Just Plain Trifles
This is yet another post in that never-ending series of posts about how I'm so upset that my blog sucks so much. But it does, so what else can I do but complain about it? Surely not write something good to post; that would too smart. In any case, I was looking through all my history of posts and I have discovered that the blog's suckiness has progressed in an unceasing manner throughout the past year. Evidence of this is that my own sister, who was once my number one fan, does not read it anymore. If you look back, old posts are full of her comments, but I guess recently there hasn't been anything good to comment about. Besides that, a mysterious "Anonymous" fan who used to comment a lot, and who apparently loved my posts for some inexplicable reason, has almost completely disappeared. I've always been intrigued to know who this person might be, but since the blog's boringness drove them away, perhaps now I'll never now. Finally, now and then I catch a whiff of arrogance in some of my posts that, although it indeed reflects arrogance that exists within me, I
detest. Thus, the blog more and more feels simply like a collection of plain old trifles, rather than tremendous ones.
I justify my unwillingness to post by pointing to the many urgent and important things I must attend to, but to be quite frank, the problem is really laziness. When I'm musing about some subject on my own time, sometimes I stumble into ideas that truly excite or inspire me, but when I think that to communicate them to others I might have to struggle through a few paragraphs, I prefer to leave the matter for a later time. Of course, that time never comes, and the idea drifts away from my mind as quick as it came, perhaps never to be heard of again.
To be perfectly honest, though, I must also admit that many times I'm afraid to post my thoughts online for everyone to see. I fight against it, but it nevertheless frightens me to think that someone might rip my exposed thoughts apart in a fury of criticism, or alternatively, that someone I personally know might disapprove of me because of what they read. All my life I have been an avowed opponent of thinking, saying, or doing anything based on what others might think, but I must admit that to do so consistently sometimes takes more than one would think.
I utterly despise labels. They are a simplistic, mindless substitute for thought that, when applied to people, squashes their experience, essence, and the meaning of what they stand for into a dull, predetermined category on an ideological file cabinet. Of course, publicly expressing thoughts or opinions makes one vulnerable to being labeled, and I could almost say that the thought terrifies me. In a way, this fear might be a little irrational, but in another it is quite justified. It is the fear of losing my personhood in the eyes of another.
That is why the idea of Heaven excites me, as it does every human being (consciously or unconsciously), for to be in Heaven must surely be to be a true person. If each human being (indeed each thing in Creation) is so unique, it must be for a reason. Each new work of art says something new of the artist, and God does not make reproductions. Thus, I must have been made to express the beauty, the wonder, the Glory of one special part of Him who Created me. That is my mission. If I fulfill it, then I know will truly be a person like never before. I will finally and truly be accepted for who I am, since I will be accepted (into God's love in eternity) precisely
because of who I am. What greater desire could there be? What greater adventure than to be myself? There is one lock in Heaven for which only my soul is the key.
And on that note, I guess I've rambled enough for one night. Sleep tight.