So tell me,
what happens at the end of war -
who is in charge of collecting all the guns
and ammunition, and tanks and
MREs and
all the things a country needs
to wage war
against another country?
And how do men
who were sworn enemies
then serve tea and breakfast to one another
and sell each other cars and groceries
and ask after one another’s families
and children?
And can we just lay down arms -
the arms we held
one against another?
Can we just
walk away?
Can we really just
walk away
at the end of all of this?
I have prayed all night
For the silence I do not want
But know that I need.
I have been asking myself lately, as I read the famous bloggers’ blogs, what is the point, exactly, of blogging?
I think blogging started out as a way for people who believed they had something unique to say, to say it. It was a way to get published without a publisher, to put work out there for others to read and judge and connect with and relate to and learn from. It was a great way to find amazing material to read, to emulate, to aspire to.
And then the mommybloggers came along. Or maybe the unique people became mommies (or daddies) and suddenly the meaning, the point, the purpose of blogging…changed, somehow.
It became a marketing platform, a way for companies to pay for the priceless “best advertising there is” – word of mouth. Because if [insert famous blogger's name here] says something is good, well, it must be. These people are just like me, right?
Right. As in, Riggggghhhhhhhttttttt.
They’re famous - they have thousands of followers on twitter and their lives are sponsored and their kids’ potty training is under contract. And I? I plug away, trying to write something worth reading. Stupid, stupid, stupid me.
Except.
I am not doing this to be famous, or make money, or get a bunch of free stuff sent to me to review.
No, after much thought and digging and WHY GOD WHY?, I discerned that I am doing this because I can’t NOT do it. When I have something to say, I have to say it. And when something happens in my life, and I need to work through it, I like to put it out there because maybe you are going through it too. Maybe something has happened to you too, and maybe my misery or joy and your misery or joy can come together and somehow, we can connect.
I did not start blogging so I could give away Shutterfly photo books of Xbox 360s or Wii Fit parties. Somehow, that pandering cheapens this thing I love, this writing. So the other day when I opened up Google Reader and SEVEN blogs in a row were doing the same giveaway – and I felt sad. I felt cheated. I want to read good writing, not someone begging for comments, not FTC disclosures, not random.org random integer creator results. (I also don’t care about your gift guides, what you have written “elsewhere,” or the fact that you haven’t updated in 6 months for no good reason and now you won’t be updating for the next 6 months because you got a book deal and HEY, YOU TOTALLY HAVE TO PRE-ORDER MY BOOK!). But I keep reading these blogs, I keep investing my time in them because once, these people were good writers and I would hate to miss the day they posted good writing again. Whenever that day may come.
So I will never be famous. I will never get rich from blogging. But in my mind, I believe I have added to, rather than diminished, the art of writing. And in this electronic, tech-driven, gadget-rich age, that is enough for me.
But I heard you say…
And I know you meant it but…
Life remains the same
Sometimes I find warmth
Sometimes I find great comfort
But it’s been so long…
I write you spare poems
And I write you epic poems
And neither matters
And I listened to the words you said
And I read the promises you made
And I took out my best paper
And I wrote them all down,
every single one of them.
And I wrote them in my best hand,
flawless and curvy and beautiful.
And I read them.
And I believed them.
And I etched them on my heart.
And I made them my truth.
And I staked your claim for you.
And I offered everything, everything
And I demanded nothing in return
except your love,
except the promises you willingly made me.
And I wonder now where my mistake was -
And I know I can’t take it back
And I can’t unbelieve what I believe
And I can’t unsay what I said
And I can’t unfeel what I have felt
And I can’t unknow what I have been told
And so I hid it all
for a time.
And so I denied it all
for a time.
And finally I found them, the promises I wrote down,
the words you said that I mistook at promises,
And I took them out
And I burned them
And I scattered the tattered papers
and the warm ashes
And I put out the fire with salty tears
And I know you get uncomfortable when I cry
And so I stop.
And so even when I have
watched it all blow away in the wind
you still get your say
And I don’t think you even really want it.
Is for my baby, my sweet sunshine, to be able to hear. And be OK. And have no problems with her surgery.
What the fuck was I thinking, wine glasses?!
In no particular order:
Usui Reiki classes
Wine refrigerator (full of Pinot Noir, so I can taste different ones)
Unique red wine glasses
Reiki pendant
New family room furniture
Fire pit
Outdoor furniture
Running shoes
Some specific clothing items
Bedroom furniture
Books – Reiki, Cooking, Wine, fiction…
World peace
Extra time
Out for awhile.
