I don’t explain myself often. My dad used to say “your friends don’t need it and your enemies wouldn’t believe you anyway”.
I think there is a somewhat significant grain of truth in his cliche. The down side is people who do care are often caught unaware of changes I have implemented in my life regardless of or most often completely oblivious to their perspective or reaction.
Does this confuse anyone else?
Welcome to my world.
I deleted my previous blog after a rash and hasty post about a personal situation. I was both spiteful and nasty. I don’t regret deleting a year and a half of writing. Some of it was damn good, if I say so myself. Some was mindless blather. I stand by my decision. Regret is for sissies. 😉
But now I am in a bit of a quandry.
It’s been an interesting process as I struggle to find a voice true to my own expression while still tempered by wisdom and grace.
How do I write my own way and still speak with discretion? I’m not naturally very good at discretion. If I’m thinking it more than likely I’ve already said it. Andthen I’m standing here blushing. Or not. The blessing of the oblivious, I think.
Part of what makes for powerful prose, in my opinion, is brutal honesty. I don’t write to feel good. I “feel” good when I write. If I am learning a life lesson, I process externally and implement internally.
Words are for me a gift. A bridge between two consciousnesses. Through the use of your intellect and imagination I can paint a concept in terms that bypass your defenses and we can speak of truth. At least that is my hope.
So, how do I write it? How do I speak of the things that bump around in my head?
I cannot write passionately about things for which I care little. I won’t write about the inconsistencies on Capitol Hill. I will write about the nature of a nation built on principles which have now become anathema to the very people who pay for the privilege to be here. I won’t write about a welfare state. I will write about people who beg, murder and steal to live here and whose very existence have become a plague on the society upon which they parasite themselves. I won’t write about the war in Iraq. I will write about a religious system that exploits the faith of thousands in the maniacal hope of the destruction of millions.
Who, or what is Pebble Chaser? What country am I seeking to discover? Will I recognize it when I find it? Is the quest for expression the equivalent of the completion of said quest? Is the truth found in the journey regardless of the destination?