on the way to see Nickelback at an outdoor concert, July 2009
"The basic difference between an ordinary man and a warrior is that a warrior takes everything as a challenge, while an ordinary man takes everything as a blessing or a curse."
Carlos Castaneda
I'm rather eclectic ... an indie but fairly conservative, somewhat opinionated but open to intelligent discussion, and a rule-follower unless I feel the need to break them for good reason. You never know what you might find. I generally don't know what I'll write here until I sit down to do it.
Elora is Latin for light. I'm a light-seeker. Elora is my muse.
"How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." ~Henry David Thoreau
My November Writing.com activities:
Nanowrimo
What I'm currently reading: Always Looking Up by Michael J. Fox A Night In Twisted River by John Irving The Business of Music by Krasilovsky and Shemel [research]
"If this work seems so threatening, this is because it isn't simply eccentric or strange, but competent, rigorously argued, and carrying conviction."
Jacques Derrida
By following your heart and passion, it always shows up in the words you write. Watering it down is almost akin to lying -- or pandering -- and the reader can always tell when a writer lies to them. So you make a few uncomfortable. What matters are the readers who gain something by it.
I look forward to tomorrow's entry.
And considering I have little time to spare, I'll happily purchase a copy .
I was bashed by a military brat (82nd airborne) and I've been treated poorly by police, so I understand what you mean by being around people who look like those who beat me up and having to remind myself it is safe.
For many that may be Muslims (but... is it based on real experience or merely television), for me it's military/police. Visiting Fort Leonardwood in Missouri when my nephew got through basic training gave me the creeps.
I think you are correct in questioning how the media handles things and how we as a country can't have it both ways. I believe there is an ingrained love of inequality that allows folks to believe they are better than someone else.
Abraham slung his backpack over his tired shoulders and headed down the dusty road leading to town. His father asked to take him. Begged, nearly. But Abe didn’t want his goodbye, which could be his final goodbye, to be at the train depot. He wanted it at home, on their farm, where he should be helping with chores. His father would manage. He always had. Even through the rough years of watching Abraham’s mother slowly leave them through the mind-dissolving dementia and then finally leave them for good, his father had managed.
Abraham hoped with every part of him he would return to the farm, to his father, and be there to help him manage during his own aging days. It would be soon. Father was showing signs of slowing. It hurt Abe to see it. It would hurt him more to have to watch his father watch him leave on that train, standing on the platform managing to control his sadness, his fear.
Kicking a rock out of his path, he figured the long walk into town would do him good, help prepare for what was to come. Not that he wasn’t prepared already. Constant farm chores without machinery to make them easier had built his strength and stamina well. Days of rising before the sun and sometimes before the roosters to take care of the crops, move lines in bitter cold air and in the hottest times of the summer, made him sturdy. He didn’t figure war would be much harder, physically. What he wasn’t sure about was how hard it would be to his mind. He didn’t mind fighting as needed. He was raised to stand up for himself and for those around him and would do so without hesitation. And now he was proud to do it for his country, as well. He’d never actually taken a life, though. He know how to stop before that risk.
Father told him to be someone else out there, to tell himself he was doing good and sometimes evil was necessary to prevent worse evil. His father told him never to let it feel bad about who he was, since his heart was in the right place and that’s what mattered. The heart. Protect the heart, he’d said.
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