Why am I here?

Why am I here? This is a question we all ask ourselves at sometime in our lives – sometimes more than once. We should all know the biological reasons behind our presence on this planet – but the majority of us need to have another reason for our lives. Usually when other people want to know something about us – we usually give our job title – as if that defines who we are. This gives those people who do not ‘work’ for whatever reason a problem so they might give a different description : -a wife; a mother; a homemaker; retired; for example or ‘an ex-mineworker’, an ex-steelworker’, etc. if they have become ‘unemployed’. I was thinking about this because Ihave had the sadness of another death - my Uncle died last week. He has been troubled by bad health since he retired a good few years ago, but had been taken out to lunch by some of his friends. He had just sat down when his friends heard a loud sigh and he had slumped forwards in his seat. He had had a massive heart attack and was dead. He was at one of his favourite places at the time - the nineteen hole of his Golf Club!!! The funeral was attended by a great many of his friends as well as all his family from near and far, including a large nuber of my cousins. My Aunt said that Teddy would have been delighted to see how many of the younger generation had come to see him off. He was a lovely man who always enjoyed a party or gathering and could be the life and soul of the party - even sitting in a chair or on his crutches. I never heard him complain about his health problems except when he said he felt it was putting too much of a strain on my Aunt to look after him. He will be greatly missed by all the family / clan. I was with a group of people last week who all came from diverse backgrounds and different areas, and when asked to introduce ourselves we were also told to mention something ‘creative’ which we did. The young girl who was with me was a bit panic stricken at this as she felt she did nothing creative. She was not the only one who felt this way. We had people there who were artists who ran a children’s theatre, a lady who had been a professional dancer and who now works for the council, another lady who now teaches sewing, embroidery and batik work to other women in her home village. One lady who works in a major bank said that the only creative thing she could think of was that she was redecorating her small London Flat – did that count? Eventually we got round the group and I was last to introduce myself. Having listened to everyone else I was able to give a list of things which I have done in my life – Embroidery, cross-stitching, and my poetry. When I mentioned my poetry I also said that up until three years ago although I wrote the odd poem I very rarely showed it to anyone except perhaps my parents when they were alive. I never felt as if it was GOOD ENOUGH for other people to read. Then I met a wonderful man who loved me and gave me the confidence to let other people look at my little collection of thoughts. Then a couple of friends after reading a few poems said I should get a Blogsite and let other people read them too. [Obviously I have done that as you are now reading this.] I had also collected a little passage written by Annie Sullivan in 1891 – I don’t know if it is from a book she wrote or where it came from but it goes as follows’ At another time she asked, "What is a soul?" "No-one knows" I replied " but we know it is not the body, and it is that part of us which thinks and loves and hopes ……….and is invisible." "But if I write what my soul thinks" she said "then it will be visible, and the words will be its body." I think that any creative outlet is an expression of our souls – and a part that can remain behind after death. After all, no-one living ever met or knew William Shakespeare or Wordsworth or Tennyson or Beethovan or Schubert or Da Vinci or Michaelangelo …………………. But we do know a little bit about their souls.