Writing

It might seem odd to write about writing, perhaps even ironic; however, it's oddly fitting, and on some level necessary, depending upon ones chosen form of expression, and subsequently necessary at the present time.

Writing is an art.
A craft.
An outlet for inward expression.
A processing ground.
Mental breath.
Sanity.

The process of crafting, coercing and causing words to exist together in a harmonious fashion is a beautiful and satisfying thing.

It's like a puzzle. There are pieces which upon first examination seem to fit; however, when more closely inspected the pieces clearly do not belong. It is the same with an ill-constructed sentence, phrase or thought. It simply doesn't fit.

Joy arises from finding the most fitting construction. It's like a personal triumph when the sentence, thought or phrase, after perhaps much coercion, chooses to behave and comply. It's a most beautiful thing, the crafting of thoughts together.

I find much pleasure in it. Fitting words, phrases, meanings, insinuations into their most becoming positions. It's like dressing a beautiful model, it must be done with care and skill. A gorgeous model is good but beautiful clothes are necessary. Word dressing is an art, and it requires much practice. Perhaps I need to find some models to dress...

Being

It's an interesting concept. Being. It's multi-faceted. It could mean "being" in the sense of being (no pun intended) physically still, as in reference to local. Or, It could mean "being" in the sense of mental or emotional satisfaction. Both concepts involve contentment. Being is a foreign notion to modern society. Current culture dictates a paradigm of "doing" rather than "being." It cannot be denied. We have learned to evaluate value and success based upon what it is that we do or accomplish above all else. We have lost, or perhaps never had, an appreciation for the lack of doing. Being. There is seemingly no value in it. It does not produce anything and is thus deemed an unworthy pursuit, according to modern society. However, I assert that it is an essential pursuit. We cannot do without first being. We can do and do and do all day long, but if there is no time to simply pause and be, truly be, than we are only lost in our doing. Life is fruitless without pause, without reflection. As Socrates said, "the unexamined life is not worth living." We must examine. But, to do so, we must first "be."

Reality

It's not always a pleasant thing, reality, but it's reality--we cannot escape it. We can attempt to skirt it's effects for a time via distractions; however, such attempts are truly futile because we are always forced back to reality sooner or later. Reality is inescapable. You may ask how I am defining reality in this context? I'll tell you. I take reality for today to be the relentless, raw, painful, and even mundane that comes to define our daily lives. I shall not exclude all positivity from this definition, because I am generally, by nature, an optimist. Reality is also beautiful. Because truly, it's not all bad all the time. That's what hell is for. However, for today I am earring on the side of the pessimist. Today's reality is not desirable, but tomorrow perhaps I will wake an optimist again. But, I cannot allow this dueling battle between two disparate parts of a thought process dictate my happiness, or rather I can, but I should not not allow the battle to dictate my joy. That should never be tainted, even by reality. Lofty aim perhaps, but truth. Reality will not always be pleasant, but are we not called to count it joy whenever we meet trials of various kinds? I believe so. That and that alone should be my reality. There is a greater reality than this. And this I must remember...