This is a Response to Yesterday’s blog. “How to tell if you’re a ‘real’ writer.” And the professor that said, after leaving the school, that his students were wasting their time because they had no talent. I had too much to say, to write this in comments, so I posted it as one of my blogs.
This has been my way of thinking for most of my life. I have dreamed of being a writer, seeing myself a recluse living in some plain shack wrapped up in writing my thoughts on paper (typing), living through my characters, dear to my heart and hope the work I leave behind will be found and treasured by some explorer and through my work I have something give back. I, at least will die doing what I love, being a writer. The reason I have this view is because I’m a dreamer and I’ve been a little lazy when it comes to devotion to the craft. When I was a young man, I didn’t do too well in school or didn’t care, (A cool cover up, something I learned from TV.) being I wasn’t quite up to par with the other kids my age. After that, I was wrapped up in life working and family and everything else you can throw on top of the pile. I started blogging just this winter with the idea to get back in the flow of writing and to gain confidence in myself and as a writer and on my way to mastery I hope. Through the power of writing, expression and nurturing support, I get from friends on Word Press (Thanks so much). I have been on fire with the writing projects I have been working on forever. Here is my point. I can see if the professor was talking about doing physical things or hard work while a man or woman are young, but If an older person can’t write, can’t read in their waning years of their lives, writing their experiences they’ve built, then why in the hell are we staying around for.
And, I think now is a good time to tell this story. I come from a religious background. I remember every Sunday morning my mother would wake my sister and me and have a bowl of cereal waiting on the kitchen table for us. At times the cereal would be chocolate like, which I picked out at the store and sometimes I had to eat that fruity stuff my sister always had to have, but what ever we ate, we were having the same. Afterwards we would dress in our good clothes our mother sat out for us on the bed and after we had dressed, we would stand and wait for the church bus until my legs felt like they can no longer hold me up. At a little after twelve we were dropped back off with our little bible pamphlets of what we were learning that week and ran to the old kitchen table were a hot bowl of soup was waiting for us.
Sense then I’ve read various books on all different religions. I have Cherokee on both sides of my family. My Great Grandmother was half. So I have always kept God as the forerunner in my heart. I have read a significant passage in the bible that gave me peace for the rest of my life. It said “Seek me In all ways.” Wow.” That said God is truly powerful and is in everything and place. Be lost and you can go any direction if you look for him, you can not miss. It’s only when you don’t ask questions and be receptive that you bump into him and say excuse me and keep walking. For you; knowing my background or brief biography. I also lived in Yellowstone were I searched and searched for what God intended for me to do, when he made me. I was scrambled inside like a bag of M&M’s over what my propose in life is. On a quiet day of working in Yellowstone, I came home (living alone.) prepared myself a lite salad ate in silence. When I was finished, I played my favorite band the Moody Blues and set on the floor to meditate. As soon as I closed my eyes, I was gone. Here I stood on a path, my path. I looked left and saw my past and looking right I saw my future. I didn’t understand everything so I guess it’s up to your interpretation, a presences appeared in front of me. I believed was myself. I don’t remember everything and things seemed fast, but the figure spoke telepathically and said, “I will see you soon.” and started ascending and I saw he had change in appearance. It was Jesus. Seeing this, I yelled out, again telepathically.”Wait!”.
He paused, “What is it”.
“What is it that, what I am supposed to do”.
“What is it you want to do?”
“Write.” I said with a heavy heart.
Jesus simply replied, “Then write.”
On that he was gone and there I sat on the floor again with the Moody Blues playing in the background and this is one of the best memories I have other than family.