Just about ten months ago I stumbled into the blogging world. I had no idea what to expect then, and I’m still surprised sometimes at what I trip over.
There’s a lot of anger out there. Lines are drawn in the sand and sides are taken… male against female… generation against generation… class against class.
And sometimes there’s a lot of hurt pouring out of people. Life has fallen on some like an avalanche. They’re buried, battered and bruised, and can’t see the light of day anymore.
I want to say something that will help, something that will cool the anger and ease the pain, but the words just aren’t there for me. I’m not wise or learned. I don’t know any ancient secrets. I’m just some guy that lives in Michigan.
I walk around in circles and think. I putz around the place, straightening rugs and picking lint off the carpet. I swish at dishes in the sink while I look out the window at winter’s rigor. And still the right thing to say doesn’t come.
I guess that sometimes there is no right thing to say, that no words could ever help. So I’ll hold out the best thing I can think of instead.
– Here –
A wise friend once told me how the lotus plant grows up through the slimy mud at the bottom of the pond. The stalk breaks through the mud, then works its way up through the cloudy water. Once it reaches the sunlight the plant has everything it needs to produce these beautiful flowers.
– Here –