I've asked myself, "Why journal online?"  

God only knows.  

Honestly, I don't really know why.  It's more of a feeling of "I can. I will. I must." I have a passionate Muse who lately is prodding, prodding, and prodding me, unceasingly, down the online-journal chute.

Moo!  

I've kept paper-and-pen journals for years, and  I am a well-practiced streamer of consciousness. That's streamer, not screamer.  I flow and meander wherever my Muse takes me.    

I write in a succinct objective style elsewhere.  Here, as in my handwritten journal, I'll  bust loose and let the words flow, sometimes in rivulets; other times, in mighty rivers.  So for those who prefer the KISS -- "keep it short and simple" -- style of writing, this journal is sure to gag you. 

When I began thinking of September Morn as a place, keeping an online journal began to make a bit more sense. I'll give it a whirl. Stream with me on this...

What is this place, September Morn?

• A place where my inner circle of family and friends -- from whom I keep no secrets -- can come by and get to know me more intimately, if they wish. They all know that I am a notorious e-mail laggard. This way, my online close kith and kin can quickly check in and know that I didn't fall off the planet or go Home. 
  
  I feel most alive when I am writing. As long as there are new journal entries being posted, they can be assured that I'm still kicking.
  
  I am greatly inspired by a woman I have never met, but have come to know and admire through her online writings. She is a kupuna (an elder) with a huge generosity of spirit. Her name is Mrs. Edna Zoulek. Her words touch my heart. I am inspired by her bravery and amazing grace.
  
  She "began her warm and witty articles as letters to family members and old friends. Distribution was through the US Postal Service. Now, through the magic of the Internet, folks from coast to coast and around the world look forward to the latest installment of "It's Never Too Late".
  
  By sharing her thoughts with her writings, she extends and strengthens ties of friendship and family. I aspire to do the same.
  
  
• A place to document a life's journey, housing a record of events in my life, my values, family traditions and spiritual beliefs. As best as I can, I will record them accurately, yet I am well aware of perceptual gunking.  
  
  Think of this journal as an objective, written rendering of a life with its full share of subjective filtering. Thus, do not take any of it personally. It's just one human's, sometimes flawed and distorted, take on things.  No harm is ever intended.
  
  Sometimes, reflecting on our pasts is the best way to find the best path for the future.  
  
  On a practical level, I am hoping that this will allow me to keep promises, and help remember savory details, commitments and those things we sometimes put on the back shelf of our minds.
  
  To my baby boomer cohorts:  I hope that you will come along and reminisce with me.  
  
  To those who follow me and my generation:  perhaps you will  learn from my life's discoveries and from times past -- and long gone -- through my writings, even after I too am gone from this good Earth.
  
  He who receives an idea from me, receives instructions himself without lessening mine; as he who lights his taper at mine, receives light without darkening mine.
  ~ Thomas Jefferson
  
  
• A place to bridge the generation gap. Sharing stories about events that weigh heavily on the heart, past or current, can help heal both old hurts and new. 
  
  Perhaps, you will take the time to listen to the stories of kupuna (senior friends or relatives) who have lived through similarly trying times. Doing so can help inform, inspire, nurture, or heal both parties. Stories from the past not only help put events into perspective, but they also help communicate meaning and reinforce feelings of connectedness between your generation and mine.  
  
  
• A place to stream a consciousness, let loose, and write with fluidity  without self-consciousness, censoring, or judgment.
  
  Carl Jung believed that to explore the "unconscious" was to plumb our deepest selves.  So, if you like, come along and plumb with me.  You never know what we'll find in those depths. 
  
  I will allow words to flow past my inhibitions and concerns over correctness and conventions.  Be forewarned: I am my own worst editor, blind to my typos. Also, English is my second language, and my grammar often... well, sucks.  
  
  Mea culpa. My college required one class of English and that's all I took. With my non-journal writing, I depend on the skills of an editor to clean up my work for consumption.  Amazingly, her eyeballs haven't gotten stuck in the back of her head...yet.   
  
  Here, I am afforded no such benefit.  I am on my gruesome own and will, more often than I'll ever know, wreak havoc on the language.   I will never let my editor know this is here,  as I am certain that those rolled up eyeballs will never again see the light of day.  
  
  Bear with me.  Humor me.  Cast a blind eye to the slop.
  
  
• A place to capture the texture of a day-to-day life, by observing the present moment, snatching will-o-the-wisp moments by putting them in a less ephemeral form, and by writing about the simple and mundane, the everyday stuff of life. 
  
  So if you're looking for a treasure trove of artsy, lofty, and provocative prose on esoteric subjects, I wish you a fond "Fare Thee Well."  You will not find this to be a confessional diary; I don't have foreboding, mysterious, and dark secrets. My style leans more toward Pollyana than Gothic.
  
  
• A place to preserve life stories by recalling memories and pictures stuck haphazardly in my shoebox head, some dimly-held, before they slip through the fingers of time, becoming distant, vague shadows. 
  
  This journal will help to protect precious life and family  memories from the ravages of time, forgetfulness, and oblivion for those who will come in the future, near and distant.
  
  
• A place to express how much my dear ones are loved, with words that they may wish to read one day and reread.  They will know just how wonderful I think they are.
  
  
• A place to share with others, as in "The best gifts are those we share with others."; reread and relive moments  of joy and gratitude that pick up spirits, warm hearts, make smiles, and tickle insides.
  
  
• A place to think things through, deal with inner conflicts, make wise decisions, consider the alternatives, pros and cons, other side of the coin, advantages and disadvantages and gain perspective.
  
  
• A place to enjoy my own company and check within,  ask myself as I ask others, "How are you?" or "How was your day?" 
  
  I can be still here and reflect, contemplate, intuit, question, clarify, and receive insight.
  
  
• A place to catch and hold on to dreams and create realities by writing down my heart's desires, declaring and committing to them, breathing life into them.
  
  
• A place to warm up and get the juices flowing before I tackle my non-journal writing. If inertia sets in, journaling dispels my occasional writer's block. 
  
  
• A place to explore the full spectrum of emotions -- joy, sadness, pride, sorrow, disgust, apprehension, excitement, elation, ambivalence, worry, concern, nonchalance, irritation, impatience, exuberance, enthusiasm, upset, fear, confidence, faith, vascillation, restlessness, confusion, clarity, boredom, decisiveness, satisfaction, dissatisfaction, bliss, lightness, darkness, delight, frustration, fulfillment, pain, well-being, anger, peace, agitation, tranquillity.
  
  
• A place to give thanks in all circumstances, including difficult ones, and to be thankful for all things, especially those fruit and gifts of the Spirit.
  
  
• A place that is a sacred place for the soul to pray, heal, empower, restore and become whole, and tap into the "still, silent Voice".
  

Visit often.  This place welcomes you. And remember: Don't take anything personally.

Sincerely, 
Author Unknown

P.S.  If you would like to share a portion of yourself  with words, in response to this journal entry,  you may do it here.

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