Saturday, February 4, 2012
A couple of years ago a friend suggested I start a blog to drive more traffic to my work. During that time I posted daily - and sometimes skipped days and weeks. I wrote about my work, current events, and sometimes things that were going on in my world.
In a way, all of those 300 posts are the journal I never managed to keep up. Something always got in the way of those private books where one puts all of his or her ideas, prayers, thoughts and dreams. Someone read my journal once. Once was enough.
So while I write personal things in my blog, at this point in my life there is nothing much to hide. It seems to me 300 posts contain a lot about me and the world in which I live. I know that posting has sustained me when I hit the dire writer's block and felt alone in the world - even though no one might read what was written there.
My blog allows me to speculate on the future, and that is a good thing as we create our own reality. If we look at possible endings for a situation, writing down the bones of us allow us to look for that silver lining and happy endings. Or not. It is up to each of us whether we decide to buy into the bad news or to walk on the sunny side. You choose.
Sometimes I wonder what is the real news
And what the reporters, trying to keep their jobs,
Have cooked up to go with our morning coffee.
It is all so disturbing – the threats and talk of war,
The disease we bred by hand, irradidated now.
If we don’t watch out, all those old monster
Movies will come to pass and twenty foot lizards
Will lurk in the grass near the birdbath out back
Waiting to eat your cat and take off your head.
Sometimes I wonder what people think is all right
When the sky is red with volcano dust and the seas
Spit up strange species upon the strand for us to taste –
And the spoiled mouse with two heads is the last one –
And the cow’s milk has gone bad and the meat spoiled.
How can all that come to pass when God promised
That there would always be enough to feed each Mother’s child,
But now we watch the surge of wildest sea and ask
If our children will have a world to run after all.
Sometimes I wonder what happened to our birthright
That now we find each evening, dark with fear and
Dreams plagued with mud and fire on hill and marsh
Destroying Eden in their miserable march to the leaden sky
When what we crave is a good night’s sleep spooned
With love and trust while the stars waltz about the sky
And the Northern lights track friendly fire from desert bands
Bent on their particular translation of holy word,
And wonder why the Creator allows it all to go on.