Focus has not come. Attention has slipt through all the pages and I’m left with this partial knowledge to repeat on the pages of my exam. I don’t know if I should expend the effort of sitting it, and writing. This could be like those chemistry exams in high school when I knew I failed before I handed in the exam.
Resistance is chemical but first it is contrary. Dislike so strong may cut to the level of animus. There is some limit beyond which continuing is unfaithfulness to your essence. I have been too ready to use this excuse. But I am afraid of the alternative – of progress that is not generative because it ignores the shape of your soul.
Even great minds have been derivative minds. But to the degree that they defected from the grand well-traveled, they have been remembered.
Not every moment is posterity. I don’t know or care much whether I will be great. Chance gives that gift, and I have been humbled down to hoping only for a good life, for some minimal harmonies. I doubt that I have the discipline necessary to be put in the way of chance that gives rise to greatness. But I have my own sanctity to consider, my own sanity.
The small cradle of my mind might be telling me something. But the lesson could be either learning to push through this resistance, or recognizing when to find a new road. And I don’t know myself well enough to recognize which.