The eternal return.

I haven't written in days. And this is not an apology--it's just that I'm realizing how wonderful it is to be able to write. My head is full of schedules, spelling lists, Latin declensions, and visions of pyramids; my hands are full of laundry, dirty tissues, diapers, and the timer for more Tylenol dosages. It's mid-winter. Repetition. Waiting in the repetition.

I want to write about the education of women, the visible and the invisible, the rotten, dirty tricks of evil, the horrible HHS mandate, and the joy of heaven. Repetition. All that is has been before.

But today, I will wait again.

And rest again.

And read my Caryll again:

"Some truths need to be told over and over again. Our Lord repeated certain truths about Himself and used certain images of Himself over and over again, like the rhyme in a song. Repetition not only instills an idea into our minds, but it also has the same power that rhythm has to make the idea part of us and dear to us, even when it is hard in itself -- and this gently and easily, just as a tune heard many times, sometimes quite unconsciously, becomes part of us and dear to us.

"But there is a difference between Christ's repetition and ours. He speaks creative words because He is God, and because, as a man, He is a poet whom not other poet has ever come near to: His words echo and re-echo through the human heart. We, on the other had, tend to become tedious in repetition, even when the thing that we are saying concerns God and is beautiful in itself.

"Yet everyone who writes about the Christ-life knows that unless certain things are repeated in every book he writes, much, or all of it, will be almost meaningless to many who read it." ~The Little Way of the Infant Jesus