I was thinking about stuff I have written in the past about my sadness for the plight of the natural world. Today I became so
frustrated by these thoughts I concluded it was an impossible thing to
fix. This then seemed to cause the gears of my mind to slow and grind to
a halt and I lost motivation for anything.
Then I remembered about the strange phenomena of faith. A writer, unfortunately I cannot remember his name, said he acted as if there was a muse even though in his mind he thought such things were nonsense; and so he turned up to write at his desk every day having faith the muse would be there, and strangely his reality became as if the muse was really there.
I have to try. I do not want to see the world end on my watch.