Tag Archives: Writing

This Old House

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I remember the first room,
It was small,
But I made it with my own hands,
and it wasn’t strong,
but it was the best I could do.

Then I made a second room for family,
it was two rooms,
with one door between.

And then there was a porch,
a sidewalk and a door.
An entrance for me to see the world.
A door for the world to come see me.

So then I made a room for friends,
A place to bond with others.
A kitchen to feed myself,
And a bathroom.

I built a lot of rooms for living in,
and rooms to work in,
rooms for playing and rooms for sleep.
A living room, a game room, a den, a closet.
And more rooms for more family,
more rooms for more friends.

And then there was a room for a wife,
and rooms for children.
It didn’t seem long before I needed rooms
for grandchildren.

There were so many rooms,
I couldn’t clean them all.
So I got some help.
Overtime many rooms were never used.
There was dusty rooms,
at the end of long hallways.
Some rooms I’d like to forget.

But there was a light in each room,
and the lights were always on in the house.
I thought this heart would last forever,
the lights go on shining.
I would go on building,
and the music would go on playing.
Beat beat beat beat.

But one day someone turned off the lights,
and just like that,
It was just another empty shell.

The cover letter I would like to write

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Dear Editor,
I’d love to accept the job you are offering. I see your newspaper is located in an idyllic small town. You are looking for a editor. But also a reporter. Someone who can be a photographer. And in simple terms, someone to do it all. I am able to fill all these roles. And would be thrilled by the challenge.

You see I love news. But more than this, I love local news. Being a part of a small community means a lot to me. I grew up in a small town. And my heart feels at home in small towns. Where the people and their government are close. Where the paper becomes a voice in the debates. Where we can help people to make better choices. And to better understand their options.

I’ve worked and lived in small towns in Nebraska, California and Colorado. And I know I would love your town. I can send you clips from previous news jobs. They show my strong news skills. I have shown an ability to tell all sides in a fair way. And can talk to many people. I am a strong reporter. A good photographer. And able in many other areas.

But, and this is a big problem. While I dream of writing in a small town. And I dream of living in a small town. What I don’t dream about is being poor. And sadly your wages are poverty level. It is a sad state news is in today. And I know you may want to offer more income. And maybe you can’t. But I can’t imagine leaving a solid job in retail. Just to take up life in a small town, and be poor.

I can be and am poor where I am now. But this job, while not my dream, is secure. How can anyone dream of accepting a job. When they know full well it will barely cover the basics. The rents appear to be around a third of the offered wages. I’m sorry, but I’d love to work for you. But I also would love to be able to afford a decent place to live. To be able to afford more than the basics of life. Nothing rich, but enough to not be strung from pay-check to pay-check.

So, good luck finding your next hire. Because until you offer more money. It isn’t going to be me. I wish it could be different for us both.

The Hot and Cold Land

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I left North Platte in a dark mood. I didn’t have friends to leave. But it was still a lonely move. I drove down first for the interview. And I met my new boss.
In Lubbock I stayed in the hotel. During the visit I met my editor. And the editor-in-chief. They were friendly. And it felt like it was a good move for me. Like it was the right move for me. Before coming back I called about a place to live. And met a nice woman about an apartment. It was a two bedroom in duplex. The unit was old and run down. But it was cheap.

Driving back to Nebraska I went through Colorado. It was out of the way. But my main goal was my storage unit in Wyoming. And I love Colorado. In Wyoming I had to wait for the storage office to open. I’d had the unit so long I’d lost the key. But there was a key in the office. Because past me knew the way future me would keep track of keys.

All my things were stuffed in my car. My poor cat could barely move for hours. It wasn’t a long drive. But much longer than I would have liked to have been trapped without a bathroom. But my poor kitty was good. Getting into Lubbock it was late. I went into the empty apartment and slept on the cold hard floor with my kitty.

But soon I found a place to get a mattress. And the next day I was moved into our new home. It was big, too big for me alone. But for the time being it worked for me. The job started soon after I got to town. My job was going to be working the night shift. The hours were never really the problem.

It had been a while since I did real reporting. And I had some doubts of myself. But within a few days I was running again. A couple of the first stories were a fire and an traffic accident. They were not major stories, but I had the night cop and fire beat. In some ways it was a boring job. I spent hours waiting and listening for something on the radio. And then it would happen and I would have to figure out what and where.

I also had a blog hosted on the newspaper site. I remember early on having a hard period. Depression was deep and dark for me as winter started. I was alone in a town which I didn’t know. And no one got me. It was the same as Nebraska. But I felt even more alone. Because I didn’t have Sage. The relationship with my editor started good. But went wrong at some point. I didn’t have a friend at work.

There were two main problems with the job itself over time. One was the stories were not important. And I know news value is so fluid. But I went to so many stories with so little value. A traffic accident with no injuries. The news editor wanted anything the TV news station covered. One time they had a story about a pedestrian getting hit by a car. I hadn’t been on when it happened. When I did follow-up it turned out the pedestrian wasn’t badly hurt. Though an ambulance was called, it wasn’t needed.

There were a few bad accidents. And a few times I joined other news crews covering events. One night I got to an accident scene before most the police. And before the rest of the media. I got there soon enough to be on the inside of the yellow tape. It was a bad accident: someone died. Just one of a couple accidents on a bad night. Another time I was listening to the radio about a shooting. I went to the area and waited in my car. But then I realized I was sitting across the street from the house. I moved.

But I have never cared about fender-benders. These are stories for the radio and maybe TV news. Because those are the instant mediums. Yes, we could and did post online. But few people stuck in traffic will think to read the newspaper website. Even after they’ve gotten home, the instinct is to turn on the TV. And the next day in the paper, few people even care.

The other problem was no one would talk to me. It was hard to obtain the basic information for a story. On the scene the officers who could give me information avoided me at times. One night I spent a long time waiting for someone to give me information. The person came and left and it was only when I asked much later did they tell me. I felt like I was wasting my time, talents and energy. I wasn’t happy with the job and my bosses weren’t happy with my performance. I was later told I was almost fired.

But I was moved to a different spot in the paper. I lost some pay because of the move. But I kept my job. The best part of this job was it was covering small towns. As a journalist I have always loved the idea of covering small town news. The hard part was the driving. Though the paper covered my mileage. This money came with my paycheck. One week I had to tell my news editor I could only cover one event in person. She wasn’t happy. She pointed out I would get paid for the mileage. But I told her it wouldn’t help my current shortage. But I did some great stories.

One was about a company laying off workers. It was a large employer in a small town. Another was about the Lesser Prairie Chicken. And one about a judge who had died. I still love local news. It is what I miss the most. The small businesses. The firehouses and schools. Another story was about a sign. One school district had put up a huge sign. In the middle of the neighboring district.

At the core of the issue was school choice. Parents could take their kids to any school. But where the kids went, so did funding. The sign was put up by a small district. The district the sign was placed it felt it was an ad. An attempt to pull money from their schools. In Nebraska this was also an issue. One school would send buses to the boundary of the other. Where the kids go, so does the money.

Towards the end I got a roommate. I had hoped it would help me. She was an artist. And she was a good person. But also a bit crazy. One day she broke into the apartment. She was next door when I came and went. I had locked her out by mistake. And didn’t understand I was coming to open the door. But it was a lot of issues. At one point she accused me of working for the police.

At the end I couldn’t think of a good reason to stay. My job sucked. There had been a meeting with my boss not long before. The office environment was loud. It was a space hard to heat and cool. This meant in the summer they would place large fans in the office. It created a noise which drove me insane.

During the winter it was too cold. There was a no hat policy in the office. But, it also applied to scarfs. I’ve never been a person to call in to work. I would rather be at work and making money. Even if I have sick time, which I did at this job. But it got to the point where I would wake up in the morning. I would look at my phone. If it was too cold I would just call in to work: I’m not coming in.

One of the last stories I did was meeting the secretary of agriculture. He was visiting a small farmer and I was invited to go along. I was the only reporter invited. But I couldn’t drive myself. If I went, I would have to ride with staffers of the secretary. I thought I had made this clear. But my editor called me and tried to get me to return to the office. I explained I couldn’t. She wasn’t happy. But I think I was giving up at this time. And I didn’t care.

The office itself was in turmoil. The News Editor which hired me left, with one of the executive editors. Several of the reporters had left thier jobs. The new News Editor was leaving soon before I gave my notice. It was a dramatic change in the office. One like I have never known. The fill-in News Editor was a person with whom I didn’t get along.

And then I went to Roswell. I guess the trip was more than just taking a break from town. More than getting away. I knew my time in Texas was getting short. And I wanted to visit the famous UFO town since it was so close. It was an amazing trip. I met a strange girl who had been living at Walmart. She was young.

One morning I met her at the store. She was with a guy. We walked across to the mall. And then the two of them went to his place. Later I saw her downtown, she came and sat next to me. “Can you get pregnant by swallowing,” she asked me. I was shocked, but yes, she was asking me about oral sex.

Aside from the UFO museum, which was neat. There was a small free zoo in town. I went during my visit, because it was free. And it made me never want to visit a zoo again. I’m sorry to those who enjoys zoos. But I don’t enjoy seeing animals in cages: no matter the size. A cage is a cage. There was also some great natural areas just outside the town. While in Roswell I talked to my friend Michelle.

Come to live with us in Washington, she said. I could live with her for free. I love her deeply as a friend. I love the Northwest. And I was unhappy where I was living and working. It wasn’t a hard choice.

You think…

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You think you know him,
but you don’t.

For years he has learned to not be the person he is,
and to be to person you know.

Beneath the mask, is another mask
and under the act is just another act.

Like the man who hides a jewel for safe keeping,
but forgets where he stored it away.
He sometimes wonders who he is,
and when became the person everyone knows.

Where am I going?

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Sitting on a couch and writing, the world seems so far away. A stream flows down a short waterfall. I’d like to think I am going to create something. A work of art, a novel, a life worth remembering. The coach tells me I can do anything. Aim for your dreams, aim for the moon, and land in the stars. Maybe I could be a good author. Someone who writes in various forms for a living. The coach tells me I can earn a living following my dreams. But the other voice tells me the world is not a place for artists, dreamers, poets or writers to make a living. You can’t live off your dreams. This world hasn’t been for dreamers since VanGogh. It values fast and cheap. It does not value people or the creative process. The little they pay artists for their work couldn’t support anyone. News is a job, but it isn’t my dream. I enjoy news. But I do not love news. My coach tells me to write about what I know and what I enjoy writing. And the other voice tells me to write what people want to read. It feels like the world is a more and more angry place every day and I don’t want to write about anger. To dream is to love and my coach says the world needs both love and dreams.

It isn’t “Fly-Over Country”

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I’ve lived in Wyoming. And Colorado. But also Nebraska. So I take issue with a common term for the middle of our country. It is not “fly-over country.” People live there. And their lives have just as much meaning as yours.

It may not feel like an insult. You see where you live as important. And you are flying to New York. The big cities are important. Calling a huge part of our nation “fly-over country” is rude.

It paints the landscape as having no value. But the small places have value. As do the people who live in those towns. Their lives may seem small to you. But this is because you don’t know these people. Their lives are just like yours.

I spent a lot of time in Colorado working. But also getting to know people. I met teachers in schools doing their best for kids. And I met the moms and dads. They cared about kids, about the future. They worked hard to earn a living. But also took time for youth sports. These people didn’t dream of a life someplace else. In one of the big important cities. They invested in their home.

I don’t know how many artists I met in Colorado. The man who started his own cafe. So many friends helping each other. They faced the same fears as you. There were friends with cancer. Some had died. Leaders had plans to make life better. And the work of daily life was done. All of these lives have value.

I remember the woman at the pet store. Where I got Baby Girl her food. The health food store with its staff. The markets like all markets in the country.

In Wyoming I met a rancher. He cared about the land. Talking to him he shared the best way to raise cattle. It was about helping the cows to graze the land wisely. He didn’t want to destroy natures resources. His plan created a balance, and he earned a profit. At the school was a counselor. A caring and thoughtful woman. Like the rancher, she cared. But her concern was kids. And her warmth was touching.

This was in the small town of Douglas. It had a small health food store. The woman who ran it was active in the community. She was a part of a small group which monitored the school board. Because they cared about kids. Where they lived was home. And it was important.

I wasn’t in Wyoming long. But one snowy day a friend I didn’t know gave me a ride. It had snowed so deep I couldn’t move my car. It wasn’t a far walk home. But someone saw me walking and stopped. How many places do people stop for strangers in the snow.

While in Wyoming I went to a meeting of the local Republican party. It was a small group. There was a mix of people, mostly older. They shared real concern for values. The men and women weren’t a rich crowd. They were workers. People who cared enough to be a part of the process. These people are the rock on which our country sits. It is easy to believe the other is evil. But this isn’t true. Liberals are not evil. And conservatives are not evil. They just disagree.

In Nebraska I got to know more people. I had a crush on the cute wife of the mayor. She was friendly. When we met she wanted to talk about me. There was the newspaper man. He started his own paper after leaving the big paper. It wasn’t perfect. But he did his best to run the paper and website. The news was a lot of crime stories. But he also covered the schools. And he did it mostly alone.

Like Wyoming there was a local group. Every place has its activists. People who care about the community enough to raise their voice. They aren’t loved by all. But they make America the land we love. The one in Nebraska focused on taxes. They went to meetings and wrote to the newspaper. They had an agenda. It was to make their homes better. And while you may disagree with their views. I think you should respect their passion.

North Platte had an annual event, which was a big deal. The Walk A Mile In Her Shoes event was big. It happens in many places around the country. It is about ending rape and violence against women. In North Platte you would find many men walking in women’s shoes. The list included the mayor, the chief of police and sheriff. These are men who care.

I got to know some beauty queens. The often mocked women are smart women. And it isn’t all about beauty. It is about dreams and values. I got to talk with Miss Nebraska. And her charm won me over. She cared about teaching science to kids. The education of girls was a deep value for her. And one fun story I did was about beauty queens trying to bowl.

It is easy to look out the window of the plane at look down at these people. Next time drive across the county. When you look across at them you see them as real people. Because they are real people. The middle of America is an amazing place full of amazing people. If you haven’t taken the time to visit. It is your loss.

Quick Write

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Where am I now?
It is 12:15 a.m. and if I get to sleep soon I’ll get about 5 hours sleep. This is the new normal. I haven’t drank enough water and had burritos for dinner again. My life feels like it is on solid footing in some ways. But solid in terms of being able to stay where I am without changes. And maybe I need changes. Writing isn’t a part of who I am lately, Tarot isn’t a part of who I am lately, Astrology isn’t a part of who I am lately. And I miss those things. I can read the beautiful words of Sylvia Plath. But my own words are grey dust. I want to create something living with my words. This blog isn’t living. It is a dusty forgotten place which gets no traffic. And before you try to say it isn’t true: I can see my traffic. Maybe there isn’t a place in the world for a new Mark Twain, or Lord Byron, Hemingway, Camus, Sartre. Who do I want to be anyway? But I still want to write. And I still in some small part of my soul dream of a different life. What I don’t dream of is the bridge which takes me from this side to the other. And maybe I need to build the bridge: or learn to be a dolphin. Maybe it will just take more time. Right now time isn’t on my side. It is 12:20 and time for bed. Goodnight.

On Borders

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Look, I’ve known him for years. We are the best of friends. But, he doesn’t let me into his room. I’ve never been in his car. He sends me the best emails. But we rarely talk. I mean, offline.

I don’t know why he is this way. But through all my breakups, he was there for me. He wasn’t a shoulder to cry on. But his words were always touching. He is a poet and a dreamer in words. Like a fish swimming in language. But flopping around in the dry air of life. We met on the bus.

We were reading the same book. A memoir about Rachel Corrie. On a Powell’s bookmark he wrote his email. Getting off at his stop he handed it to me. No eye contact. Just the bookmark. But he knew I had seen him reading. Two people reading the same book on the bus always see each other.

The first contact was cold. We talked about death. Then shared thoughts about freedom and politics. About America’s role in the world. I’ve been a fan of Bill O’Reilly for ten years. He was a fan of Noam Chomsky. We disagreed in the best ways. Our words were full of respect. But his roommates didn’t understand his quiet nature. His long walks in Forest Park led to him being called John Muir. A title of honor for him.

When my roommate moved away to Texas. His roommates were having parties every night. It was simple. He moved in with me. I never even posted an ad.

He has had girlfriends. In fast he has one now. She lives in Washougal. They see each other on the weekends. And she isn’t what you would imagine. It is like he opened his heart and world to one person. And it was her. I’ve seen them together, and he is normal. He can be in a group of people, and feel safe with her. She is a translator. Taking him the world, and him to the world. You know Einstein was a terrible misogynist.

A few times a month we will watch a movie together. Sometimes we go down by the river and walk. But still words are rare. I’ll see him in the corner of my eye. Then he will point to a cloud. Down to a boat in the water. Or an interesting person passing. His eyes say it all.

He has his borders. They are firm and should be respected. They may limit his life in the world. But they don’t hold him back from living. And he is happy within his bounds. And isn’t this what counts. You can try to drag him out. His roommates tried and failed. I’ve seen others try and fail. The harder you pull the more he will dig in deeper.

I think we get along because I’ve never tried. He has always been a mystery to me. I can’t imagine him any other way.

North Platte

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It was a cold, dark drive to Nebraska. I arrived in a snow covered parking lot. My first plan was to sleep in the car until the morning. But staff saw me and invited in the office. I met Job and Sage the first night. Sage was welcoming. “We’re glad you’re here,” she told me. And I believe she meant it. Job paid for a hotel for the night.

Before leaving Colorado I had talked to a few people about renting. At least one place felt good already. The next day I made a couple stops and moved into the house I had expected would work. The long term plan was for me to rent out a basement apartment. But it wasn’t ready. So for the short term I was in the larger part of the house. It was a big house, and just Baby Girl and I.

The landlord was a friendly couple. The man worked for the railroad. Like half the people in North Platte. But they were both involved in buying houses, fixing them up. Then selling them at a profit. At least this was their business model before the bust. After the bust prices were low. So they began renting out houses. I lived in the same place the whole time I was in Nebraska. I remember the lease was very detailed. It had Baby Girl in it, not as a cat, but by name. I couldn’t get another, and couldn’t replace her.

The apartment when I moved in was great. I stayed cool in the summer. And it wasn’t too cold in the winter. Soon people lived in the house above me. But it was never a problem. While I had my own washer and dryer. The electrical system often burned out when they were used. The space was a small kitchen, a bathroom, a small living room and a bedroom. It was just the right size. Most of all since I still didn’t have my stuff from storage.

The town of North Platte is flat. One of the nicknames of the town is Flatrock. If you’ve lived in San Francisco and Portland, it is a small town. Highway 83 ran through town. It ran from north to south. About half the route was two one-way streets. I walked on these streets with Sean. While our ride was in the hospital.

It was on these same streets we lost our ride. I lived a block from the gas station. If you recall I was going to the gathering. We stopped for gas. I went for a sandwich. After coming back the police arrested the driver. Leaving six of us without a ride to where we were going. Not a smart move.

But this time there wasn’t any of this kind of trouble. I was a reporter now. A person of some respect.

This was really only my second newspaper job. When I started I worked on the education beat. I covered a range of school issues. One of the big stories was the hiring of a new superintendent. And I met a lot of good people. I didn’t just write the news, I also took some great photos for the paper. In one case I set up a shot for the TV news. It was a story about a book drive. I took some books out of a box to use in a photo. But it didn’t work out for me. But the TV station made it work as a prop for their coverage. And didn’t even help put the books back.

Education was a great beat. And while struggling through the fog of depression made everything hard. I really liked my job. Another story was about Bobs. Some kids in a class had started making pets out of rocks. But they weren’t rocks. They were Bobs. The Bobs had names like Justin Bobier, or Selena Bobmez. But the amazing thing for me about the story was the response from the teachers. Instead of telling them, don’t play with those rocks. Or leave those dirty things outside. They embraced their play and integrated it into the classroom.

But due to my own problems the paper took me off the beat. One issue was my clothes. And this had been talked about before. There was fair ground for the criticism. And I had taken steps to improve. I even got an ironing board and used it a couple times. It really was a lack of caring on my part. Not about the job, but about life. A lack of caring about myself. But fair or not Job moved me from being a reporter to being a copy-editor. At first I would do some news coverage. But I made a few mistakes early on, and I guess he didn’t trust me.

Most of my time in North Platte was lonely. I never made any friends. Most of my time was spent alone in my apartment. Or at the library. There were times when I think back, and I don’t recall any light in my life at all. I worked to late at night a couple nights a week. I’d shop at Walmart in the middle of the night. I was just alone. I was just depressed. And I didn’t have much to live for, since all I had was my job. And for much of my time there I felt like a failure at work. It is in North Platte I started therapy on a regular basis. I have so many problems. Being in North Platte triggered most of them.

I moved and worked closer with Sage. It is hard to explain how I felt about Sage. She is such an amazing person. One of those people who seem to have their own cloud around them. She was a great designer, an amazing editor, a photographer, reporter and friend. She could do it all. And it was all amazing. At some level I was in love with her. But she was also like a rock star, because I was in such awe of her. I learned to both fear and trust her. There were times she made me want to cry. Times she made me want to fly. I’ve known very few people in my life with such raw power. She’s not perfect by a long shot. But there was a magic in her being I have always wanted for myself. I’ve met so many people in my life who try hard. But Sage never seemed to have to try at all. She was also stunningly beautiful. All these things were just a part of who she was a person. Like a thunder storm on the plains. You love the feeling of the rain. But fear the spark of the lightning. I miss Sage still in ways I have never missed anyone else. Now she is on her own path, not with the newspaper. She had the bold courage to start her own business.

Working as a copy editor wasn’t easy. When I started there was two of us, plus Sage. But later the second person quit and I had a lot more work. Laying out pages and pages of text, copy editing and working images. There was another meeting in the winter. It was a dark period in my life. And maybe I should have talked to someone at work. But while I wasn’t comfortable. So, they told me I had to shape up or get fired. And I did. I got the job done, not on time. But they didn’t know how many hours I spent working off the clock. Over time I was making fewer and fewer mistakes. I even started to feel good about the job I was doing. But I knew it wasn’t the right job for me. I had plans to look for something else.

Then I got fired. Job blamed it on my using my phone at work. But, I think it is more complex. Working with Job himself was never easy. He had the annoying habit of sending an email from the next room. Emails I would often ignore because it felt rude to me. He would also push a lot of his work off on Sage. He was at heart a lazy man. And he got away with it. In the end their was no notice. They didn’t tell Sage what was planned. They just fired me one day. I was shocked, upset and lost. I was also very along because the only people I knew were at the job. Once I left, it felt like none of them cared about me at all. With the exception of one person: not Sage. Now, of course this is just my perception. I know it is hard when you work with someone and they leave. You may miss them, but at the same time you are very busy. I’m sure Sage had even more work pushed onto her shoulders.

I’d been looking for a job. And found one working for a newspaper in Texas. I drove down to meet the staff and interview. It went well, the job was a better fit in many ways. And I was making more money. It really was a win for me. Even if the new job wasn’t perfect. And not long after I was fired, Sage quit. I don’t ever imagine being able to work with her again. I’m not sure I have the skills. But I would do it in a heartbeat.

Quick Write

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I am just going to write for 15 minutes. Not about my day. Maybe about the black and white furball of love called my cat. The cars passing swish on their way. Candles dance on wicks. I’ve just got done watching Pan’s Labyrinth. Such and rich and complex movie, set in a rich and complex world. Our world is a rich and complex place. Writing helps me to see the beauty. It helps me to see the moments. It is like taking a photograph with words. A friend of mine once became a photographer. And he said the world looked different. He saw the world through different eyes. And noticed things he had never seen before, or at least saw them in a different light. When you take a photo you pay attention. When you write words down on the page, or the screen you create a moment. You pay attention. Right now my kitty is resting on the side of the bed. I am sure she is ready for me to go to sleep. To be honest so am I, and to dream. To dream of my future life where I can write, and do yoga, and be happier and more free. But today I live in this life, and I live in this world. Which has its own happiness and its own freedom. I wonder years from now what I will think of today. I’ve been reading Sylvia Plath. What I wouldn’t give to be able to write in the vivid colours and life of her words. Can any writer be as deep and as true. It is no wonder she couldn’t escape from her mind. And for me. At times I can’t get in and at times I can’t get out. The more I live in the world the harder it is to find a way into my own mind. And the more I want to turn on the gas oven. Bury myself behind a wall of brick from the world and either live in the darkness or die. Tomorrow I will go to work, and go for a walk with a friend. I will live my life. Even though my heart isn’t in it anymore. If it ever was. My heart doesn’t want to work for a newspaper writing stories about accidents and people getting hit with their own crutches. It doesn’t want to work in retail. It wants to work in dreaming and magic. But is there a place to live off dreaming and magic in this world. Too many people like me fear dreaming and magic. Yes, I fear the life I want to create for myself. A life I could really share with another. I fear it as much as I love it. And I keep on writing, and I keep on dreaming because what else can I do. On somedays I can’t even write. I can’t even dream. I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to drink, I don’t want to sleep and I don’t want to be me at all. I want to fade away into the light. Blow away in the dust. But my heart remains with me, and my heart will not let me go to the otherside yet. I am here to live, I am here to learn, and to dream and to be me. If only I could learn how. But maybe we are all learning how to be ourselves. Trying out best to be human, and to be divine. Because we are all made of love. Because only love is real. I used to write it almost every day and I haven’t in a long time. So I will write it again. Only love is real. What else could we be made of, we are real. So we must be made of the only thing which is real. And that is love. And if love is the only thing real, it must be God. If God is real. But if God is made out of love and so are we, then we are one and the same. We pass through the world learning to love each other and ourselves. And it isn’t an easy path for any of us. If you do not see the demons another fights. It doesn’t mean they are not just as strong. Just as painful in their own way. We all have our own shadows. Our own fears of love. A fear of what is real. Which when you bring it into the light can obly fade. In the light of truth no lie can stand for long. And any thing other than love is a lie. When you meet your brother just love them, and the lie will die on its own. Because your sister may be living under a lie, but so are we. And our love helps to dispel both the lies for the one truth. Love. Only Love is real. I didn’t forget. But I haven’t thought the thought in too long. I’ve been so focused on mirages in life. Focused on work, and friends, and the gym and so many other transitory things. Things of value, but passing value.