wait for something to happen.
wait for a loved one to arrive.
wait for the good news.
wait for the first day.
wait for the last day.
is it possible that there is fruit to be found yet in the waiting? is it possible that, against all odds, the waiting is actually part & parcel of the very thing we are waiting for?
what if "the perception of the new step will only come to those brave enough to stop dancing the old?" and what if "the truly free, the brave who truly seek God, will always have periods, commas, full-stops, punctuation marks, pregnant pauses, breves & semibreves of silence where those around them are given freedom to walk; give space to deconstruct structures, to reimagine and rethink"?
i do not wait well. i sink into myself, into inertia, making little, or no, effort to cultivate the fruit that can be grown in the time between times. wasting so much fertile soil...