Computing the mileage in the time of blockades. The screens in my car carve it into fine slices: time travelled, fuel consumed, amount left in the tank. Suppose we did this for the world – I’m sure someone has – decades of extraction, energy burned, amount left in the ground. Or we could figure how much power remains in a life span: years lived, passions achieved, time yet to be attained. “Teach me the measure of my days” sings Isaac Watts: it’s always later than you think, and simultaneously never too late.
History is circular; we’d like a clear trajectory, progress all the way, fairness and freedom, yet in reaction when things get out of hand we grasp at stability and authority. Who is free, if you are not free? Who is constrained, whether for good or ill? What’s within reach, what overbearing? Where’s your natural bent?
We might be driving growth, or unfortunately driving losses. We can drive towards the stars, or drive into the lake. We host an endless train of driving quantities. Even on the spiritual highway, while driving church attendance is a possibility, driving spirituality is flaky. But when you stand on holy ground be still. Be still.
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