After two weeks of sloughing through 19th c. law treatises, checking variations between editions, I returned the last of them yesterday evening, and walked into the library this morning, and without even turning on the computer, opened Brandom's Tales of the Mighty Dead (pt. 1), and sat there, almost without moving, for a few hours, as my mind slowly came back to life.
If I had my druthers, I'd be making theatre; second druthers would be reading and writing philosophy. The other work and scholarship is simply an attempt to play the game that I seem not to have drafted to play, despite the expensive preparations. The gates of the law, Kafka called them.
That said, I can still write, and I think I have an interesting angle on this latest legal history project, which will undoubtedly taking up disk space on the usual self-publishing outlet at some point in the future.
The Others: "But you see, the proof of our game is that no one will read it."
To which I reply: "Quod scripsit, scripsit. Enjoy your game."
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Listening to the Christmas Eve chant from Valaam while reading Enlightenment philosophy is enlightening. It's good to read books that assume that the mind is wide open to God, and also good to be reminded that the water is still very much, as they say, wide.