Please, Sir

In the past few months of actively not writing in this blog, I have been activiely engaged in thinking about writing in this blog. Every thought that would come to mind (though perhaps not all, as not all of my thoughts are kosher enough for even the most intimately acquainted), would come with the desire to write and write here.

So when it comes that I have myself set down before my computer, the blog pulled up and my heart equating my mind's desire to write (as often it does not), I find myself unable to call upon an idea tonight. Sure, there are many things I could write on. I know all of the topics intimately. Yet none of them strike with the same urgency as when I think of them.

Perhaps this is why I am still not a writer, I have not yet learned to conquest the inability of the heart to move my fingers.

Perhaps, all the more, this is why I do not know what it is I should be doing - or how I should know it - or what I should do about it. That said, it is an easy venture to acknowledge that much else explains the why behind the preceding sentence.

Life is a struggle for me, in more ways than one. Of recent days that struggle has fragmented - yet the utter truth of it remains whole and untainted. We all struggle, I am nothing special because of mine nor is mine unique. A line of thought which I had to learn. I was born an utter egotist - I've had to learn many a lesson of humility - humility which guides an understanding of my place in community, not outside of it.

I remember as a child, running on the streets of my hometown in South Carolina at 5 am, dreaming of finding myself caught up in a mystery or fantastic adventure. There was a hill I remember climbing as I ran which I always felt would be the perfect place to be abducted by some secret organization. That was who I believed I was - someone special enough that circumstance would find me, and I would be ready. In a lot of ways, I still wait for that circumstance.

But as I see my eyes opening more and more into the world, I realise not the pithiness of making one's circumstance, however true that might be. No, I realise...something. I guess I realise that I am still special, unique and with something to offer this world. But that uniqueness, I have to find it - I can't wait, nor should I have ever, waited for someone else to find it. I never quite understood why I got so angry when I was told I would be someone special in this life. Sadly enough I was told that quite often - and by the people who mattered enough that I listened implicitly, all the while cradling my anger which was righteous enough.

I understand now, though. We all must rely on others, must lean on one another, right now. But the thing we can't do, I can't do, is rely on someone to rake a timber in the midst of soul, catch the fire and then lead on as if leading with a torch in the midst of darkness. Poetic language aside, if the fire can be wielded, I must dance with it myself before anyone else can.

I have always claimed to be one with a fire burning in my heart. Now is the time to stop ignoring its presence by only acknowledging the warmth and sometimes heat. Now's the time to stick my head in the fire and breathe who it is I am.

Fire once burned my gloves and the soles of my boots, now its time to let it burn my soul.

(Not nearly as dark as the imagery would have it be read. All I say: time to stop ignoring who I am, find out, and then...live it. I'm poetic, it gets me into trouble more often than not. Happy place, people, I'm in a happy place.)