“17 The seventy-two returned with joy, saying, “Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name!” 18 And he said to them, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. 19 Behold, I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you. 20 Nevertheless, do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”” (Luke 10:17-20 ESV)

To hear job well done, though anticipatory, though self-reflecting, is at once to be set aflame. Careening through the lofty environs of “what if”, of “should I, after all”, of “what now”, and we must learn the measured response, the patient faith, the “it can wait”.

Wait for what, when decisions are made on thirty-second intervals and meanwhile, down here in the field, the lifeforms grow and spin in the wind, but rooted and together in the seedbed, in the garden, in the sphere. The sphere, of observed life in community. Of turning enmities not to violence but to time to reflect, to narrate a story, to study and turn to profit.

The soldier under attack, is under this attack because of proximity to the very real fact of sins… of concupiscence, of pride, of covetous desire, of enmity. We learn to navigate the shoals of the self… in a fast? In a confessional? In pen-to-paper “I got nothing to hide” progress?

We are attacked and pace, we scarcely have the words to verbalize or mutter the apologies nor the boasts. Because, we have learned, our instincts are True and Righteous: something Divine lives near to this discovered realm. Yes, to sending the email… but… to hear a “No”, to have inner awareness council a Pause, to ratchet down the self-tormenting urgency. It can wait. And when ready, it will be Divine, of Blessed Import, Origin, Utility. But not perfect: we are imperfect, and the love affair… of this we neither bore nor covet.

All this to say, that Decisions made in the field are both life-or-death and patient. We can do it! We can together vibe and sway in the breeze, lively and informative but also not frightened of our eventual demise… in a living seedbed, in a garden… is that after all possible? To greet death, notwithstanding the warmth and copacetic ride on the city bus or pacing of the city streets, of a sudden change in climate, a premonition: a few moments to live? Yet our time is not yet arrived. We see friend, and we form friendship. Though unspooked nonetheless possessed of a language for interaction: and they said we didn’t “get it”. They, obsessed with certain outlets and fonts, said we were ignorant and foolish. Only the street life, the country life, the hip hop and soul life, the bluegrass and country life, this is our Element, as creatures in Seedbed, in Garden, in Sphere, who share while also called to Individualism. To self-expression. To unique demonstrations.