Isn't that something. I have a blog getting close to five thousand posts and over a million and a half readers and I don't know what to write for it. In the past month and a half I've suddenly wound up with a writing career that until now I could have only dreamed of. I'm writing more than I ever have before. I'm finding creativity and drive to write about anything and everything almost. And I can't write a thing for my own blog.
I went from a nobody who had all that mattered in life, to a somebody in high demand and nothing to show for it. Now what would the Preacher at Jerusalem have to say about that?
Yesterday I wrote from the heart and did it for nothing and was the happiest man on the face of the earth.
Today I write professionally and I give it my heart and make good money, more than I am used to by far, and I'm asking God why He...
"No. Don't go there Chris. Don't be angry at Him. Be frustrated. You can be frustrated. You can even have some doubts. Everyone doubts. Even Mother Teresa doubted. But don't be angry at Him. Job refused to curse God. Job thanked God and praised Him. Praise Him for what He has done in the light, remember that during the times in the dark..."
I want to write. I want to write for me. I want the Christopher Knight who wrote as deftly and with passion about everything from doggies to dancing to Star Wars to sundry silliness to be here writing and instead tonight at the keyboard, that's not him at all.
The Walking Dead? Saw the season premiere last week and this week's is still sitting fresh on the DVR. Don't ask me what I think about Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: I haven't watched it at all, though they're also on the DVR just in case. Gravity? I want to see it soon. Every day I tell myself "I'm going to see Gravity today" and it hasn't happened yet. Because I've been busy with the full-time career God suddenly and without warning landed in my lap. In part. Mostly it's because I have seen success and found it wanting. Boring.
People chase money, they chase celebrity, they chase after fifteen minutes of the spotlight. If you want a vision of the modern world, witness Jesus turning down Satan's offer for all the kingdoms of this earth... and then a billion-fold hands rising up with screams of "PICK ME! PICK ME!"
Tolkien was right: immortality within the circles of the world would be a wretched, damnable thing. It would be the most damnable thing of all. Fellow Inkling Lewis put it well: that once man had fallen, death was God's merciful way of allowing for an escape. Took me a long time to realize that. I was afraid of death for so long, after losing too many people. Now I accept it. Appreciate it. Have found a serenity in it: that death is not a thing of dread but a gift to embrace in due time.
Why shouldn't I embrace that gift when it comes? I have fought devils without and demons within. I have seen things that can not be explained. I have borne secrets that men have slain for. I have carried responsibilities that none should have been given. I have loved and lost and hoped and throughout it all I have given every possible iota of effort toward staying true to whatever it is that God has made me to be.
People think they know what it is that will make them happy. They think it's fame or fortune or money or... something. The things that more often than not contribute to the modern wretchedness. And then they become desperate to bargain with God, to deal with Death, for just a few more years or months or even hours of that very wretched nature.
The Preacher was right. "Meaningless, meaningless..."
I've been writing a poem for some years now. Its title is "Cursed Recursive". It is a stream of thoughts from the mind of one with bipolar. Recursion is a bad thing, we were taught in that C programming class at Elon years ago. A program can get caught in a recursive loop, if you aren't careful when you're writing it. And then it just goes on and on and on and on, unable to break. Unable to break free. Unable to stop. Funny. I barely passed that class, now I understand it better than ever.
People have told me that they missed my writing. Well, here's some writing. I don't know what it's about. Maybe it will make sense later. Sometimes that happens. But here it is, for what it's worth.
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