When I began the post yesterday----after a several-month hiatus----I was filled with a swirl of ideas to write about but settled instead on the simplicity of the title, on my need to move energy around (by making changes to the appearance of this blog, by going outside, by clearing away what had become extraneous, by opening doors).
And then this morning, when our tiny newspaper didn't show up in its usual place, after sitting quietly, staring at the fire and its uncanny anthropomorphic nibbling at the wood, I grabbed my laptop and began a little cleaning up and exploring of old bookmarked pages. In the process, I found an acquaintance's blog in which she writes of her own efforts (and seeming failure) at finding "community," and of wondering what the point of her writing a blog might be if nobody reads it. That entry was dated over a year ago, and there I was, reading it, and becoming inspired by someone whose thoughts I recognized a kinship with.
And so, these occasional words and images that we send out in cyberspace, just as our energy pulses outward, do "matter."
Consider what that phrase means: "Does writing a blog matter?" That is, does writing produce a significant substance? Of course it does, though it cannot be quantified nor set in a specific time or space, and so use of the term "matter" is wonderfully oxymoronic.
