Spring\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Awakening Moon<\/p>\n
An outside day today.\u00a0 Planting onions, garden planning and repair.\u00a0 I’m itchy to get back to learning more Latin and translating the Metamorphoses, but the rhythm of nature waits for no one.<\/p>\n
Writing is always an exercise in self-disclosure, no matter what kind of writing you do.\u00a0 The subjects you pick, the ones you don’t, the style you use, the one you avoid, the words you choose, the ones you don’t know all reveal inner workings most folks prefer to keep to themselves.\u00a0 Even with my modest public writing–this blog, sermons, the Sierra Club Blog last year for example, I’ve gotten the occasional emotional jolt that comes when the inside becomes the outside.<\/p>\n
If you click on the comments about John Lampl, you’ll see an example of what I mean.\u00a0 This comment came right out of left field, a comment about a post I’d written a year and a half ago about events in my life that happened, let’s see now, 36 years ago.\u00a0 36 years.\u00a0 What’s amazing about that is the rocket ride back to feelings of the past, that particular past, I went on when I read the post.<\/p>\n
To gauge the difficulties of those years is like comparing a Caterpillar 73f to a Tonka Truck.\u00a0 Today is a Tonka Truck life in terms of angst.\u00a0 Those days I bled angst from every pore.\u00a0 I married a wonderful young woman, Judy Merritt, at the height of the sixties, 1969.\u00a0 We got married on an Indian mound in Anderson, Indiana, received two pounds of marijuana as a wedding present and recessed to I’m So Glad by the Cream.\u00a0 Butterflies landed on my shoulder.\u00a0 Really.\u00a0 Five years later my alcoholism had grown worse–ironically during my time in seminary–and I pushed Judy away.\u00a0 No wonder Johnnie was there to catch her.<\/p>\n
There is, too, an inescapable amount of self-absorption in writing.\u00a0 I’ve kept journals for years, I have three bookshelves lined with them.\u00a0 The last five years I’ve kept much of my journal-type writing on line in this blog and its Frontpage predecessor.<\/p>\n
This post made me wonder why I do this.\u00a0 Not from an, oh my god why did I ever do this perspective, but from a Why do I do this point of view.\u00a0\u00a0 The easiest and probably the truest explanation is that it is just what I do.\u00a0 I write.\u00a0 I write about politics, about fantasy worlds I create, about my life, about thinking through the liberal faith tradition, about art.\u00a0 My dad wrote.\u00a0 I write.<\/p>\n
Scribo, ergo sum.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Spring\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Awakening Moon An outside day today.\u00a0 Planting onions, garden planning and repair.\u00a0 I’m itchy to get back to learning more Latin and translating the Metamorphoses, but the rhythm of nature waits for no one. Writing is always an exercise in self-disclosure, no matter what kind of writing you do.\u00a0 The subjects you pick, the … Continue reading Scribo, ergo sum.<\/span>