Stars
Be prepared for another rambling mess:
I'm just trying to get into the practice of writing.
I don't really have any plan for this blog.
I think I'd like to write some literature: some short stories or a few poems and the like.
It's about me again; that's the real issue.
TOSH TOSH TOSH!
Moving on. . .
Once upon a time, there was a wee little fairy by the name of Crumpet. . .
. . .
Don't ask; I was just wingin' it.
That didn't turn out so well.
What do I want to write?
What's in my heart? Definitely not a fairy named Crumpet.
I want to write about the stars, but I wouldn't know what to say about them: they're "balls of gas burning billions of miles away." I don't have much beyond that.
I want to write. . . about . . . . .. . . who knows.
The stars: whenever I look at them, I feel something powerful, which is strange because they are little dots of light. I feel like there are these whole worlds careening way out there somewhere – which is true but hardly evident in those little dots of light. I feel like the stars are (or should be) graspable in some way. I want to hold stars in my hand. I want to ingest a star. I want a star glowing in my heart, glowing in my veins. The truth is even more vague than that, but that's what came to mind initially.
For some reason, I often pray when looking at the stars. I have this vague notion that God is more accessible when looking at the stars, that He's really present when the stars are.
That's about all I've got on stars.
Maybe my fascination with stars has to do with my searching for something, something vast and infinite and distant. That sounds rather like God. Where the heck is He anyway? He generally feels as close as the stars. Feel, feel, feel. It's not all about feelings they say. What use are feelings?
It can be about feelings but not when you feel it should be.
Now it's getting really convoluted.
There has to be hope out there somewhere. Maybe that's what I see in the stars: painfully distant but hopefully real light.
Who knows, who knows.
I'm just trying to get into the practice of writing.
I don't really have any plan for this blog.
I think I'd like to write some literature: some short stories or a few poems and the like.
It's about me again; that's the real issue.
TOSH TOSH TOSH!
Moving on. . .
Once upon a time, there was a wee little fairy by the name of Crumpet. . .
. . .
Don't ask; I was just wingin' it.
That didn't turn out so well.
What do I want to write?
What's in my heart? Definitely not a fairy named Crumpet.
I want to write about the stars, but I wouldn't know what to say about them: they're "balls of gas burning billions of miles away." I don't have much beyond that.
I want to write. . . about . . . . .. . . who knows.
The stars: whenever I look at them, I feel something powerful, which is strange because they are little dots of light. I feel like there are these whole worlds careening way out there somewhere – which is true but hardly evident in those little dots of light. I feel like the stars are (or should be) graspable in some way. I want to hold stars in my hand. I want to ingest a star. I want a star glowing in my heart, glowing in my veins. The truth is even more vague than that, but that's what came to mind initially.
For some reason, I often pray when looking at the stars. I have this vague notion that God is more accessible when looking at the stars, that He's really present when the stars are.
That's about all I've got on stars.
Maybe my fascination with stars has to do with my searching for something, something vast and infinite and distant. That sounds rather like God. Where the heck is He anyway? He generally feels as close as the stars. Feel, feel, feel. It's not all about feelings they say. What use are feelings?
It can be about feelings but not when you feel it should be.
Now it's getting really convoluted.
There has to be hope out there somewhere. Maybe that's what I see in the stars: painfully distant but hopefully real light.
Who knows, who knows.
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