Tag Archive | choice

Just beneath the surface.

I truly have no idea what I want to write. I suppose that’s not entirely true, I’ve too many things I want to write would be a far exceedingly accurate representation of my current situation. There are so many words inside of me, fighting to be set free. They seem to be canceling each other out in an effort to be given life.

Long kept memories, some good, some I wish could simply be forgotten, wrestle with the new, clamoring for release. Ideas and epiphanies stored in the recesses of my mind, stories and dreams and fantasies, ancient hopes and longings, emerging wishes, knowledge and insights begging to be shared. The cacophony of silent rumblings never seem to rest.

The tangled remnants of thoughts within me wrestle with emerging ruminations, which do I favor? How do I choose? I sit to write, willing one or the other to rise to the surface, making my choice clear, but I wait in vain. They can’t decide so I must choose, but the how eludes me. They taunt me, floating just below the horizon of conscious thought, knowing I can’t quite reach them there.

Sometimes I doubt their existence, call them tormentors and illusions, but that would mean I’ve gone mad without realizing I’d somehow slipped from realities grasp. No, they are as real as the pen I hold. They are unforgiving perhaps, slighted in some way because I did not release them sooner, I could not release them, it wasn’t their time. Perhaps it still isn’t.

Maybe tomorrow they will willingly come . . .

Crystal R. Cook

What if we chose?

What if we chose?

It begins within, listening to our hearts, not the world around us. I choose . . . we all have a choice.

How much of how we feel about our fellow man has been dictated by the prejudice of others? Resentments from the sins and sorrows of those who have come before us remain, festering and growing in their absence. We feed them, we nurture them and we pass them on.

We copy and paste them into our own psyche, we adopt them without question. Sheep following an unseen shepherd to the slaughter. I too often hear people trying to justify and defend their attitudes and opinions with false arguments and phony indignation.

The thoughts they think are not their own, merely recycled resentments inherited from family, friends and foes of people they may have never known. Willingly passing on these ideals to the next generation without questioning why.

If we stopped to think for ourselves, would we see their experiences are not our own? Would we realize we have shaped our world based on the broken model of theirs? Would we notice we’ve damaged it even more in the name of progress and change? Would we see we can’t look at our own experiences through the tainted lenses of the past?

Our country is more divisive and separated and prejudice than it was before many of us took our first breath of life. Our society has managed to twist the dreams that once were, we have found new ways to undermine each other, to build walls of separation as we pretend to tear them down.

We say we want equality in this country but equality is just a concept, it can never be achieved, especially when everyone who cries out for it seems to want more than the rest. There can never be equality while there are those who have no means to even stand in line to receive it.

We use the word acceptance when what we really want is applause. We fight for what we call human rights when we have forgotten what human rights really are. We fight for freedom of expression but place restrictions upon it. We right for freedom of religion but we really want everyone to agree with our own beliefs . . . at least that is what we accuse each other of, slowly molding it into a reality.

The needs of the some have become more important than the needs of the many. We champion the criminals and forget their victims. We shout platitudes to placate the masses in a cacophony of false hopes and empty promises. The ones who fight for our country are now second in line to those who invade it.

We are broken by the choices we’ve made . . . Soon, their won’t be enough to mend.