Heirarchy

They say it's lonely at the top and this is probably true.

But which top? Are you raised up in other peoples eyes but don't even know it?

Are you trying to be friendly, honest, open hearted and real, are you pouring yourself into your blog pages, then watching as the comments merely trickle in, or fail to come at all, even though you know that others stop and read?

Sometimes a message is so pure, or so deep, or so skilled, or 'so' any of a great number of things, that I just don't feel qualified to comment. I don't feel good enough, clever enough, something enough. I guess thats the same for you?

The feeling at attempting to comment is one of having to fake an intelligence, sensitivity, eye for beauty, empathy that I truly, truly admire in this or that person, yet fall short of myself. Like chumming up to the teacher, or doing a David Brent, or walking up to the president of the company and patting him on the head.

Enter this door,
As if the floor within were gold.
As if the walls of jewels, all of wealth untold.
As if a choir in robes of fire were singing here
Nor shout
nor rush
but hush
For God is here.

Anon

Some posts, some words, some pictures; some pains, some hopes, some magical observations have this ring about them like a prayer bell, and when you have read them, all there is is stillness, and all you can do is tiptoe away. Cathedral posts.

Here then, are three places where I lurk. Three very different people that I let down by rarely commenting, even though I read all the time. Michelangelos in their own way.

Bart.
This guy's eye for detail, for minutiae, for truth, paints the most beautiful pictures. Actually he selects the most amazing artwork and takes photographs that speak volumes, to back up his incisive, empathic view of the world. Try running back through some of his observational posts and commenting without risking sounding like a bluffer who doesn't match up, or a kid jumping up and down to try and say something adult. Soul food.

ME Strauss
I've told her, so its cool, but in the past few months (not so much now), ME has been looking again at who she is, what she values and why. Nonetheless unlike the majority of us, who simply rattle something off and scream 'Waaah!', she has a dedication to technique worthy of a world class ballet dancer. Each thought or idea is presented, so perfectly, as such a definite work with its own beginning, story/analogy in the middle, and ending, that reading her beautiful pieces is like walking through an art gallery. It makes me feel like all I am meant to do is absorb and appreciate. A girl can run out of ways to offer up a round of applause in print. Don't judge my choice by the apparent number of comments - ME is so appreciative of remarks that she answers each one individually.

Erin Monahan
Always was a lovely poet, but one that you could at least easily congratulate on her works. This time my issue isn't with feeling like my comments would have all the finesse of chattering in a gallery or sneezing through an opera, more like farting at a funeral. I just don't have the qualifications to offer a single word, much as I want to, so, coward that I am, I sign into my newsfeed every day and just marvel at the strength and capacity of this woman, wish I knew her well enough to be some practical help. I'm pretty sure she can't see these qualities in herself, but wow, if you think you've got it bad, hop on over and read a little. I challenge you to walk away without wondering how someone gets through that at all, ever; and whether you or I would have half the grace and strength and, and.... done it again. Run out of words. Makes me cry.

Pop over and see one or all three of these, please. I guess the limited number of comments compared to visitor numbers must have each of them worried sometimes. It would make anyone feel vulnerable, particularly someone like these three, all of whom pour themselves into the page; none of whom (I am sure) see themselves as others see them. Heaven forbid that they are sitting there misreading the silence as indifference, when really it's admiration. Cooee guys, its absolute, pure admiration, from here, anyway, and since I know you don't have this view of yourselves, I hope you don't mind me saying.

Please forget commenting here today - I would much rather you skipped over to see Bart, ME or Erin, found a post you like and just said "You are brilliant".

Because its true.