Although I am not typically insane, I am frequently out of my mind—in a much roomier place beyond analysis and expectation— where there is only gratitude and appreciation.
Inner peace is the blossom of clear conscience.
I am far less a person who seeks pleasure than I am an individual who pursues wonder.
Change the world by not giving up your individuality.
My tirade of the day is this: (In summary --- Your goal + your efforts = your reality.) 1. A person who never gives up can never be beat. 2. Push disinclination aside and inspiration will come. 3. My heroes are those people who do common things uncommonly well. 4. Everything you do is going to feel like work if you would rather be doing something else. 5. Being on the right track is not enough. You have to keep moving. 6. All things I ever tried to do fell into place when I stopped wishing the task was easier and started wishing I was better at it. 7. Like everyone else, I have days that I don't do a heck of a lot. The worst part about that is not knowing when I'm done. Have a great day one and all !
You can learn quite a bit from a dog, like -- Always give 100%. Don't hide your feelings. And if you can't have something you want, howl a little bit and then move on.
Some days you just feel fat, but not so much from bulge of body parts as from psyche burden.
Disappointment is not without value. It can be a great motivator.
Love can do great things, but it doesn't do much for a sinus infection.
If you pass money from one hand to another hand and to another until it's gone, you have something in common with government.
Have you ever agreed with someone and found out later that you were both terribly wrong?
I would rather that the results of my effort be worthwhile than easy.
Start with valor, finish with heart.
I was browbeat, so I hated. I was valued, so I loved.
My father thought he taught me everything I needed to know about boys. It was an angry education with too much spin on it, warnings. His anger was a puzzle, the way he held the possibility of adolescent love in such contempt. My introverted nature always backed me out of that. He didn't seem to care as long as he had his say. If there was love between my parents, it was atmospherically imparted, no direct speech of it allowed. She did a lot of sewing. He drank a lot of pissed-off liquids and watched her as if he was flipping switches as she guided the fabric under the Singer's feed-dog. Her eyes cold, cold in her clothes, she pushed toward the small light of the machine while her own light would not turn on. I never understood it then, and not until I made my own (no blame intended) wrong choices. Many beautiful people turn out to be not the best choice for each other.
In today's society, lovemaking is too often handled like a power tool--- mechanics and bargaining position, a lot of movement and noise, but little heart.
When selecting a friend, I would rather choose a comfortable ugly person than someone who is trying to be pretty or cool.
My philosophy is like a soft pillow that cradles troubled thinking, but it doesn't make me delusional. I will sometimes still be uncomfortable. I will still die. I will still never know much of anything for sure.
If you paint or if you write, know that it is better to paint a bad picture or write a bad poem than no picture, no poem. Often it's the painting, the writing itself that rescues, that heals you.
A beautiful face or body might get people close to you, but it is who you are that will get them to stay.
If I'm in a good mood, there is no such thing as bad weather. If I'm in a bad mood, even a warm breeze sucks.
As human beings, we all disappoint each other. We are indeed lucky when we live with someone who doesn't punish us for it.
After staying up late and feeling generous toward nature, after watching an old gray opossum hang in the milky moonlight as it scattered the rags of night, I checked this morning to see if it had eaten the wet cat food, the wiener, the kibble I left it. I found my offering intact, and the opossum nearby, maybe with some dream of roaches or carcass contents, scratching in the stink for something seasoned by frozen leaves. But that's OK. Isn't taste and desire an individual thing to be allowed and respected where it does no harm?
I treat my mind like any other child. I give it plenty of fresh air. I feed it sensibly. I love and encourage it, and I wouldn't dream of telling it to shut up.
People are not so different from dogs in some respect. They need someone to keep an eye on them, and they need to be let outside sometimes or they will leave a mess in the house.
Nature has all the answers and takes care of all things. There is peace and relaxation in that. If you don't feel it, perhaps you are not really paying attention.
Today is a day for gratitude. If I could add any material thing to my personal environment, I would add nothing, change nothing.
I never rush anywhere to get into the "action." What I'm doing is sufficient. Maybe not too exciting, but not something ahead and caught up in the jangle of party lights and voices. Just a simple life with uncomplicated movements, not something coming...rather something real and here, a gentle wave and simple flourish that makes me smile so big there is little room for anything else.
COMMON GOAL: Don't most of us want to be worthwhile, contributing individuals -- to pull something from the air, to prop it up and make it solid so someone can see it, can hear it, can touch it, and be in some way moved by it-- if for only a moment before it is swept downstream?
There was a time I was bitter and hateful, but not now, not anymore. I guess I missed the boat for a portion of my life, but I learned to go and swim out after it. I can no longer avoid intimacy. Everything I do takes me closer to something in this world that I want to be intimate with, and if I only have a tiny space in which to dance (the hell with making a fool of myself), I dance.
I hope the world remembers me in a small, unselfish way, that it holds the ash of me like a shiny marble or with other seeds in the deep pocket of its green skirt. I hope it will float my troubled thoughts away like moths, that I may lay as quiet as a stone while the breathing community-- birds, insects, animals -- including man, continues with its grappling, and then, in the exact time of kind intent, rubs the magic on me that makes me vanish into a better place.
As usual, I am up early and in my private world of thought, appreciating darkness yet looking forward to the light, for the sun to come relaxed and easy overhead, to bleach the rumpled sea of clouds and touch the ground lovingly from imperial distance. Another gift. Another day. Deep gratitude!
There's a cat on my lap. It looks up at me to absorb what it can in meaning from our encounter. Patient for only a moment, it seems to wonder what I'm thinking as it reaches for my toast. I give it a snippet first, and then another and smile with hopeful confidence it will give me a favorable rating and allow me at least the crust.... Fate, or perhaps only a storm brought us to this common space to exchange pleasantries, each being as kind to the other as the moment's mood allows, each trying to do right by the other before we fade back into our respective anonymities.. "Oh, here, have it all! There's more bread in the bag."
Here I go again, tripping on the intoxicant of a new day and trying to transform my "stubby crayon" thoughts into some kind of fancy calligraphy....with no further motive than to greet you with a smile.
It's been raining all day, the air full of shadows, maybe ghosts. For some reason as I stick my fork into a can of tuna, I think about the first fish I ever caught. It wouldn't lie flat on the ground but flipped and flailed as it sucked at the burning torture of the air, slower and slower until it died in a pouring off of rainbows. We took it home and my dad opened its body and scraped out some ugly stuff. He separated the meat which we ate from the bone which we threw away. It tasted good just as this tuna is good, but as I look out at a world under the soft touch of water in the melancholy part of the day, I think it's kind of a pity that something usually has to die so something else can live.
Do a good deed. Think a good thought. Turn from aggression. At the end of day, lay your head down, without preamble, sleep.
Rise above emotionless familiarity to live an interesting life.
Truth: the greatest labyrinth, the bare bones of any situation.
Sometimes happiness depends on survival of great sadness.
Often the torment of memories, the trap of emotions nurtures the crazy belief of being a poet.
The moon is a ball of lifelessness used by lovers to stimulate adventure awakened by puberty. And still-- I gaze.
The world wears evening like a cape, beautiful and thin, and the melt of reality begins.
A classic defense: Using words at the expense of good sense.
Mlsconception: The cash register language of success.
True comfort : Feeling safe in each other 's company.
Be joyful, but first be worthy of joy.
All that you do for yourself dies with you. That done for the world lingers.
I accept life patterns and bear inevitable demise no animosity, but hope to carry benevolence always, and press it, along with ardent curiosity, against the outer rim.