Once

Once there was a little girl, who ran about in her little world.

Writing words and keeping pace with the sentences that ran in her head.

Yesterday her world was small, yesterday she wasn’t tall.

Choices made her world complete, challenges she swore she’d never repeat.

But her world remained the same. She couldn’t figure out why. The voice inside said “you need to grow”.

Like a tree, whose branches reach the stars and whose roots grow deep into the earth. Ground yourself. Be strong so you can support your growth.

She thought about it. She dreamed about it. Where would her new world take her? What would she see? What could she do different?

She chose. It was hard to change the words she wrote, the thoughts she kept, the decisions she made. The wisdom spoke to her, the mind withered and her thoughts drew pictures of a world bigger than she could ever imagine.

Once there was a little girl who wasn’t so little, who was braves and whose chose a great big world, full of diversity, to live in.

If This Were My Last Day

If this were my last day what would I choose to remember?  Who would I want to remember me? How would I relate, be relative to the moment?

If this was my last moment where would I be? What would be the last thought that my mind clung to?

How would I choose to be? Would I be happy, sad, angry maybe even bewildered. Could I let go of all the monsters that have jailed me for so many years. Would I call out in amazement as to how I have lived or be in denial of how I should have lived. My choice, my demons, my happiness now contained in a twenty four hour catalogue in which I choose the pages number to view.

Who should I call? Is there anyone I would like to visit? Can I be myself?

There is so many ways I could play this out. What do I do. My memories are fading. Like pictures in a old photo album, the pages crinkled and yellowed I try very hard to see them for what they are. I could choose to see them as my saving grace, or I could see the reality in them. Voices in time, choices and challenges in which I have recorded only what my mind wants to see. Well how about seeing it without rose colored galsses. Pictures of me, pictures of time traveled past to forward. Memories that I spin the way I want them. Is there truth in this?

If this were my last day I would do all of the above. I would set my watch to one minute and take it all in, then I would do more, be more, love more.

I would take my own hand and walk the rest of the way. Take the path to no where in particular but enjoy the ride. I won’t be so interested in where I have been but to see where the rest of the day could take me. I would say hello to all the pople I have known and wish them well. I don’t think I would spend time telling them anything more then to see their feet and step one step at a time. Make yourself a dance.

I would take part in the rhythm of time each note connected to the other notes in unison. I have twenty three hours to be content, to be loving, to be just and kind. I can be me. I will make this an eternity of living life to the fullest.

 

Looking Up

Looking up I saw clouds. Clouds that seemed to cover the sun omitting any blue to come through. So I chose to look down. What I expected to see was green grass, lush and soft to touch, but I saw nothing like that.

What I ignored was the knowledge that there is blue above those grey clouds and small buds of green grass beneath the brown earth that still covers them. My mind said to keep searching, so I did.

I looked to my right because I was so diappointed with the sky and the earth I thought maybe the trees had flowers. The trees are there but the buds of the flowers are still invisable to my eyes. I regretted looking there.

I thought for sure that if I looked left I would not feel the disappointment I held in my heart because surely there would be something beautiful I could see.

So I looked left. Looking left gave me great hope. To the left of me is the ocean. Large and expansive. I wanted to see the waves crashing upon the rocks. I wanted to also see the chaos that the wind had brought down from sky to earth. I saw none of that. I saw a calm, and unanounced ocean of calm. Again I was deflated.

Where do I now turn. Do I try somewhere else? But this is where I want to be. To see the blueness of the sky above me. To feel the small new blades of springtime touching my toes. To smell the new budding flowers to my right calling me to come near or to my left where the sound of the ocean drowns me.

Have I forgotten something? Maybe I have.

I know, I will turn myself inside out. I will see the love that I hold close, I will feel the energy ground me to this human experience. I will smell the curiousity my thoughts bring with compassion. Then I will walk to the ocean and pick up a shell hold it to my ear and hear the voice of my own compassion. The clarity that calls me home where ever I am.

For there is always blue sky inside the heart. Soft hands that hold me, for they are mine. The perfume of my own existance heals me in every moment that I am. The voice of a knowing that I sometimes forget is there to give me hope that the truth is not only inside me but outside as well.

My Little Buddah

I am sitting at my desk searching for something to blog about, sifting through the many thoughts that always swirl about in my mind, and I look over to see my little buddah.

His face is abundant joy, his mouth open with unconditional laughter, and his face looks up to the sky. So much happiness molded into this little statue. Those many thoughts are neutral and it makes me smile.

He gives without expectation and requires nothing in return.  The sight of him gives me a comfort I cannot define. His glance directs you to look outside. The sky is covered with an array of clouds of different shapes and sizes. Some are dark and menacing and other fluffy and white. What a constract to the blue of the sky. I too follow his stare and find myself squinting at the sky highlighted by the brightness of the sun. I try to stare into the face of the sun but its too bright to maintain, like trying to stare your thoughts down and win.

I then notice that I am the one who placed him there. My eyes trans fix themselves over to his round belly and to his loose clothing as he holds a fan in one hand and a snake in his other. This does make me curious to the meaning behind this particular statue. I guess its the ying and yang of it all. My first thought is myself. How many thoughts does my mind hold onto in a moment that is exactly the same, yet in opposition of each other. There is a fan in his one hand to releave me of my darkness and in the other a snake that wraps itself around the arm and neck as if those thughts cannot let go. Yet it’s a happy snake. Its rattle sings in the light of day, its mouth also open but not with the hiss of contentment but with the joy of holding on to nothing.

My little Buddah, staring out the window, no toughts to share, not a inhibition to keep the smile from announcing itself. Just a man, looking deeply into the light of day. He shares himself in a simple way. He stares outward but inside be believes whatever the day brings it is just the day and tomorrow will always show you a different sky.

Quiet Victory

What do quiet Victories look like. How do they feel? Are they soft and comforting? Are they saturated with the fears that are left over from the quest you have taken on inside your head?

More so can you let them go and find peace of mind?

Where did the quest to conquer come from? How deep is the cravas that contains the knowledge that you want to find? Can you access it easily with the tools you have gathered? That is the purpose. How can you conquer and release the aggrevations, the noise in your head, if you do not aquire the tools to manifest the victory.

The Neuance is choice. The challenge is compassion, the victory is the reversal of the thinking man.image

The Thinking Man

Who are you? This thinking man? This unified man search engine, wandering mechanic of the mind?

Subconscious, on auto pilot when it comes to desires and decisions. Secrets revealed in an anonymous way, actions will be taken by the push of a finger. The finger as it points in the direction away from the one who points. Never poinient in conparison of what may be learking inside the mind but suspicious of his surrounding. Can he make a point?

Its a turn key operation. An oppurtunity to change a direction if his thoughts could go that way. Misunderstood man. Misguided man. Where for art thou human being? Male mindless chatter, feminine underestimated heart felt.

If only. If only he could speak a truth that is uncommon, for the most part, an oddity for the mind to discover for the thinking man. The female counterpart, is not the thinking man. It is a homemade soup made up of  a futuristic talent that contains empathy. Fear is his commonality, his go to thought.  His misinterpreted emotional base is untrusted, it wobbles and winds him through too many unorganized options. He can’t see beyond his body image, his age. His mind is tasteful in the art of seduction but tasteless when it comes to what he feels. What does he feel?

Thoughts taken in, thoughts lost, which are the good ones? The thoughts that make him wonder and wander around his mind. Travel lightly he cannot because the memories way him down. Down, down he goes,  past the saftey zone. Danger cries out, “do not surpass the level of emotion you can handle. Empthy is the next floor.” “You have never been there, it could tear you down, make you emotional. Take a deep breath, then shut the door, thinking man.”

Thinking man, disolve the past, enter the present naked and in the light of day. Your future is dependant on the thoughts you create. Those thinking man thoughts are over rated. Unbelievable in a reality that is disorientated. But to the thinking man it is his grounding force. He needs to believe in himself, his misguided horizon of past thinking.

Be fruitful, thinking man. Enter mindfulness at your own risk but not in a thinking way. Enter with out the turmoil you bring along. Take off the clothes of your past and the ones you will change into today, your present. Older amd wiser unthink the thinkable. Change the game. The game gets old, worn out and will eventually fade away. All those memories, all those dreams of a fantasy life will grow dark before your eyes.

The light remains. Human man remains. Thinking man disolves in the morning sun.