Wouldn’t I be accepted?

Without Belief would I be accepted? Of course, I would.  So I know others like me, that they spend time on the phone, that they write notes to me, that more could now ever be as it is, or even better. Each person resides in their own mind, or not as I would have Val and Mel, these friends, only once found each man for finding God, Masking his own bed, finally and forever helping others. This is my college–the school not of hard knocks, where we ease the way for others. That is the point—we ease the way for others. And if they can, they ease the way for helping others. We can’t always do our part, but knowing isn’t always the only way, and maybe we should not know.

Sometimes I’m filled with resentment and pride, but who is to know all that stuff about me? When I place my leg into the pant leg, that should be enough, enough to call me human, and humanity in it’s dereliction of the naked, shivering soars in mouth, teeth, what are teeth, and what became of these people what of people, “Mommy don’t let them do that to me.” I was sobbing on the couch next to mommy, she said that this was only a picture of such a place. She never used the words Concentration Camp, or Nazi, or Gestapo, or SS, or Kadaphy, or Edi Amin, or Pol Pot. These in human inventions, and humans treating others with utmost hate. The deprived children of their mothers and fathers. For me this is only one of an infinite reasons to chose Jesus, this man who stood for and was eternal Love, who shouldered transgression, sin and hate upon his back, soughing off to Dachau.

Charles Taylor. 06-16-2018

Published by elgwynone

I was a University and community college instructor before retiring. I also worked in fast food restaurants, and retail stores. I am an ordinary man writing for because I want to write and because my education prepared me to write; BA English lit, MA English, EdS higher education, and MFA creative writing, free verse poetry and essays. Blogs are an answer to high-priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to self-publish his first 1000 copies of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass because in 1855 poetry did not sell. Most poets make a living in other ways than writing. Wallace Stevens was an insurance executive, and TS Eliot was a banker. Many writers teach, and always there have been writers who have written because they needed to express their thoughts and feelings. They wrote not necessarily to make money but to express "the old universal truths of the human heart" according to Faulkner. Here I reach a wider audience I missed than by self-publishing, and I stand a better chance to reach a wider audience for less expense than self-publishing. I self-published my first books, Winter from Spring, and Meditations on Gratitude; poetry and photo books which were easier to self-publish than to seek a not to seek a publisher company. This blog allows me to write for an interested audience because I write poetry and personal essays. I write for a friendly audience and present to you a slice of my writing. Perhaps you will enjoy what you read.

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