Delighting in Simple Prairie-Like Vistas of Truth; Or the First Installement of Monday Night Raw

The possibilities of change, growth and transformation have been subtle but constant companions with me in the past 5 or 6 months. First, I can testify that change is possible. I can also tell you that it is not irreversible, at least some changes anyway. Perhaps that is a difference between change on the one hand and growth and transformation on the other. I cannot tell you if these changes occur through the presence of imminent factors or if they were performed through gracious transcendence. The categories do not seem important in any event. What is clear to me as change lingers, waxes and wanes is that the flow of mastery winds through all these movements and expressions. Binding and loosing are tremendous theological realities.
It is my prayer that the frail reed of change would not be snapped. But perhaps worse than being snapped that it would not be preserved, encased ready for reproduction for reproduction is the great enemy of transformation. Reproduction is the great illusion of the divine and attempts at ubiquity. Omnipresence cannot be bulk, mass. The great divine presence is space, or something of the sort.
I fear mastery. I fear to be mastered. I fear that I might master. I hope for thought. I hope for expansive and breathed thought. I hope for barefoot thought running in the dewed grass of renewal. I long for brave and secure thought venturing in dense texts and delighting in simple prairie-like vistas of truth. I hope to be, at times. To exist in the shivering reality of being myself among others. Of being myself. I hope to write, think and act like love, conception, bearing and birth. And then to care. I see no mastery in these places.
There is ahead the vigorous and consuming task of gracious presence . . . of Sabbath.