More and more I seem to be directed again to a path I already visited once but only stayed on for a while. More and more I think I am called to do what I gently leave on the wayside, picking it up only when it is possible, ignoring it when it is impossible. But it has always been there, indeed. More and more . . ..
What does it mean to be called to do something or to be someone? How can I be certain that I am really being called?
I can, for instance, "only" think that I am being called to this vocation or to that love without there really being any call made. I could then be mistaken if I only think I hear myself being called when in reality there is no such call. But to qualify: when I say that I think I am being called, I say so with force and certainty, that is, truly; I do not only imagine it or fancy it, but I judge the call to be true and, most importantly, I make it real.--And what is made real will always supersede what was supposed to be only imagined; what is actualized will always overrule what was supposed to be a mistake.
Initially and for the most part, it is certainty which makes judgments possible. Because I am certain, I can take this eternal vow or seal a love with a promise. But certainty is certain not because what it is certain of is real, or really there in the world, factual; on the contrary, certainty rests solely on the decision of the I. Hence the paradox of certainty: I become certain because I judge what is in question to be certain, or because I will certainty--a great reversal! Even if I am not really being called, I can still take the initiative from my side (the only side that matters here) and decide on my own that what I think is certain is also real, what I believe in my mind is also in the world, and what I think I see is what I see. In a word: that I am called or not is a matter of profound indifference. I can only be certain of what I know and I can only know what I judge to be certain. What matters in the end is that I say I am called--then the call will follow.
More and more I feel the need to leave for that great elsewhere, to go to the place I had avoided for some time because I had feared it for so long. More and more I am taking notice of my present surroundings--committing to memory things, traces, faces, and all those intense emotions that I experienced in a place that has become so familiar, so mine--like the traveler who keeps on looking back because he knows he may never return.
More and more: my true self awaits. I wonder how patient he is.