I never set out to be passionate about passion.

Passion doesn’t exactly fit into the tidy box of “hobbies”. When new friends ask over cups of chai what I like to do, saying “study passion” doesn’t elicit many exclamations of “Oh, me, too!” (Though I get even funnier looks when I say “practice solitude and silence”.)

As for writing on the subject, who would want to read piece after piece on passion? Surely the topic must be too ethereal and unrealistic.

But the weight and relevance of true passion kept playing in my mind- a weighty, as earthy as dirt and sweat kind of passion. Not the passion of philosophers, theorizing in lofty enclave. Not the passion of eros, filling beds and sheets. Not the passion of ambitious hungry souls, grasping for an aim in life.

The passion of which I speak is real passion, battle tried and battle triumphant by those who live it every day. This passion was not created for discussion and debate; it was not created for panting bodies or panting ambitions. This passion was created for souls, trapped in human-body-containers, walking the face of this earth. Longing for so much more. Longing for home- knowing there is, there must be, more.

This passion is about God. The Originator of it all. He is passion- fire hot and filled with wonder. To start anywhere else is lunacy.