Monday, April 20, 2009


I write.

That’s not all that I do.

Actually, where measurements of time are concerned, I write very little in my course of juggling time. There are a number of other things that occupy time in the days and weeks of my life. More often than not, it’s more than a little difficult to strike a balance where the best, needful, necessary, and superfluous are concerned.

Why do I write? More importantly, why do I write and have the audacity to post what I write on a blog?

I certainly don’t think I have anything cute, unique, interesting, or popular to write. Personally, I think I’m really redundant and out of step with the times we live in.

I have little interest in arguments and really don’t have any axes to grind. I’ve done a lot of ax grinding over the years and I’ve found that grinding axes is a good way to make sparks but usually does nothing more than that.

It’s not that I’m practicing some art form for the sake of garnering popularity, fame, or fortune. I’d rather enjoy my obscure life and at this point, for the life of me, I don’t know why anyone would invest their time reading what I write. Let alone spend money to buy what I write.


What I write has something to do with the word that St. Luke begins his Gospel with. His forasmuch was more a recounting of the life of others, of forth-telling an account of the lives of Christ and those immediately impacted by the Shepherd-Lamb.

Me? My forasmuch is more of a means of working it all out in this modern setting without losing or diminishing its historicity, without watering it down to make it contemporarily relevant and palatable to my 21st Century tastes. It’s a meager attempt at understanding and making application of it all without getting lost in a labyrinth where some proverbial Minotaur waits to gore and stomp me to death.

Yeah. The Minotaur of mythology is one ugly dude. Hollywood has created some horrific images as well. The images of mythology and modern science fiction have a way of making it easy for us to downplay the reality that we are engaged in a spiritual war, fighting against a very real fallen entity. The Minotaur, however, that we fight against is no myth.

And the real one doesn't present himself as mean and ugly.

I can think what I want, write what I want, in private. But it’s an extremely dangerous thing to lead anyone astray by thoughts and words. There are others, maybe not a lot of others, trying to figure it out, working things out in their own forasmuch, fighting a daily battle against a beastly enemy.

I see responsibility and accountability as integral aspects of this meager forasmuch of mine, parts that cannot be left out, especially when I dare to step into a public venue where innocent souls are apt to stumble across thoughts and words expressed by me.