There come these times when I have nothing to say; the words I so often rely on feel as though they have been stolen from me. In these times, I find myself struck mute. Because this happens, I choose to spend time, each day not speaking.
And there come times when I do not know what to think. All of my normal understandings fall so very short. My ideas prove inadequate. I am reminded, forcefully, that I do not have to understand everything because I am not ultimately in charge. Because this happens, I choose to spend time, each day doing my best to not think.
And of course, life brings these circumstances where there is nothing left for me to do. Every action is the wrong action. I am powerless to change the course of these things. And because this happens, I choose to spend time, each day, not-doing.
This time is a rehearsal and ritual; a time of preparing and an act of recognizing my powerlessness. It is also neither of these things; it is also simply sitting, simply breathing. I am better at doing it for these reasons I am contemplating here, but the truth of the matter is, that it is also purposeless, and to do it for any reason to undercut the power of what it is that I am doing.
I am realizing that I am not making much progress, over my life, in resolving paradoxes. But I am learning to accept them.