Reconsidered

 I want to write. Simple. I’ve been offered blogging as a way to do so before. Granted it’s not the most original way to write. But that’s the question.

The question that has kept me from blogging.

“Who is this for? Me? Or for other people?’’

Fragmented, yes. But a question, nonetheless.

 I used to write and enjoyed it. I used it, like many people I suppose, to talk to myself. To engage in a conversation with myself in a way slightly less dizzying than having evanescent thoughts flutter in and out of my mind. 

I haven’t written in a very long time though. And I think that’s been reflective of that fact that I haven’t stopped much to look at life of late. Far from ‘being all there’, my life has taken on such a frenetic pace in an effort to maximize productivity. With the result of days having flown by and not very many thoughts spared to them or the people present or events that occurred during them.

And that, I feel, is a sorry state.  

Not to have seen beauty in your daily life despite circumstances that maybe happy or sad. Because there is no such thing as a perfect life is there? And is monotony truly inescapable? Or is it something we just create for ourselves and then allow ourselves to believe?

Here’s the challenge that I put forth…. to myself.  To start to examine life again as one who has not lost the ability to wonder at it. To un-harden a heart that’s become inured by daily life. To be a thoughtful passerby. At the very least. To ponder upon people I meet.  To remember that world is so much larger than I perceive. To consider a poem or good literature. To make up new words!

So, I will begin to talk to myself outside my head again. And to whoever stops by, I bid you welcome and say now that I am grateful for the company….

                  THE ELIXIR                      

TEACH me, my God and King,

In all things Thee to see,

And what I do in anything,

To do it as for Thee.

Not rudely, as a beast,

To run into action ;

But still to make Thee prepossest,

And give it his perfection.

A man that looks on glass,

On it may stay his eye,

Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass,

And then the heav'n espy.

All may of Thee partake ;

Nothing can be so mean

Which with his* tincture (for Thy sake)

Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause

Makes drudgery divine :

Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,

Makes that and th' action fine.

This is the famous stone

That turneth all to gold ;

For that which God doth touch and own

Cannot for less be told.

George Herbert