Yesterday was Pentecost, the day we celebrate the Holy Spirit descending upon the Earth. No, we didn’t make it to church; having the little one wear a mask the whole time, a requirement, is just not happening.
Anyway, the day made me wonder what, exactly, I am doing with this gift.
This Spirit if Wisdom, the Messenger of the Lord . . . freely given to the word and for what?
To argue. To get angry. To get sad. To despair. To fight vicarious battles you cannot affect the outcome of. To receive second-hand emotion, echoes of importance, by observing and commenting on things other people are doing. To feel like you’re making a difference without actually making a difference.
To howl into the void in a desperate bid to let the world know that you matter.
The world is smaller than ever, and all of it’s ugliness is available 24/7. But it’s only there for the taking if you seek it. No one forces you to wallow in it and react. And when you do, the pleasure is bitter and fleeting, the dopamine rush of an addict who doesn’t even enjoy his poison of choice.
There’s a saying I love, widely attributed to Nelson Mandela. Paraphrased, it is “Envy is like drinking poison and hoping it will kill the other person.”
These are the feelings and thoughts I’ve been having as of late. This past Sunday really put me into the right mood to think about them. You could say, in a subtle way, the Spirit descended on me too.
There are so many lies. Rely upon the Spirit to guide you to the truth. It’s the only way to stay sane.
The Spirit helps guide my writing. Buy The Last Ancestor here as I work on book two.