I sit and muse, what do I want to write? My need comes from within my being, from that inner space where the deep feelings come from. It is these deep feelings that wish to dictate what it is that I shall write . So I will give it a go ,and see what comes from 'the space within'

As I listen to haunting music on the distant air, the sad poignant sounds of the pipes recall another time, another place. Where are they now, those people who loved music and dance? Why do they stay in our memories? Futile memories of another age, gone forever on the wings of time. I offer a prayer for their peace and return myself to the present, determined to hail the future as it knocks incessantly on my door.

Returning to my inner space, a sadness rises in my. Should I write about my sadness? What is it saying to me? What is this deep sadness that envelops me as I allow my inner space to express it's feeling. There is no reason to be sad. It is a beautiful day. The blackbird is warbling his song with all the energy he can muster from his little lungs and vocal cords. What motivates him to sing so? What is this inner call that compels us, living things to do , perform our different tasks with gusto? Nature is so industrious in the Spring...

The blackbird has ceased his song. Again I turn to my inner sadness. What is my life's purpose? To write? Have I got anything to express of any consequence, has it not all been written before , whether fact ,fiction, poetry or verse? Even if it has , there is a need in me to write just now and I wonder why. What is it that draws us on? There are a myriad of things to get involved in, yet they do not hold my interest. My need now is to go within , to know why I am sad/.As I go deeper , I feel the longing of my soul, my spirit to be set free; to leave this failing body that holds me in this world of broken dreams, of confused visions, of lonely sad people, of physical pain, of mental anguish, of the futility of most of the things we spend our time at.

I shake myself, I do not wish to be a morbid writer. I hate morbidity, yet one can only write with honesty if one writes from within... I pause and listen. The blackbird is again warbling mightily. Should I shout 'stop' ,it is so futile!you will soon be dead . Why bother to sing, you are just wasting your energy.' Reason asks a question :Does his need to sing fulfil the blackbird? The space within says: 'yes, Consider when you strive and complete some task, the satisfaction that you feel. The blackbird too, when he sings wholeheartedly is satisfied and fulfilled'.

Suddenly my sadness has lifted, meaning has returned, life is not futile after all. It is our strivings, our efforts, not just our achievements that make our lives a symphony, a beautiful everlasting rhythm. It is not success or failure, but the effort we put in that calls the tune, and makes it all worthwhile.

-- Anonymous, April 21, 2002

Answers

Rita, This is absolutely beautiful and so fiercely honest. Even if something similar had been written a million times before it is of no consequence in the face of what is your truth. May God bless you for your honesty and your courage to share with us. Anne Marie

-- Anonymous, April 21, 2002