January 6, 2012


A friend from my Facebook page recently wrote that my blog posts have inspired her to consider beginning one of her own. Naturally, I am flattered. That my words can inspire anyone strikes me as remarkable.     

The task of writing a blog isn’t easy. A blog is more than conversation; it’s organized thought which conversation isn’t. It must raise ideas of interest to others and like a hungry infant, it must be fed regularly or it dies. So why do I write? Why do any of us write?

Recently I joined a website devoted to bloggers and found more of my kind than there are stars in the sky. I’m certain this is true because the messages I receive daily are numerous.  

(courtesy: hubpages)

I don’t respond to them all. I can’t. When would I write much less have time to attack the ring of grim around my bathtub?  

Still there is something touching about these voices reaching across space in search of like minds —- notes in a bottle hoping to be found… wishing to be understood.

There is danger, too, in being exposed to so many words. Like the roar of an ocean, they become undecipherable. I drown in them. Worse, I begin to doubt I have anything to contribute.   

Buddha may be right. Perhaps it is best not to speak or write at all. Perhaps words interfere with understanding. 

And then a new day begins, a new experience delights me and I reach out on the web to people who will understand. I can’t help myself. And so to my Facebook friend who contemplates a blog of her own I’ll say nothing…except to wish her well.