Being Swallowed by the Tale

     I’ve often wondered if every writer ever felt like they lived their greatest story?  The question haunts me, actually.  Some of my favorite authors were plagued with an overwhelming melancholy, while others radiate serenity, and love.  Yet another set of my favorite bards would terrify me beyond expectation.  Every human lives these stories; though the dialogue differs and settings, characters and events may change.  It’s all the same story. The common theme is always centered around two main characters, no matter the subplot;  our place as humans on this planet we call Earth.  

     I’ve stated that I am on a pilgrimage.  I am a “Seeker of Truth” to borrow from the great e.e. cummings.  I am learning to fill in the pages of my life’s diary, that have been left blank, while feeling the past and crusading for the future.  I often wonder as did Poe if I am insane, or if the Muse is too strong, to pure.  Shakespeare penned works that have survived millennia, and naysayers still call him a charlatan.  Some of the most hallowed names in literary history have been denied in their times the brilliance that was theirs, 

     I call myself on this blog, The Oracle of Grooviness, as an attempt at balance between my physical self and my Inspiration.  Kassandra was the Oracle of Dephi in Grecian mythology, and for her I was christened.  Whether by divine mandate or quirky coincidence, I am some strange way pulled to the stories, the words, and what I see to be truth.  Ironically, I am historically an extremely horrific judge of character in my personal interactions with other people.  I tend to search for good in people so deeply, that I overlook the glaringly evil inside them.  For I truly believe that everyone has that inner truth, and knowledge of right and wrong, and if it can be touched, it will spring forth into their souls, and make the world a better place.   

     As I travel on this path seeking enlightenment, obstacles that spring up to bar my journey occasionally feel insurmountable.  Eventually, though, a song from my personal Prophet of Peace, or his merry band of Liverpudlian Lads will firm my resolve to keep looking for the beauty and the stories, for they are all around, and begging to be told.  I will record as faithfully as possible those things I feel to be of a more natural humanity.  Whether they are my tales or those of another, I care not, I shall share them freely, for honesty should never be a burden of cost but freely given and received if we are ever to be humanity in harmony with nature.