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New World Carved Out Of Our Hearts. . .
When you asked the question. . . I don’t know that it occurred to me at some particular point, or that I always knew the moment you asked the question you already knew the answer because the process by which intelligence grows is by the conclusions reached by the hard work of consecutive thoughts…
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Listen Ophelia. . . . .
Oftentimes we feel abandoned. Especially when we are in pain and have done everything we’ve been told and those things we invent. Otherwise we would be sitting at the feet of the Great Healer. But here we are in wonder at what we do wrong when we do what we were told from the beginning…
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When You Need To See A Skyline. . . .
August 23, 2024. . . As an introduction for those new to my writing, you need to know that for me all time is simultaneous, it is all happening now. It need not be your understanding, just an acknowledgment that it is this way for me. It makes for easier understanding when your thoughts are…
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Making A Money Cannot Touch Difference . . . .
We have been overwhelmed with the breaking news of national and international consequence. I leave those voices to reweave the news and now give thought to what we share in common when even sleep does not rescue us. Our efforts to make a difference seem embarrassing when the world needs a step -in by…
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The Invisible Challenge . . . .
The Invisible Challenge . . . I post today a subject close to my heart and mind that boundaries in thought subject our young people in ways detrimental to their growth and honesty. It comforts the adults to be sure but the relationship goes nowhere. With Sunday’s go to church approaching,…
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The Teacher. . . . (The Socratic Departure). . . .
The Teacher (The Socratic Departure) I will drink this cup of gall, swallowing the bitterness setting fire to earth’s waste. But first I caress this chalice. Its depth mirrors my heart, shaking the foundations of my very own selves. Now splendid trepidation challenge the ultimatums by which the earth rocks. Challenge me, o gods,…
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A Sorrow Hushed . . . . . .
A Sorrow Hushed. . . My ears cleaved to the door frame of the dining room. Her whisper was hoarse, were there many? Lots, he said, lots, as he held the letter that told him what they saw. They pushed for space, women and children and their men for best viewing. They wanted to see. …
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Our Hearts Shout Our Validity . . . .
Mar 10, 2024. . . it seems I repeat and repeat. We are not a stupid people, yet why do we act so? I received an email from a daughter which was written on my forehead. (it seems so anyway because I remembered it immediately. words were thus. . . no matter how broad the…
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My Keys in the Palm of My Hand . . . . .
In reviewing decades of my life with my kaleidoscopic perspective, is a stressful endeavor. I was cautioned to go slow. ( At 92, how fast can I possibly go at this time?) Most people are given to wait until they are on the side where support friends already are. Or here and I laughed…