there is a way we run from the little voice in us, praying against hope and evidence that the little voice is not right.

some call the little voice 'conscience'--but it's more than that. it doesn't just tell you the right and the wrong; it tells you premonitions, it whispers truth, sometimes it prompts, sometimes it makes you shiver with fear.

often i have wondered if it is the 'holy spirit' the bible talks about? or maybe the devil's gremlin?


my grandpa is hospitalized again.


this time his state of mind sounds unstable. 'old age = second childhood' never hit more clearly home.

in thought and writing, second childhood in old age sounds benign enough; perhaps even quite cosy. one imagines a nice, old grandmama knitting and making simple, childish demands, robbed of old cynicism and snide comments, naggings, etc.

in truth, it is scary and disorienting. one forgets how regressing applies to the mind as well. a child's mind is incapable of making quick connections, needs repetition, assurance, unconditional love. when these come in a cute bundle of joy that gurgles, it is given easily enough. but how do you reconcile this with the wise person who just days before, months before, in all the years of you growing up, guided you, gave you pearls of wisdom, was impatient with the deviant young?

of course, my grandpa is not so far gone. and it could be a case of this being my virgin experience with old age and hospitalization, and therefore a case of unwarranted alarm and over-reaction; or it could be a genuine case of something else is really wrong.

i could pray, but how do i know if it's God or just my own voice i'm hearing?

i am also scared. of what is happening. of what might happen. of interpreting promptings. of over-reacting. of the little voice.

i am coming to realize that i am more scared of my loved ones dying than being on the deathbed myself.

how do you stay strong and not cry?

how do you give strength to the sick?