As any island fisherman from simpler eras will attest, using a spear to catch a fish that’s stationary and completely visible in the crystal-clear shallow waters around your feet takes practice.

The water’s refraction distorts our physical senses, our optical and GPS tracking and locating micro-processes, and we miss . . . completely by a lot at first . . . with the practicing, the trying, and the seeking to review and learn (not simply repeat, repeat, repeat . . . each missing contributing not to learn about fishing but now about the feelings of hopelessness and hunger (as I do) we can not only catch fish . . . we can also catch a glimpse of something that enlightens us to the truth that there’s a satisfying fullness to this challenge of learning.

     More than we realize in the moment . . .

Let’s take the fishing example for another example. As we learned to aim to hit what we were aiming for, we had to “over-rule” our strictly sensory data input by re-calibrating—with practice attempt after practice attempt—to hit what we’re really aiming for through the distortions. Each attempt, as potentially frustrating as it is promising

. . . hopeful . . . and necessary.

    We do learn.

We can begin to actually like fishing

And then we miss the next one

And cry ’cause we’re not perfect.

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    Disclaimer: Poetic license is at work both here and in my books. Any errors or anomalies are through no fault of my editor. These were left deliberately at my expressed intention to clearly indicate that goodness does not require perfection.

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