Blog Archives

Not for the Faint of Heart

5/4/2025

Image by Arek Socha from Pixabay

They came with hungry eyes,
but shallow hands.
Took from the surface,
never dared to understand.

They mistook mystery for performance,
depth for drama,
warmth for weakness...
and turned cold before the flame could speak.

You were not too much.
They were too little.
Too rushed to read
the language of your silences.

Too brittle to hold
what was real and unfinished.
You’ve wept in moonlight
and risen in gold,
built a world where truth
is quietly bold.

You don't linger in their shadows.
They linger in yours.
Still, you walk...
anchored in purpose,
tempered by fire,
a human forged,
not waiting,
but open.

And if you are not afraid
of what's unspoken,
of what doesn’t perform
but pulses beneath...
then perhaps,
you’ve been looking for me.

--Hazel E. Guler

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How I Learned To Speak

5/3/2025

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Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

A Cinematic Monologue by Hazel E. Guler

[Interior – A dimly lit room. The camera closes in slowly. The woman stands by the window, dusk painting her face with gentle shadows. She speaks softly, almost to herself.]

You know, there’s a story I never told out loud.
Not because it was a secret…
But because it never quite knew how to end.

He was–no, they were–a name I whispered to the stars once, certain they’d echo back.
But stars don’t echo. They burn. Quiet. Distant. Indifferent.
And still… I built a life inside a flicker.

Some days I convince myself it was all a mirage.
That I misread every warmth, every glance, every word.
But other days–
Other days, I wear the memory like perfume: invisible, persistent,
a scent only I remember.

It’s not love anymore.
Not quite longing either.
It’s something in between–a residue.
Of wanting to be seen. Of being almost seen.

But I'm still here.
Still walking, still writing, still weaving wonder from what was never fully mine.
Because maybe… just maybe…
the story was never about them at all.
Maybe it was always about how I learned to speak,
even when no one stayed to listen.

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The Cartographer's Flame

5/2/2025

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Image by Jim Cooper from Pixabay

A Short Story by Hazel E. Guler

There once was a girl who carried an ember in her pocket. She found it in a lantern once, long ago, when she was still mapping out her future with trembling hands and idealistic eyes. It belonged to a cartographer–an older one–whose maps weren’t only of lands but of minds, hearts, and voices.

He had lit something in her–not a fire, exactly, but a glow. One that warmed her steps when the path was uncertain. One she mistook for a star to follow.

The cartographer admired her sketches, once. Told her they were unlike anything he had seen. She etched them deeper because of that–on paper, yes, but also on skin and bone, where praise turns into prophecy.

She walked years with that ember.

But embers can deceive. They flicker with memory, not presence. And sometimes, she noticed, the cartographer would vanish behind veils of ice–distant, unreadable. The maps he made for others never included her. Or if they did, it was in invisible ink.

She began to question if the glow had ever come from him at all.

One morning, much later, she stood atop a hill she'd climbed alone. The ember still nestled in her coat, but she noticed now–it wasn’t warming her. Her own breath in the cold air felt warmer. Her own pulse was a fire.

She buried the ember beneath a cairn of stones. Not out of bitterness, but gratitude. It had taught her how to feel. And how not to wait.

From then on, she carried flint instead. And when she drew maps, they included all the wild, sacred places she’d discovered on her own–unmarked, untamed, fully hers.

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The Rhetoric of Fear: When It Controls Us, and When It Awakens Us

5/1/2025

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Image by Enrique from Pixabay

The rhetoric of fear has gone berserk. Everywhere you look–mainstream news, social media, influencer hot takes–there’s a new catastrophe, a new threat, a new reason to panic. Whether it’s global crises, economic doom, or the latest product that "saves" you from disaster, fear has become the dominant currency of communication. And it’s exhausting.

Aristotle knew this dynamic well. In his Rhetoric, he defined fear (phobos) as a "pain or disturbance" caused by the anticipation of evil. The key to manipulating it? Make the threat feel close, likely, and uncontrollable–precisely what 24/7 media and algorithmic feeds excel at. Today, fear isn’t just information; it’s a tool of control. It keeps us glued to screens, clicking and buying, while cynically offering the illusion of safety. As Kenneth Burke observed, fear is also a tool for identification–it binds people to leaders, tribes, or brands that promise protection, overriding critical thought with urgency.

But here’s the paradox: Not all fear is manipulation. Some fears are alarm bells. Aristotle warned that excessive fear can paralyze, but he also knew that justified fear mobilizes. The difference lies in two questions:

1. Who benefits?

If the fear is vague, endless, and profits those selling panic (or compliance), it’s weaponized.
If it’s specific, evidence-backed, and calls you to defend human dignity, it’s a warning.

2. What does it demand of us?

Exploitative fear isolates and numbs ("Buy this! Scroll more! Give up!").
Legitimate fear unites and activates ("Resist! Protect each other!").

What Do We Do?

Discern the source: Is this fear meant to cloud your judgment or clarify it?
Refuse numbness: Cynicism helps no one. Some fears are exaggerated; others are life-or-death. Solidarity means caring even when the threat isn’t yet at your door.
Channel fear wisely: Dismissing all fear is as dangerous as swallowing it whole. Let it sharpen your focus, not your despair.

The media’s flood of panic often aims to keep us passive. But history’s greatest changes began when people refused to let fear rot into apathy–when they said, "This cannot stand." Aristotle might put it differently: "The problem isn’t fear–it’s who gets to define what we fear, and why."

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MY BLOG

Not for the Faint of Heart

How I Learned To Speak

The Cartographer's Flame

The Rhetoric of Fear: When It Controls Us, and When It Awakens Us

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​MY BLOG

Not for the Faint of Heart

How I Learned To Speak

The Cartographer's Flame

The Rhetoric of Fear: When It Controls Us, and When It Awakens Us

Author

Categories

Archives

CONTACT

MY BLOG