Another pen. Another page. Another One.

I'm happy with what I have, yet anxious to do my responsibility, as my human task. I want to leave nothing undone, regarding my human responsibility.

I'm gaining a sense of composure, confidence, and trust in myself I did not have before. To speak what on my mind and heart needs to be spoken. I hesitate often, almost out of a habit of deference, not convicted to shake the brain-matter of others.

That is changed.

I still defer to the common understanding others have. Yet often enough such is not common but cloudy.

The gear shift in me, by an inner cause, gets pushed and engaged. This is my allowance to heaven, to allow God to use me. Before, my hesitation let God know, "Not now, for Eugene."

I'm noticing the change in me. Others notice it, too. It comes from being sure, being self-responsible, gripping the human control-handle, as I am made to do. To be. Made to be. It is being, first. The doing then, spontaneously, autonomously, gets done.

Human responsibility stirs from the ancients. Eons of fragmentary portions of it done, hidden, forgotten, only to be unearthed when another person feels the compelling spirit. From whence it comes, that remains unanswered. It's in the forests of ancients. At some altar, where the bones of a man, who decided upon living life in the way of his original conscience, fell and were buried by leaves and years of soil, that spirit remains. And calls another.

One who may or may not be aware of hearing it but just acts on it.

9:10 AM September 1, 2026