Eternity, a long time. It seems along time away. Forever.
I do not have, that long to live, breathing. I hope to experience Eternity.
One day.
I have heard, so have you, that a picture is worth a thousand words, I want to write
thousands of words to get the picture of Eternity, and get it right.
There is one way.
I have heard that words can fail you, that is when music speaks. If words are my only voice
and poetry and prose are the only notes that are on key........
Do you.. will you recognize the song..
Can you sing along so
I do not sing, out loud;
Alone.
If I paint a story with my pen or construct a vast
array of sentences, to fill the void,
please read it and bring it to life;
thump, thump,
in the emptiness,
feel for a pulse,
bring your face close,
to catch the signs of life;
A breath.
I am desperate here.
I am wanting; to ink stain, computer character,
and burn a memory in the muscle of your concious
and unconcious.
I AM.
My arms can not open to hug anyone, if
I hug my self to protect my self from the
darkness, in the world that slays
innocents without, regard for their
thoughts, their breath or what they speak; not a
word.
Winter waits. Cold comes. Freezing rain falls.
Seek the shelter, that opens its doors to the cry of
your heart; that still beats, the beats through time
and space and beyond reason; that, IT, echos
across.
Spring follows, Summer simmers until the Fall,
which brings an end to the seasons, which again
are whitened purely by Winters frost; snow and frozen
death.
If you suffer; somewhere someone has suffered more. You are not alone,
left out in the cold although some are; in places that do not have chilly temperatures
they are treated worse than as if they were living in the most severe of winter conditions.
Punished.
This cycle of seasons is not experienced by all parts of Earth; the weather, still leads on
and results need to show changes to the status quo for mankind to survive, to
live eternally.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Up the creek with a shopping cart.
I am a dinosaur. In some circles that is. My age is not catching up with me, I am better at representing IT than ever before. There is a creek, or better known as a fish bearing stream. It runs beside where we live. Most days it is only deep enough to keep moving. Just like I am, just moving, just breathing, just not fast enough, anymore. I walk past the creek, further down, the road, close to work. In summer there is a coolness that pours out of the shaded part of the stream that is both refreshing and proof that Green is my favorite color.
Just as you walk along the handrail, and look down, into the creek, you see a shopping cart, it has been there for a while, handle buried into the sediment of the creek bed, pointing skyward, begging for a lift out, a hand up or maybe it prays to the shopping mall gods for a rescue. Fewer people linger there anymore, few did anyway except to discard other peoples discarded junk/treasure. Sometimes other peoples' stolen goods fragments could be seen decorating the the forest floor, like Christmas for the forest folk or fairyland does celebrate commercialism! The hospital is getting a huge "renovation" and there are people who have cleaned out the underbrush, of everything that has ever been discarded.
Street people, the homeless, live, sleep, have sex, do drugs, hide from a world that does not see them while looking right at them; above the creek, in temporary shelters; which rise and fall like the sun or the moon. Among all this there is that shopping cart, the bastion of buying power, the Mover of goods, as much as you can stuff in the cart, "Will that be charge or debit or cash?" Once you pay more than you should, from you bank account which; has less than you need or worse, put it on credit and pay it off in 19 years; want has a price tag a lifetime long. That shopping cart in the creek, is not fulfilling its' original purpose, it was never happy or sad. Are you fulfilling your purpose, original, otherwise or newly discovered?
Letting your self get bogged down in the silt of your mess as life passes by like water in that creek, may lead to much unhappiness. That shopping cart is a dinosaur. Malls are dinosaur homes, who are trying to re-invent their significance, the purpose has not changed, but they want you the consumer to see them as that cool fresh breeze and leave your green behind. That is not why green is my favorite color. That is another story, not for today. So you can choose to let the mall define you or go out and discover your value, out there sharing life with people who value you more than just a mover of commercial goods, just remember, the shopping cart does not move it self, it has no will. Who put that one in the creek and what are you determined to do, to become, to share with the world you see right in front of your eyes......then dream big! Will you?
Oh I am not really a dinosaur. Seriously.
Just as you walk along the handrail, and look down, into the creek, you see a shopping cart, it has been there for a while, handle buried into the sediment of the creek bed, pointing skyward, begging for a lift out, a hand up or maybe it prays to the shopping mall gods for a rescue. Fewer people linger there anymore, few did anyway except to discard other peoples discarded junk/treasure. Sometimes other peoples' stolen goods fragments could be seen decorating the the forest floor, like Christmas for the forest folk or fairyland does celebrate commercialism! The hospital is getting a huge "renovation" and there are people who have cleaned out the underbrush, of everything that has ever been discarded.
Street people, the homeless, live, sleep, have sex, do drugs, hide from a world that does not see them while looking right at them; above the creek, in temporary shelters; which rise and fall like the sun or the moon. Among all this there is that shopping cart, the bastion of buying power, the Mover of goods, as much as you can stuff in the cart, "Will that be charge or debit or cash?" Once you pay more than you should, from you bank account which; has less than you need or worse, put it on credit and pay it off in 19 years; want has a price tag a lifetime long. That shopping cart in the creek, is not fulfilling its' original purpose, it was never happy or sad. Are you fulfilling your purpose, original, otherwise or newly discovered?
Letting your self get bogged down in the silt of your mess as life passes by like water in that creek, may lead to much unhappiness. That shopping cart is a dinosaur. Malls are dinosaur homes, who are trying to re-invent their significance, the purpose has not changed, but they want you the consumer to see them as that cool fresh breeze and leave your green behind. That is not why green is my favorite color. That is another story, not for today. So you can choose to let the mall define you or go out and discover your value, out there sharing life with people who value you more than just a mover of commercial goods, just remember, the shopping cart does not move it self, it has no will. Who put that one in the creek and what are you determined to do, to become, to share with the world you see right in front of your eyes......then dream big! Will you?
Oh I am not really a dinosaur. Seriously.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
C is for Censorship and Congress
Strange how this is going around and around. Wikipedia puts it like this "The Bill of Rights is a series of limitations on the power of the U.S. federal government, protecting the natural rights of liberty and property including freedom of religion, freedom of speech" etc. Why does Congress, if it really does, want to censor the internet. Censorship is an act where you restrict access and since the internet is all about knowledge, good and bad, legitimate and illegitimate. Maybe the idea is to own the internet, like owning water rights in other countries. Nope that doesn't wash, does it?
The answer for censorship is not an easy road and using the freedom of speech, like we have in all of the world, but wait that is UTOPIAN-ISM. There are very few countries that have the free speech of the North American continent. There is much misinformation, and other STUFF on the internet; it is not all good but it is all available.
Censorship is an easier solution for some; then education and moral fibre.
It is easier to make a law which that can be broken, obtain money through a fine to keep the Judiciary employed.
Than.... to educate people on right and wrong, on what is art, and motivating, and positive, that would take money away from government, at several levels. More teachers, more classrooms, more expenses, possibly a better society, oh but it is a gamble..... or is it?
If there is a question of freedom of honest speech, then there is a problem with Congress legislating. If there are a certain large number of websites, in foreign countries or not; who promote pornography, or worse. It is hard to protect citizens who have been educated to use a computer to explore the world. Both the Good and the Bad are out THERE. People need to make right choices in bad situations with bad information.
C is also for computers. How does it feel to be a slave to technology.
To those who I said, I would blog on December 1st, it is actually the 2nd where you are. I am neither for or against what Congress will or will not do. I am not an American. I am not for or against Censorship, I have seen some where I live and in fact been impacted, by Movie ratings as an example. What I am for is if you stare at garbage on your computer it does burn an impression into your brain, is that what you want. Leave your wide screen TV or computer on and see what happens if you do not have a screen saver or it is unable to shut down.
The same goes for you what you put or pour, inside you - comes out, maybe in how you act, how you work, how you treat people, more importantly how you see yourself, do you really like what you see? Really?
The answer for censorship is not an easy road and using the freedom of speech, like we have in all of the world, but wait that is UTOPIAN-ISM. There are very few countries that have the free speech of the North American continent. There is much misinformation, and other STUFF on the internet; it is not all good but it is all available.
Censorship is an easier solution for some; then education and moral fibre.
It is easier to make a law which that can be broken, obtain money through a fine to keep the Judiciary employed.
Than.... to educate people on right and wrong, on what is art, and motivating, and positive, that would take money away from government, at several levels. More teachers, more classrooms, more expenses, possibly a better society, oh but it is a gamble..... or is it?
If there is a question of freedom of honest speech, then there is a problem with Congress legislating. If there are a certain large number of websites, in foreign countries or not; who promote pornography, or worse. It is hard to protect citizens who have been educated to use a computer to explore the world. Both the Good and the Bad are out THERE. People need to make right choices in bad situations with bad information.
C is also for computers. How does it feel to be a slave to technology.
To those who I said, I would blog on December 1st, it is actually the 2nd where you are. I am neither for or against what Congress will or will not do. I am not an American. I am not for or against Censorship, I have seen some where I live and in fact been impacted, by Movie ratings as an example. What I am for is if you stare at garbage on your computer it does burn an impression into your brain, is that what you want. Leave your wide screen TV or computer on and see what happens if you do not have a screen saver or it is unable to shut down.
The same goes for you what you put or pour, inside you - comes out, maybe in how you act, how you work, how you treat people, more importantly how you see yourself, do you really like what you see? Really?
Monday, November 28, 2011
50k winner
50000 words, actually 50,215 words, I am in a mood for celebrating. But reality bites too. I backed up every word. The truth is that 50,215 a complete novel, does not make. Now the real work begins, going through and where it is a little thin, reinforce it. Where it makes no sense or is inconsistent, get common sense and find the details.
I can't tell you what that will take, but thank you Na No Wri Mo; thank you writing buddies.
Script Frenzy is next in April. Oh but I am way ahead of my self. There is more writing and editing with this and this is only 1 book of potentially 5, now, anyone want to publish it, don't be shy put your hand, check off bizarre on the comment box and send me an e-mail. LOL like that happens to normal people! Wait a minute I just spent 28 days writing 50,215 words. It has changed my perspective on what is really important. I had the software open for over 9000 minutes, I guess when you walk away and go on a date with the most beautiful person in the world. The program keeps on ticking. Dumb energizer bunny.
This is a new experience and some real vivid and valid observations have resulted, I'll be sharing directly, indirectly and in the details. Oh boy I am so tired. Sleep!
I can't tell you what that will take, but thank you Na No Wri Mo; thank you writing buddies.
Script Frenzy is next in April. Oh but I am way ahead of my self. There is more writing and editing with this and this is only 1 book of potentially 5, now, anyone want to publish it, don't be shy put your hand, check off bizarre on the comment box and send me an e-mail. LOL like that happens to normal people! Wait a minute I just spent 28 days writing 50,215 words. It has changed my perspective on what is really important. I had the software open for over 9000 minutes, I guess when you walk away and go on a date with the most beautiful person in the world. The program keeps on ticking. Dumb energizer bunny.
This is a new experience and some real vivid and valid observations have resulted, I'll be sharing directly, indirectly and in the details. Oh boy I am so tired. Sleep!
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Reading, writing and....
I have thought about IT for a while. I must make shorter titles. My blog will have shorter titles. If I don't, then my index looks unreadable and odd. I feel very tired tonight, wrote 3400+ words for NaNoWriMo. I have never written that many words in a day. This month has made me very aware that I am not fit as I need to be to write. I have sat for long periods and stood for long periods typing, thinking and storytelling. I can do something about that. I will do something about my fitness (see fitness blog) Hold me accountable. As this is the month of many firsts in my writing, I can and will do something about that too. I also see the importance of reading, I will start and end the day with reading stuff that builds my faith, for in times as such as these when you have nothing else, you have your faith, and all it takes is the mustard seed size to suffice. How much reading is that.... ah but maybe the practice part grows the seed into something the size of your heart. I write better in the evenings, but mornings inspire me, a journal, like what I am doing now, will become a daily occurrence, just not in my blog for public consumption. I will get a routine, my life will not push me around, I am beginning to conduct the instruments that play out in my symphony and discord that makes my life.
I will read other authors works, I will read about writing, I will write... so you see reading, writing and arithmetic as it all adds up. Enough about me and what I want.
I hope to challenge you and me in my blogs, they may or may not reflect my journals, I do have to keep part of me just for me. Lastly too many people are feeling alone these day wherever you live Germany, Russia, USA, Thailand, Canada and so many others, look around you find a lonely somebody, and make their day. Just one. It will help. Then check up on them, if you ever see them again, if it was a random act. Or if you reserved it for somebody close to you must really care for that person, making your self vulnerable and compassionate.
In any case let me know and leave a comment or ....not.
I will read other authors works, I will read about writing, I will write... so you see reading, writing and arithmetic as it all adds up. Enough about me and what I want.
I hope to challenge you and me in my blogs, they may or may not reflect my journals, I do have to keep part of me just for me. Lastly too many people are feeling alone these day wherever you live Germany, Russia, USA, Thailand, Canada and so many others, look around you find a lonely somebody, and make their day. Just one. It will help. Then check up on them, if you ever see them again, if it was a random act. Or if you reserved it for somebody close to you must really care for that person, making your self vulnerable and compassionate.
In any case let me know and leave a comment or ....not.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Do what you love... then share in 25 words or less.
A conversation with the real me.
What do you love to do? I didn't know what to say. I did not have "the" answer.
What do you love to do? I liked running and swimming and biking. I liked being in shape.
You did not answer the question. I can't sing on key, er often, but I love music. I see beauty every day in everything. How does that answer the question? It doesn't, I guess.
I like watching basketball, volleyball,soccer and especially hockey, and football too both CFL and NFL.
That is your answer, you play all those sports? Well? No I didn't play hockey well, I can't skate, but I was great at shinny or ball hockey. I never played football except flag football. I played soccer well and coached alot of volleyball trying to give kids a chance to discover what if they are passionate about volleyball. I never got a chance to learn much about basketball - NBA Basketball( Booo strike) I was too short, too slow, you can't get any points if you are not allowed to touch the ball; let alone, shoot the ball. The one playoff I remember from Grade 7 that I actually got to play, as one, no two of the starters got hurt and we only had a team of 8 and the other sub, fouled out.
I was able to go in and play and I scored the tying points 13 - 13 and it went to overtime. I guess we won and then we won again, but then we lost, I did not get to play again, or if I did it didn't matter at that point, I scored a foul shot that tied the game, I also scored a 3 pointer. I did not love the grade 7 basketball experience, others played it much better. I am talking grade 7 in a small BC elementary school, c'mon, there were athletes but no basketball players. Track and field yes (but not for me) although I did look at javelin once! Thanks Teresa!
Okay, Okay, what do you love 25 words or less. I love language, the use of language, how it can, make others feel, make me feel. The sounds the meaning all words accepted. Spoken or Read. Rhythms. Love.
Why? Any language can do it you do not have to be a super star basketball player to be able to write or read or recite or be poetic with or without rhyme.
Back to beauty? I love to write about beauty, things I have seen or imagined.
That is it then? No but you said 25 words or less.
That was to get you to focus.... you really needed to focus.
You were dancing around the topic and I have seen you ....dance, you can't dance stick
to what you love. Writing,WRITING, WRITE!!
Yes sir I will.
So I ask you - What do you love?
What do you love to do? I didn't know what to say. I did not have "the" answer.
What do you love to do? I liked running and swimming and biking. I liked being in shape.
You did not answer the question. I can't sing on key, er often, but I love music. I see beauty every day in everything. How does that answer the question? It doesn't, I guess.
I like watching basketball, volleyball,soccer and especially hockey, and football too both CFL and NFL.
That is your answer, you play all those sports? Well? No I didn't play hockey well, I can't skate, but I was great at shinny or ball hockey. I never played football except flag football. I played soccer well and coached alot of volleyball trying to give kids a chance to discover what if they are passionate about volleyball. I never got a chance to learn much about basketball - NBA Basketball( Booo strike) I was too short, too slow, you can't get any points if you are not allowed to touch the ball; let alone, shoot the ball. The one playoff I remember from Grade 7 that I actually got to play, as one, no two of the starters got hurt and we only had a team of 8 and the other sub, fouled out.
I was able to go in and play and I scored the tying points 13 - 13 and it went to overtime. I guess we won and then we won again, but then we lost, I did not get to play again, or if I did it didn't matter at that point, I scored a foul shot that tied the game, I also scored a 3 pointer. I did not love the grade 7 basketball experience, others played it much better. I am talking grade 7 in a small BC elementary school, c'mon, there were athletes but no basketball players. Track and field yes (but not for me) although I did look at javelin once! Thanks Teresa!
Okay, Okay, what do you love 25 words or less. I love language, the use of language, how it can, make others feel, make me feel. The sounds the meaning all words accepted. Spoken or Read. Rhythms. Love.
Why? Any language can do it you do not have to be a super star basketball player to be able to write or read or recite or be poetic with or without rhyme.
Back to beauty? I love to write about beauty, things I have seen or imagined.
That is it then? No but you said 25 words or less.
That was to get you to focus.... you really needed to focus.
You were dancing around the topic and I have seen you ....dance, you can't dance stick
to what you love. Writing,WRITING, WRITE!!
Yes sir I will.
So I ask you - What do you love?
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Have you ever....
Dreamed. I mean really dreamed, not the type of manic dream where you win a 30 million dollar jackpot and then you win a 50 million dollar jackpot. No it has not happened to me either yet. I don't mean bipolar manic. Although there are similarities. Back to dreaming, about what it would be like to enjoy a bike ride, or a walk with your lover; and every sense you have, gives you messages about that ride or walk. Your hair actually moves when you imagine the wind. You feel the seat of the bike uncomfortable because of how long you have been riding. Your ears hear the bike chains, and vehicle, animal and nature's sounds around you. On the walk you feel the frequency of your lover's voice, you feel the gentle pressure and security of holding hands with them. You notice the fragrance, your favorite. The look from their eyes, tells you their mind is no where else but with you. Again the warmth of the sunshine, goes beyond skin deep, just as the depth of the relationship is beyond the superficial.
Have you ever had that happen? Beyond a daydream. Beyond your reality. Nope all is possible in your imagination. Then take a pen and paper and write the experience and description down, when you see it "happen" slow it down... how does the jaw move of the person talking, what does their hair do in the wind, was that a seagull, a crow or an eagle flying way over head.... dream... imagine... write... author your life to capture the essence that is joy, which can be shared. Day - dream, believe, follow and the words you write will make sure you have something to come back to...... the start, Have you ever?
Have you ever had that happen? Beyond a daydream. Beyond your reality. Nope all is possible in your imagination. Then take a pen and paper and write the experience and description down, when you see it "happen" slow it down... how does the jaw move of the person talking, what does their hair do in the wind, was that a seagull, a crow or an eagle flying way over head.... dream... imagine... write... author your life to capture the essence that is joy, which can be shared. Day - dream, believe, follow and the words you write will make sure you have something to come back to...... the start, Have you ever?
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Why I like words.... writing and reading and adventure.
I could write, Tonight I took my dog out for it's pee break and it found a skunk instead.
I could say the same thing this way.
Tikka and I went out for a quick break, me from my NaNoWriMo writing and her for a pee break. She was acting quite frantic and I thought it was that she was looking for the best spot to mark. Really she was tying to locate what she smelled all over the ground. She went around the corner, as she was on the long leash. There was growling and hissing and then silence, I came around the corner to see a white and black skunk hissing out of the bush and dog was still staring at it. I pulled the leash but it was already too late. Before I had rounded the corner the startled skunk had sprayed the offending nose of the offending dog. My tri-color fox terrier had a 4th color - skunk oil. Several baths, with her Christmas present (pet shampoo) and a good toweling down, did little to release the oily odor, sigh, my life and house stink right now.... when the smell goes, my life will be once again a bed of roses, watching out for those thorns too! Until then, she is drying her face and fur off by moving up and down the couch, trying rearrange her fur or buff it to a glossy shine. The smell is, not as bad as it could have been may it be out of my house and off my dog in a few days......please, prayerfully. Cinnamon oil, vinegar, baking soda and more dog washing and hair trimming are in our future and I am not clairvoyant. See?
Either works but one allows you to use your senses the other just makes sense.
I could say the same thing this way.
Tikka and I went out for a quick break, me from my NaNoWriMo writing and her for a pee break. She was acting quite frantic and I thought it was that she was looking for the best spot to mark. Really she was tying to locate what she smelled all over the ground. She went around the corner, as she was on the long leash. There was growling and hissing and then silence, I came around the corner to see a white and black skunk hissing out of the bush and dog was still staring at it. I pulled the leash but it was already too late. Before I had rounded the corner the startled skunk had sprayed the offending nose of the offending dog. My tri-color fox terrier had a 4th color - skunk oil. Several baths, with her Christmas present (pet shampoo) and a good toweling down, did little to release the oily odor, sigh, my life and house stink right now.... when the smell goes, my life will be once again a bed of roses, watching out for those thorns too! Until then, she is drying her face and fur off by moving up and down the couch, trying rearrange her fur or buff it to a glossy shine. The smell is, not as bad as it could have been may it be out of my house and off my dog in a few days......please, prayerfully. Cinnamon oil, vinegar, baking soda and more dog washing and hair trimming are in our future and I am not clairvoyant. See?
Either works but one allows you to use your senses the other just makes sense.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
You're beautiful
"Beauty just is."
I have an 80's wooden plaque with a picture of an ocean somewhere and waves crashing on the rocks, written on the sky in the photo is the quote, "Beauty just is." I believe it. So should you. Whoever you are. I could pick apart the picture. But I won't. The quote was given credit to anonymous. Deservedly so. Anyone anywhere at anytime can recognize beauty. There is lacquer over it to protect it. The lacquer makes it shine. I find that part ironic, protecting the beauty from spills, unkind graffiti, from the ugly thing that might happen to it.
That might mar the beauty. It is not an easily recognizable coastline, not a celebrity coastline or a model coastline or a physically outstanding coastline, no archways of rocks or large rocks that have stood the test of time and erosion and wind and well, pollution. "Beauty just is" so accept your beauty. I am not talking to your cat or my dog, the aquarium or the stable full of horses, all those animals do not measure life in terms of beauty, only we, humans do. Animals do not judge anything on the basis of beauty, smell maybe, not necessarily good smells but strong smells, even odors.
Only we humans; also decry, put down, use the word ugly and write each other off for not being beautiful.
But "beauty just is", beauty just is. Period. If you are talking about a piece d'art and you are going to shell out cash, make sure you buy something significantly important to you and beautiful. As a another human being. You have not the right or responsibility to say that someone is not beautiful. I do not think there is one person with the wisdom, alive to recognize what makes each of us beautiful. I was a coach and we learned to teach skills part-whole method or whole-part method. If you read into it a little, you either break a skill down to its' simplest part and reassemble it to a more successful WHOLE or you complete the whole skill and only correct the PARTS which are not up to snuff. Beauty just is, no parts, no assembly required, accept it, accept one another.
I know there are those that already get it. I don't want them to read this. They don't need to. I want the bully to read this, out loud. I want the spouse whose greatest entertainment is how embarrassed a spouse can be made to feel in front of others, by comments on physicality that are made with no remorse, followed by JUST JOKING. Beauty JUST IS. You might not get it, yet. Keep rolling it thru your mind, a beautiful surprise awaits you. Meditate on it. Meditate on not the author of the quote, he is anonymous, but the Creator of beauty is not, recognize how much beauty you have missed your whole life, you can change, just as beauty is, you'll figure it out. I know I am naive, so don't let your self down, surprise me. Be surprised, as this revelation once understood, will change your perspective on life, after all you're beautiful too.
I have an 80's wooden plaque with a picture of an ocean somewhere and waves crashing on the rocks, written on the sky in the photo is the quote, "Beauty just is." I believe it. So should you. Whoever you are. I could pick apart the picture. But I won't. The quote was given credit to anonymous. Deservedly so. Anyone anywhere at anytime can recognize beauty. There is lacquer over it to protect it. The lacquer makes it shine. I find that part ironic, protecting the beauty from spills, unkind graffiti, from the ugly thing that might happen to it.
That might mar the beauty. It is not an easily recognizable coastline, not a celebrity coastline or a model coastline or a physically outstanding coastline, no archways of rocks or large rocks that have stood the test of time and erosion and wind and well, pollution. "Beauty just is" so accept your beauty. I am not talking to your cat or my dog, the aquarium or the stable full of horses, all those animals do not measure life in terms of beauty, only we, humans do. Animals do not judge anything on the basis of beauty, smell maybe, not necessarily good smells but strong smells, even odors.
Only we humans; also decry, put down, use the word ugly and write each other off for not being beautiful.
But "beauty just is", beauty just is. Period. If you are talking about a piece d'art and you are going to shell out cash, make sure you buy something significantly important to you and beautiful. As a another human being. You have not the right or responsibility to say that someone is not beautiful. I do not think there is one person with the wisdom, alive to recognize what makes each of us beautiful. I was a coach and we learned to teach skills part-whole method or whole-part method. If you read into it a little, you either break a skill down to its' simplest part and reassemble it to a more successful WHOLE or you complete the whole skill and only correct the PARTS which are not up to snuff. Beauty just is, no parts, no assembly required, accept it, accept one another.
I know there are those that already get it. I don't want them to read this. They don't need to. I want the bully to read this, out loud. I want the spouse whose greatest entertainment is how embarrassed a spouse can be made to feel in front of others, by comments on physicality that are made with no remorse, followed by JUST JOKING. Beauty JUST IS. You might not get it, yet. Keep rolling it thru your mind, a beautiful surprise awaits you. Meditate on it. Meditate on not the author of the quote, he is anonymous, but the Creator of beauty is not, recognize how much beauty you have missed your whole life, you can change, just as beauty is, you'll figure it out. I know I am naive, so don't let your self down, surprise me. Be surprised, as this revelation once understood, will change your perspective on life, after all you're beautiful too.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Fall and falling
Shame on me. I did not move to help her. I was at Starbucks, with my computer, it was on Oak Street. I saw her come into the store. She moved quickly and purposefully to the bathroom. When she came out she went in line, bought a newspaper and her tea or coffee. She was in a rush, I could see it in the way she moved. I do not know her name or I might use it (only her first name). I saw her look both ways, and then step around the first car parked on the corner on her way to hers, it turned out to be the third one down.
These streets here are narrower and only one car can travel at a time as, they use both sides for parking. She went to step around and I think she stepped on her own heel, because the next thing I saw was the bottom of her shoes, the souls stared right at me, I was the only one who saw. A few moments later she got up and did not look around but immediately went to her car - ashamed? embarrassed? hurt?; I will never know as I did not go out to find out, to offer her a hand, to buy her a replacement coffee.
I failed her. She went and sat down in her car. It was a long two minutes before she started the car and carefully drove into the lane from her parking spot. She still had her newspaper, but I think her self-esteem poured out of her, just like the hot liquid did from her cup. She broke her fall somehow, probably used her hands and discarded the cup which then splashed the hot contents to the pavement, where her pride hit hard.
I could not see if she was hurt, she moved to her car quick enough. I did not see any blood, not that she would have turned this way or that but made a beeline for her car. To be comforted by the shelter of her car. Maybe she thought people would laugh or point, if she looked around. She still had her newspaper and after a couple of minutes to compose herself, she drove off. Injured somehow I am sure, after all she fell, it hurt and she was alone.
I would act differently, if it happened again; I would try to get to her to pick her up, failing that, I would pick up her newspaper and shattered cup, failing that, I would bring napkins to let her sponge off, catch blood or tears if they were shed, failing that I would make sure she was okay to drive and offer to replace her coffee, failing that, maybe invite her to come back in and sit down, for just a moment, failing all of that: is exactly what I did.
I do not know who she was, but I want to say I am sorry for thinking about my computer sitting vulnerable in a public place when she lay vulnerable in a public thoroughfare. It could have been worse.
But it was bad enough.
These streets here are narrower and only one car can travel at a time as, they use both sides for parking. She went to step around and I think she stepped on her own heel, because the next thing I saw was the bottom of her shoes, the souls stared right at me, I was the only one who saw. A few moments later she got up and did not look around but immediately went to her car - ashamed? embarrassed? hurt?; I will never know as I did not go out to find out, to offer her a hand, to buy her a replacement coffee.
I failed her. She went and sat down in her car. It was a long two minutes before she started the car and carefully drove into the lane from her parking spot. She still had her newspaper, but I think her self-esteem poured out of her, just like the hot liquid did from her cup. She broke her fall somehow, probably used her hands and discarded the cup which then splashed the hot contents to the pavement, where her pride hit hard.
I could not see if she was hurt, she moved to her car quick enough. I did not see any blood, not that she would have turned this way or that but made a beeline for her car. To be comforted by the shelter of her car. Maybe she thought people would laugh or point, if she looked around. She still had her newspaper and after a couple of minutes to compose herself, she drove off. Injured somehow I am sure, after all she fell, it hurt and she was alone.
I would act differently, if it happened again; I would try to get to her to pick her up, failing that, I would pick up her newspaper and shattered cup, failing that, I would bring napkins to let her sponge off, catch blood or tears if they were shed, failing that I would make sure she was okay to drive and offer to replace her coffee, failing that, maybe invite her to come back in and sit down, for just a moment, failing all of that: is exactly what I did.
I do not know who she was, but I want to say I am sorry for thinking about my computer sitting vulnerable in a public place when she lay vulnerable in a public thoroughfare. It could have been worse.
But it was bad enough.
Monday, October 31, 2011
What I said at Alex and Taelor's Wedding
I promise by the end to give a “Dumb” quote too.
Inside of me resides a poet,
By the rhythm and rhymes,
Listen well , you will surely know it.
All of you here are invited guests,
Alex and Taelor cherish this day,
The start of one of life’s big tests.
Marriage!
Imagine with me, IF, you will, each of
You in turn, could stand where I am,
And speak, wouldn’t that be a peach.
The wisdom that would pour out,
On this celebration, would enrich
This life-stage, I have no doubt!
August 27, 2011.
Will always mark the day,
When these two singles become one couple:
Before God; for life’s-work; and music to play.
Friends and family, together, become
communities of valued
memories,
Of time, before this day and then some.
Love, joy, peace, patience to name only four,
Goodness, kindness, gentleness, self-control
Active words woven that encourage more.
To know, each, Alex and Taelor is the others’ companion,
Sharing experiences, building on strength and love,
In the little and big things, that tie together this union.
Alex and Taelor
It has been said there are only two things in life;Time and money,
And if you have much of one; you do not have much of the
other.
The exchange rate might look like this:
Seconds are to quarters, Minutes are 2- $10 bills and hours
a handful
of $100 dollar bills, so don’t experience life together
cheaply.
Empty your hour glasses, your watches, your clocks and any
digital time pieces;
For one another.
Time passes and is marked by each days the certain sunrise and succeeding sunset.
Money floats on the ebb and flow of employment but not tied only
to, hard work or working hard but
working smart too.
You two are about to, embark on one of life’s biggest tests;
some call it a journey; some a quest.
MARRIAGE.
The currency is love.
The exchange rate is individually mysterious,
Love is yours to give and it is yours to receive;
unconditionally.
Each 24 hour day is another opportunity to both give and
receive love, unconditionally.
Your goal is to find a balance, to balance the little and big
things, this goal is to be accomplished, each Day. Balanced to 0,
zero, nil, at the end of day when the moon takes the task of lighting the way.
Hit the” refresh” button, just before you drift off to
sleep.
Wake up to a new day, in the morning air; that may be warm
or cool or brisk!
You have each other to, share in the mundane, the
adventurous or risk.
We here are your invited guests, friends and family,
We are a community to
draw on, our experiences;
Witnesses to, share your joys with, starting with today.
AUGUST 27, 2011 is THAT day, for both of you; it is one of
your first dreams to come true.
More dreams, that you will have, a lifetime together, to
imagine, to enjoy.
Here is that “Dumb” quote from Richard Dumb; Taelor and Alex “Don’t’ follow
your dreams, chase them!”
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Deer ... in the headlights.....
The voice I heard on iTunes, was beautiful. A professional. The control, the tonal quality (although it was a "mastered" recording) was crystal clear. She sang softly with passion, making it easy for me to believe what she believed. The passion, prompted the audience, to sing along and be her back-up vocals, they were for a moment and forever a community of one voice. The way it was always meant to be. With passion. I want to approach my passion as a professional, that is - daily. Each day I need a community - all the different directions I am pulled; work, father, husband, lover, cook, best friend, dog-walker, hobbyist to come together behind the writer in me and together spread words all over the page till they are all spent. They need to bring the things they see and taste and experience find a valid place in my writing. The story can weave it 's way though to the reader and move the reader, or not. I would be disappointed in my self if someone reading any of my writing - after reading would stare at the computer like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, unmoved, unable to break the trance. So on that note....
I was crossing the road, after dark. My dog pulled to get off the 5 lanes of asphalt on to the grass. The sweet smelling grass on the far side. I stopped in the middle, the suicide lane, they call it. Waiting for traffic to pass and make it safe to cross. I looked down at my feet, my breath visible and being torn away from me by the speed and numbers of the cars, trucks and vehicles going by, oblivious that there was a man and his dog, right outside their windows, standing still. I looked down at the asphalt and seeing my dog, unsure, what to do except keep an eye on traffic now going both ways; north and south past us; a metal and plastic and rubber stream, whipping up the wind. I was still looking down when I noticed a familiar soft flower, moving across the hard ground, still looking soft while losing a few petals. The vehicle draft, carried and tumbled the rose, the pink rose in my direction.
I stood transfixed as this pretty blossom tumbled toward me, again scattering a few petals; to the winds of traffic, hoping to appease the uncontrollable current of streaming traffic. I bent to pick it up. I rescued it. The traffic had all passed. I looked to the west and up and down that side of the road and saw no one. I turned around to face east and saw a female on the side of the road where I had just been moments ago. She was looking at me as I was looking at her. No, wait she was looking at the rose in my hand. She did not move. She did not speak. She just stared. She stepped out into the road, to walk in my direction, she stopped in the middle as she knew, she would not make it to the middle or back to the curb unless she hurried, she turned and dropped her soft knitted pink gloves to the ground like petals of the rose I shielded from the next flight of cars and trucks. They ignored both my dog and I and the woman on the side of the road I had just come from. She stood transfixed, staring into the headlights.
So much so she did not notice me standing with my dog beside her on the sidewalk, until the traffic had passed. I handed her the pink gloves, she looked at my hands and not my face. She saw the rose as she accepted the gloves. She looked down at the dog with out reaching to pet her. There was no eye contact, there was a sound that made me think she said "thank you." She stuffed the gloves into the pocket of her jacket. Her dirty toque was plopped on her head. She held out her hand.
I said, "Is this rose yours?" She opened her hand to accept it. I said "watch out for the thorns". I heard a sound from her that was lost in the next wave traffic that washed the night air over us. She firmly grasped the rose and stem, ignoring the thorns or what I said. She did not look at me, but past me to a man watching, waiting further up the sidewalk. It was only then did I notice the few blood droplets splashing to the walkway below. I looked up in time to see catch her eyes staring into mine. It was a vacant stare, yet there was a hardness to it and more, but what? In that moment everything froze, and I stood staring like a deer in the headlights - of her stare and then it was gone as she brushed past me, to go to the man, on the sidewalk in front of the motel. The sign flashed the time, the temperature and vacancy.
As they turned into the driveway, he had a firm grip on her elbow and she turned her head in my direction,
I recognized there was another rose, needing rescuing. I stared after them, once they were out of sight, I turned to cross the road, to the sweet grass that waited for my dog. There was no traffic, I do not know how long I stood there. The dog was now sitting looking up at me, hoping to go. We went, across the 5 lanes of asphalt, I was only able to rescue 1 rose that night, as for the other one, I hoped that she had more life in her and would not wilt, or dry out or cross the road without looking both ways. I could sense that there were more dangerous things in her life then crossing roads with out looking both ways.
I knew that shortly I would have to go back across the boulevard. I would go home to a warm place. I could not help but see her face every time I closed my eyes. I felt I had let her down, I had saved only one rose. My dog pulled on the leash, as we crossed the road, reaching the sidewalk. I turned to go away from the motel, toward my home, a bed warmly waiting. The dog stopped me in my tracks, as she pulled toward the motel, it was her turn to rescue a rose, she was a girl dog after-all, pink leash taut as she shouldered into the direction... dragging me to where the thorns drew blood, and the sign flashed vacancy. What was I to do..... now.
I was crossing the road, after dark. My dog pulled to get off the 5 lanes of asphalt on to the grass. The sweet smelling grass on the far side. I stopped in the middle, the suicide lane, they call it. Waiting for traffic to pass and make it safe to cross. I looked down at my feet, my breath visible and being torn away from me by the speed and numbers of the cars, trucks and vehicles going by, oblivious that there was a man and his dog, right outside their windows, standing still. I looked down at the asphalt and seeing my dog, unsure, what to do except keep an eye on traffic now going both ways; north and south past us; a metal and plastic and rubber stream, whipping up the wind. I was still looking down when I noticed a familiar soft flower, moving across the hard ground, still looking soft while losing a few petals. The vehicle draft, carried and tumbled the rose, the pink rose in my direction.
I stood transfixed as this pretty blossom tumbled toward me, again scattering a few petals; to the winds of traffic, hoping to appease the uncontrollable current of streaming traffic. I bent to pick it up. I rescued it. The traffic had all passed. I looked to the west and up and down that side of the road and saw no one. I turned around to face east and saw a female on the side of the road where I had just been moments ago. She was looking at me as I was looking at her. No, wait she was looking at the rose in my hand. She did not move. She did not speak. She just stared. She stepped out into the road, to walk in my direction, she stopped in the middle as she knew, she would not make it to the middle or back to the curb unless she hurried, she turned and dropped her soft knitted pink gloves to the ground like petals of the rose I shielded from the next flight of cars and trucks. They ignored both my dog and I and the woman on the side of the road I had just come from. She stood transfixed, staring into the headlights.
So much so she did not notice me standing with my dog beside her on the sidewalk, until the traffic had passed. I handed her the pink gloves, she looked at my hands and not my face. She saw the rose as she accepted the gloves. She looked down at the dog with out reaching to pet her. There was no eye contact, there was a sound that made me think she said "thank you." She stuffed the gloves into the pocket of her jacket. Her dirty toque was plopped on her head. She held out her hand.
I said, "Is this rose yours?" She opened her hand to accept it. I said "watch out for the thorns". I heard a sound from her that was lost in the next wave traffic that washed the night air over us. She firmly grasped the rose and stem, ignoring the thorns or what I said. She did not look at me, but past me to a man watching, waiting further up the sidewalk. It was only then did I notice the few blood droplets splashing to the walkway below. I looked up in time to see catch her eyes staring into mine. It was a vacant stare, yet there was a hardness to it and more, but what? In that moment everything froze, and I stood staring like a deer in the headlights - of her stare and then it was gone as she brushed past me, to go to the man, on the sidewalk in front of the motel. The sign flashed the time, the temperature and vacancy.
As they turned into the driveway, he had a firm grip on her elbow and she turned her head in my direction,
I recognized there was another rose, needing rescuing. I stared after them, once they were out of sight, I turned to cross the road, to the sweet grass that waited for my dog. There was no traffic, I do not know how long I stood there. The dog was now sitting looking up at me, hoping to go. We went, across the 5 lanes of asphalt, I was only able to rescue 1 rose that night, as for the other one, I hoped that she had more life in her and would not wilt, or dry out or cross the road without looking both ways. I could sense that there were more dangerous things in her life then crossing roads with out looking both ways.
I knew that shortly I would have to go back across the boulevard. I would go home to a warm place. I could not help but see her face every time I closed my eyes. I felt I had let her down, I had saved only one rose. My dog pulled on the leash, as we crossed the road, reaching the sidewalk. I turned to go away from the motel, toward my home, a bed warmly waiting. The dog stopped me in my tracks, as she pulled toward the motel, it was her turn to rescue a rose, she was a girl dog after-all, pink leash taut as she shouldered into the direction... dragging me to where the thorns drew blood, and the sign flashed vacancy. What was I to do..... now.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Satellite Missed Me
Well this will be, the second one in recent times.
An, Object Dropped Out Of Diminishing Orbit (ODOODO).
I got news for; you and you, and me too.
It missed me. Missed you too, otherwise WE
might see IT on You Tube.
It is not, that I might get fame if I became a flaming pile of flesh and satellite shame.
Oh quite a different tangent, wrong place wrong time, does the punishment fit the crime?
Am I being clear or are you lost, playing catch with a satellite, and my life I lost?
There I said it, ROSAT said "catch me I am falling", I said "what is taking so long...?"
"Why, are you stalling?"
Let us all not forget, the gravity of the situation, you will not just fall but plummet.
I will not ignore the situation, or let a space agency bring it, down to DUMB IT.
Hey I want to be a winner, I want to get a souvenir!
Why not a 1.6 metric ton gigantic heat resistant mirror?
Maybe it is all a dream, in my head as I sleep, as a result of sipping potion?
Or as the odds would have, we will only meet, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.
I know I sound like it is in the past, but we are waiting for you, ROSAT to blast,
In through the sphere at most, height, with a flash, and
with out a sound, save for the rushing of wind by and amongst your fewer parts,
until you come home to Earth where your life did start.
You can finally rest, you have surpassed the test, just remember, to miss all life
in your entrance, small or grand, (like you have a choice). When will they ever
learn, these learned men of science, that the sacrifice of 1 mistaken life, takes
away from the knowledge they gain, if along the way there was anguish and pain,
if it is heard as a whistling and a deadening thud. It is not the person who hears the sound
that needs to fear; tis the one that hears none.
Then somewhere shrill and near a siren will sound all too familiar: - odoodo; odoodo;
ODOODO....ODOODO.............................................
An, Object Dropped Out Of Diminishing Orbit (ODOODO).
I got news for; you and you, and me too.
It missed me. Missed you too, otherwise WE
might see IT on You Tube.
It is not, that I might get fame if I became a flaming pile of flesh and satellite shame.
Oh quite a different tangent, wrong place wrong time, does the punishment fit the crime?
Am I being clear or are you lost, playing catch with a satellite, and my life I lost?
There I said it, ROSAT said "catch me I am falling", I said "what is taking so long...?"
"Why, are you stalling?"
Let us all not forget, the gravity of the situation, you will not just fall but plummet.
I will not ignore the situation, or let a space agency bring it, down to DUMB IT.
Hey I want to be a winner, I want to get a souvenir!
Why not a 1.6 metric ton gigantic heat resistant mirror?
Maybe it is all a dream, in my head as I sleep, as a result of sipping potion?
Or as the odds would have, we will only meet, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.
I know I sound like it is in the past, but we are waiting for you, ROSAT to blast,
In through the sphere at most, height, with a flash, and
with out a sound, save for the rushing of wind by and amongst your fewer parts,
until you come home to Earth where your life did start.
You can finally rest, you have surpassed the test, just remember, to miss all life
in your entrance, small or grand, (like you have a choice). When will they ever
learn, these learned men of science, that the sacrifice of 1 mistaken life, takes
away from the knowledge they gain, if along the way there was anguish and pain,
if it is heard as a whistling and a deadening thud. It is not the person who hears the sound
that needs to fear; tis the one that hears none.
Then somewhere shrill and near a siren will sound all too familiar: - odoodo; odoodo;
ODOODO....ODOODO.............................................
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Dealing with My Demons
For me, it did not start when some Grade 1 school teacher verbally tore down my hand-printing, no it was much later. Nor was it when my grade 3 teacher described my hand-writing attempts a "messy, more practice needed." I would have to wait for high-school to be at war.
I joined cadets the year I went to Junior High-school (grades 8 -9). I got busy between school, homework, chores, Cadet Nights (Wednesdays) and field exercises ( some weekends). The mock warfare and military discipline, in no way prepared me for the onslaught that would start in a few years. Once I turned 16, I joined the militia, too.
It happened in grade 11. Grade 11 was already a challenging year, Physics was beyond me, but I struggled through. Socials 11 was a fact-filled, fast paced and memorization was at a premium. How else do you get 898 out of 1500 and on the bell curve come out with a B +. I think Jenny G got 1283. I had just come off of a French 10 failure in June. Then I walked into my grade 11 English class just 2 months later, in September, with Mr. D Ross. D stood for Dinky to the student body, Mr Ross was well known for picking a few favorites, and it was for every one else to dread coming to his class.
My demon was about to begin to act out.
I have difficulty remembering the details. However there were the odd F's and E's and D's and maybe a C-. The comments were acidic. They attacked my imagination. On papers that were subjective, one's where you voiced your opinion; I often had the word FAIL written across my paper. Mr. Ross, had decided I was not worthy of Fairness. There was an occasional C with the word "passable" but I was still failing.
My concerned parents, took action. My parents even helped me write an assignment, to see what grade I would get. I got back a "D". They called the school office and requested a meeting with myself , Mr. Ross, the principal and my dad.
The principal met with my dad, the principal then met with my dad and me; lastly the principal, Mr. Coffin met with all three of us, in his office, behind closed doors.
The meeting was not long. There were some terse exchanges. The tension was palpable. I don't even remember if I was asked to leave at one point. I know that Mr. Coffin agreed with my dad's opinion; that Mr. Ross had been overly unfair in grading my work. You see, my dad had provided copies for Mr. Coffin, of all the marked papers, to review in advance.
The result of the meeting was positive, there would be changes to my grades reflecting successful completion, and I would be getting a C. Sadly, the damage had been done. To this day I can not escape this Demon. Between high-school and early in my military career I compiled a small body of work; then one day in a fit of self-pity, decided it was unsatisfactory and only worthy of, being thrown out. Epic poetry and all, gone.
Every time I want to write, I stumble. Some times, when I plan to write, I hesitate long enough for the inspiration to dissipate. Each time I drag my pen across the paper, I expect to receive a red "F".
The demon is still there. Following, everything I have written is; The Threat of mockery, negative commentary, and an unfair review.
Much time has passed, much time wasted, with OUT writing. I was married, my wife and I had 3 children. I left the Army to land on multiple different employment experiences, no career found in any of them. I joined the Royal Bank as a trainee and became a manager of customer service, moved my family to Chase, BC; until the branch manager, who had his favorites, decided that I could be laid off with 4,000 others in the Royal family that year. I did not settle on a career again until 1998. My demon was on the move again.
I joined Canada Revenue Agency (CRA), my youngest son was diagnosed with a chronic illness and we moved to the lower mainland, the GVRD, which Surrey is the largest part of. I met my new team leader, who picked a few favorites and it, was for everyone else on the team, to dread coming into work each day. Even now, years later, I have difficulty submitting work for approval, in case it is not good enough except to be rejected.
My demon was back, the attack was more insidious, and more devastating as that path had been walked twice before. My demon does not want to win, and then it would be out of a job, my demon just wants me to know fear, IT waits for me to think about writing words, IT waits for me to pick up a pen or pencil or sit in front of a keyboard
My demon waits as, IT can only stare me in the eye from a blank page or from a form of technology like a computer screen. I am not angry or afraid and I fight. I fight back, weakly. I am dealing with this demon the only way I know how; I write words. If .... no, when I succeed, it will be my demon that will get the "F".
I joined cadets the year I went to Junior High-school (grades 8 -9). I got busy between school, homework, chores, Cadet Nights (Wednesdays) and field exercises ( some weekends). The mock warfare and military discipline, in no way prepared me for the onslaught that would start in a few years. Once I turned 16, I joined the militia, too.
It happened in grade 11. Grade 11 was already a challenging year, Physics was beyond me, but I struggled through. Socials 11 was a fact-filled, fast paced and memorization was at a premium. How else do you get 898 out of 1500 and on the bell curve come out with a B +. I think Jenny G got 1283. I had just come off of a French 10 failure in June. Then I walked into my grade 11 English class just 2 months later, in September, with Mr. D Ross. D stood for Dinky to the student body, Mr Ross was well known for picking a few favorites, and it was for every one else to dread coming to his class.
My demon was about to begin to act out.
I have difficulty remembering the details. However there were the odd F's and E's and D's and maybe a C-. The comments were acidic. They attacked my imagination. On papers that were subjective, one's where you voiced your opinion; I often had the word FAIL written across my paper. Mr. Ross, had decided I was not worthy of Fairness. There was an occasional C with the word "passable" but I was still failing.
My concerned parents, took action. My parents even helped me write an assignment, to see what grade I would get. I got back a "D". They called the school office and requested a meeting with myself , Mr. Ross, the principal and my dad.
The principal met with my dad, the principal then met with my dad and me; lastly the principal, Mr. Coffin met with all three of us, in his office, behind closed doors.
The meeting was not long. There were some terse exchanges. The tension was palpable. I don't even remember if I was asked to leave at one point. I know that Mr. Coffin agreed with my dad's opinion; that Mr. Ross had been overly unfair in grading my work. You see, my dad had provided copies for Mr. Coffin, of all the marked papers, to review in advance.
The result of the meeting was positive, there would be changes to my grades reflecting successful completion, and I would be getting a C. Sadly, the damage had been done. To this day I can not escape this Demon. Between high-school and early in my military career I compiled a small body of work; then one day in a fit of self-pity, decided it was unsatisfactory and only worthy of, being thrown out. Epic poetry and all, gone.
Every time I want to write, I stumble. Some times, when I plan to write, I hesitate long enough for the inspiration to dissipate. Each time I drag my pen across the paper, I expect to receive a red "F".
The demon is still there. Following, everything I have written is; The Threat of mockery, negative commentary, and an unfair review.
Much time has passed, much time wasted, with OUT writing. I was married, my wife and I had 3 children. I left the Army to land on multiple different employment experiences, no career found in any of them. I joined the Royal Bank as a trainee and became a manager of customer service, moved my family to Chase, BC; until the branch manager, who had his favorites, decided that I could be laid off with 4,000 others in the Royal family that year. I did not settle on a career again until 1998. My demon was on the move again.
I joined Canada Revenue Agency (CRA), my youngest son was diagnosed with a chronic illness and we moved to the lower mainland, the GVRD, which Surrey is the largest part of. I met my new team leader, who picked a few favorites and it, was for everyone else on the team, to dread coming into work each day. Even now, years later, I have difficulty submitting work for approval, in case it is not good enough except to be rejected.
My demon was back, the attack was more insidious, and more devastating as that path had been walked twice before. My demon does not want to win, and then it would be out of a job, my demon just wants me to know fear, IT waits for me to think about writing words, IT waits for me to pick up a pen or pencil or sit in front of a keyboard
My demon waits as, IT can only stare me in the eye from a blank page or from a form of technology like a computer screen. I am not angry or afraid and I fight. I fight back, weakly. I am dealing with this demon the only way I know how; I write words. If .... no, when I succeed, it will be my demon that will get the "F".
Saturday, September 10, 2011
10 years ago
I and my family have lived in this community for just over 10 years. We moved from a more rural town to here. That was July 2001. We used the time to get familiar with the big city, get our three kids registered for school. My wife and I were getting used to the new job locations but for the same company. Then September 11th happened.
I don't know if it was because of the many governments reactions. I don't know if it was the conspiracy theorist inside me. I don't know if it was the fact that I had a young family that I was trying help understand what had just happened. I was not afraid, that it would happen out west, no it was more insidious than that. I began to wonder when IT would happen again. And again.
I began to read news headlines on the TV. Watching morning news, evening news and late evening news, for more than just the sports wrap-ups. I began going to my favorite web news site. Several times in a few short hours. I would check other news websites when my Canadian one let me down by not, seeming to update theirs fast enough. This went on for years. I lost sleep. I was not alone in this.
New Yorkers are changed, maybe forever. I have heard they are kinder to one another, as well as not trusting those they do not know or recognize from their part of the city, their neighborhood, their street. Do they check the news as often as I did. I did not have the latest phone technologies and over 10 years we all know what a change has occurred; to both accessibility to the world from your hip or the object that when it is not in your hand it is in a back pocket. Thank God, I could not afford to keep up, I would have.
America changed. For me, the sake of the most up to date headline - looking for the one to confirm my suspicions. IT had happened again somewhere else, IT was not stopped, again. Why did God let it all crumble? Surely there had to be an answer by watching more news staying up with all the latest headlines....... or was there any rational thought behind my ongoing disability. I was not able to turn off this thirst for the negative. Time passed.
I am not alone in this. I do not have to watch the news anymore, in fact only in the last 4 months, I have been able to choose to NOT watch the am news or the evening news and I am asleep or in bed (our bedroom does not have a TV); reading or writing or stumbling (those of you that STUMBLE, will know what I am talking about) For the others www.stumbleupon.com.; caution it may be addictive.
As we come to the 10th anniversary, 1 of my boys is married. He has turned out to be a very positive contributor to society. He was the one that came up the stairs and loudly said, "Dad, you have got to see this.", on that September morn, on the west coast. The other two live at home and work and have a life, each. Whatever happened on the East coast that morning has not scarred, the two of them, well not noticeably.
God is as strong as ever in my heart, my mind and He is the lover of my soul. The cost of an "act of terrorism" has gone way beyond the context of the events that day. Do we all see that? I do not know. I am not trying to belittle the towers, nor the many lives impacted; both dead and alive. All of those directly impacted have demonstrated more courage than I thought possible. There is no doubt we are meant to learn something; whether it is, Evil is still Evil, or men make bad choices when they have positions of power, or that we are souls with a body, wanting community, wondering why it takes so long to get to where we are supposed be. God is not just mine, not just a select few, not just for one side or the other; spectrum of faith, or the "other side", not just for those say the right words but act in the wrong spirit. Acts with out love.
What I want to remember and make sure EVERYONE remembers, is that a relationship with anyone takes a lot of effort if you mean it. That LOVE, is more than an emotion, it is a commitment, with no conditions.
The wars that ensued, have cost many more the loved ones, they held dear. May Heaven be their reward and may they wear a crown of glory for their sacrifice. The world has suffered financially, but the greater loss is not just freedom, but to be free without fear, to breath in and out slowly, without fear.
Finding peace, might replace fear for some, finding God might do the same for others. You can do more on this 10th anniversary by showing love to those; the love that has no conditions, to those who you are in community with. The challenge going forward is to expand that community, like those in Gander did, that day. Opening a door; is like opening your heart, especially if it is your home, to someone you do not fully yet know. LOVE EVERYONE. Leave the rest up to God. We are not alone in this.
I don't know if it was because of the many governments reactions. I don't know if it was the conspiracy theorist inside me. I don't know if it was the fact that I had a young family that I was trying help understand what had just happened. I was not afraid, that it would happen out west, no it was more insidious than that. I began to wonder when IT would happen again. And again.
I began to read news headlines on the TV. Watching morning news, evening news and late evening news, for more than just the sports wrap-ups. I began going to my favorite web news site. Several times in a few short hours. I would check other news websites when my Canadian one let me down by not, seeming to update theirs fast enough. This went on for years. I lost sleep. I was not alone in this.
New Yorkers are changed, maybe forever. I have heard they are kinder to one another, as well as not trusting those they do not know or recognize from their part of the city, their neighborhood, their street. Do they check the news as often as I did. I did not have the latest phone technologies and over 10 years we all know what a change has occurred; to both accessibility to the world from your hip or the object that when it is not in your hand it is in a back pocket. Thank God, I could not afford to keep up, I would have.
America changed. For me, the sake of the most up to date headline - looking for the one to confirm my suspicions. IT had happened again somewhere else, IT was not stopped, again. Why did God let it all crumble? Surely there had to be an answer by watching more news staying up with all the latest headlines....... or was there any rational thought behind my ongoing disability. I was not able to turn off this thirst for the negative. Time passed.
I am not alone in this. I do not have to watch the news anymore, in fact only in the last 4 months, I have been able to choose to NOT watch the am news or the evening news and I am asleep or in bed (our bedroom does not have a TV); reading or writing or stumbling (those of you that STUMBLE, will know what I am talking about) For the others www.stumbleupon.com.; caution it may be addictive.
As we come to the 10th anniversary, 1 of my boys is married. He has turned out to be a very positive contributor to society. He was the one that came up the stairs and loudly said, "Dad, you have got to see this.", on that September morn, on the west coast. The other two live at home and work and have a life, each. Whatever happened on the East coast that morning has not scarred, the two of them, well not noticeably.
God is as strong as ever in my heart, my mind and He is the lover of my soul. The cost of an "act of terrorism" has gone way beyond the context of the events that day. Do we all see that? I do not know. I am not trying to belittle the towers, nor the many lives impacted; both dead and alive. All of those directly impacted have demonstrated more courage than I thought possible. There is no doubt we are meant to learn something; whether it is, Evil is still Evil, or men make bad choices when they have positions of power, or that we are souls with a body, wanting community, wondering why it takes so long to get to where we are supposed be. God is not just mine, not just a select few, not just for one side or the other; spectrum of faith, or the "other side", not just for those say the right words but act in the wrong spirit. Acts with out love.
What I want to remember and make sure EVERYONE remembers, is that a relationship with anyone takes a lot of effort if you mean it. That LOVE, is more than an emotion, it is a commitment, with no conditions.
The wars that ensued, have cost many more the loved ones, they held dear. May Heaven be their reward and may they wear a crown of glory for their sacrifice. The world has suffered financially, but the greater loss is not just freedom, but to be free without fear, to breath in and out slowly, without fear.
Finding peace, might replace fear for some, finding God might do the same for others. You can do more on this 10th anniversary by showing love to those; the love that has no conditions, to those who you are in community with. The challenge going forward is to expand that community, like those in Gander did, that day. Opening a door; is like opening your heart, especially if it is your home, to someone you do not fully yet know. LOVE EVERYONE. Leave the rest up to God. We are not alone in this.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie 2007-07-24
I am a writer, said I. I am I said. - A cross between Neil Diamond and Simon & Garfunkel
They are meant to keep the rodent and rat population; unsettled. They were bred for rat chasing and rodent removal. At the time this was drafted we owned two Chinchilla's and a rat. YES, they are her enemy.
So the difficulty begins every movement or noise, whether it is a rodent or not, require some investigation. So up she snaps, whether she is curled in a ball, lying fully on her side or her muzzle extended on the forepaws. Anything can dissuade her to stop lying still.
Noises outside, the dishwasher, people moving from room to room, inside the house; can all demand her attention. A chinchilla bounding swiftly from shelf to shelf, inside their gated cage.
Whether to eat, to drink or just get a better vantage point to stare at us from in such away as to make you wonder, which of us is in the cage.
The title really is one line. An idiomatic expression. It defines, maintaining the status quo.
The tragedy occurs when the status quo in our lives dissuades us varying routines and being made out as a disruption. From being creative, coloring the mundane, accepting defeat. Rather than shaping our lives to reflect our gifts through joy and passion. Let the monotonous, make everyday a black and white televised test pattern. Nothing out of the norm or unexpected; bills to pay, food to eat, chores to chafe us, handcuff us to routine lives and a colorless one at that!
Well it is over. let sleeping dogs lie where they may, I like, Tikka's approach, she only rests and is ready to bolt at the slightest provocation after the next pursuit. I guess this wasn't a Steinbeck moment. No descriptive proof of the capacity to describe what a dog does, the rhythm at rest, the changes in the breathing, the wagging of a tail while fitfully at rest, the noises or movements as she dreams.
I am A WRITER, I cried.
Thanks Neil D.
Thanks Simon and Garfunkel.
for saying through song about a fighter, a boxer, who was lost but not defeated, he may not have tasted victory, his own sweat mixed with his blood and tears, yet he has not lost because he keeps on training, sparring and fighting. Oh he has a schedule and routine, he has discipline. He chooses to be creative within his routine, his gift.
I will keep on writing, writing and writing, .
Since this was originally drafted, much has changed, the chinchilla's and rat have passed on.
We have moved to home which we purchased instead of renting. Tikka is no longer overweight, she recently has had major surgery for the removal of bladder stones, big stones for a 20 lb dog. The vet said so, I held them, all 6 of them - 3 small, 2 medium and 1 large. We are very blessed to still have her. She is almost fully recovered. We are so thankful.
I had a great thought, let it be called "the idea". To write and describe "a dog as it sleeps."
Coincidentally, we have owned dogs before but we have not had a dog for years. So,....
all of a sudden we find our selves being offered a 4 year old overweight wire fox terrier.
I wanted to do a similar exercise as did J Steinbeck in "Grapes of Wrath" the chapter where
the turtle is crossing the road. Our dog Tikka sleeping, her breathing, the texture of her woolly fur in the sunlight, eye movements, sounds and position changes.
However, that is where the fun begins. Once the dog, Tikka does settle down. I could begin to write. IF she would just settle. Maybe some word of history about the breed is required.
They are meant to keep the rodent and rat population; unsettled. They were bred for rat chasing and rodent removal. At the time this was drafted we owned two Chinchilla's and a rat. YES, they are her enemy.
So the difficulty begins every movement or noise, whether it is a rodent or not, require some investigation. So up she snaps, whether she is curled in a ball, lying fully on her side or her muzzle extended on the forepaws. Anything can dissuade her to stop lying still.
Noises outside, the dishwasher, people moving from room to room, inside the house; can all demand her attention. A chinchilla bounding swiftly from shelf to shelf, inside their gated cage.
Whether to eat, to drink or just get a better vantage point to stare at us from in such away as to make you wonder, which of us is in the cage.
The title really is one line. An idiomatic expression. It defines, maintaining the status quo.
The tragedy occurs when the status quo in our lives dissuades us varying routines and being made out as a disruption. From being creative, coloring the mundane, accepting defeat. Rather than shaping our lives to reflect our gifts through joy and passion. Let the monotonous, make everyday a black and white televised test pattern. Nothing out of the norm or unexpected; bills to pay, food to eat, chores to chafe us, handcuff us to routine lives and a colorless one at that!
Well it is over. let sleeping dogs lie where they may, I like, Tikka's approach, she only rests and is ready to bolt at the slightest provocation after the next pursuit. I guess this wasn't a Steinbeck moment. No descriptive proof of the capacity to describe what a dog does, the rhythm at rest, the changes in the breathing, the wagging of a tail while fitfully at rest, the noises or movements as she dreams.
I am A WRITER, I cried.
Thanks Neil D.
Thanks Simon and Garfunkel.
for saying through song about a fighter, a boxer, who was lost but not defeated, he may not have tasted victory, his own sweat mixed with his blood and tears, yet he has not lost because he keeps on training, sparring and fighting. Oh he has a schedule and routine, he has discipline. He chooses to be creative within his routine, his gift.
I will keep on writing, writing and writing, .
Since this was originally drafted, much has changed, the chinchilla's and rat have passed on.
We have moved to home which we purchased instead of renting. Tikka is no longer overweight, she recently has had major surgery for the removal of bladder stones, big stones for a 20 lb dog. The vet said so, I held them, all 6 of them - 3 small, 2 medium and 1 large. We are very blessed to still have her. She is almost fully recovered. We are so thankful.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Funny, why am I not laughing?
So much news,
So much bad news,
If you watch you choose.
You choose to listen, to know,
One side is what most show,
You could just say no!
Just say no, to death, floods and riots,
Each newscaster mimics and parrots,
Each other, to gain the success and fame.
Success and fame, broadcasting some guilt, some shame?
I watch the news, from time to time, concentrated life or a game?
"Gives me things to pray about" I was once told.
I was once told too, it is a waste of time and space; the TV,
Now they are flatter in HD and 3D, and can take up a wall.
So go ahead and watch the news, don't let your life stall.
Don't let your life stall, don't get mad at the news story,
Write a letter to the editor and be part of history.
Be creative, live your life, you can't lose.
You can't lose, by enjoying what you do and doing what you love,
Don't ever forget Who is right beside and right above.
If life has told a joke, funny, why am I not laughing.
Seriously, I am not laughing at anything but myself,
In an overflowing stream of life and not on an empty bookshelf,
For when I can not begin; by laughing at me, I take life too seriously.
So much bad news,
If you watch you choose.
You choose to listen, to know,
One side is what most show,
You could just say no!
Just say no, to death, floods and riots,
Each newscaster mimics and parrots,
Each other, to gain the success and fame.
Success and fame, broadcasting some guilt, some shame?
I watch the news, from time to time, concentrated life or a game?
"Gives me things to pray about" I was once told.
I was once told too, it is a waste of time and space; the TV,
Now they are flatter in HD and 3D, and can take up a wall.
So go ahead and watch the news, don't let your life stall.
Don't let your life stall, don't get mad at the news story,
Write a letter to the editor and be part of history.
Be creative, live your life, you can't lose.
You can't lose, by enjoying what you do and doing what you love,
Don't ever forget Who is right beside and right above.
If life has told a joke, funny, why am I not laughing.
Seriously, I am not laughing at anything but myself,
In an overflowing stream of life and not on an empty bookshelf,
For when I can not begin; by laughing at me, I take life too seriously.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Dad's Day, but you can only have 1.
Father's Day
I am a dad.
I actually had 3 dad's ... at one point.
I have my father-in-law. My dad passed away a few years back.
I have my "step-dad." If I tried to describe why he is my step-dad,
you would end up confused. Well maybe just more confused!
I have 2 son's and a daughter, I am their dad. Faja. Father.
It was easy to blog for mother's day, but not so father's day.
Or is it Mother's Day and Father's Day. I guess it depends whether you have a good one or a bad one. No that can't be right. What if you don't have one at all, maybe you never knew him or what you knew, there was nothing good to know. Or maybe being a dad can be the toughest but most rewarding job, without pay, ever.
Maybe he was your best cheerleader, a constant companion, the bank, a soft shoulder which absorbed your tears, made sure you were okay ever-y-day, or showed you how much he loved your mother. Okay a little too perfect. Did dishes, cooked meals, laughed at your jokes, all your friends thinks he is the coolest dad. Gave a hug when you needed it, gave you space and listened well to not only what you said but what you meant as well. Yup definitely, over the top.
I don't know any dad's like that. Well none that are that way all the time for every kid they have and every kid they meet. Well maybe one but he is known as I am, wait I mean I AM.
Different league.
If a dad does what a dad can to make his child aware; what it takes to contribute positively to society, no matter how you were raised, whether you knew poverty or riches, no matter if your dad was a celebrity or an unknown, Joe Average. If you knew you were loved and knew how to love. Were generous with your stuff. Listened, hugged and laughed when it was good and acceptable. Your dad did his job.
My step-dad has had a bump in the road. There is part of him that is not maintaining the status quo. I never grew up under the same roof with him, I have seen him mostly at his quiet reserved best, once in a while he is not soft-spoken, but never unreasonable. He seems to be doing better, but there is more visits to the doctor, but I care. He is not just my step-dad, he is somebodies dad.
They have known him their whole life long. He is important, to them as well, more so.
He worked hard throughout his life to support and will keep doing so to support my mom .... even if it is puttering in my mom's garden, painting window trims or watching a sunset.
I think my Father in Heaven, God, has put us, in our families with theses dad's to teach us what we need to learn, to be in community, ask for help when we need it, be confident on our own if we don't get it. So I am thankful for the fact that I have had 3 earthly fathers and 1 Heavenly Father.
Love to all of you Daddy's. Papas.
I am a dad.
I actually had 3 dad's ... at one point.
I have my father-in-law. My dad passed away a few years back.
I have my "step-dad." If I tried to describe why he is my step-dad,
you would end up confused. Well maybe just more confused!
I have 2 son's and a daughter, I am their dad. Faja. Father.
It was easy to blog for mother's day, but not so father's day.
Or is it Mother's Day and Father's Day. I guess it depends whether you have a good one or a bad one. No that can't be right. What if you don't have one at all, maybe you never knew him or what you knew, there was nothing good to know. Or maybe being a dad can be the toughest but most rewarding job, without pay, ever.
Maybe he was your best cheerleader, a constant companion, the bank, a soft shoulder which absorbed your tears, made sure you were okay ever-y-day, or showed you how much he loved your mother. Okay a little too perfect. Did dishes, cooked meals, laughed at your jokes, all your friends thinks he is the coolest dad. Gave a hug when you needed it, gave you space and listened well to not only what you said but what you meant as well. Yup definitely, over the top.
I don't know any dad's like that. Well none that are that way all the time for every kid they have and every kid they meet. Well maybe one but he is known as I am, wait I mean I AM.
Different league.
If a dad does what a dad can to make his child aware; what it takes to contribute positively to society, no matter how you were raised, whether you knew poverty or riches, no matter if your dad was a celebrity or an unknown, Joe Average. If you knew you were loved and knew how to love. Were generous with your stuff. Listened, hugged and laughed when it was good and acceptable. Your dad did his job.
My step-dad has had a bump in the road. There is part of him that is not maintaining the status quo. I never grew up under the same roof with him, I have seen him mostly at his quiet reserved best, once in a while he is not soft-spoken, but never unreasonable. He seems to be doing better, but there is more visits to the doctor, but I care. He is not just my step-dad, he is somebodies dad.
They have known him their whole life long. He is important, to them as well, more so.
He worked hard throughout his life to support and will keep doing so to support my mom .... even if it is puttering in my mom's garden, painting window trims or watching a sunset.
I think my Father in Heaven, God, has put us, in our families with theses dad's to teach us what we need to learn, to be in community, ask for help when we need it, be confident on our own if we don't get it. So I am thankful for the fact that I have had 3 earthly fathers and 1 Heavenly Father.
Love to all of you Daddy's. Papas.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
My Faith...My Faith
I stand on a box.
Yet, I am boxed in.
My mind rails at LIFE
for it's unfairness.
My-heart sees-the choi-ces
made-and takes-full
re-spons-i-bil-i-ty.
My tongue wags like some
dog's tail, muscling words
to fit, my excuses.
For failure, for giving up and giving in
without a fight, for all things that are
crowding out that; which will refresh me.
For complicating the simplest of truths.
Even though I am more, than down in dumps,
for when I look UP, I see the underside of deep,
dark depression. Self-pity is the acid that eats away at
the three-ropes-braided anchoring my climb out and
away. My strength to continue; is waning, My will
to succeed has flown, chased by a murder of crows.
My faith..........my faith
IS what remains. It IS the eternal currency,
I have banked my hope in. I wanted to be as
solid as that rejected ...
cornerstone.
Yet my flesh is: soft with age,
filled with weakness,
infected with moral maladies.
I sin.
Yet.... I am forgiven;
I am still loved,
I am still accepted,
simply this TRUTH
has set me free.
Hallelujah Jesus Hallelujah
Yet, I am boxed in.
My mind rails at LIFE
for it's unfairness.
My-heart sees-the choi-ces
made-and takes-full
re-spons-i-bil-i-ty.
My tongue wags like some
dog's tail, muscling words
to fit, my excuses.
For failure, for giving up and giving in
without a fight, for all things that are
crowding out that; which will refresh me.
For complicating the simplest of truths.
Even though I am more, than down in dumps,
for when I look UP, I see the underside of deep,
dark depression. Self-pity is the acid that eats away at
the three-ropes-braided anchoring my climb out and
away. My strength to continue; is waning, My will
to succeed has flown, chased by a murder of crows.
My faith..........my faith
IS what remains. It IS the eternal currency,
I have banked my hope in. I wanted to be as
solid as that rejected ...
cornerstone.
Yet my flesh is: soft with age,
filled with weakness,
infected with moral maladies.
I sin.
Yet.... I am forgiven;
I am still loved,
I am still accepted,
simply this TRUTH
has set me free.
Hallelujah Jesus Hallelujah
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Say Thank You
There is nothing holy about war,
Lives cost, freedom saved, or
is there?
Peace beyond all understanding,
only comes from God, we try to
undo evil, how odd, that it is
done through war.
Say Thank you.
Women, children, men; lost there lives.
They were not the ones on the battlefield.
They are not here to receive gratitude,
their sacrifice is, off the scale in magnitude.
Say Thank you.
Men and women wrapped now in death,
The bonds that tied them together, stronger
than that of the fabric of their uniforms.
Vibrant life taken by a dust to dust-storms.
Say Thank you.
Those who lost a loved one or lived to tell,
of the horrors, have we heard their message well?
As they too fade, move from the sunshine
to the shade of a life gone through man-made hell.
Say Thank you.
For peace and lessons of this war-torn past,
Will their sacrificial message last?
Speak it, tell it, share it, with words and deeds,
Live your life but not at half-mast!
Say Thank you
They gave what you could not give.
They gave their future so you, will
in freedom live; not to die passive;
So fly hope as a banner on a single hill.
Say Thank You
Lives cost, freedom saved, or
is there?
Peace beyond all understanding,
only comes from God, we try to
undo evil, how odd, that it is
done through war.
Say Thank you.
Women, children, men; lost there lives.
They were not the ones on the battlefield.
They are not here to receive gratitude,
their sacrifice is, off the scale in magnitude.
Say Thank you.
Men and women wrapped now in death,
The bonds that tied them together, stronger
than that of the fabric of their uniforms.
Vibrant life taken by a dust to dust-storms.
Say Thank you.
Those who lost a loved one or lived to tell,
of the horrors, have we heard their message well?
As they too fade, move from the sunshine
to the shade of a life gone through man-made hell.
Say Thank you.
For peace and lessons of this war-torn past,
Will their sacrificial message last?
Speak it, tell it, share it, with words and deeds,
Live your life but not at half-mast!
Say Thank you
They gave what you could not give.
They gave their future so you, will
in freedom live; not to die passive;
So fly hope as a banner on a single hill.
Say Thank You
Saturday, May 7, 2011
For every mom
Each one carries you, for months and months and...
Then thru pain gives birth, gives life, gives .....
More minutes, hours, days and years to ....
You freely, not easily, not perfectly, not..
Without much love, much care, much of...
Everything in their being, so you grow ...
Up, learning, being loved, laughing out-loud...
With you, beside you, behind you, for...
Every mom, deserves the greatest expression of...
Gratitude, love, Thanks for catching the tears in...
Her hands, catching the kisses from you, which blew...
On a gentle breath, just like the very first breath, they..
Felt on their cheek, for, it is then that, every mom....
Knows the depths of love she is to give, the best she can...
Until .... forever and for every mom continues to give...
Sadly, this sounds naive.... it is risky to be a mom like....
This as, mistakes are made by children as they grow though..
Their lives, take a winding path in darkness and in light which...
Leads them back to a mom.... they then find themselves and the....
Will, to recognize and express a reflection of that love they have....
Been sustained and found and given to many others for....
Every mom knows she has done what she was intended for....
Nurturing, Protecting, Being Respected, mostly loving at all costs.
Then thru pain gives birth, gives life, gives .....
More minutes, hours, days and years to ....
You freely, not easily, not perfectly, not..
Without much love, much care, much of...
Everything in their being, so you grow ...
Up, learning, being loved, laughing out-loud...
With you, beside you, behind you, for...
Every mom, deserves the greatest expression of...
Gratitude, love, Thanks for catching the tears in...
Her hands, catching the kisses from you, which blew...
On a gentle breath, just like the very first breath, they..
Felt on their cheek, for, it is then that, every mom....
Knows the depths of love she is to give, the best she can...
Until .... forever and for every mom continues to give...
Sadly, this sounds naive.... it is risky to be a mom like....
This as, mistakes are made by children as they grow though..
Their lives, take a winding path in darkness and in light which...
Leads them back to a mom.... they then find themselves and the....
Will, to recognize and express a reflection of that love they have....
Been sustained and found and given to many others for....
Every mom knows she has done what she was intended for....
Nurturing, Protecting, Being Respected, mostly loving at all costs.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Free dumb
I live in a free country.
I understand, that, others do not.
I am not writing this for a political or economical, reason or gain.
Yet, the freedoms I do not have, in that, there are laws.
Which if I choose to break them. The courts may act on behalf of society.
A punishment will be given and then I will be allowed my freedoms, once again.
I will also say I am naive. I am filled with naivete because, I think that free people everywhere; would know this and choose to not break the law, so that there is no opportunity to lose their freedom. And do so, out of respect for those in this world who can not get the same freedom.
With out the threat or reality of losing their life.
So some people who have that freedom use their free will as they chose to not to be free, dumb eh? Society is neither hurt or injured or rendered helpless by the actions of individuals or groups. It is the belief of society that bears the scars: Belief in justice, belief in equality, belief in doing no harm, belief in fairness, belief in compassion, belief in forgiveness, belief that democracy can exist. And acceptance; of one another, neighbor or stranger, man woman child, child woman man, to trust and be trusted.
Find that vitality in you which fully enjoys freedom, enough to die, so that others may discover and inhale the crisp air of their next breath without oppression, fear, betrayal and despair.
So many members of our military, have done this and freed so many... generations.
Live freely choose freedom. (Not free dumb)
I understand, that, others do not.
I am not writing this for a political or economical, reason or gain.
Yet, the freedoms I do not have, in that, there are laws.
Which if I choose to break them. The courts may act on behalf of society.
A punishment will be given and then I will be allowed my freedoms, once again.
I will also say I am naive. I am filled with naivete because, I think that free people everywhere; would know this and choose to not break the law, so that there is no opportunity to lose their freedom. And do so, out of respect for those in this world who can not get the same freedom.
With out the threat or reality of losing their life.
So some people who have that freedom use their free will as they chose to not to be free, dumb eh? Society is neither hurt or injured or rendered helpless by the actions of individuals or groups. It is the belief of society that bears the scars: Belief in justice, belief in equality, belief in doing no harm, belief in fairness, belief in compassion, belief in forgiveness, belief that democracy can exist. And acceptance; of one another, neighbor or stranger, man woman child, child woman man, to trust and be trusted.
Find that vitality in you which fully enjoys freedom, enough to die, so that others may discover and inhale the crisp air of their next breath without oppression, fear, betrayal and despair.
So many members of our military, have done this and freed so many... generations.
Live freely choose freedom. (Not free dumb)
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Why Darkness falls.......... every time.
We hear people say things like "night falls".
I think the sun sunk; night and darkness are inevitable.
But not permanent.
The sun rises.
Each day and I greet it.
Even here on the coast with clouds.
The sun has risen; it is found above the clouds.
Why do I stay trapped on earth, the sun is waiting for me.
To rise above.
So as the sun rises the darkness vanishes... swiftly.
We can focus on the cloudy, dark day.
Or we can anticipate a single sun ray. To relish it in awe.
In a simple pattern of sun rise, clouds close, darkness creeps in
night falls as the sun has set...... hope remains; for there may be moonlight
or not ...but hope remains.
As the night can be blacker than the pit, so can human hearts.
There is so much evil in dark hearts which operate in daylight.
Still I find hope, stay focused; on hope.
Nothing is beyond hope except eternity. For every darkness there is light
and every sunset there is a sunrise and often the moonlight will faintly
light the hope you hold for tomorrow. And the next day... and the next..
I have my own darkness, okay maybe it is only grey, but I see it as darkness.
When those around me need me - it slows down my willingness to, be vulnerable,
Sadly there are those near and far who the darkness owns or intimidates.
I am sad for both; one type is not a victim and one is..... "darkness", worry much for
your days is coming, the calendar can not turn any slower.... and on that day,
when all of us who know- yup- KNOW which Son; to look for above the clouds ..
As the ray beckons us to join, all at once above the clouds; glory will be heard.
There will be such a joyful noise, we will fall or throw ourselves to our knees.
Not by anything we have done; no, darkness is not permanent.
Eternity is.
Night falls, so does darkness, they can not win;
over hope,
over sunshine,
over moonlight,
over eternity.
Enthusiasm fills me when sunshine warms my face.
The warmth is briefly absorbed, not for very long
or I would not keep my eye and heart open for the next one.
I know confidently, what will assuredly happen, I will neither one day
have to wipe away any tears, nor console the broken-hearted,
it has been done - it is finished - we are all waiting ........
Eternally grateful, gratefully forgiven.
I think the sun sunk; night and darkness are inevitable.
But not permanent.
The sun rises.
Each day and I greet it.
Even here on the coast with clouds.
The sun has risen; it is found above the clouds.
Why do I stay trapped on earth, the sun is waiting for me.
To rise above.
So as the sun rises the darkness vanishes... swiftly.
We can focus on the cloudy, dark day.
Or we can anticipate a single sun ray. To relish it in awe.
In a simple pattern of sun rise, clouds close, darkness creeps in
night falls as the sun has set...... hope remains; for there may be moonlight
or not ...but hope remains.
As the night can be blacker than the pit, so can human hearts.
There is so much evil in dark hearts which operate in daylight.
Still I find hope, stay focused; on hope.
Nothing is beyond hope except eternity. For every darkness there is light
and every sunset there is a sunrise and often the moonlight will faintly
light the hope you hold for tomorrow. And the next day... and the next..
I have my own darkness, okay maybe it is only grey, but I see it as darkness.
When those around me need me - it slows down my willingness to, be vulnerable,
Sadly there are those near and far who the darkness owns or intimidates.
I am sad for both; one type is not a victim and one is..... "darkness", worry much for
your days is coming, the calendar can not turn any slower.... and on that day,
when all of us who know- yup- KNOW which Son; to look for above the clouds ..
As the ray beckons us to join, all at once above the clouds; glory will be heard.
There will be such a joyful noise, we will fall or throw ourselves to our knees.
Not by anything we have done; no, darkness is not permanent.
Eternity is.
Night falls, so does darkness, they can not win;
over hope,
over sunshine,
over moonlight,
over eternity.
Enthusiasm fills me when sunshine warms my face.
The warmth is briefly absorbed, not for very long
or I would not keep my eye and heart open for the next one.
I know confidently, what will assuredly happen, I will neither one day
have to wipe away any tears, nor console the broken-hearted,
it has been done - it is finished - we are all waiting ........
Eternally grateful, gratefully forgiven.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Father - What is age, but a number?
I watched my dad grow old.
For him it started as early as it starts for any of us.
But it did not help that he had a small vessel inside,
his head, that showed its' age too soon.
It wept, not tears but small amounts of precious blood.
He drank, he smoked when he drank and he slept so little,
he made up for it by drinking hours upon hours of coffee,
every day.
What is age, but a number, every ones last number, is different as
they are, down to the last; day, hour, minute and second.
What is age, but a number, not a system of ranking - he was a 74, and
all along I thought he was a 90.. while others thought he was only ever
a 50.
What is age, but a number that is only celebrated on your birth day and
reckoned on your last day.
He had a heart with scar tissue, I too have scars on my heart, but not from some
hidden heart attack that did not take his life, just lessened the zest he had for it
trapping him in the laws; of life and diminishing returns.
When he was 52 he no longer could answer my questions on how I could be a better
husband and father. His capacity to remember shifted like the sands in some
distant desert, each day for him was like walking in uncharted territory,
with out a map and compass, he no longer had the landmarks, it was even at times
unfamiliar as to why this was happening to him.
I never replaced him with a surrogate, how could I?
He was painfully human, he made more mistakes than right decisions
he was my dad, my father. He taught me much, showing me how frail
humanity is, and how stubborn he was, to hang on to what life he had left.
I loved him, he love me, he loved all of us - it was not easy for any of us.
He once told me the "one's ability to show emotion was something to be respected,
and not rejected as weakness" he of course said this in his best stoic Norse manner.
22 years he toiled, trying to find, who he used to be. All he got was further and further
lost. 11 hours of brain surgery would do that to most of us. Then that scar tissue
took a toll, then the tag team of Dementia and Alzheimer's took him on ... by this time
the only fight he had left was with the very strangers, who tried to take care of him.
I can not know how he thought things through. I could tell he was trudging through waist
deep swamp, trying to get out of the cloud that shielded the sun - he had no choice but
to wander mired while those of us visited him became more strangers and less family.
Father - what is age, but a number, and you were more than any sum to me, even with
your flaws, your bad judgement, I saw the good in you, a flickering flame, I kept my eye on it until it was extinguished. It was then, I said goodbye.
For him it started as early as it starts for any of us.
But it did not help that he had a small vessel inside,
his head, that showed its' age too soon.
It wept, not tears but small amounts of precious blood.
He drank, he smoked when he drank and he slept so little,
he made up for it by drinking hours upon hours of coffee,
every day.
What is age, but a number, every ones last number, is different as
they are, down to the last; day, hour, minute and second.
What is age, but a number, not a system of ranking - he was a 74, and
all along I thought he was a 90.. while others thought he was only ever
a 50.
What is age, but a number that is only celebrated on your birth day and
reckoned on your last day.
He had a heart with scar tissue, I too have scars on my heart, but not from some
hidden heart attack that did not take his life, just lessened the zest he had for it
trapping him in the laws; of life and diminishing returns.
When he was 52 he no longer could answer my questions on how I could be a better
husband and father. His capacity to remember shifted like the sands in some
distant desert, each day for him was like walking in uncharted territory,
with out a map and compass, he no longer had the landmarks, it was even at times
unfamiliar as to why this was happening to him.
I never replaced him with a surrogate, how could I?
He was painfully human, he made more mistakes than right decisions
he was my dad, my father. He taught me much, showing me how frail
humanity is, and how stubborn he was, to hang on to what life he had left.
I loved him, he love me, he loved all of us - it was not easy for any of us.
He once told me the "one's ability to show emotion was something to be respected,
and not rejected as weakness" he of course said this in his best stoic Norse manner.
22 years he toiled, trying to find, who he used to be. All he got was further and further
lost. 11 hours of brain surgery would do that to most of us. Then that scar tissue
took a toll, then the tag team of Dementia and Alzheimer's took him on ... by this time
the only fight he had left was with the very strangers, who tried to take care of him.
I can not know how he thought things through. I could tell he was trudging through waist
deep swamp, trying to get out of the cloud that shielded the sun - he had no choice but
to wander mired while those of us visited him became more strangers and less family.
Father - what is age, but a number, and you were more than any sum to me, even with
your flaws, your bad judgement, I saw the good in you, a flickering flame, I kept my eye on it until it was extinguished. It was then, I said goodbye.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Winter's White
It snowed overnight,
Falling flakes, white, with cold,
The ground was covered.
The sky was falling,
apart and not losing its'
place high above us.
The ground was lighter,
with flakes and whiter too,
yet stayed beneath,
our feet; only laughter,
left our lips and returned,
to the sky. It then
fell lightly on us
again.... softly falling flakes
of snow, winter's white.
Falling flakes, white, with cold,
The ground was covered.
The sky was falling,
apart and not losing its'
place high above us.
The ground was lighter,
with flakes and whiter too,
yet stayed beneath,
our feet; only laughter,
left our lips and returned,
to the sky. It then
fell lightly on us
again.... softly falling flakes
of snow, winter's white.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Why I call you Princess
It is written with a capital P.
I call you Princess because the world, won't.
The title I gave you so many years ago, was given freely - NOT through an inheritance, not through proof of a family lineage, not because of some vast monetary
family treasure. I gave it to you so you would know how you should be treated by those who truly love you.
The world won't view you as a princess, some friends will not either, still you must display
grace. I call you Princess because there can be grace behind Red rimmed eyes and the wiping
of tears. In knowing that personal strength is not measured or weighed by others but as a
weight on the balance of your character. Allow yourself to experience, joy visibly without
hesitation, there are joy-stealers around because they have none and want you to be the same-
without joy.
Princesses accept love and give love you have given and received many hugs and kisses.
I called you Princess because you are an encourager, from a very young age you have stood alongside in support of family and friends (your little brother too!) when they needed someone,
please, continue to accept our support, our love, our hugs and kisses, you need them even as you go from a child-princess to a young woman-princess.
Sarah I called you Princess because I wanted the person you meet, who one day will share your life, to treat you the best, No, better than his best. I want him to know that there would be know compromise on this. A princess is to be respected, loved and protected......forever.
Princesses are leaders but they can choose to follow. When they lead the army, they should
lead, it will move forward with prayer on the wings of eagles, guided by God's angels. When Princesses follow it must be trusted and true leaders.
The world will Challenge your peace, your happiness, your beauty. Let not the behavior of those around you mire or trap you to behaving as they do, rolling around in "the black tarry
substance" that comes from their insides. It is okay to have to walk through "IT" to lead them in humility or leave them, behind in your pity.
Princess titles come sometimes with expectations, mine only come with love. I did not Expect you to act more responsible, more mature or more caring but all of these you have done. I did
not expect to see you both a child and a young woman at the same time in the same second. I expect more of others and how they treat your and the example they show you, than I do from you. Please choose your closest friends and advisers wisely.
Princesses do exist. They have limits to their kingdomS. There is no property over which you reign, but that which you carry with you everyday, the look on your face and the clothes that
you wear and the actions you do. The world (both the good and the bad) will judge you by these things. Princesses are ultimately judged by what is in their heart, mind and spirit and no man may judge what beauty God has created in you.
Lastly, you are and alwayS will be a Princess. The only reason I have stopped, for the moment,
is I have spelled "PRINCESS" (seven letters in seven paragraphs before) The trust you have in
the good of people is huge, allow no one to totally tear it down and never be afraid to stand up
for what is right or ask the polite question, "WHY?" Friends will come and go, a
relationship lasts forever. Build relationships through observing the character and
actions of those closest to you when their life is at a low. Shed tears, share a hug,
write, experience , wonder my girl-child becoming a young woman-princess.
For Sarah, written many years ago celebrating your 13th birthday.
I call you Princess because the world, won't.
The title I gave you so many years ago, was given freely - NOT through an inheritance, not through proof of a family lineage, not because of some vast monetary
family treasure. I gave it to you so you would know how you should be treated by those who truly love you.
The world won't view you as a princess, some friends will not either, still you must display
grace. I call you Princess because there can be grace behind Red rimmed eyes and the wiping
of tears. In knowing that personal strength is not measured or weighed by others but as a
weight on the balance of your character. Allow yourself to experience, joy visibly without
hesitation, there are joy-stealers around because they have none and want you to be the same-
without joy.
Princesses accept love and give love you have given and received many hugs and kisses.
I called you Princess because you are an encourager, from a very young age you have stood alongside in support of family and friends (your little brother too!) when they needed someone,
please, continue to accept our support, our love, our hugs and kisses, you need them even as you go from a child-princess to a young woman-princess.
Sarah I called you Princess because I wanted the person you meet, who one day will share your life, to treat you the best, No, better than his best. I want him to know that there would be know compromise on this. A princess is to be respected, loved and protected......forever.
Princesses are leaders but they can choose to follow. When they lead the army, they should
lead, it will move forward with prayer on the wings of eagles, guided by God's angels. When Princesses follow it must be trusted and true leaders.
The world will Challenge your peace, your happiness, your beauty. Let not the behavior of those around you mire or trap you to behaving as they do, rolling around in "the black tarry
substance" that comes from their insides. It is okay to have to walk through "IT" to lead them in humility or leave them, behind in your pity.
Princess titles come sometimes with expectations, mine only come with love. I did not Expect you to act more responsible, more mature or more caring but all of these you have done. I did
not expect to see you both a child and a young woman at the same time in the same second. I expect more of others and how they treat your and the example they show you, than I do from you. Please choose your closest friends and advisers wisely.
Princesses do exist. They have limits to their kingdomS. There is no property over which you reign, but that which you carry with you everyday, the look on your face and the clothes that
you wear and the actions you do. The world (both the good and the bad) will judge you by these things. Princesses are ultimately judged by what is in their heart, mind and spirit and no man may judge what beauty God has created in you.
Lastly, you are and alwayS will be a Princess. The only reason I have stopped, for the moment,
is I have spelled "PRINCESS" (seven letters in seven paragraphs before) The trust you have in
the good of people is huge, allow no one to totally tear it down and never be afraid to stand up
for what is right or ask the polite question, "WHY?" Friends will come and go, a
relationship lasts forever. Build relationships through observing the character and
actions of those closest to you when their life is at a low. Shed tears, share a hug,
write, experience , wonder my girl-child becoming a young woman-princess.
For Sarah, written many years ago celebrating your 13th birthday.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Obsession Compulsion or Passion
I have time.
I have Time wasters.
I won't list them, it would be a waste of time.
Well I will write about;
obsession,
compulsion
thru passion, passion, passion.
If I spent every hour away from work, writing, would it be any better, my life?
Or my writing?
I stumble thru stumbleupon.
I follow the nhl and nba; on tv and internet.
I got to wgt and golf from the comfort of my own home.
They are all; both an obsession and compulsion. I check e-mail, but it is neither an obsession nor a compulsion.
If I wrote when wrote; 1 hour in the morning and 2 hours in the evening and a block of hours on Saturday and a block of hours Sunday and a block of hours on Holidays. What would the result be? How many words a week would I get on paper. how much passion would flow in the form of ink, on paper, how much joy would I get or better give to those who would take the time to read?
We need to, I need to be passionate about 1 thing in our lives. I am all for God. that goes beyond passion, that leads to eternity. I am, I need, I want to be passionate about writing, I have so many projects to write, print, type, edit, short stories, poems, a biography, a series.
My passion goes as far as bring the laughter, bring the tears, bring the inspiration and give glory to God. What do we spend our time at? Why not our passions, whether that be helping the poor, saving the world? So much more. So...be passionate and spend your time there. That place where creativity meets positivity meets that vibrant fury which causes your pulse to beat its first beat and then increase as you "recognize" what your passion is and know you will never, ever..... let it go.
Be inspired.
There can be found colour,
there is a monochromatic tone, there is fire and ice and of course confidence, so stand and deliver, give it until you run out and recharge, then you can run on again passionately.
Share what you have done, receive what others have done. Embrace their enthusiasm and let it fuel yours.
DISCLAIMER: Independent practice of passion seeking may disrupt family life, so communication lines must be solid, love felt all around, share, care and once in a while take a day off from everything but your family. Lastly, for-mostly, God first and all else falls in to place. Don't waste time thinking about just, do it.
No this blog was not brought you by that sports gear shoe company.
I have Time wasters.
I won't list them, it would be a waste of time.
Well I will write about;
obsession,
compulsion
thru passion, passion, passion.
If I spent every hour away from work, writing, would it be any better, my life?
Or my writing?
I stumble thru stumbleupon.
I follow the nhl and nba; on tv and internet.
I got to wgt and golf from the comfort of my own home.
They are all; both an obsession and compulsion. I check e-mail, but it is neither an obsession nor a compulsion.
If I wrote when wrote; 1 hour in the morning and 2 hours in the evening and a block of hours on Saturday and a block of hours Sunday and a block of hours on Holidays. What would the result be? How many words a week would I get on paper. how much passion would flow in the form of ink, on paper, how much joy would I get or better give to those who would take the time to read?
We need to, I need to be passionate about 1 thing in our lives. I am all for God. that goes beyond passion, that leads to eternity. I am, I need, I want to be passionate about writing, I have so many projects to write, print, type, edit, short stories, poems, a biography, a series.
My passion goes as far as bring the laughter, bring the tears, bring the inspiration and give glory to God. What do we spend our time at? Why not our passions, whether that be helping the poor, saving the world? So much more. So...be passionate and spend your time there. That place where creativity meets positivity meets that vibrant fury which causes your pulse to beat its first beat and then increase as you "recognize" what your passion is and know you will never, ever..... let it go.
Be inspired.
There can be found colour,
there is a monochromatic tone, there is fire and ice and of course confidence, so stand and deliver, give it until you run out and recharge, then you can run on again passionately.
Share what you have done, receive what others have done. Embrace their enthusiasm and let it fuel yours.
DISCLAIMER: Independent practice of passion seeking may disrupt family life, so communication lines must be solid, love felt all around, share, care and once in a while take a day off from everything but your family. Lastly, for-mostly, God first and all else falls in to place. Don't waste time thinking about just, do it.
No this blog was not brought you by that sports gear shoe company.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Beauty..... is moss green even in the forgotten
I walk to work everyday. A blessing. I pass this trailer court. Everyone in there has seen better days. All the trailers were new. Alonnnng time ago. Please try seeing from this perspective.
The first thing you see is green. The green reflects in the suns rise and becomes luminescent.
The green is moss. The moss is eveywhere. The moss is beautiful. Beauty is everywhere.
It does not look the same in the dark. Nor in the shadows, it only looks bleak and rundown. There are out buildings(I'll take a photo and post it one sunny day) These out-buildings belong to one of the mobile homes, the one closest to the road, near where I live. It is part of a trailer park. The sign, by the road, says so.
I wonder if it is moss thru neglect? Or maybe it is meant to be, they, the owners like their simple garden of moss. It covers the rooftops of the four out-buildings. Only in late winter does the sun even get close to breaking thru the branches and limbs of the surrounding trees. It is guarded like a national treasure. There is a 6 1/2 foot fence and a fierce barking dog. There is a tall aluminum ladder up against the tree on the left. To the right of the tree with the ladder is a building that catches my eye. The moss covered roof has a guard owl on it. I can not see what he is watching over.
Maybe a more private space, secluded from all the traffic that goes by. The owl is watching over a set of antlers, A trophy to human conquest over some poor 12 point buck? Are they even real? Then there is a taller tree - no ladder - this time just a tree house. The roof of the tree house is moss covered too. Not built for kids? Looks well built and secure. How do they get up there? Ah yes the ladder on the first tree! It is not big enough for more than one person. Is it a decoration or maybe many years ago there were children that played up off the ground. Guilded in green moss even back then. The moss is not evenly distributed. There are thick clumps and thin patches; even though it is everywhere.
The shortest moss covered building is closest to the fence. It has and octagon roof shape with all the ridge-lines, moss masked. Then there is the last one taller yet, the second shortest. What, is inside these buildings? They are not very big, they are not the same size or height, they are not even all on the ground. Do they hide a secret garden? Are they barriers to the sights and sounds of the busy boulevard? What if all the noise that wheels bring was to stop.......
It is the moss in the sunshine, that caught my eye; as I was walking, to work, passing by.
Moss so green, so alive, beside, a street so mean, peace and quiet so contrived.
Now bed me down on moss covered streets , where trees rest on undisturbed paths,
Where rays of light stream within borders, of a misty morning, rested and afresh from
silent dreams.
What was once black-grey ashphalt, is now green and softened, no longer harsh and cracked,
Life moves slower, sleepier, paced by the green moss, a living carpet, to let your dreams take root.
The first thing you see is green. The green reflects in the suns rise and becomes luminescent.
The green is moss. The moss is eveywhere. The moss is beautiful. Beauty is everywhere.
It does not look the same in the dark. Nor in the shadows, it only looks bleak and rundown. There are out buildings(I'll take a photo and post it one sunny day) These out-buildings belong to one of the mobile homes, the one closest to the road, near where I live. It is part of a trailer park. The sign, by the road, says so.
I wonder if it is moss thru neglect? Or maybe it is meant to be, they, the owners like their simple garden of moss. It covers the rooftops of the four out-buildings. Only in late winter does the sun even get close to breaking thru the branches and limbs of the surrounding trees. It is guarded like a national treasure. There is a 6 1/2 foot fence and a fierce barking dog. There is a tall aluminum ladder up against the tree on the left. To the right of the tree with the ladder is a building that catches my eye. The moss covered roof has a guard owl on it. I can not see what he is watching over.
Maybe a more private space, secluded from all the traffic that goes by. The owl is watching over a set of antlers, A trophy to human conquest over some poor 12 point buck? Are they even real? Then there is a taller tree - no ladder - this time just a tree house. The roof of the tree house is moss covered too. Not built for kids? Looks well built and secure. How do they get up there? Ah yes the ladder on the first tree! It is not big enough for more than one person. Is it a decoration or maybe many years ago there were children that played up off the ground. Guilded in green moss even back then. The moss is not evenly distributed. There are thick clumps and thin patches; even though it is everywhere.
The shortest moss covered building is closest to the fence. It has and octagon roof shape with all the ridge-lines, moss masked. Then there is the last one taller yet, the second shortest. What, is inside these buildings? They are not very big, they are not the same size or height, they are not even all on the ground. Do they hide a secret garden? Are they barriers to the sights and sounds of the busy boulevard? What if all the noise that wheels bring was to stop.......
It is the moss in the sunshine, that caught my eye; as I was walking, to work, passing by.
Moss so green, so alive, beside, a street so mean, peace and quiet so contrived.
Now bed me down on moss covered streets , where trees rest on undisturbed paths,
Where rays of light stream within borders, of a misty morning, rested and afresh from
silent dreams.
What was once black-grey ashphalt, is now green and softened, no longer harsh and cracked,
Life moves slower, sleepier, paced by the green moss, a living carpet, to let your dreams take root.
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