Wow. I’ve just read WellOKThen’s untitled entry. Deep stuff. By comparison, this intentionally keep-it-light submission now seems hopelessly inadequate.

In fact, it’s highly appropriate to say: ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

As a child of the 70s, to me Star Wars always meant both the original 1977 film and the trilogy. (In much the same way that Hawaii refers to both Hawaii and Hawaii.) It wasn’t until the 1990’s prequels that Episode IV became widely known as A New Hope.

That didn’t sit well with me.

Not that I had to contend with the change; that’s a part of life. Not that suddenly the original trilogies were episodes four to six; the scroll had always dubbed them so. No; what I didn’t like was the title.

A New Hope.

I found it weak. Vague. Lacking.

You know where you are with The Empire Strikes Back and Return of The Jedi. Even The Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones, Revenge of The Sith and The Force Awakens are bold subtitles which elicit a sense of adventure, danger and derring-do. But A New Hope left me empty and unenthralled.

Until Rogue One, arguably the best film of the franchise.

There is a line which imbues the words ‘a new hope’ with power and expectance. (I’m not saying what the line is, who delivers it or when: no spoilers here.) Suddenly, Episode IV’s subtitle was pertinent and exciting.

So thank you to person who wrote that line for instilling in me, a then 40-something man, a sense of wonder and joy that reminded me of the pleasure and fantasy of my youth.

And thank you to you too, for staying with me through this tirade. I hope I didn’t keep you from something important.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry you’ve been clumped in with Black Lives Matter and ANTIFA.

I’m sorry first responders aren’t able to reach your neighborhoods.

I’m sorry you have to be afraid of walking down your block.

I’m sorry you’re afraid to hang an American flag outside your home.

I’m sorry that so many people think they know you because they see the color of your skin.

I’m sorry that you are belittled and demeaned by self-pitying, self-righteous individuals who come to destroy your communities while proclaiming they have compassion.

I’m sorry your communities have been burned and destroyed.

I’m sorry that “segregation” has reintroduced itself into our modern times.

I’m sorry that the pressure you felt from the world looking at you and thinking they know your story has risen to a level that feels like you’re holding the sky up.

I’m sorry for every immature person who came to you and gave you a handout because “you look a certain way.”

I’m sorry that these people who are so culturally secluded that they are incapable of acting in a socially acceptable way in front of someone different than them believe that they are the ones who will free you from your “inequity”

But most of all, I’m sorry that you are once again in American history being referred to anything other than what you truly are, which is AMERICAN.

Don’t listen to those demeaning, self-righteous blowhards who think they owe you, as if you were too incompetent and disabled to work hard and gain it for yourself with pride. Don’t take their handouts that they stole and squandered from the people around them.

As a fellow American who happens to be white, I HATE THEM TOO!

But I also pity them. I pity their ignorance. I pity their misguided attempts to be a part of something bigger than them. Don’t we all want to make a difference? Don’t we all want to do something significant with their lives? Imagine if they used their energy to fight slavery in other countries, fought for women’s rights in other countries, or even fought against the global human trafficking! They’re all deceived by the lies that you are incapable, unprivileged, oppressed, and hunted. Through their pursuit to find someone to blame, they made idols of rapists, violent offenders, druggies, and all sorts of criminals while squashing the lives of people who are also trying to bring good into the world and protect us from those who would destroy our livelihoods.

But most of all, I pity them because they have become what they want to destroy...

Bigoted

Idiotic

Racists

Sincerely,

A Fellow American

Trust on the front end is good faith, an offer. If it fails, it’s not your fault. Trust on the back end is only earned, but depending on where you set your threshold, you may die alone. Good faith is its own reward. If you take a hit or two in the process, there are all the rest for comaraderie with the Divine. Earned trust is way too much trouble.

Hi Tima,

I am so sorry that the publishing house you worked with before mistreated you and did not give you what was rightfully yours. I commend you for the hope you are displaying by writing again, and reaching out to others to build a solid network of support. I am excited that you got the rights back to your work, and I have hope that it will be published in a place where you and your art will be treated with respect and kindness. I am rooting for your success, and I will be sure to follow you here as well. Only the best to you and your future endeavors, whether they are writing or anything else as well!

Fingers typing,

Keys clacking,

Working all the time,

To project a story of hope,

To one day lead us out,

Of this dark and dreary moat,

Yet hope cannot be lost,

It is shown in magic,

Whispers,

And dreams.

A world to progress along with a story,

One that will give us all is needed,

You will claim it and so will all,

It will be yours and humanities,

It will be grown to love.

Much I marvelled the thankful look,

While I pondered, thinking, and shook.

My mind always strays to eyes,

The ones that can’t tell lies.

I remember I was coming.

All my soul within me crumbling.

And so you come, gently clanging.

Distinctly I was awaiting.

By the grave, I saw the eyelids.

I made my bids.

Greeting and greeting with my skull,

The sky seems dull.

But in the fact that it was dripping,

Back into my memories assessing.

By my grave, I saw the carnations.

Quoth the envy, “Mind the impatiens.”

And your eyes have all the concerning,

While I pondered, facing, and free burning.

If by chance, my world bends.

If by chance, my would ends.

You can cope,

I have hope.

Hope can be found in different ways

Just find where it lays

I know you will, we know you will

And all your dreams you will fufill

Life i a constant battle of victories and loses. However, the only loser there truly ever is, is the one that gives up on their purpose. Quiting is never the answer. Every bad day you survived should be remembered as a day you have Overcome. Every bad obsticle that threatened to leave you hopeless that you over came should be as that trophy you so boldly show-off in your home for all too see.

It's not about what got you down, made you fall or stumble, nore is it about how hard you fell. No, dear! its about how well you rise after that fall, how resilient you are, how you are able to move swiftly while the aches and bruises throb. It is about you're will to keep going even though the enemy taught he had you.

Hope is having faith in God even when you cant see the path ahead but somehow know you going to make it to the finish line no matter what obsticles are thrown infront of you. Hope is having faith that God is working in you're life even when you feel like all is lost.

Hope is having Faith in the unknown but knowing you will be victorious!

I spoke with a bird

who had known the world,

before I even knew there was a world to know.

The bird flying swiftly from the moon to Earth

perched itself on a tree near my bedroom window.

Now, I knew what dreams were and I had known the bite of Life’s nightmares;

but I never experienced the beauty of a dream in sleep.

The bird came to me

and sang low and sweet.

Waking me to a song I had never heard before.

Because if I had heard this song,

I would have gone to bed singing.

Not a song from my mouth.

A song from a body that holds a soul,

a soul awakened.

It was a song so sweet that I did not merely feel happy. I felt altogether more. As if my body opened up, needing to be a part of the world beyond my bedroom walls.

I asked the bird, “How do you sing a song so sweet, when you've seen the very worst of the world?”

The bird, before flying away to see the world yet again, sang to me,

“Because I have also seen the very BEST of it. And “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers…” remember that, little one.”

I went to bed that night, and I dreamed for the first time in my whole life.

And it was filled with feathers, and it was filled with songs,

but most of all it was filled with Hope.

--Quote from Emily Dickinson's poem "Hope is the thing with feathers (254)"