Give Me the Obscure Life?

Give me the obscure life - the cottage of the poor and humble - the work days of the world - the barren fields - the smallest share of all things except poetic perception.

Henry David Thoreau

I don't openly seek obscurity as Thoreau had done but I seem to be finding it. 

Whatever I do here I do, hopefully, for higher reasons than becoming 'known'...possibly for some form of expanding poetic perception, though I am not sure if this poetic perception is reaching anyone. Blog page stats are showing readers in the thousands.  The stats have never been trustworthy and always showed way too many readers in comparison to what Google analytics picks up. Lately, however, even worse. I noticed over 3 k a day on certain entries that are really not that great. Even the low numbers on analytics show many more readers than those who are actually engaging. Most of the so called "readers" there are showing 0 engagement. 

Atlas, this blog is as obscure as Thoreau's cabin in the woods was, as obscure as he remained until after death. Sometimes, I feel like this blog and I as a writer are receiving a small share of the things Life has to offer, if not the smallest. I believe the more obscure this becomes, the more it picks up scrapers and bot activity. In short, in this obscurity, I have absolutely no idea who, if anyone out there, is reading this. Hmmm! The reasonable person would probably say, "Why bother then?" But the unexplained compulsion within me says, "Keep going!" 

I can't tell you why, then, why I do what I do. It can't be for ego, if ego isn't getting what typical ego's need...to be seen, heard, validated etc...unless shamer ego is getting something from it - "See, there is a reason for my shame. " 

If a higher Self feels a need to serve, share, offer doesn't it need someone to give, serve, share and offer to? I guess that someone doesn't need to be outside this Self, does it? I am serving Self by being here regardless of the outcome.... regardless if I remain poor and humble while my fields remain barren for the rest of my days. Maybe someday, I will find the joy and peace in obscurity, as Thoreau had done. 

All is well