Fortune favors the brave

[Journal, 8/8/2013, Day seven of 8-day silent retreat]

»: Kind of a tired start today, my Lord.
†: Yeah. =]
»: I can feel, better now than ever, when my body is tired; when my attention is fragmented.  Same for my thoughts.  Today You rise.  I pray for a grip on Your grace that I may ascend with You just a little.
†: Fortune favors the brave, my son.
»: Some pieces are coming together, my Lord.
The pursuit of one's deep desire requires boldness.  When boldness is gripped the next few steps reveal themselves before us.  Solvitur ambilando.  It may not matter exactly how I move at first, just as long as I begin moving.  Once I realize that I'm not just the mind, but the body as well, I gain new proprioceptive conceptualization of direction, of the order of things.  Desire comes into fuller view.  There is greater clarity once I begin walking with courage.  This isn't the walking found comfortable and safe in one's own home; the well-guarded ambling about the all-too familiar.  The beginning of walking towards desire feels more like the first few steps out of your own house.  Those first few steps, those first few breathes of outside world air immediately begin to color in something new.  Behold, we are at the advent of a kind of new creation.  Note this: upon the very success of that first step and first breathe the ghost of irrational fear and nagging uncertainty, of paralyzing lethargy, wisps away--if you desire so.  This is the sound of a footstep made in faith toward one's deep desire.  Then every footstep that succeeds carries the same force; the same gravitas, so long as your desire is in view.
What am I saying, Lord?  I'm saying that I sense the Spirit telling me: there is no common fear that can withstand the force of that first bold step taken in faith towards one's deep desire.  It is the refreshing realization that I need to hear right now.  How many irrational fears and hold-ups bind my limbs together?  How many parasites suck suck suck away at the creative power of life?  When we arrive at a choice, we truly ought to take full ownership of the choice and resolve with courageous prayer and prayerful courage.
And what of comfort?  Comfort?!  I segue to a recent meditation on the Call of the King.  I name my secular general: Allen Levin, someone of whom my admiration can't find justice in words for.  Here is the cordial wisdom he has to offer concerning comfort: "FUCK comfort.  Your end is not to attain comfort.  Comfort is the sworn enemy of the artist.  Others will take that day off on Independence Day; good!  Let them sleep!  But not you.  You're busy building a dream in the meantime."
Don't tell me that Peter did not have the slightest artistic impulse when he audaciously asked a ghost on the water to beckon him towards it.
Lord, call me to You.  Call me to Yourself now and every moment of my life.  Command me to walk on water.  When did living ever become a spectator sport?--get us all out there on the water, Lord, then maybe we'll stop killing each other.  Better to die attempting something amazingly unimaginable then to drift like vagabonds on a boat awaiting the next piece of fresh meat to snatch up and ravage like savages.  Tell me it's You, Lord, and command me to walk on water.  Fortune surely favors the brave; and the Kingdom of Heaven favors the childlike.  They run, scream, and play with unreserved creative fervor and they are not afraid.  I will not be afraid for it is You, Lord.  Call me out, Lord.  Command me to dance on that water.  Summon me to join the ranks of children.  More threatening than death is the dying that comes beforehand.  I will fall, I will bruise, I assure you I will humiliate myself and others, I will be a provocateur to death's many cousins.  I will give up.  But I will rise up once more, and every time, so long as it is Your hand that lifts me out of the dunghill and back up on my feet upon the water.  With You.  This is where I belong.  It is where we all belong.
Lord, call your servant.  Amen.