In a bit of all of us is a hero waiting to make his triumphant debut. But we all have a bit of a coward in us also. For the hero to emerge there must be some type of catastrophe. For if nothing happens then what use is a hero? And the coward in us is afraid of the hero emerging due to the pain and trauma we must go through to create our hero in a time of great need.
I try to be the best person I can be. I try to make a difference in peoples lives. I strive to be a hero. But the coward in me sabotages that on a daily basis. I dont know why Im afraid of change or even being happy. Once I'm in a good place in my life, for some reason, I always decide to throw a wrench in the shitty gears that I call a life. My flesh is weak and my mind even more so.
And I have it pretty good. Im talented I have a gift, I have a family that loves me, and I make good money. So why do I throw all that shit away? I still in my 32 years of life dont even have a grasp of why I do the things I do.
Is it the excitement of being on the edge? Is it that I dont like being happy? Is that I dont even care? Who knows. Yet deep down I think, better yet I know, Im a good person. Im selfish but I'm always there for somebody in need.
Just recently a had a girlfriend I was very much in love with. We had a very passionate and heated relationship. We fought like cats and dogs but we loved each other like no other. Now we both had issues we had a hard time putting behind us and it was the culprit of the majority of our arguments. We both had demons we cant conquer. But together we both helped each other get past them. we both were better people together. Separate we self destruct. Hard. But it was just one of those things where no matter what you do, u can never win. Oh and how I tried.
But life is all a lesson. No mistakes are ever made. We do the things we do subconsciously to forge our hero.
My hero is inside me. My hero is still incomplete. My hero is me.
I will win. I will conquer. I will make my inevitable transformation into the hero I know I am.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
It's been a while.
Since my last blog. I haven't been inspired enough to write lately. Life has been good to me. I can honestly say I'm content for once. But once content, always lazy I say.
The reason I came back to writing was how inspired I got the other night reading. I read so often the words become a blur. I don't even see them. It rolls forth like a movie in my mind. Vivid details like the smell of wet grass all the way to drying blood. I can even perceive the smell of death.
And this is what strikes me me as amazing. The simple power of the written word. A beautiful dance of sounds that pit you in the middle of peoples minds, their emotions and their struggles.
I just finished reading a book from my favorite author. His latest in a long series of novels. And when I mean long I mean I've been reading his books for twenty years. All about the same group of friends. I've been though their battles. I was there for their victories. I've laughed with them, and yes I have felt their every pain and loss. All together around eighteen or nineteen novels spread over twenty years I have shared their lives.
And thats the reason I felt compelled to write this blog. At the very end of this book. Two of the main characters died. It was so powerfully written, so devastatingly beautiful. So agonizingly sad. I've literally grown up with this ensemble of diverse personalities. One of them that passed away was introduced to me fifteen years ago. In the beginning she was around sixteen. I've watched her grow up physically as well as emotionally all the way to her mid forties. I was with her through all her struggles, fought beside her in every battle. I've felt her every loss.
And this is why I have a passionate affair with literature. I didn't dawn on me how much emotions I have invested in these characters. I have been there for them for twenty years and yet so have they for me. When she died I was devastated. Albeit she is a fictional person.
But thats exactly the point I am attempting to make. The written word is a powerful thing. I took it for granted for so many years. And I was totally blindsided by her death. All I could think about was how I'll never share her adventures, her pain, her triumphs, her joy. Ever. This gave me such a profound sense of loss. Like a friend in the real world actually died.
But at the same time I am overjoyed. I have found a world I can completely immerse myself into. I find solace in my imagination. I feel inspiration fill my soul. Because if the human intellect can produce these feelings simply by writing, then there is hope for humanity left.
I feared that with so much technology around peoples imagination would grow lazy and incompetent. With gadgets doing all the work for us with no thinking involved. But there are pioneers out there that wont let the written word die. I know I won't.
I don't mean to sound like a PSA commercial. But, go read a book.
The reason I came back to writing was how inspired I got the other night reading. I read so often the words become a blur. I don't even see them. It rolls forth like a movie in my mind. Vivid details like the smell of wet grass all the way to drying blood. I can even perceive the smell of death.
And this is what strikes me me as amazing. The simple power of the written word. A beautiful dance of sounds that pit you in the middle of peoples minds, their emotions and their struggles.
I just finished reading a book from my favorite author. His latest in a long series of novels. And when I mean long I mean I've been reading his books for twenty years. All about the same group of friends. I've been though their battles. I was there for their victories. I've laughed with them, and yes I have felt their every pain and loss. All together around eighteen or nineteen novels spread over twenty years I have shared their lives.
And thats the reason I felt compelled to write this blog. At the very end of this book. Two of the main characters died. It was so powerfully written, so devastatingly beautiful. So agonizingly sad. I've literally grown up with this ensemble of diverse personalities. One of them that passed away was introduced to me fifteen years ago. In the beginning she was around sixteen. I've watched her grow up physically as well as emotionally all the way to her mid forties. I was with her through all her struggles, fought beside her in every battle. I've felt her every loss.
And this is why I have a passionate affair with literature. I didn't dawn on me how much emotions I have invested in these characters. I have been there for them for twenty years and yet so have they for me. When she died I was devastated. Albeit she is a fictional person.
But thats exactly the point I am attempting to make. The written word is a powerful thing. I took it for granted for so many years. And I was totally blindsided by her death. All I could think about was how I'll never share her adventures, her pain, her triumphs, her joy. Ever. This gave me such a profound sense of loss. Like a friend in the real world actually died.
But at the same time I am overjoyed. I have found a world I can completely immerse myself into. I find solace in my imagination. I feel inspiration fill my soul. Because if the human intellect can produce these feelings simply by writing, then there is hope for humanity left.
I feared that with so much technology around peoples imagination would grow lazy and incompetent. With gadgets doing all the work for us with no thinking involved. But there are pioneers out there that wont let the written word die. I know I won't.
I don't mean to sound like a PSA commercial. But, go read a book.
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