Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.

Days like these feel like tomorrow will never come. Cloudy skies, plans put on hold, things envisioned in ones mind; stuck, like dried mud on the shoes.

What does one do? Reminisce about yesterdays gone? Choices you encountered, the good ones that worked? Sunshine happened but now the clouds cover the blueness of the sky. Heavy hearted the low pressure builds inside of you making you tremble like the thunder as it approaches from the west.

“Tomorrow I will feel better. Tomorrow I will work harder to achieve the best I can be. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

Today I will sit in the gloom, breathe in the darkness from the skies above, wait for the lighting to strike comparing it to the energy I feel inside. Outside I see nothing I like, nothing I could attain right now. I cant even move my legs. The grayness embodies me, like a picture I forgot to shade in.

Ah, but tomorrow I can jump right in, race to the finish line and break free from the turmoil I have now. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

The sun has desserted me.

The strength of my will. I connected, as I ran away from all my fears, up the hill, down the path to redemption. When was that? Oh, yesterday. I can still see the mud on my shoes. Yesterday I challenged myself to do better, did I do that? I cannot recall.

I chased the wind, the one that is now silent. The stillness irritates me, it causes me to think about myself. I think I am sufficating, or am I suffering for no other reason than I want to.

I can see myself doing the impossible, I can close my eyes and find a vacation from my hurt, but I cannot move from one thought to another. Why does tomorrow wait to come.

Tomorrow I will do what I cannot today. Why is that? Why does tomorrow look more promising? Why does it tell me to wait, when all I want to do is scream, ” Not tomorrow, today”.

There are no tomorrows. There is no promise of tomorrow. There is only today, I tell my searching soul. Even today is absent because soon it will be tomorrow and I will still be sitting here looking out the window believing tomorrow will be better.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Can it be tomorrow already. What happened to yesterday when I climbed that mountain and prayed to do better, to think better, be more positive?

Never mind I will do that tomorrow. Closing my eyes I will think about what tomorrow will be like.

Humble Pie

Ingredients to make Humble Pie.

You will need a few days of emotional turmoil, coupled with large amounts of buttering up. Sometimes a little salt in the wound can help process the crustiness of the issues but how much you decide to use is up to the situation. a pinch or more may hurt but a teaspoon will cleanse the soul of the batter( matter).

Stirring up the confrontation closes the gaps within the situation by adding the tears of happiness or remorse. Icy cold it melds together the emotions that are the makeup of the dough. To much neediness in the needing will lead to a toughness that surrounds the heart, too little and you can remain flakey in appearance. Don’t forget to roll around in the thoughts that surround because a circle is still a circle.

Next fill the bowl with all the memories that you continue to remenace about. Good times requires a lot of sugar, less if you can let things go of the context easier. Fruit is in the pudding, what gels your brain matter is taking it to another level up or down? Berries for merriment, peaches for squeezing out the impartial or apples because you are a tart. How can you make this a perfect example of your situation? Memories will do. Can you in all honesty digest them, letting the ingredients go, eating a slice when done? Or will you sit there and stare at the finished product until it rots in your presence? There is no joy in participation, when not getting involved, leaves you blank and unsuccessful like a pie under baked.

Bake it at a temperature that will cook the contents of all those emotions and memories into a product that can be sentenced to a death by high heat. Cut marks into the substance of the awkward and communicate with the product by using your senses. Smell the goodness of letting go, taste the pleasures of life in nibbling the leftover uncooked dough and fillings, then touch the softness of the heart as you place it in the oven to bake away. See your anxiety, stress and emotional turmoil bubble away as the juices seep through the topping. No, don’t wipe away the dripples, let them drop into the pan below sizzling away what you could’nt face. Hold onto nothing but the taste of this pie when it’s done.

Do not forget to share each piece with a little bit of yourself. Each part of you is about to be devoured by a spirit of compassion and love. Beautiful blessed pie, fresh out of the oven. Golden and delicious because you baked it with the clarity of a souls’ wish to move on.

Humble pie is yours for the making and the eating and the letting go, one piece at a time, until all thats left are the crumbs that can no longer hold you down in a doughy mess of emotional turmoil. Clean the plate, lick the dish with your finger, push the crumbs into a bag or feed them to the birds.

Humble Pie. Next time you can make a casserole to share for all to converse upon.

 

Whose World Is It Anyways?

You asked me to be in your world and I am. You wanted me to care for you and I did.

Where does that leave me, when the tough work begins? When you say no, you cannot contain your anger? Change is not an option? Why do you go there? Can you subside and consider the origin of it? Can you even see me in this picture where you have deliberately coloured outside the lines. The ink is not ink, it’s only a pencil line drawn next to you.

Life is a wager, a set of weighted checks that turns into unweighted balance, if you want it to be. Is it really your world or a world in which many are involved. Sometimes the weight is on your shoulders some days on mine.

If I had asked you to be in my world, would you have? Maybe you would have run away. Mine is not decisive, nor deceiving. It is a world of unknown origins. Times not timely, or organized in columns of do and don’t. It’s a place of being, of consideration to another’s point of view not readily taken.

It’s a scarey place for someone like you. It has no boundaries, nor options. We are free to move about as one chooses and then can choose again.

I don’t blame you. I don’t fear you or your anger. How can I. You are a stranger in this strange land of compromise and compassionate outcomes. Your walls are not meant to be of cement but of paper to colour and then recycle. Maybe tearing them down to replace them with clear paper, making a view that does not obstruct a vision of clarity. Your colour pallet could change, from dark to light and you would learn to draw your world freely as it is penciled in.

Your world how divinely said. If Gods would only say the same. Take the will out of the freedom we take so elequintly.

I did try and I am still trying. There is no force to be reckoned with only me and my human being which stands beside you when you want me to.

I can get an eraser and give it to you? I am only penciled in.

The Mindful Heart

The expression of the heart and its intimate values is a mindful heart.

If there is no interest in the heart of what matters, is the mind mindless to what does truly matter? We breathe in, we exhale out. The heart beats to a rythm of subconscious action. The mind is not so mindful of the physical beating of the heart but to the beats of our expressions as we breathe.

Mindful heart, what is this exactly? Are we mindful as the heart beats out timeless emotions? Do we breathe in consciousness? Do we exhale the subconscious into the human expression of itself. Mindless we choose, mindful we challenge our emotions to be mindful of how we express them. I am aware of my heart but am I aware of my mindful heart?

Thinking perpetuates the ticking of what we memorize. Memory enbodies us to walk a path subconsciously to what we are actually trying to achieve. What are we trying to achieve? Human is what human thinks and perpetuates. Mindful heart is a distant path we are running to but never seem to get there. The beats are instinctive, our thoughts reach to those places that find achievement hard to conceive. We continue to run a particular path that only encircles the thoughts we encounter. Anything else is inconceiveable to our thoughts.

The depth of the mindful heart is never ending. Jump into the heart core and you will perceive the waters as light and airy not dark and merky, like our emotions. The channels are wide if you care to see them for what they are. Like the arteries they can be clogged with the muck of desires unobtainable.

Imperfection channels love of the mindful heart while perfection is mindless and small. Mindful heart gives us room to move, to relay information and for us to breathe. Mindlessness allows us to travel blindly through the merky waters of our subconscious mind finding no sobriety to the circle we travel. Mindful heart is an opportunity to be imperfect, to learn as we enjoy failure in a delightful and inspiring way. Clarity comes in many ways but usually not in the way you are inspired to see it. That in itself is something to think about. Opposites are attractive and yet unworthy to our perspective mind. We gainly fail to see the beauty in the part that says we are in unknown territory and that we can achieve, difference.

Mindful heart, listen to the beats as they help you walk not in a circle but in a spiral of unique opportunity to be the human that becomes the perfection of imperfection.

Mindful heart are you listening to what it saying?

Single – Singular

One thought, one dance with the mind, isn’t that how it works?

Each word with its owned pronunciation, it’s own definition. What comes across as what is, is only what is, in the mind.

Each letter comes together to enhance our world. What is beautiful and what is ugly. Spell the word, define the mind, enter the thought. One singular thought then becomes two, then three. An infinity of words pressed together to make a sentence, a paragraph, a single image that could and may change the world you possess as your own.

Single concepts change humanity. Once we write them down we solidify the thinking process. We have determined who we are and unlikely to change it. Single thoughts rule, as we are singular in nature. One thought, one mind, one decision to make it what we are.

Freedom of thought, free thinking what does that look like. What does it feel like in the mind? Does it feel singular, or can we allow others into the equation? If I say a word can you justify it in your own thinking way? Can you say the same single word in a different way but define it the same?

Single and singular. Complex and complexity.

Define without meaning. Find words the do not possess but express a unity of thought. Process the information differently, taking it into a route unknown, making it worthy of the heart. Channel the energy of oneness in a singular way. Energy in waves that make reason worth thinking about.

What can you say to you in a single word? How can you describe yourself in a singular way? How does this possess you? Lead the words in a dance with the mind. Negate nothing, incorporate it all in a sentence that is now complex and inviting.

Take the word happy and believe that is is singular. That is is the only single word out there that the mind understands.

A rose is a rose is a rose, or is it?