Who am I?

Are we who we think we are? Are we who we think others think we are?

Do we attempt to be that which we think we should be?

And so on, almost ad infinitum.

Are we, in reality, more than just one persona?

Well, now. Surely most of you have discerned by now that my intellectual assets aren’t such that I can speak with any authority on such an ages old conundrum that has been with us — most of us — since the dawn of self-analysis.

I do, I really do feel that we are all free moral agents created by a power, a force, an unknowable — a mighty God — who breathed the breath of life into us, then set us upon our way. Whether we choose to ask him to accompany us on our pilgrimage is up to us.

So. Who am I? Above all, I’m a grateful child of God. My blessings are manifold. My cup truly runneth over.

My mission? To sprinkle a little sunshine. In any way I can. Music. Service. Humor. Love. Writing.

Now, that is self-serving seeming, I know. Perhaps I write too kindly of myself. Perhaps. At the very least such ideas are worthy, are they not?

Through the years, from childhood on, the sufferings of others, of animals; racial and ethnic discrimination; insulting, disparaging, mocking, demeaning, bullying others, and such manifestations of those whose dark angels control them, bothers me so badly it almost brings me to tears of frustration. It can put me into a very dark place.

But that’s dark clouds and shadows. Let us spend at least some time, as Winston Churchill said, on the “sunlit uplands.”

This gift of life — and it is a gift — shouldn’t be wasted. We all know this. Most of us — especially those who read this column, I suspect — are blessed beyond measure. To not make the most of our time is to sacrifice the gift.

And when our time here draws to an end, let us not “rail, rail against the dying light.”

Rather, let us go forth to meet the dark, sacred night.

Let us go home.

APROPOS — “Esse quam videri”

 

Write Again . . . Just who are we?