Call it inertia.  A body at rest tends to stay at rest.  A body in motion tends to stay in motion.  And it’s the same with relationships—their movement.  Once it starts its hard to stop.  The same with sin.  How one sin leads to a deeper sin.  David and Bethany had started something, and neither of them knew how to stop it.  This what movement is.  A starting point and a stopping point.  Somehow they had overcome the inertia to be at rest when they met each other.  But what was it?  What motivated it to start?  What motivates love to begin?  What gives it momentum?  The mystery of this is more than rhetorical.  Maybe you just know, and it’s more than just a force, a compulsion.  Like what makes you get out of bed in the morning rather than stay in it.  Maybe it’s not a movement that starts and stops.  It’s more like a whirlwind—a revolution that seems brief, but it keeps going around.  Away from you for only moment before it’s right back in your face.  Sometimes just passing you by.  Making you maybe think you should be thankful.  Other times it hits you dead on, and it’s quite a ride, until it drops you and leaves you devastated.  But if it is inertia, if it’s inertia that keeps love going, what was its first cause?  You can go no deeper, no deeper than your birth, and perhaps this is the first song of it.  Its first cry.  And you were pushed, pushed out into it, and this is what got you going.  Running into others.  Giving them that gentle nudge.  This being, this is what it is.  All of us floating.  All of us dancing.  Dancing in the ether.  Waiting on something to change us.

There’s no sense being sentimental about it.  Good things, the good things in life—what you should be thankful for—this isn’t considered very much.  You don’t wonder about the good things that happen.  How they happened.  Sort of that don’t fix it if it ain’t broke idea.  Call it superstition.  Even if it spells ingratitude.  You don’t wonder about these things.  Oftentimes taking them for granted.  Only if there’s an accident, a misfortune—do you wonder.  You do a little bargaining with yourself.  You get angry, and sometimes you get contrite.  You ask yourself if you’re getting what you deserve, and you come back with different answers depending on your state of mind.  David went through all sorts of emotions when he thought about Bethany.  Sometimes she was evil to him—the devil paying him a visit.  Other times she was good—an angel ministering to his wounds.  But was she both?  An either/or?  What fits the profile sometimes doesn’t match later on when you take a second look.  The facts, the evidence for each case depending on who or what was defending you, and David’s conscience was on trial.  You could almost pinpoint it with his days, with his nights.  Upon waking after dreams in the early morning he felt the blame, his sins casting shadows with the dawn.  But as the day went on, as he went about his routines, going over his grievances in his mind, he found reasons to blame her and justify himself.  And by evening, as he readied for sleep, he’d played out the game over and over, sensing the outcome he needed to put it out of his head for a while so he could rest and do it again the next day.  But this isn’t really significant.  Only a narcissist would get sentimental about it.  Because we all do this.  We all play this game.  We all start out as shepherds to our beds.  Counting our sheep.

But David wasn’t tending sheep anymore.  He was no longer an adolescent youth.  He’d seen his share of battle.  The memories in his mind from the war.  His inertia had led him to where he was now.  And soon he would have more blood on his hands.  In the choice he made to win his wife.  To have her.  In that choice to open his door and keep on opening it, even if sometimes it had to close in order to open again—in that inertia of give and take, in that truth that nothing is ever at rest, nothing is ever in movement, without some outside reference to compare it against.  And so now comes David’s meeting with Popovitch…