I am passionate. I am carried along by conviction and determination. I do not know myself- I am trying to understand, by observation, and hampered by not trusting myself, so that it is easier to imagine some bad quality than anything positive. I like “passionate” but can see why some might not.
I am lying in bed this morning unable to gather the motivation to get up, imagining what I ought to do and not wanting to, and I can see myself as “depressed”- so anything energetic may seem unlikely. My passion has flickered or died under disapproval, including my own, as I see it as a bad thing. And, no. I like my passion. It is who I am, and this human being is worthwhile, valuable.
Usually, the word passionate means emotional, but the phrase “Passion of Christ” indicates its wider meaning: Jesus was captured, held by soldiers, and forced to carry a cross. That is, he did not choose any of his own actions, but was a passive object of the choices of others. Passion. Driven by something not fully controlled, often in the person themselves.
I go the whole hog. I am moved to these thoughts by my apology. I do not apologise saying “I am sorry you feel that way”, or “I regret any inconvenience”. I do not put in a “but”. There is a place for mitigation of fault, and the apology is not it. So I apologised, and thought, that is not the way many apologies are couched.
Or the Quaker custom of “stepping away from the table” (You don’t need to know what that means.) Others will step away from the table momentarily, if I step away from it I stay away from it until we move on.
I had realised that if I devote myself to something I give it my all. This extends beyond taking on a task, to anything I decide to do. It can upset or anger people, as when I wanted to do appeals at Newport, rather than just refer them on to someone else.
That’s it. I decide something is right, and I go for it. How I make that decision I don’t know, it just seems right then it completely is and no question is possible. I commit. It seems to be a subconscious choice, that I choose something. It is idiosyncratic, not following particular rules, morality or logic as far as I can see.
Passionate. It gets me into trouble. It perplexes me. To the conscious mind, making a separate calculation of my interests, it might seem troublesome. And it is me, being myself, doing what I choose to do. It is my inner light. I have strong convictions.
I am unmotivated, not wanting to do anything much, particularly, sitting at home. I do things with my whole heart when they are my choice, and when it seems they will have an effect, which may be a reason for not acting, for I cannot see my way clear to anything, I think, then realise that I pour this blog out, excavating my heart, telling things of myself which might appear bad. I am committed to it, at least. So I minimise what I do, minimise its importance to me and in general.
I do not know myself because I do not value myself. As I get to know myself I value myself more. Because I don’t know myself I cannot understand others’ motivations, though I can read their feelings.
I am passionate. This is beautiful.