What Can I Say?

What can I say?
I'm still here. I've been here all this time, checking in daily to see if anyone missed me.

Two people noted and commented on my week-long silence - Candide and Augustine. And Candide has closed shop; if you go to visit her former space (called "One For the Books" at your right), you'll be taken to a search page for hooded sweat shirts.

Dr. Omed has practically closed up shop.

What can I say?

I let the darkness pull me down. No excuse for it. Pretty much a conscious decision. As if plunging to the bottom of the pit was the best way to find light on the other side.

See, when it's dark, my words just echo in the ether. When it's dark, I'm just muttering to myself. When it's dark, every word I want to speak has been expressed better by someone else. When it's dark, I hardly matter.

What can I say?

This sense of uselessness and meaninglessness is its own form of ego. A period can be just as large as an exclamation point, in the imagination of its own heart.

The goal of speaking, yes, is conversation. To hear the echoes and responses and arguments from across the chasm. But here it's pixels on a screen, and the glaring lamp rarely speaks back. And the cave I sit in is a pale hermitage.

What can I say?

Just when I thought my words touched no one, one Little Bird mentioned how my words provided a sort of map for her. Just when I thought I'd lost any hint of light, her words of thanks provided a thin white rope.

What can I say?

I'm still here. I may be quiet again, now & again. But not forever. I have faith that if my words are honest and true, they are sure to touch - possibly help - someone.

One can never know for sure. I will keep walking. Keep singing. Keep lighting the fire. Keep praying.

Because I'm still here.