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All Saturday and Sunday and even some today, I’ve been wondering about my role in the blogosphere.

My thinking leads to questions.  About purpose, for one.

More to the point, it leads me to question myself.  I’ve wondered what unique gifts I bring with so many out there in the wide blog yonder.

I’ve wondered in the heavy silence that stands between me and the computer screen why I think I can write.  Or want to, for that matter, since writing isn’t easy.

Writing always feels like carving in stone blind-folded.  Far too often, I don’t know what end the stone will yield until I get there myself.  Sometimes I walk away from a partially completed bust knowing I’m too small for the subject at hand.  But there are other times, too, and it’s these that keep me pounding away at hard white space.

In spite of its shaky feel, this is no “woe is me’ signpost.  I’m just expressing my truth du jour.  In part, because I know I’m not alone;  I realize we must all have days when we wonder about life purpose and its associated questions.   So I write to confess, because admitting the truth is freeing.  And for good measure, I’ll forgo pan-handling for encouragement, by placing a lid on the spot where comments typically go

But before I place a lid on today’s thoughts, I wish to confess that I’m not without consolation.  That today’s has strangely come from that stranger-than-truth locust and wild honey eater, who many mistook for the Messiah;  because at his memorable best, John the Baptist served as a solitary signpost in the wilderness pointing a finger at one greater than he, whose sandals, he confessed, he was unfit to untie.

So today I confess how I know this feeling well.  How it comes in part from keeping company with my blog betters — those on my roll and others not.  And how I think,  as I read their blogs:  Now, why again, am I blogging?  And for whom am I blogging?

It’s always this last question that gets me.  Some days, I struggle to answer it with a few original words — words I later baptize with a  title  after it’s known by me. Other days, I’m content in being a signpost for my blogroll.

The one which comes without woe — well, it’s the wrong one.  Which means I should have called this piece, Woe and the Signpost.

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