It’s turning into a day of questions, questioning myself and my intentions. Wondering if the time is still being wasted in the wrong directions and if a half century of screwing around is not to be put behind me but instead, sorted through to glean what little there is of the best. To focus on reality instead of dreams and wishes. To learn more, yes, and to improve, but not to go walk on sacred ground without a halo in my hand.
Writing has always been a desire, and maybe even a small talent. But if the biblical God has handed out just ten, is this among them? What do I do best that needs the concentration, time and money more? I’ve loved numbers just as books, and despite the rusty cogs within my brain, there is an aptitude I can’t deny. I listen well and play the devil’s advocate; is this a calling to position as an arbiter for peace? I manage things, I organize; a counselor of sorts? Loyal; join the service? Fight on principle: join again?
We all have talents, we all have stories, we all have dreams. How many morning moons do you need hear about? It’s time, I think, to reflect and choose with wisdom and self-knowledge, and put away the toys that tinker with our minds while time ticks by.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology