Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Day 335

I think that I'm so drawn to writing lately because I am fed up with the "real" world. Sometimes I feel so bombarded with propaganda and hate and just plain stupidity. I just want to check out.

There are really only a few options for checking out. The first, suicide, is out the question for me. In spite of my frustration with humanity, I have a ferocious love for life (and a tremendous aversion to pain). In moments of despair I have considered the second option, insanity. To escape into madness does have a certain appeal. However, the straight jacket is so confining (and doesn't make much of a fashion statement).

So I am left with only one option: to write. As a writer, I can create my own world. I can create multiple worlds into which I can escape. For as long as I can remember I have dreamed of a world where people live in peace and recognize that we all exist as part of the same divine source. That world does exist; writing may be my only opportunity to share it.

In his book Zen in the Art of Writing Ray Bradbury says, "...gently lie and prove the lie true...everything is finally a promise...what seems a lie is a ramshackle need, wishing to be born."

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