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The Morning Will Rise Triumphant. . .
What to do when there is no one to talk to. We often escape in old age I fear into madness that we call Alzheimer’s or dementia, still, a madness by whatever clean name we now give it. We once called it hardening of the arteries it seems. Where to go and who to talk…
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A Thud Against Our Heart. . . .
Yesterday the world united in grief as we watched the fire rage and consume a large part of the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. It was with dismay and heartbreak we saw a symbol of our civilization consumed by a utility given to Mankind to enhance life. Yet at the same time we saw…
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Listen World, Listen. . . God In A Rock. . .
Listen world, Listen. God In a Rock. . . . (As we head into Earth day, I am approaching my 88th birthday and my world is iffy right now and if I could leave a letter to beloveds I would say this. ) There is a connection to all of our Earth. From the sky…
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What Keeps Us Awake. . . .
To stand straight need not be at the expense of an other’s fall. It can be because of one’s need to reach higher than one knows. ****** Facing one’s self in one’s declining years is a task best left to those who point to the kudos on the walls. They have something to point to…
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Creativity. . Look, what I made! . . .
I scribed. . . .it is a bag of wind we seem to contend with and problems never ending. The problems stem from diverse personalities complicating and darkening what should be an enlightened situation. What is obvious to one is dark to another. You think the world’s state of affairs too complicated to solve. Yet…
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The World: Atlas Shrugged. . love her enough to shoulder her high. . . .
Value Systems. . . A value system is what is honed by a lifetime or many lifetimes lived as Beings, and not necessarily only as the human that we know. It can reflect lifetimes of worlds not visible to the human system of values or cognizance of them. What the value system will show is…
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To See The Day. . .
From Psalms of Love is the following poem entitled ‘To See The Day.’ The emotions and the times were painfully immobilizing. The inner journey means different things to all those who attempt it. I did not realize there was a name for what I was thrust into. All I knew was that I hurt. Heaven…
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The World I Worked To Build. . .
The World I Worked To Build. . . Where hearts open to each other, where minds are keen on learning, and where love intends to see its full bloom. Where beings are intent on growing to their fullness and work becomes a blessing. Do I want much? I want only what I worked and hoped…
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In Love We Pray. . . amen and amen. . . .
As dawn breaks, my fingers of both hands curled about each other and I marveled at their slimness, their ability to elicit the feel of themselves, each digit wrapped around the other. And I felt that nothing, no other world would ever make me feel such blessedness in my hands’ ability to do so many…
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And Sunday Comes. . .
Sometimes there sweeps over one a feeling saying ‘that’s how I always felt’ whatever prompts a memory. It could be a scent or sunlight or something triggering a wave awakening response long dormant. Often one knows where it originates but often the ‘always’ has no beginning at least in this lifetime. This following feeling is…