a new perspective

True perfection seems imperfect,
yet it is perfectly itself.
True fullness seems empty,
yet it is fully present.

True straightness seems crooked.
True wisdom seems foolish.
True art seems artless.

The Master allows things to happen.
She shapes events as they come.
She steps out of the way
and lets the Tao speak for itself.....

the Tao

Destruction of pasts; of directions neither wanted to go and destinations which required a toll neither wanted to pay. We converged in diverging and found each other in a monumental loss. You have always been the person I was supposed to be with, and the person that destiny knew I was to be with; to think I almost quit and walked away...I love you.

-B.

the guest house

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.


-- Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks

happy birthday

Today (late, of course) I want to wish two of the most important people in my life happy birthdays... one who teaches me strength of resolve and dignity, and one who teaches me the truth of unconditional love and strength of character. I love you both more deeply than words can express, and far more than my ability to demonstrate has been able to reach at times. You are paramount in my soul, and I thank the universe everyday for the blessings it has given me by giving me you.

Happy belated Birthday to you both, and may the world recognize how much richer it is for having the both of you in it. I love you.

between

It's time.
Time to put the fist through the glass; to take the whole and shatter it. Time to feel its fragments rend flesh and muscle and the sinew that connects them to their base. Time to scream with pain and rage and anger and frustration. Time to reopen the wounds that scarred over and never healed. Time to let the blood flow and wash out the the filth that collected beneath; to let them mend with strength and grace and wear the newly glistening scars as reminders..... Time to find the legs beneath that lost their footing and gave way.
Time. Time to feel and be felt; and time to know the hurt of others- their losses, their loneliness, their anger, anxieties and the invisibility of being. Time to find the strength to shoulder each burden and to walk with those whose load you choose to carry for them at time in shared journeys.
Time to stand, broken and lost and put it together again,a better restored version of the battered original.
Time.

fin

Sundays
Reading Writing And Arithmetic
Here's Where The Story Ends
people I know, places I go
make me feel tongue-tied
and I could see how people look down
they're on the inside

here's where the story ends

people I see, [wary/weary] of me
showing my good side
and I could see how people look down
I'm on the outside

here's where the story ends
ooh here's where the story ends

it's that little souvenir of a terrible year
which makes my eyes grow soft
oh I never should have said
the books that you read
were all I loved you for

it's that little souvenir of a terrible year
which makes me wonder why
and it's the memories of your shed that make me turn ['round/red]
surprise, surprise, surprise
[ Sundays Lyrics are found on www.songlyrics.com ]

lazy I know, places I go
make me feel so tired
and I can see how people look down
I'm on the outside

oh here's where the story ends
ooh here's where the story ends

it's that little souvenir of a terrible year
which makes my eyes grow soft
and who ever would've thought the books that you brought
were all I loved you for

oh the devil in me said, go down to the shed
I know where I belong
but the only thing I ever really wanted to say
was wrong, was wrong, was wrong

it's that little souvenir of a colorful year
which makes me smile inside
so I cynically, cynically say, [the world is/well it's] that way
surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise

here's where the story ends
ooh here's where the story ends

.....And yet, I still am unable to accept the finality of you not being my girl.

final post

so, where?

where to turn when there are no clear choices, and none seem to be right?
to give up on what you hold dear and true? to destroy what you most cherish?

to kill the part of you that means the most to you that the remainder of you lives?

if not here, then where?