Well, here it is. Time has passed since I last blogged. Can't say I haven't been thinking about it. A lot. Somehow, writing notes, half completing posts but never finishing. As if there ever is a finishing line.
Everything so transitional. What is written! What my thoughts are about what is written! And perhaps underneath it all, this sense that it isn't good enough, that the words don't really say what is in my heart. Sometimes the writing is hard words that are trying to convey a sadness, a disappointment, a why haven't we learned to be kinder, more loving to one another. (How can I write softer words to convey horrors?)
We all have experienced loneliness, a feeling of alienation, perhaps even a sense of purposelessness. We may wallow in self pity. Then, at other times, puff up in a righteous, egoic entitlement. This is the course of life, this and that and then the other. If it can be felt, we as humans can feel it. If it can be worded, we word it. If it can be done, we do it. If it can be thought, we think of it.
What is the meaning of all this? Perhaps, as I have written in past, life itself is the meaning of life. The game of life wobbles between what we define as success and what we define as failure. The definition becomes more important than the experience. The "reward" becomes the thing. When we hold that reward it becomes pale and unsubstantial. When we breathe our last breath,as far as I know, no one has wished for more stuff. But we don't live our lives this way. I think of the word wisdom as comprised of two words, wise-dumb. We become wiser because of our mistakes, because we have fallen down and picked ourselves up again.
It is the rambling that, upon looking back, shows us that the way is not straight and narrow. And although many, many things happen in our lives that seem unfair and unjust. Ultimately, we do have the choice of how to respond.
Over and over and over.