I ALMOST WASN'T able to sleep well last night. A hundred things were fighting it out, vying for attention, demanding concentration from my already zapped-out lobe. It was a merry mix of excitement and anxiety: excitement due to the steadily unfolding prospects for new and more artistic creations; opportunities that are hitherto just wishful thinking for me; anxiety because of this stubborn and nagging fear of the unknown, of what is to become of me in the coming months, even years. It doesn’t help that “limbo” has already been stricken out of the Catholic vocabulary a few years ago. I can still feel its haunting presence hovering over me every once in a while.
Yet it is precisely in summoning enough strength, in mustering sufficient courage to deliberately hurl one’s self to the great unknown, to the forbidding abyss of things-that-are-yet-to-happen, that one gets a shot at faith in its fuller sense. This experience of threading the precipice and deciding to take flight from it into wherever is the only way to turn to my life’s next chapter. I have to jump. I have to fly. I know it won’t hurt, or at least not that much I pray. I know in my innermost that I’ll be alright. Someone’s behind all these I believe; someone who thoroughly knows me; someone who thoroughly loves me.
And thus after having had my fill of this spiritual candy was I able to finally get back to sleep…a truly deep and restful one…and I was ten minutes late in today's morning mass...
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