As I prepare to make my first post on steemit I wonder if there is anything left to say anyway.
Who is listening to our melancholic expressions for the pain and loneliness it is living in these bodies separated by the space in between us.
How much more energy do we have for righteous indignation for the injustice and cruelty we see and feel in our world?
Does anyone online really care about our expression of the joy we have for the sun and blue sky's rain and the ocean, for puppies and birds and the connection and ecsacy we feel from the love we have for each other.
How many more ways can we mix paint and pick it up and brush it down on a surface?
Have we said everything and painted everything, danced and sung every note? And shared it on social media.
Often I am speechless. Like there are no more words to be said. Because no matter what we say, business continues as usual. I look at my paintings and wonder if they matter. Maybe I should just be quiet and listen.
And then more come bubbling up and flowing out.
Desperate expressions of hope that someone or the mysterious something in my heart and in the air is listening and that it matters.
Here's to our endless song and for sharing it.