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holding the rope



“My inner self was urging me: Now is the time! Now! With those words I was moving to a resolution, I was almost there—but was not there. Still, I did not slide all the way back, but braced myself nearby, getting my wind back; then, renewing the effort, I was almost there—almost—and just I touched, just I grasped the prize. But, no, I was not there. . . The moment when I would become someone different, the closer it came, the more terror it struck in me—a terror, however, that no longer wrenched me back or fended me off; it just left me hanging.”

Confessions of Saint Augustine


Augustine gets his crazies down on paper, on parchment, on goatskin with a feather. His internal dialogue is so intense, prolonged, and anguished, you wonder why he bothers with God at all.

He could have peopled his internal courtroom with any number of witnesses and judges.

He could have gotten stuck in a subdivision with no God at all, like Stephen, who ends up with an “unfamiliar” lady-guide in purple shades who can’t answer any of his questions.

Stephen is stubborn, indignant, and impatient. Likeable guy.

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