It’s been quite a while since I last posted. For a while I just did not know what to write. I had no words. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed so I did what I always do, my best ostrich impression. I am very good at sticking my head in the sand; if i can’t see or hear something I don’t like, then clearly it’s not there. If only it actually worked like that. The difference between me and an ostrich though, is the lack of any sand. Not physically being able to bury my head I do my best to bury myself in my phone instead. I put my headphones on so I can listen to one thing while at the same time I am reading or watching something completely different. I scroll through endless social media and live vicariously through friends and acquaintances whose filtered life I can aspire to. Recently I have discovered Facebook groups as well. I am able to feel connected to people who have similar interests and tastes as me, even though I know nothing of them in real life. But that is ultimately the problem. No matter how many on line conversations I have, or how much advice I offer to online friends; however needed and known this makes me feel, it is not real life. It is me drowning out the noise of my real life. The trouble is the noise is not going anywhere, it’s not going to stop. I just need to drag my head out of my phone long enough to find where the volume control is . . .
Anyway, as it turns out, Ostriches don’t actually bury there heads to hide from danger or predators. Generally if an ostrich has it’s head in the sand it is in fact turning it’s eggs, which they lay in small holes in the sand. So maybe I would do better trying to copy a real ostrich than a mytholgoical one and focus on trying to grow something rather than hiding away and getting nothing done.
I will not quake at the sound of the tempest
If my ears are deaf to it's rumble
My eyes will not widen in fearful disbelief
If I do not behold what is to come
I will not be troubled by the smell of fear
If I deny myself the breath of an anxious moment
I will not taste the salt of my tears
If I mix them with the poison of denial
I will not shrink at the clammy chill of troubles touch
If I hide beyond it's reach
And as I cease to exist outside
My own destructive oblivion . . .
My ears will no longer hear
The joyful music of your voice
My eyes will no longer delight in
The beauty of you
I will not inhale the fragrant
Reassurance of your embrace
I will no longer taste
The love in your kiss
Nor be comforted by
Your tender hand on my skin
Far too high a price is demanded
For a life free from acknowledged tribulation.