I was star-gazing on the rooftop. The man on the moon began to descend, he grabbed my hand and took me to Jupiter.Read More
My mother use to say "take time to
Sit and count your blessing, count them one by one and see what God
Has done." She had made her transition from this life to the next,
But those words are ingrained in my
Mind and in my heart.
When picturing the afterlife I see you. In an endless field of dandelions we run.Read More
I have a new granddaughter, her name
is Cerenity. I asked her mother how did
she come up with that name. she said,
because that's what I need in my life.
I just started reading The Artist Way
And Julia Cameron strongly believes
In you getting up in the morning and
Grabbing a pen and paper, and let
Yourself throw up on the page!
Find your own expression in the form. Even when doing the identical thing as someone else, you do it the way you would, not the way they would. Take care of the form and yourself in the expression.
Boredom doesn’t exist in the meditative world, because boredom is wishing to do something else while waiting for something better to start.
This week was, and I do not mean to sound pathetic, but it was not much of a great week.
Nothing happened. Nothing beautiful, at least. The week was not showered in love or even in random acts of kindness. Since I am in a state of consciousness, where I think, showering in love, in random acts of kindness, is the basic condition for things being called „good“, I feel a little disappointed and tired about this week. You might call me a person with a very low threshold to boredom, and you would be right.
I want to be able to feel my feelings as I navigate this next section of my life. I want to have the clarity to see God's will for me, the courage to rise to it and the willingness to accept it. I want to choose my Higher Power's Flow over my own will more often than not.
I ran from sadness like you would run from a burning house. It was perilous and could kill me from its intensity. Anger and fear were the guardians of my ragged heart, and they worked for much of my life to keep me from being consumed by the sadness that threatened to choke me.
I have two perfect hands, and they are a goddamn mess. I love them. They remind me to be amazed by this human body.
I didn’t always know to love them. My family always made fun of them, so my friends and I did too. They are thick and padded, just like paws. Too big to hold boys’ hands, too squishy to wear pretty rings, and too ugly to wear bright nail polish. I’ve never been able to keep dirt from getting under my nails so I clip them so short it hurts; but the dirt just goes deeper.