I learned a few things in school, but not from the paid teachers.

One of the worst things I learned was from my fellow inmates. It was that only the utterly beautiful people are appreciated.

If you are not physically beautiful and/or athletic, you are outcast.

This lesson continues to be reinforced by social media.

The beautiful and the athletic receive encouragement, and if they are celebrities, all the more are they adored.

The truth-sayers, the story-tellers, the ones who long to show an ugly world what true beauty is, are scorned.

It is hard to unlearn lessons that were learned the hard way.

We live in a dark day.

Writing With A Pen

For me, there is something therapeutic about picking up a ball-point pen and watching the letters form on a fresh page, especially those first words in a new notebook. The word “sacred” comes to mind.

Whether I write via ink or through the wonders of electronic transmission, getting the words out is the main thing. Still, something about pen and paper beckons to me. Perhaps it is the relative simplicity, where no electricity or electronics are involved, giving more of a sense of creating something from my mind and connecting to the result.


I read an article today on the subject of writing by hand. I find it to be inspiring. Here it is.

The Simple Joy of Writing by Hand


A Beautiful Spirit

Yes, I do feel within me that I am a beautiful spirit, and thank you for saying so.

I don’t say that in any conceited way, but just in a way that appreciates that I am worthy of goodness just as much as anyone else.

I used to be down on myself when I lived with the abuser. I have learned that it was all lies and that one must not be down on themselves. The world gives us enough bombardment from the outside. I have no desire to destroy my own walls from within.

I get down, really really down, and sometimes wish to die, but never do I ever put myself down.

Are you, too, a beautiful spirit?

I think we who have been through much and have survived – and who hasn’t? – who continue to breathe and to love others, are like the Japanese art of Kintsugi, where the damage to broken vessels is not concealed, but rather it is magnified by filling the cracks with gold, beautifying them in spite of – or because of – the blows they have received.

We didn’t ask for pain, but we got it, and we will not be rendered useless because of it.  May we instead be beautified within via the gold hammered into our wounds.