Sunday Morning Thoughts: 7.30.17

I heard someone once say that language is the greatest of all human invention. And though fond I am of sliced bread and pacemakers, me thinks there might be something to that. Because the question arises- would we even have bread, let alone the pre-sliced and packaged variety, if we never learned how communicate?

Which leaves the thought of open heart surgery as a statistically impossibility. By comparison.
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Sunday Morning Thoughts: 7.9.17

There are a whole mess of riddles about it. And it, as the subject of discussion, is most certainly bold. So much so, as to constantly and relentlessly interject itself in all we call human life. Anywhere. Any place. Any time.

Every moment or happening or glimmer of whatever, it stands over you. Us. Tenderness and grief to the grandest moments of glory, no matter how foolhardy. It looms and broods over us. As though we spawned ungratefully from her depths. And perhaps we did.
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Sunday Morning Thoughts: 6.25.17

I wanted to say the soul is meant for labor. But it’s not quite that.

Maybe we can just try the words in another way. A mild effort, in and of itself.

Perhaps the word is better as work. But it seems to me to be something other than that, as well. Something not seeming so mandatory, whilst still being the best method of finding fulfillment. Though, I may just be thinking from my own personality. It is a habit I have. Everyone has a few bad ones.
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Sunday Morning Thoughts: 6.11.17

It’s alright. I understand. I do it too.

What is now hours upon hours spent flipping through the compartmentalized lives of hundreds of folks. Hunched over a pocket-sized glow. Whatever they choose to share. And whatever I choose to witness. Less than a moment spent on each. No longer knowing what it is that hope compels me to try and find. Looking for something. Finding nothing, as life goes walking by. Get likes. Give likes. An economy of attention, passively vicious in its theft of our humanity. Hoping to see something. Hoping to be seen.
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