A Brief Meditation

It seems to be God’s grace that while I repeatedly launch only to fall shamefully short, I revive and feel eager to live again. Maybe it’s a survival instinct or a propensity for self-deception that keeps me going. But it feels more substantial than either. Sometimes I feel transported to an original moment, set back to that sweet moment of potential. I’m given garments of purity and holiness, unstained by the historical me. And niether purity nor holiness are scrutinizable in that moment. They are not colored with the affectations of pharisees nor with the irony of the cynic. Godliness is a thorough fabric in that unchronological Eden. And with my first step I will wear on that fine cloth, and certainly I will soil and tear it beyond recognition in the coming weeks or months. Or maybe this time it will take a day. But move I must and will, to launch and to fall short again. In my earnest use of that holy garment, that banner of Love, I will dishonor and abuse it. In preparation, my prayer is twofold; that my movement would be swift, and my ruination less than last time. And I need not pray for another night or morning, because both are certain.