Restlessness

Sometimes, I find myself checking the date-- in case I want to remember it. I never do-- remember it or want to. It makes me wonder why I check the date... is it because I think that a particular day could be one to remember or because I want a day like that? And if I remember the precise date, then is it more real?

The feeling did not start until I had slurped down the dregs of my tea and opened up a FireFox window: restlessness. There does not appear to be a particular exigence to be addressed; I read about the white tea I just drank and it is not particularly caffeinated-- not more than the green tea I drink all the time and certainly less than black teas; music is only dulling it. Yet, I am not sure I want this generalized restlessness curtailed. There is a hope in my deepest heart that this restlessness is a part of what I am looking for in life these days. I don't want to be anethetized right now-- I want to feel restless.

There is a component of worry in my restlessness-- I have a long story to write in a short time. My fiction thesis is intimidating--
Additionally, my meditation time this morning, the quiet time that ended just fifteen minutes ago, forced me to think more about vocation without my even intending to do so. I am reading a book called "Dancing with God Through the Storm" which is about mystical Christianity and its intersection with suspected mental illness (the author is doubtful about a clear line of 'illness', which is relieving for someone like me who hates to be pathologized for feeling abnormal). The vagrant thought crossed my mind again: what if part of my vocation is to pursue a career in Christian counseling, helping people struggle with themselves internally? I'm always close to giving in but another part of me chimes in and says "What if your gift is to touch people through writing! Be careful!". Then, of course, a chorus of voices drum up inside my mind (not of the psychotic variety but of the rhetorical variety:), many doubtful ones. I liked this particular point and counter-point to come out of that:
"If you pursue a career in counseling, you won't be happy that you don't get published..."
"If you pursue a career in counseling, who is to say that you cannot free-lance whenever you need? Who is to say that your writing will become even more precious, more passionate and less tedious?"

Who is to say... and would I keep being a Religious Communicator and even (soon) a Christian Communicator (I need to get that app done...)?

The paradox of spaces and contents is tearing me up. It could be the topic of my next english paper: spaces and contents. Nothingness and its contents. The qualititative aspects of a moment always exceed the spaces that contain them; when we put those qualities into containers it pickles them and they are not the same. The moment of writing is never equal the moment in perceiving and the moment of perceiving is never equal to the moment of being.
The moment of being one is the same as the moment of being whole or as the collective's moment or the moment of being All. Even as I wax philosophical I do not more fully unpack the moment but more fully PACK it with meanings. I draw out from the system of a moment and even my drawing is an adding so that what comes out is more but what is inside is more as well.
There are no laws of conservation-- none of limitation. All that was not unlocked is lost and what feels unlocked is only a package of more locks.

Now, time for a trite ending of some kind. I managed not to more fully express but to create more to express. Yet, that's probably a better part of being a writer. Well, I won't burden you any more...

*trite ending*