Monday, September 23, 2013

WHY I WRITE

Because it's that or go nuts. It's a place to think things through by writing about them. I don't do a chatty blog. Partly because how often can you tell people what you had for lunch. I do the occasional kitty update. to be honest I'm on the north side of sixty and a seeker. Maybe this blog should come with a "beware soul searching in public." Well, semi public I'm usually happy if I get a dozen hits on an entry. I do wish folks would take the time to comment. I'd appreciate the feedback. Am I on the right track or am I an idiot? As long as there's no cussing I don't mind being told  that you don't agree with me.

Which brings me to an entry I did about a month ago. I still hope that the folks who put out Trumpet of Conscience don't mind that I pretty much copied MLK's speech on nonviolence and how to bring about change in our country. I'd really like to know how blogger gets the numbers that go in that number of views box because that entry is at over two thousand hits and counting. Looks like I might have struck a nerve. Or the topic struck a nerve. I'm not going to claim there's anything special about what I did except choose the topic was sure to put his initials first in the title.

I suspect that a lot of us are looking beyond the "safe" icon of prophet of nonviolence that gets hauled out when we show footage from the 1963 I have a dream speech. Then he disappears from popular history until that murderous night in Memphis. This nation's popular mythology has no room for the King who came out against the war in Vietnam. No room for the King who realized that being allowed on the bus, being able to sit down at a restaurant or register to vote is meaningless if you don't have a job, if you are poor, sick and ill fed. And that those problems have nothing to do with the color of your skin.

We're still trying to part the waters, follow that pillar of smoke by day and fire by night in hopes of reaching the promised land where everyone has the chance to live a fully human life.

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