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With A Promise. . .
Fortunate are those who walk with their cameras at the precise moment a sunset images the evening sky. And we are fortunate to have those photos in our libraries. Most fortunate are we who have the intent of the photographer rising at dawn to catch the morning sky in colors unmatched. Few are the…
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On Bended Knee. . . Peace-d
It is on bended knee that I approach my blog with what nearly a century of living has taught. With what I have learned of our holographic universe, acknowledging talents given at birth or contracted for I must speak my experience. It is a linear world we live in to help us learn. It can…
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Come Veronica, there is a bridge we can sell you. . .
The old argument came up about my impracticality. Others have difficulty following me. Yet I was seeing to home maintenance over the years with no help, 20 white shirts a week ironed, suits pressed, meals on time, lawns manicured, and best of all, children reared and raised in love. And office work for those many…
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Rolling Thunder . . .
Last week I awakened with a memory of a place and trying to make sense of it. I realized I was given a piece of action to remember. I remember reaching for a framed photograph of silhouettes of the children when they were little. It was lying on the floor and as I tried…
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For Sitting On The Porch. . .
For almost half of my life, we lived in the one home during our marriage. And maintenance was my responsibility except for big construction work which was hired out. Every spring, staining the porch, (it is now called deck) was mine. And the first call of balmy weather had me with roller and brushes…
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A Cosmic Experience. . .
From a past journal entry. . . emotions become a burden needing to be understood before they are shrugged. Once understood they become integrated and no longer need to be carried. To understand the fullness of humanity is the first step toward the cosmic experience. When the feelings become more than the human body can…
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With Your Name. . .
With Your Name. . . From a past journal entry . . I seem to be aware of a depth this morning of a something that shoulders my weight and carries me. That the words I speak have little meaning. They are simply words. And yet, what I would wish is to reach down into…
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When The House Sleeps. . .
Mornings have always been special. The sounds blended on the street when Princess and I walked; the lights in the homes spoke of early risers, the occasional car with lights on. The dog down the street spoke his urgency to get matters started. There still is a benevolence to the morning which I would…
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It Takes A Yesterday. . .
Scribed March 25, 1989. . .(Keep in mind the quantum theory that all time is simultaneous. If it is difficult to accept I had to learn it to survive and have consciously lived with it for well over a half century.) One must of needs supply a history to give meaning to the day. …
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Where We Cook The Oatmeal. . .
In the many studies on love and goodness, what appears to be evident is that when one is aware of good and when one comes to the time to do good, the choices are few to do other than good. When you become better and better, your options cease. Heaven goes one better. When approaching…