Even when it's cold, or hot, or raining, nature clears my mind. Take a walk toward understanding whatever troubles you.
People, depending on their interests and experiences, can see beauty or ugliness when looking at the same thing.
In hard times, let us stand together, let us love even those who are difficult to love, let the weaker of us lean on those who are stronger, those confused rely on superior acuity. Let us be sympathetic, precautionary, and apostles of hope rather than refugees from reason, and let us be committed to never putting the needs of "the one" above the needs of "the all."
Oh, to be young again, and to be able to eat without a dropcloth!
Waiting.... What are you waiting for? Waiting to wake up fully? Waiting for your inner ear to regulate equilibrium? For birds to fly as if gravity does not exist? Waiting for the sun or dough to rise, or for someone to return from a night of party-down or kick-ass? Are you, teeth gritted, focused on forgetting a name, or puncturing emotion to drain the pain from it? Are you anticipating a walk with no definite destination where buildings do not cut your view, where squirrels playfully perform and chatter secret conclusions, or where the land is wild and weeds teasingly flip their ponytails of seeds? Or perhaps you are like me, happy with the rest of things, and just inviting an artful stroke of hand or some grand phenomenon of thought? We are all waiting for something. What are you waiting for?
Stretch out your toes and let your feet forget all about shoes.... Sometimes we are too cerebral, arrange newspapers, books, letters in alphabetical order-- meaningless momentum to try to make things fall into place, to try to make ourselves more comfortable in the conundrum of our minds and bodies. We neglect to let our hearts and minds hold hands for a better understanding. We give over control to hearts like calculators, mouths like hot-cold open faucets, and its own way to gaudy, extraverted genitalia. Then we cry about it later when we are found with our pants down, crapping in the bushes. Better that all of that be packaged up and donated to some worthy charity. (But who would want it?) And what we don't do is-- step from that cross-stitched rhetoric, throw the screen door back, and let the child come out to play.
I like the buttery rhythm of soft symphony at the end of day. Not something to snap your fingers to, or tap your feet, not a manic pestering of keys or strings, or that which throws you into dance mode, but a long drawn out sigh of music, a soothing sleeping pill of sound.
Today, I woke to the sound of pleasant music. It came in patches, sharp then mute, depending on the breeze perhaps. Or maybe the big tree with its flourish facing east and its rugged profile to me intervened, caught the music on its leaves and rolled and sorted it to meet its fancy... as is the hope for all good things— to be accepted, added to, and sent onward.
Not in school, not in any other stage of life have I ever been popular. I never wanted to, I never tried to. I never saw the value in it.
I like to fall asleep to the sound of music. There is magic in melody, a spell of calm that quiets breathing, cools the heart, and lets you drift down through all the jagged colors of the day, held in the sweet embrace of rhythm, and then of sleep.
Money might not be able to buy happiness, but it can purchase a pretty big handkerchief to cry into.
It was kind of a shivering day, with a bit of sun, but mostly a cavernous concrete sky, the kind of a day that makes you want to slap the meteorologist, unhook the doorbell, call in the dog, and uncork the wine.... or in my case, eat a cookie and screw the cap from the Mountain Dew. katekinnear-pos.com
I hope when it's my time to die that I do it straight out, after finishing a whole package of toaster strudel. I don't want to take my last lap in a nursing home strapped in front of a television in the day room, in a chair with other age-restrained people tipped at various angles, all of us talking to people occupying the stale air between us, a few of us with our slacks soaked, complaining that we wish we could walk, or that we could be young and pretty again. Hell no! Give me a sharp blow to the chest. Let me fall hard and lay there a minute, just enough time to lick the last bit of frosting from my lips.
FOR STARTERS, THIS IS MY WISH FOR ALL
May a soft hand put your anxiety to rest, the sun put color in your face. May you applaud the efforts of the world to save itself, recognize and commemorate the service and loss of lives that have throughout military history secured your own, respond perceptively to need wherever and however you might serve. May you overcome the large-and-small lipped waves of trouble that find you. May you fish and hunt respectful of nature, or reflect and hunt with camera or fish without a hook. May you sit easy in the chairs of Winter, warm beyond the frozen pretzel-stance of trees, work joyfully with the sharp-and-eager tools of Spring, be well, and always tightly held by loved ones, and sleep peacefully each night between clean sheets.
Why did I have to be so old before I knew not to act out for attention, not to dress for attention, not to expect and demand it, but to put my best effort forward to try to earn it?
I apologize to any and all who have ever irritated, aggravated,downright pissed me off because I did not settle myself from my own greed for self-comfort to momentarily take a good look at YOUR pain, YOUR reason and YOUR right to your own opinion and reaction.
In a world of mirror we carry stones against ignorance incurable by force. In a society of reason we are too easily provoked too unreasonable means. We claim unselfishness and protect ourselves. We insist fairness and discriminate. We make dramatic gestures for audience and deny any domino effect. In a world where brothers bicker over legacy, one man and one woman disagree over lunch, toddlers break toys not to share them, and some starve while others eat cake, where might there be peace more acceptable than filthy peace from war? Nowhere, if not by effort. Nowhere, if each man does not foster understanding with information and love through contact, and build his own to share. Let us repair ourselves toward peace.
I'm waiting for the sun to split the sky and the day to fall down on me, for the morning to sparkle like the sequined dress I wore to prom and the afternoon to glide like the starling before it got a bad reputation. I'm hoping the day won't throw any dirt in my face so I can see it all clearly with the joy and awe of a child just beginning to discover the world.
These days, I want to be comfortable. There was a time I wore tight-fitting, wide-belted, short little skirts and tuck- in blouses, I suppose, because I thought it enhanced attention, but these days I embrace the Dorothy-on Golden-Girls look, the long, flowing, colorful draping of ample cloth, the "I- don't-have-to-stop-and-tuck-something in," the "I-don't-have-to-hold-my-breath and-suck-in-my-stomach-on-bloat-day," the "I-don't-care-if-you're-looking-attire," and truth be known, I 'd rather that you weren't," because like I started to relate... I'm a little more sensible in my older age, at least in that one regard, and now I dress in colors that please me, and for comfort.
Throughout my life, give me a man with true sentiment, a man who----- If I was wearing only a smile, it would be the smile he would first notice.
Last night I had a brief chat with an owl that looked like Ben Franklin. I expected some sage-Ben advice like maybe, "We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid." All he did was blink and gawk. So I told him to go fly a kite!
Passion isn't sensible, never to be mistaken for a file folder in a metal box. Passion is red paint intentionally spilled, money tossed about, laughing so hard you shoot Pepsi out your nose. Passion drives too fast, kisses hard, leaves a lot of marks, runs naked through traffic, and dies young, or dies laughing. I don't want ALL of that...just a little countdown excitement, a bit of something to elevate my pulse.. a dab of red paint on my file folder.
Some days are prettier and longer than others because they have more yellow in them. Come on, sun!
As I play out a gentle life in a moderate income bracket, in a simple home, in the amazing Country I love, I wish you all a happy day... What could improve on such conditions? A lottery win? Realization of all dreams? Sure, there's that.... But where there is no suffering, present reality is, for me, comfort enough.
From ignorance of our own true need, we often invite the elements that bring us sadness. Sometimes it is correctable, sometimes not, and the cost is high..... Some days are filled with the bones of those who died, those who went violently during our youth or adulthood, those who slipped away in a natural cause.... but it all brings sadness in great waves into our lives, and also a lesson to treat our bodies and minds with high regard. Bless you all today. May this day be safe for you, and buffered from your personal sorrows.
I filled my gas tank today because of a need for countryside. The local open wound and natural stature of it gives minature comparison to times of family vacation. Once again, I can almost see the route, and all those discarded postcards bought at this-or-that Mobil station in states between here and my mother's native Canada.
It's a beautiful day. I want to bite down on a hot dog with stringy sauerkraut dripping from the sides. I want the bun to be soft and spicy brown mustard to be stuck in the corner of my mouth. I'll take out the pickle and offer it to you, but you won't take it and I will laugh while digesting the clever thought that we had this little picnic, me and my old dog, with equal shares, in the middle of the backyard.
As I run through the inventory of the needs of the new day, my heart stops on the suffering of a dear friend who is stalled somewhere far beyond my ability to change conditions or even to comfort. I send a message into the cosmos, plead for the well-deserved magic of that giant, loving hand to pluck from suffering, and to restore and renew my friend. Please join me in that plea--- for this person who is important to me, and for any important to you.
Every vehicle I ever had I could pay for from my pocket. Never had a new car. Never wanted one. Get me from Point A to Point B... that's all I expect from anything with wheels, and if ever asked what kind of cars I've had, I would have to say, "a brown one, a black one, three white ones..."
It is said we dream every night. Lately, my dreams have been somewhat boring. Before going to bed tonight, I will stand outside and deeply breathe the cold crisp air to put more oxygen, and so more color in my blood, and just MAYBE that heightened color will decorate my dreams.
Wisdom is knowledge combined with productive attitude... I want to be wise.
Success is advancement through heightened attention.... I want to succeed.
We can't all be Einstein! Small steps can make a big difference. I imagine even Albert failed to live up to the hype..... I want to be reasonable.
When I was little, I wanted time to speed up. Now that I'm old, I want time to slow down. I think it was June 10, 1990, when I liked time just the way it was.
Let's burn all our old historic flags and tear down our old, bad-choice statues! Let's tear up and burn our failing, school report cards! That will prove to the world that we are perfect! That we never made any mistakes! That there is nothing else we need to learn. RIGHT!
I think of the world, the disharmony of family, friends, of Country, and I despair that too often we hang onto hatred for the mere sake of hatred, and no other good reason. We have opportunity to be intelligent people. Why can't we find our way?
What if the whole world was burning, and we each had but one bucket of water, would we then join forces? Or would we expend no effort, rely on rain, hunker down in our little houses in our home-scented blankets and then eventually say goodbye to ourselves in a heat-warped mirror?
I'd like to say I always know what the right thing is, and then do it, but time and life has proved I can't even be certain of me, so what can I expect from you? For all of us.....perhaps only heart and a strong will to survive.
I spent the day "frumped out," yawning, scratching, munching, wearing my red and black, old-fashioned New England style flannel shirt and baggy pants... comfortable, looking so bad if I tapped the aquarium, I couldn't even get the fish to look at me. A-h-h, what a great day!
Don't touch me! All places hurt. DIsappointment scrapes like stone. Let the night wrap me. Touch me in the morning when sunlight lifts me new.
A prayer for those with anxiety -- a life as broken as a nightmare-- shattered pictures, ghosts behind you. Doctors tell you, "You are fine -- normal," and rattle pill bottles at you, and maybe you ARE normal - basically, were it not for the tenacles that go out in all directions-- some places deep, seated in over-commitment, harsh.self-appraisal, and in the loss of the ones who used to cheer you on-- now flattened to a field of fading protographs.