Blessed are the Bloggers, for theirs is the Kingdom of Connection.
It's a large kingdom, to be sure. A world previously unexplored by me where countless people are writing and emoting and sharing and joking and illuminating and confessing and connecting.
Oh, and there are queens here. Women whose wit and whimsy are altogether inspiring on so many levels, and daunting on others. Daunting because even as I enjoy reading every post I think, "I could never be so funny, so interesting, so worth anyone's time."
Which leads me to ponder the whole blogging thing again. We all come at this for different reasons and with different inspiration. I wonder why I would dare or bother to add even one pixel, one byte, one little bit to this vast, digital online world. For whose benefit or pleasure? For what purpose beyond listening to myself type? Is it worth the effort and time on my part? Will what gets posted ever be read by anyone else? And if it does, will it be worth the effort and time on their part?
I'm not sure I have solid answers to those questions, but a poem by Walt Whitman has been in my mind ever since I first considered starting a blog. I studied it in high school and though mysterious that I should think of it all these years later, seems to be a perfect picture of our virtual worlds and what we may try to accomplish here:
A noiseless, patient spider
I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them-- ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing--seeking spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be form'd--till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.
So I join the ranks of those who are "ceaselessly musing". I may not be royalty in the land, in fact, I'm really more like an unobserved little spider. Building a bridge, to where or to whom, I'm uncertain. Only confident that it will catch somewhere, O my Soul.