While by times, I feel ready to toss the whole blogging thing, there are other times that I marvel at its uniqueness and of the sorts of bonds that it forges.
Apparently, early this morning, Lynn at State Street, published a terse post that indicated that he was, indeed, going through a black night of the soul. My compassionate Cuppa, had recently been reading a poem, "Last Night As I Was Sleeping," by Antonio Machado and a commentary by Roger Housden as found in the book, ten poems to change you life. I won't repeat the substance here, for that is either Lynn's or Cuppa's account to reveal ... or not. What I will say, however, is that by the time that I had navigated to Lynn's blog, he had removed his post of despair and had published a note of thanks to Cuppa plus another uplifting poem by Wallace Stevens.
According to Google, we and Lynn live more than 600 miles or 16 hours apart, yet the one blogger was able to impact the other in the blink of an eye as it were. We have never met, and, in all probability we never will, yet, in some ways, I wonder if in some very real sense we, who read each other's real thoughts and feelings and comment back and forth, don't know one other more intimately than we know those around us, for the written word is immensely powerful and can be powerfully intimate. In our writings, we have at least some time to reflect upon what we say, and, so, our innerness is frequently laid more bare and open than it might be in our daily physical walks.
That's all: just an observation.
PS: When I say that I sometimes desire to "toss the whole blogging thing," I speak of passing moods and of times when I have nothing to say. Now, you, dear reader might opine, quite justly, that "this poor plod never really has anything to say," but I speak from my perspective, and I quite appreciate my thoughts — they're all that I have after all.