I’m taking another crack at my idea for a kind of Saturday Sabbath. I’m ready to try it again today. Sunday is as good as Saturday, perhaps even better.

Maria is still laughing at what happened yesterday, and I am still trying to figure it out.

I set out to try an experiment once a day in which I let photos, not words speak for me, and I will find silence, meditation, contemplation, and more work in my search for spiritual life.

I don’t see it as a religious experience but a spiritual one.

When I committed myself to sharing my life openly, I expected all kinds of comments, some nice, some critical – this is America, after all, the land of the loud – but I was surprised to see the cruelty and hostility grow year by year.

I’ve learned from this and am adapting, not retreating; I accept cruelty now almost as comfortably as I expect praise.

I am even learning to empathize with the broken people who can no longer express themselves without trying to hurt.

They have made me more robust, far less sensitive, and angry, and I am grateful for that.

I was derailed yesterday by several things that I have already learned from. Today will be better.

The first message I got was from a stranger named Sarah Ebbins, who had a valid point but did not know how to make it simply or respectfully.

“What happened to your plan to shut up and just post pictures on Saturday? Nothing at all has changed between this long, text-heavy post and the fact that you insist on writing tedious captions for each image.”

If you study her language, you can get a window into an angry person out to hurt as much as she can under the guise of helpful feedback. To me, this is a perversion of language. But we can learn from it.

Sarah teaches us about the sickness wracking our country and which is turning this fantastic new medium into a never-ending battlefield. This is what small people do with language.

I need to share these messages occasionally, even though you will never see Sarah’s posts on my comment page again.

She has her rights, and I have mine. She will not get the attention she craves here again.

She will help me learn.

Then there were other messages, like the one from Susan G., who made the same point in a completely different and helpful way:

“I love your writing and thoughts and pictures, and I thank you for them. I was surprised to see so many posts Saturday; I know this is a struggle for you. I also know you will figure it out, and thanks for sharing the task. It would be good for you to do your Sabbath.”

This is what big and whole people do with language.

We can each choose how we wish to speak to one another. My choice is Susan’s way, not Sarah’s. I don’t want to use words to hurt people pointlessly. I see no virtue in cruelty. Nor does it accomplish anything.

Two different ways for us to talk to one another. You can decide for yourself which one is more valuable and constructive.

I realized yesterday that my blog is so important to me and ingrained in my consciousness that I need a Sabbath more than ever, and I see the importance of having a day like that. I also see it will be more complicated than I thought.

I found this idea of sudden change and withdrawal frightening, and I worried I had failed in my promises.

Would people understand this?

Sarah tells me some will not. Susan and others tell me the people I care about will.

I felt responsible to everybody except me yesterday  – the farm, the barn, the Bishop Gibbons kids, the Mansion residents, my flower sharing and the people who need it, and my love for photography and writing.

Writing and taking pictures is like breathing to me. I have to find another way to breathe sometimes.

Today will be different. I’ll find the silence, meditate, talk with Maria, walk with the dogs, read some books, and let some photos speak for me during the day.

I love the idea of allowing some images to do some of the talking.

I’m looking forward to it, and I have no doubt I can do it. Yesterday was valuable to me.

I thank you for your kindness and your patience. This is a wild ride; you are welcome to come along.