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Am I back?
Sep. 27th, 2002 12:44 pmI'm home, in Michigan, but I have no direction. I don't feel I can commit to anything.
I miss my friends. Anne, I'm sorry I haven't contacted you since I've been back in the state! Rikhei, to you I'm sorry, too. (I loved your letter; it meant a lot to me.)
I just don't know where I need to go, what God wants me to do. I know what I've wanted to do these last few years--visit intentional communities, study the little religions there--but I don't know if that's what I need to be doing now, and if it is, I don't even know where to start.
I am aimless.
I read a lot these days. I'm voracious for written knowledge. I've attacked my Student Bible with glee (I have about nine or ten books left); I'm still reading about the history of written language [meta-studying?]; neurology; Alan Watts and Elaine Pagels.... Most of my literary delights have been philosophy and religion (though, through F's influence, I've been studying some mathematic foundations to philosophical questions--I ran across this neat book about the history of the concept of zero, and that opened my eyes more to the idea of the void, infinity, the mind, and God). Really, all I want to do is read. For me, it's a return to a childhood state, as I could hardly been found without my nose in a book. I love reading, I love gleaning meaning from abstractions.
But, except for my (now sporadic) journal writing, my writer's block continues. I think a large part of my trouble is that I have so many things I'd like to say, but if I were to spill them they'd just come out in a big jumble. And I hate that.
So I withdraw.
I miss my friends. Anne, I'm sorry I haven't contacted you since I've been back in the state! Rikhei, to you I'm sorry, too. (I loved your letter; it meant a lot to me.)
I just don't know where I need to go, what God wants me to do. I know what I've wanted to do these last few years--visit intentional communities, study the little religions there--but I don't know if that's what I need to be doing now, and if it is, I don't even know where to start.
I am aimless.
I read a lot these days. I'm voracious for written knowledge. I've attacked my Student Bible with glee (I have about nine or ten books left); I'm still reading about the history of written language [meta-studying?]; neurology; Alan Watts and Elaine Pagels.... Most of my literary delights have been philosophy and religion (though, through F's influence, I've been studying some mathematic foundations to philosophical questions--I ran across this neat book about the history of the concept of zero, and that opened my eyes more to the idea of the void, infinity, the mind, and God). Really, all I want to do is read. For me, it's a return to a childhood state, as I could hardly been found without my nose in a book. I love reading, I love gleaning meaning from abstractions.
But, except for my (now sporadic) journal writing, my writer's block continues. I think a large part of my trouble is that I have so many things I'd like to say, but if I were to spill them they'd just come out in a big jumble. And I hate that.
So I withdraw.