The struggle, so intense. I had thought it would be relatively easy to write about the exclusive religions, since I had spent my whole life in their cultures, reading, steeped in their scriptures, theology, art, and literature. Yet now I find perhaps the opposite is the case. I know all too much, making it difficult to see and select what is essential or evocative in the right way, though that’s not really it, either. Rather, the scope is so challenging, the embrace so wide, the view from the moon so vast, it’s often overwhelming. And it’s the pain, pain and despair, of facing the blank page every day, trying to resolve the many strands into one. The enormous study and reflection required, so many years, solitary, my study feeling at times like a dungeon, a deep, dark, black pit. Easier to walk away, avoid it, the feeling of talking only to one’s self, dispiriting. Weakness and the dread pull of inertia. Gravity, even on the moon.