Writing For a Better World
The written word has built-in magic — at times even banned because of it, at other times praised. Words are strong.
Spoken words as well, and many famous speeches are being referred to as game-changers and revolutionary — in writing. We read them to see it.
When the spoken becomes written, it gains reach. Reach is influence, influence is power. The power to change.
Reading brings hope to those who need to feel heard and see their problems acknowledged and treated in the text.
Writing brings hope too, that we can reach those who need to read — joining other writers with the same hope in a choir of sympathy and support.
One writer may be influential, one text too.
One person may be wise and use this influence well, use it to inspire others to be just as wise and spread the word — to inspire many.
One writer then has the power of many.
We write. I write. Some have a mission, others a hope. We all write to spread a word, a thought, an understanding, an improvement, and the joy of reading, the needed hope, the power of the written.
My mission is to share what I understand and think and wonder about, in the hope — my hope — that it will become new thoughts for the reader, lead to new understandings, inducing an urge to improve while feeling embraced by a lot of joy from spreading hope.
Hope of understanding each other .
Hope of changing work life into something you do out of a wish to be there, help, and see the developments you create .
Hope of inspiring to positive thinking and philosophical wondering about the big and small of life, humans, and the universe .
And I do hope that my words by some kind of magic will reach those who need to feel heard and see their problems being acknowledged, making their world better and inspiring them to do the same.
We write. I write. For a better world.
Waking Up
Silence
The emergence of light met her eyes through a narrow opening. Rebecca instinctively tried to avoid that strange intrusive feeling that light can make at the first glimpse of it — when the day starts.
Day
What day was it? She didn’t even remember having gone to bed. She searched her mind for anything more profound than white noise. Her eyes trained on the white of the ceiling, far away.
Yellow
Stretching an imagined muscle, then another, she didn’t experience the familiar satisfaction of it. She didn’t feel anything. No response. Still waking up. Now, a hazy yellow wall appeared where the ceiling ended.
Sound
Hissing, clicking. It was calming, a connection. The sounds followed her breath. Rebecca was one with the sounds. Odd. As if she was breathing the sounds. And nice. She wanted to sleep again. Eyes closed.
Touch
Something touched her cheek. A fly. Or was it a fly? Half asleep, she tried to raise a hand to wave it off, but the hand didn’t respond. Another touch. Not a fly, bigger. Her eyes strained to find a narrow opening again.
Adrenalin
“We have a movement!” Footsteps, talking, more touching, pushing her, holding her. A sharp prick in her shoulder. The light changed, moved — it was people, in white, a man with a clipboard, a woman holding a syringe. Tubes hung over her, a bag with liquid. Wanted to touch it — this time the hand responded and moved a bit.
Alive
“She is back! She’s awake!” The nurse looked her in the eyes, smiled. “Welcome back!”
Common Sense
When ordinary is rarer than special
Common sense is more than nonsense.
Creative more than standard.
Special more than normal.
Common sense is
anti-academic
anti-egalitarian
anti-standard
anti-normal
anti-common
Common is special.
Common is creative in a world of up-beat normals.
Common coffee is not a latte.
Common tea is not a special blend of Himalaya and Rooibos.
Common days are days of understandable simplicity.
Common people are unusual.
They are special in a perceived typical way
however rare that really is.
Common sense is
anti-assuming
anti-presuming
anti-ignorant
anti-numb
anti-dumb
Sensing is emotional.
Sensing is inspiration in a world of unproved claims.
Sensed sunshine is not electro-magnetic waves.
Sensed wind is not the movement of weather fronts.
Sensed time is time of comprehendible value.
Common sense sees all this as life and shades of thoughts.
As creative inspiration and special contrast
simple emotions
unusually typical
the obvious that points to the insight.
Nice!
I especially love the anti-numb part. This has been bugging me for the last couple of years, maybe more. The feeling that we are all numbing ourselves with different forms of escapism. Mine are podcasts. They don't even require the commitment of audiobooks, and I don't feel that guilty because they are usually about topics I love. But what are we so afraid of that we can't let ourselves think, feel, etc?
The second thing I wanted to comment was about the image. I've used AI for this purpose, too, and someone pointed out that I was stealing from all the artists from whom the AI "borrowed" parts. You're a wise man, so I wonder where you stand on this one.