I feel like some sort of frontier man, preparing for a momentous journey. I need to accustom my fingers and mind to the rigorously demanding task of producing orderly stacks of letters. With that in mind I have a goal of progressively increasing blog post volume over the next week or so. The goal of Increased Volume brings its own set of requirements: an expansion of suitable blogging topics (which in itself is really the easy part); consistent writing–mass production must not destroy quality. Those two objectives are certainly possible to meet; perhaps the biggest obstacle is psychological. In the past I have delayed at posting again due to a strange phenomenon. I am sometimes guilty of bestowing an incredible gravity upon each post; i.e., each post, each paragraph, every word and letter even, are so richly important and meaningful that I want the every possible person to read it (them?) before I move on to another equally moving/humorous/profound/brilliant post. Obviously, this self-imposed importance has its shortcomings, not least of which is the stoppering affect it has on new communications. I will strive to overcome this obstacle and trust that you, my faithful, enlightenment-seeking reader, will scrupulously scroll down the page to ensure that you have not missed a single post.

I’ve also undertaken a new strategy in regard to the expansion of topics agenda. Last night marked the beginning of action in this emerging phase: I was standing at my kitchen sink, splashing soapy water over grimy dishes. My wife stood at my side, calmly drying dishes and putting them in their place.

“What’s a good paradox, honey?” I asked, turning the pan over to scrub the bottom.

“Uhm, I don’t know–silent thunder maybe?” she replied with the doubtful look of someone trying to help, but unsure of what is wanted.

“Perfect–I’ll write on that tomorrow.”

Here I am, creativity fed by the discipline of adapting to external ideas and converting them, transcribing them, to my own outlook. Silent Thunder crashed into my mind out of a blind spot, that is, I didn’t expect that response, that paradox. And the newness, in part, brought forth new responses and ideas. The first thing that came to mind were the eternally revolving towers of fire and cloud that the Israelites followed in the Egyptian desert. I imagine the mighty divine cloud as this epic silent storm–mighty and imposing, yet aweful in its silence. If thunder is symbolic of that which overwhelms and imposes, the silent aspect reminds us that awesome things don’t always make a terrific din. In fact, silence itself, so foreign to our sense-craving psyches, is perhaps one of the most powerful entities–it thunders at us with its aweful absence and fills us with fear, dread, or a tender sense of calm. I suppose it depends whether you belong to Pharaoh or Moses…