Updated: Apr 26
The quiet inspiration I am feeling right now is more precious than the sleep I am losing by indulging in it. Eden and I drove up to Baldwin Hill to look at the stars. It was midnight. While she gazed at the constellations and felt fear at the immensity of the universe, I drank in the foggy night’s beauty and tried to sense God’s presence. Maybe I tried too hard, should've just received. Maybe this is God working through me now.
The dark sky dimly lit the fog to blend with the darker ground. I wondered if a camera would be able to capture it. I wished for fame and romance and creative success. I wanted to be a writer and an actress and a creative mind. I felt restless and artistic and oppressed. I wanted to run to the top of Baldwin Hill each morning at dawn. I wanted to be on that hill in every one of its moods, every season, every time of day, with people I love, with a person I love, alone with God. I wondered if any kind of ink painting could give even an impression of the dark night fog with the mountain range. And if anyone could do it, could I?
But perhaps the dark night fog with all its shades of black were meant for me alone in that moment. The starry sky enhanced the mood, but I was firmly drawn downwards to the horizon. The trees, the telephone wires, the single streetlight. Maybe I am myopic in my attraction to Earth. Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic. Maybe I’m still intoxicated by the dark night fog. But my dreams are as expansive as the starry night sky from Baldwin Hill.