrow, perhaps it is merely the weariness of being in “ordinary time”. i just can’t put my finger on it. I can feel the disquiet soul-deep with all the usual indictators:
(1) looking for a novel in the bookstore to read but everything looks like Chuck Palahniuk – all image and no depth.
(2) Trying to get work done and finding myself wandering AWOL across campus and mysteriously uttering the words “Americano, light room” to yet another barista-cum-confessor. (3) indicator #2 once again, only this time getting a muffin… how Charlie Kaufman is that!
Things that help get my head back in the game in 60 minutes:
(1) Turn on Tom Wait’s Bone Machine and listen stem to stern
(2) Read selected sections of Cormac McCarthy’s The Crossing while Tom Wait’s world clatters, sputters and cracks (“Here was a God to study… a God with a fathomless capacity to bend all to an inscrutable purpose. Not chaos itself lay outside of that matrix. And somewhere in that tapestry that was the world in its making and in its unmaking was a thread that was he and he woke weeping…”)
(3) Psalm 73 – Asaph understands things better than I do…