Saturday Morning

I slept so well last night, it was almost as though it was the first sleep. I am awake now, coffee by my side, and silence. A mouse, which has a strange habit of running from my laundry room into the bathroom every morning, has just made it's trek.

My head is full of thoughts about so many things today. None of them seem connected, and yet in their lack of connection they seem to be a puzzle to be assembled. If I can turn them right, I can find what I need.

The Van Gogh quote, "I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart," has been on a run through my brain for these two hours I have been awake. Also running through my head are my thoughts on the Crusades and the Inquisition. Strange yes, but I have been listening to a history of these two events over the past couple of weeks. Also running through my head is how I should feel about Joe Wilson, or whether I should feel anything.

And ever present is the school year, which begins tomorrow. We look at this differently, we are preparing, we are recruiting, we are nailing down the last of the young unformed persons who will walk through our doors tomorrow. They are doing nothing but arriving.

What is all this? Is it passion? Is it passion which makes a man yell in frustration at the most inappropriate of moments? Is it passion which drives a knight onto his horse and across all the miles to the deserts of North Africa? Is it passion which drives a monk to torture a man in order to ascertain his allegiance to God?

Maybe I should rein in my interests, in order to keep my focus? Am I too distracted by the energies of the various histories present and past which swirl through my mind?

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." Grand but what of context? Why was this written, or spoken? About what, and when? How can I simultaneously revere these words while knowing of the eventual suicide of the man from which they originated?

I can't stop thinking, I can't stop wondering.

I am looking for my crusade.