Monday, January 11, 2016
The Eccentric Writer
As a writer I join a group of
aspirants that have long gone before me, beside me and will continue after I am
gone. I’m inclined to agree with a favorite wordsmith of mine, author Marguerite
Young, “I am in love with whatever is eccentric,
devious, strange, singular, unique, out of this world-and with life as an
incalculable, a chaotic thing, meaningful above and beyond the necessary and
elemental data of my subject.”
Being “in love
with eccentric” makes me an oddball, often shunned by even family and friends.
Does anyone take the time to know another? Not often has anyone shown an
interest in me as a person, as a character in this play, as a divine being, or
as one that has served a large population of souls during the course of my
career. Does saving a life, a person from destroying his or her own existence-helping
through words of genuine care and unconditional love-count as something?
I’m ready now to
be in love, to experience the exotic. I like the devious aspects of life as they
always teach me something. I am everything strange, singular, unique. I prefer
my independent “out of this world” thinking and way of being. I’m not one of
the sheep being herded into the pen. The independent isn’t always seen as the
one to win, yet I’m not so sure all the team players could say they feel like
winners. I march to the beat of my own drum. I am compassionate and forgiving
of myself for being so stand-offish and singular.
I look at this
world as a unique opportunity to collect more and more information, to piece it
all together and take what I learn back to the Creator, the Universe at large.
This may make me a freak in many people’s eyes but what I do is for me to
understand and embrace. I don’t need the acceptance of others to continue my
passage. I only need self and communion with Source.
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