Commentary

There's a saying that no matter how far we travel during our lives, nobody ever strays away from their roots. These roots can be from our upbringing, from places we've been, people we have met and befriended, or being a witness to life changing events.

I have been visiting old Catholic churches in recent months. I was brought up in the Catholic faith, but Iam now a Christian. It taken me back to my childhood when I went to Mass every Sunday. These visitations take me to the time as a young Christian, I would sit in a empty chapel to pray or rest. I peruse the East Village, an avant-garde neighborhood slowly being gentrified. In the sixties, East Village was a hot bed of rock and roll concerts, folk singing and poetry reading. There was much radical political activity,also.

I have wondered why I am being pulled here. Somehow in my being, there is a story that needs to be told. What it is I am not certain at this point. I have been gathering some ideas and gleaning any bit of morsel I can find. Us writers are always looking for some tidbit that will enhance the story we wish to tell.

I remember during the summer I sat down on a bench facing St. Mark's Church, a stone structure dating back to the seventeeth century. The feeling of returning home filled my heart. I never hung out here much as a young adult but I felt like one of the denziens of decades past. Stories can come from some unusual places. It's like mining for gold nuggets; you keep at it until you find that precious stone.

What I'm saying here is that our past can be the place to shape a story from. I find myself mining my mental recesses trying to reconnect with an important chapter of my life. Perhaps, the chapter needs to be edited or new editions added. Anyway, just be mining until you find those gold nuggets.