Satorial repute: I trust and salute the ordinary, the common place. Give me a man or woman in working clothes. Forget the ball gown, the suit.
When I look back at my life, I realize the best times I ever had were the times I lost track of what time it was.
I hit rock bottom once ... for about 15 minutes. Then I realized that it was not the bad circumstance (not alone anyway) that caused the emotional crash. The culprit was my lack of focus, of corrected vision, that created my temporary inability to deal with the situation.
I was born coiled like a snake, suspicious, ready to strike, and greatly influenced by a father who never walked a straight line (liquor involved or not).Though somewhat askew in my view of things, I somehow learned emotional temperance, but I still look around corners, behind doors, under rocks, peer through the cracks, remain in cautionary stance and sometimes still question, and therefore miss, the genuinely good motives found in the straight ahead.
Nowadays we are always in such a blasted hurry that it wouldn't surprise me for a minute if all the DO NOT WALK signs were replaced by those that read YOU BETTER RUN.
And so here we are, in technological position to be chroniclers of our lives, and of each other's lives. We sit with Mother Earth and God between us, but invariably, because mankind is basically self-serving, it often ends up being all about us.
One by one, we fade into the karmic mist forever, not to return, and those who remain are either silent, profound, unconcerned, or suffer bitterly the significant loss of a certain speciality, meaning, personal style, and set of beliefs.
All night I kept falling in and out of sleep. I would return each time to the same dream of dance. I woke up cold, needing a blanket and a throat lozenge, and my feet hurt. I was still spinning round and round, not immediately knowing where I was, still stuck in the delightful generic of being that tiny ballerina in a childhood jewelry box .
Strange... I saw a monarch butterfly this morning. It was perched on the rim of a pet food bowl. Trying to get a little sip from the grit? It just sat there as I watched. We were both so out of place in that moment. I did not try to touch it for fear it might be frozen. I preferred the simple solace of thinking it did not concern itself with winter coming, did not know or worry that it was out of place and in danger, or better yet that there was nothing around it in the world that would hurt it or that needed mending or attention.
FOR APPRECIATION, THERE MUST BE BALANCE: I let myself disappear into the beauty of the day, walked a path where sun was shredded, scattered over a rainbow of flowers growing free-style from the enchantment of their own roots, and where an intricate web was stretched …. Later, I made myself appear again when the web was reduced to loose threads illuminated by the bloodless wound of the moon loosely covered by a dirty bandage of clouds, and where, sadly, I heard a cry of something being dragged off in the darkness.
Perhaps we miss opportunities for understanding because they, though seen, are feared or not yet fully comprehended....a bit like walking on a dark street, seeing a big garbage bag, and at first thinking it is a large dog.
Whatever your endeavor, refine the aesthetics of it. Do not deny the artist in you. Create beyond mere appearance toward ultimate significance.
I don't think I talk in my sleep, but I have to admit I sometimes sleep when other people talk.
When I was little I wanted to be good. When I was grown I still wanted to be good, but just not all the time.
I always have a sense of motion in my life, though at times I am barely moving.
I have always known that before I could successfully live with someone else, I had to learn to live well with myself..... Still got a ways to go.
It is not really possible to say something totally original. We all use relatively the same words, just in different order.
I had many good teachers in and out of school. In many cases, they didn't teach me anything specific, but all made me want to learn.
I avoid getting too tired because it is then that I give past events unsound reason and influence over decisions of my present.
Why is it that when you are victorious, few people ask for an explanation, but when you lose, everybody seems to want to know the reasons why?
As a grown-up, I am often too hurried, too harried to truly understand, and must seek out a child to explain things to me. .
If you get angry and kick somebody you may as well use both feet because, if they're mad too, you're probably gonna end up on your ass anyway.
There will be no surprises where every outcome is accepted as a possibility.
A silent man may be aggravating, but, saying nothing, he cannot be misunderstood.
When I hear that somebody said something bad about me, I just laugh and say, "Obviously, he/she doesn't know me at all because that ain't even the half of it!"
In this ‘throw-away’ world, I try to be conservative, to get the last good out of something before I give it the old heave-ho! It’s more about ‘remaining value’ than it is about ‘savings,’ so that sometimes I find myself working extra hard to mop floors with a mop reduced to minimal noodle-age, panic at the quality or disparity of tissue shreds when confronted by stomach activity hinting at diarrhea, and must decide if I am really willing to consume milk that I just might have to chew.
Too often-- We show others what we want them to know about us, conceal what they need to know to really know us, then complain about being misunderstood.
I don’t have any desire to talk about the mistakes and misfortune of others. I’m too busy keeping the rust off my own shovel to be interested in digging a hole to bury somebody else.
Inspire change and shift perspectives with positive measures.
I don‘t travel much. There are still things in my small place that I have not yet examined.
If you think the world is “all about you,” expose yourself to higher education found in new places.
You will not truly appreciate what others describe until you go and see it yourself.
Remember that your routine movements need not be your only movements. Expand your experience of life.
Even when going short distances, I have found the journey to be as enjoyable as the destination.
We don’t need luxuries nearly as much as we need sunshine, vigor of mind, and good will.
Everything I hoped to gain by any experience has been further enriched by stumbling first on something else.
The closer you get to people, the more you realize how wrong you were about them.
Some of the best places I have been cannot be found on any map. I have traveled well with wild flowers, along waterways, turning over rocks.
When I want the feeling of anonymity, I take a country walk.
My goal is to always live with dreams, and die with memories.
Happiness is when you release what your life is supposed to be like and embrace what it actually is.
Wake every morning ready to change preconceptions, rethink assumptions, and let your understanding be shaken up a bit.
Some of my chosen destinations have been situations, some have been places. Others have been a different way of looking at things.
We walk with our dreams, some of them pressed beneath the surface. No one can see them any more than we can see the desert from here, the mountains, or even the Walmart in Beatrice. They remain wordless, invisible, in limbo. They may be as simple as that of a small child wanting to whistle like a bird. Or they may deal with tripods and great distance.We carry them with us each day, every day, in our secret sacks, mere silhouettes of emerging thought. Some of them might one day be realized. Some might droop sideways but hang on. Others may evaporate and be gone. But it is good to dream. Like flowers in a garden, they bring a bit of color to our lives, and that just might be sufficient purpose.
I love dawn where the sun reaches through tree branches like many hands of yellow fingers to touch the rich dark chocolate of emerging ground, and on its way chastely kisses the leaves and wakes the birds that strike out in a harmony of tiny bells. I love dawn, and dusk, and night and day. There's not much about the earth that I DON'T love.
Most times the creek gives no sign of holding power. The surface stretches out like a smooth tablecloth....or ripples nervously in rainfall or where something swims or crosses. But its power is not in movement because power is not so limited as that . Its power is the cradle it provides for life, and the added provision for unpeopled tranquillity.
This year, winter was a rather naughty boy or a grown man with a bad habit, rheumy-eyed as water peeking over the rim of a filled bathtub because he was back on the whiskey, But Spring finally came, a little sheepish perhaps, ornery with rising water here (but nearby so destructive).... but Spring is here now, and isn't she beautiful? More so if you (like me) live where the skyline is not a chaos of roofs, frenzy groomed for business, or the tailored suit of high finance....here where there is room to breathe and nature gives a highly visible, hundred high signs.
When I was a child, I couldn't wait to be an adult, and now that I am an adult, I find my greatest joy comes from doing childish things.
I've been told I have fifty different kinds of laughter and they are all obnoxious -- but I make no apologies. Just glad I laugh honestly, and often.
I keep the vagabond, the wild Gypsy of my soul under control by wearing uncomfortable shoes.
Sometimes, because we train people how to treat us by our acceptance, we are responsible for our own bad treatment.
One of the best friends I ever had was kind, gentle, patient, tolerant, understanding, a loving soul, and incidentally -- a dog.
My idea of the perfect man: He has sand in his voice, light in his eyes, hope in his heart, Christ in his soul, and calluses on his hands. His looks are not important.
Looking for a good friend? The best way to find one is to be one.
Appreciate! Beware the setting sun....that it not catch you before your work, your play, your joy in this place are done.
Old faces intrigue me... Lines everywhere, lines that do not destroy beauty or detract from it, rather, define it. Those are the faces of experience, tolerance, hard work, love -- so much more pleasing to the eye than the plastic veneer and blank expression of recaptured youth.
I love men.... I love old men with their deep wisdom, patience, satirical humor, the strong old trees of their "I don't give a shit if I'm not perfect" bodies. I want to sit down, put my feet up, have a grand conversation with them, and be entertained.... I love young men with their antics and their energy, and the sparkle in their eyes, their fine form and faces. I want to study them like museum pieces, admire them from the high summit of my age -- like beautiful sunrises, and be entertained. I do so love men.
I love women.... I love old women for their understanding, wit, mothering, their random recipes for good living, and the "I don't give a shit if I'm not perfect" bodies. I want to sit down with them, see their scrapbooks, share memories, and be entertained. I love young women with their fluttering, flounce, and the sparkle in their eyes, and their fine form and faces. I want to admire them, warn them from my own experience, protect them, and be entertained. I do so love women.
Silly me! Though something in me cheers the death of a trapped rat, something also feels sympathy for it.... I love all animals. There is value in all, even if individual contribution may not yet be known by man, or understood. I want to harmlessly watch all of them-- if from greater distance those that would have me for lunch, and learn and better understand how all animated pieces of the world fit together.