just one silent word and im whole again...you said it.

I don’t know what or how to write. This amazing drought has gone far too long. I’ve begged the skies for rain to fall. Every plea, every attempt at writing has failed. Not lack of skill but thought, each and every brain wave has failed me. To continue pacing through fields of dirt is futile. I must plant seeds in preparation of rain, having faith it will come. Indeed it must.

This world in which we dwell, our home. Should we know it? For Norman, a sales clerk at Fred Meyer he thinks only of the moment, which inevitably cascades into the next. His world is at checkout stand 4 where above him a bright light says “OPEN.” The world I speak of, our home, is far different from the place Norman lives. Far different from the places so many of us stagger then die. The Western Wall, Angkor Temples, the Pyramids, still we find ourselves embedded in societies bondage. We only know our world by the front page expose’ of “riches found.” Distant I find myself from all of this, that which I know. I find it almost mankind’s duty to explore foreign land simply because it has been made. I also find and conclude that it cannot be seen by all, it must be experienced vicariously through a small number. Joyfully and fearfully through me.

The human struggle. Are we not one race? Are we not one innately flawed and graven image unto ourselves? Does not the obese man standing alone and smelling of trash deserve my love as I would give it so freely to the petit white girl? Our bond being a communal stain, sewn of the same fabric of the same tailor. Not all belonging to the Book of Life but in origin and Maker we are kin. All chained at birth and all struggle still, we as the creation struggle long.