This blog a sacred space where I empty my deepest thoughts, feelings, and dreams.
A place where I leave my most raw, immediate self, so that one day I can look back and feel what I felt again with a new heart and soul, changed by time.
A place where I connect with those I know in life, online, or not at all.
A place where I philosophize, cry, smile, and spend quality quiet time with my mind and heart.
A place where I share private pieces of my life to contribute to the greater world beyond my small corner of time and space.
A place where I risk some privacy to feel rooted in something bigger.
Writing is my temple.
These words and pictures I share are sacred. My words are not in the public domain like some Wikipedia entry. My images are not just some stock photography or clip art for you to use to suit your own purposes.
There is a difference.
A difference that must be respected lest this beautiful new art form, the blog, will cease to have value. If writers do not feel safe, they will stop sharing. And in their place, commercial and culturally bankrupt drivel will rush in to fill the empty space, as it has in so many other places on the internet.
I feel threatened.
For the second time, I checked my stats page to find a disturbing search led some sick, pervert child molester or pornographer to my writing. To pictures of MY children.
I carved out an hour or two to drive to Starbucks and write (my internet is down at home), while my husband put the kids to bed. I sat down with my black grande coffee and a head full of ideas. While I downloaded my latest photos from my phone onto my laptop, I checked my stats only to nearly choke on my much-anticipated coffee that now bubbles like volcanic acid in my churning stomach, as I write fueled by anger more than caffeine.
Here is what I saw under search terms for July 11, 2015:
“daddy it hurts but keep pushing it up me”
This means, without a doubt, that someone typed those words into a Google search box and then clicked on my blog to see if it contained photos or information that related to those terms.
Are you sick yet?
How am I supposed to sit here and write now? How can I focus on anything but the fact that some stranger who would search for such a thing has looked at photos of my children?
Hell, I can’t even finish my coffee.
No photos tonight.