Is not writing, in its own way, a form of prayer—a messaging of thought, hope, desire, and wish—offered into the universe without promise of response? Maybe, for some words and prayers, we truly seek an answer. Others, maybe to give them is enough—their effect and answer coming in the consequence of contemplation in focusing thought to form, as revelation received in honest introspection. Maybe, more often than we see, answered prayers are in the process: not after-action by Another.
Maybe our writings are read. Maybe our prayers are heard. Maybe we are answered. Maybe we imagine signs to convince ourselves we are. Maybe we live peace with left unknowns.
In the end, does it really matter? If—by the process—we are improved in mind, spirit, and heart; is that not enough? Whether from external God, person, or within; if there experiences an effect for the better, has not writing, or prayer, achieved its purpose?
I write. I pray. Maybe contemplative idleness is these acts possess—inconsequence affixed with false-effect. Maybe they are more.
Even if only from the interior of myself, I believe that I am answered: even when I see and hear nothing in the world. Sometimes, faith is continued living in direction to ideal—even if imagination is all it is.
I believe they’re more.