tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25284484226537167882024-03-13T04:17:58.565-07:00I Didn't Say It, But....Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-54372145371061036032012-07-10T17:59:00.000-07:002012-07-10T17:59:06.528-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wRRm8LUTbSN34i1zOxvHJU61_LJEwEWNCrThI-41zhG26NqQsvhJlwAHTFAcLh-K46XTIWMD7zX9sdNp00YUWtcxacqps8X4G587oKVBuEbrQiTK1lw1qCMgWzMjqHp8_Tr4FQUfiLcj/s1600/ts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wRRm8LUTbSN34i1zOxvHJU61_LJEwEWNCrThI-41zhG26NqQsvhJlwAHTFAcLh-K46XTIWMD7zX9sdNp00YUWtcxacqps8X4G587oKVBuEbrQiTK1lw1qCMgWzMjqHp8_Tr4FQUfiLcj/s320/ts.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;" width="100%"><b><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;">The Sunken Garden</span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;" width="100%"><span style="color: #e4f1de; font-size: x-small;">.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;" width="100%"><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;">Speak not, whisper not;<br />Here bloweth thyme and bergamot;<br />Softly on the evening hour,<br />Secret herbs their spices shower,<br />Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh,<br />Lean-stalked, purple lavender;<br />Hides within her bosom, too,<br />All her sorrows, bitter rue.<br /><br />Breathe not — trespass not;<br />Of this green and darkling spot,<br />Latticed from the moon's beams,<br />Perchance a distant dreamer dreams;<br />Perchance upon its darkening air,<br />The unseen ghosts of children fare,<br />Faintly swinging, sway and sweep,<br />Like lovely sea-flowers in its deep;<br />While, unmoved, to watch and ward,<br />'Mid its gloomed and daisied sward,<br />Stands with bowed and dewy head<br />That one little leaden Lad.<br /><br />Walter de la Mare<br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-446574517761767242012-01-22T17:26:00.000-08:002012-01-22T17:27:40.296-08:00To Have Without HoldingTO HAVE WITHOUT HOLDING<br />by Marge Piercy<br /><br /> Learning to love differently is hard, <br /> love with the hands wide open, love<br /> with the doors banging on their hinges,<br /> the cupboard unlocked, the wind<br /> roaring and whimpering in the rooms<br /> rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds<br /> that thwack like rubber bands<br /> in an open palm.<br /><br /> It hurts to love wide open<br /> stretching the muscles that feel<br /> as if they are made of wet plaster,<br /> then of blunt knives, then<br /> of sharp knives.<br /><br /> It hurts to thwart the reflexes<br /> of grab, of clutch; to love and let<br /> go again and again. It pesters to remember<br /> the lover who is not in the bed,<br /> to hold back what is owed to the work<br /> that gutters like a candle in a cave<br /> without air, to love consciously,<br /> conscientiously, concretely, constructively.<br /><br /> I can't do it, you say it's killing<br /> me, but you thrive, you glow<br /> on the street like a neon raspberry,<br /> you float and sail, a helium balloon<br /> bright bachelor's button blue and bobbing<br /> on the cold and hot winds of our breath,<br /> as we make and unmake in passionate<br /> diastole and systole the rhythm<br /> of our unbound bonding, to have<br /> and not to hold, to love<br /> with minimized malice, hunger<br /> and anger moment by moment balanced.Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-31536475041534760832011-11-26T18:05:00.000-08:002011-11-26T18:05:17.487-08:00Secret Garden - Hymn to HopeHaving been taught a lesson... here's a Hymn to Hope.<br /><br /><iframe width="459" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7cFu9RfR6js?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""></iframe>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-49217249266511171422011-11-17T18:18:00.001-08:002011-11-19T21:27:40.520-08:00November<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRhDrg7E2e6MGBFudqbTMsTTXmYCNdGfbiAJX_p7TTYzaQIdjrkq0l3bi0IAr9M3z12VpIp9nunSZCWw5pO_jtUfYSWVmwdxu_vfivuMxgvkVHVzVK_2pCLPNZTC5GBUlFyrTXJaRhYDC/s1600/blowing-leaves.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRhDrg7E2e6MGBFudqbTMsTTXmYCNdGfbiAJX_p7TTYzaQIdjrkq0l3bi0IAr9M3z12VpIp9nunSZCWw5pO_jtUfYSWVmwdxu_vfivuMxgvkVHVzVK_2pCLPNZTC5GBUlFyrTXJaRhYDC/s400/blowing-leaves.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676945375010337570" /></a><br />November<br /><br />Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.<br />Now overlap the sundials with your shadows,<br />and on the meadows let the wind go free.<br /><br />Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine;<br />grant them a few more warm transparent days,<br />urge them on to fulfillment then, and press<br />the final sweetness into the heavy wine.<br /><br />Whoever has no house now, will not build one anymore.<br />Whoever is alone will stay alone,<br />will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,<br />and wander on the boulevards, up and down,<br />restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.<br /><br />-- Rainer Maria RilkeRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-76831842837955077632011-10-21T19:07:00.000-07:002011-10-21T19:07:52.289-07:00José González - Killing For Love (Beatfanatic Remix)<iframe width="459" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0gss4obIcJ4?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""></iframe><br /><br />"What's the point<br /><br />if you hate, die and kill for love.<br /><br />What's the point with a love that<br /><br />makes you hate and kill for."<br /><br />...............<br /><br />And that's all and everything he says.Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-9008363720660959712011-10-19T16:33:00.000-07:002011-10-19T16:36:58.634-07:00Look at Us<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtUPO_tMIoE-yZekjm_NYk_Mr_X3qSmVLHaAM0GfObAf2vg37uBwNGNm4nTHijMMDERX8Gm-ROtueY3hh3CufoQK_C4807vDoR9OrZUIy30eI-KAs7tWttdh1fVKj_sMpzPe2QO4fsujr9/s1600/Harris_Hawk_Flying.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtUPO_tMIoE-yZekjm_NYk_Mr_X3qSmVLHaAM0GfObAf2vg37uBwNGNm4nTHijMMDERX8Gm-ROtueY3hh3CufoQK_C4807vDoR9OrZUIy30eI-KAs7tWttdh1fVKj_sMpzPe2QO4fsujr9/s400/Harris_Hawk_Flying.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665351302422729042" /></a><br />Look at Us<br />by John Trudell<br /><br />At times they were kind, they were polite in their sophistication, smiling but never too loudly acting in a civilized manner an illusion of gentleness always fighting to get their way. while the people see, the people know, the people wait, the people say the closing of your doors will never shut use out, the closing of your doors can only shut you in.<br /><br />We know the predator, we see them feed on us, we are aware to starve the beast is our destiny. At times they were kind, they were polite, but never honest.<br /><br />We see your tech no logical society devour you before your very eyes we hear your anguished cries exalting greed through progress while you seek material advances the sound of flowers dying carry messages through the wind trying to tell you about balance and your safety<br /><br />But your minds are chained to your machines and the strings dangling from your puppeteers hands turning you, twisting you into forms and confusions beyond your control<br /><br />Your mind for a job your mind for a t.v. your mind for a hair dryer your mind for consumption.<br /><br />With your atom bombs your material bombs your drug bombs your racial bombs your class bombs your sexist bombs your ageist bombs<br /><br />Devastating your natural shelters making you homeless on earth chasing you into illusions fooling you, making you pretend you can run away from the ravishing of your spirit<br /><br />While the sound of flowers dying carry messages through the wind trying to tell you about balance and your safety.<br /><br />Trying to isolate us in a dimension called loneliness leading us into the trap believe in their power but not in ourselves piling us with guilt always taking the blame greed chasing out the balance trying to isolate us in a dimension called loneliness<br /><br />economic deities seizing power through illusions created armies are justified class systems are democracy god listens to warmongers prayers tyranny is here, divide and conquer trying to isolate us in a dimension called loneliness<br /><br />greed a parent insecurity the happiness companion genocide conceived in sophistication tech no logic material civilization a rationalization replacing a way to live trying to isolate us in a dimension called loneliness<br /><br />To god we hope you don’t mind but we would like to talk to you; there are some things we need to straighten out, it’s about these christians they claim to be from your nation but man you should see the things they do all the time blaming it on you: manifest destiny, genocide, maximized profit, sterilization, raping the earth, lying taking more than they need in all the forms of the greed. we ask them why, they say it’s god’s will.<br /><br />Damn god they make it so hard. Remember jesus? Would you send him back to them, tell them how to kill him, rather they should listen stop abusing his name and yours.<br /><br />We do not mean to be disrespectful but you know how it is, our people have their own ways we never even heard of you until not long ago, your representatives spoke magnificent things of you which we were willing to believe, but from the way they acted we know we and you were being deceived.<br /><br />We do not mean you and your christian children any bad, but you all came to take all we had we have not seen you but we have heard so much it is time for you to decide what life is worth we already remember but maybe you forgot.<br /><br />Look at us, look at us, we are of Earth and Water<br />Look at them, it is the same<br />Look at us, we are suffering all these years<br />Look at them, they are connected.<br />Look at us, we are in pain<br />Look at them, surprised at our anger<br />Look at us, we are struggling to survive<br />Look at them, expecting sorrow be benign<br />Look at us, we were the ones called pagan<br />Look at them, on their arrival<br />Look at us, we are called subversive<br />Look at them, descending from name callers<br />Look at us, we wept sadly in the long dark<br />Look at them, hiding in tech no logic light<br />Look at us, we buried the generations<br />Look at them, inventing the body count<br />Look at us, we are older than America<br />Look at them, chasing a fountain of youth<br />Look at us, we are embracing Earth<br />Look at them, clutching today<br />Look at us, we are living in the generations<br />Look at them, existing in jobs and debts<br />Look at us, we have escaped many times<br />Look at them, they cannot remember<br />Look at us, we are healing<br />Look at them, their medicine is patented<br />Look at us, we are trying<br />Look at them, what are they doing<br />Look at us, we are children of Earth<br />Look at them, who are they?Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-70808796915442292032011-09-22T22:16:00.000-07:002011-09-22T22:17:15.805-07:00Hope?“No matter how hard the past, you can always begin again.” -Buddha<br /><br />One of the greatest misconceptions in life is that we are somehow powerless to let go of what’s behind us. That we have to carry regret, shame, or disappointment, and that is has to dictate how today will unfold, at least on some level.<br /><br />It doesn’t. At any moment, you can let go of who you’ve been and decide to be someone new–to do something differently. It won’t always be easy, but it is always a choice you can make.<br /><br />You can either dwell and stay stuck, or let go and feel free. Give yourself space to fill with good feelings about the beautiful day in front of you–and the beautiful tomorrow you’re now creating.Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-15171155162716937092011-09-14T17:08:00.000-07:002011-09-14T17:10:18.188-07:00Found on an Anonymous Blog re: 9/11I wrote after the attacks and read it not long ago. It was pitiful. This is not. The poem is amazing but you need the preceding story to parse it.<br /><br />~R<br />..................<br />It's hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that I am sitting here, 10 years after the September 11, 2001 attacks, writing this. It's difficult to imagine that so much time has passed. So much has happened to me personally, but also to America as a nation. <br /><br />Early this week I woke and went digging through my old files, looking for the person I was all those years ago. In my search, I found a poem I'd written after the attacks, thinking all the while about a girl in my dorm who had lost both of her parents. We had all just arrived a week or so before to school -- brand new freshmen -- and it was a scary time for all of us, embracing our freedom but fearful of it at the same time. To have lost so much at such a transitory time in one's life sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for that girl. <br /><br />I didn't know her, but I knew this: her pain, her loss -- just like that of the nation -- was immeasurable. I struggled to understand all of it, as we all did. And so I strived to organize the mess of what happened with words, lining them up neatly in a poem. Reading it now, I am brought back to that day. The words make it fresh, real. After all of these years, America's wounds are healing, but there is still an ache that, for so many, will never go away. To all those who lost someone, who suffered through the fear of that day, I dedicate my decade-old poem to you. <br /><br /> <br /><br />September in Delaware<br /><br />Morning of bagels, a man shouting out<br />cream cheese on plain, lox on sesame<br />louder today because it’s harder to hear<br />with the television turned up.<br />The picture is yelling, smoky and frantic,<br />at us, sitting at a plastic table<br />smearing yellow butter on circular bread.<br /> <br /><br />Outside, the grass is still summer-soft<br />and the sky is bright blue quiet.<br />No planes grumbling as they soar home,<br />Heavy with the weight of packages or people.<br />For a while, we are silent too, shocked into<br />forgoing our own routine takeoffs and landings.<br />We are grounded, feet touching soil.<br /><br /><br />I can feel it better today, grass and dirt,<br />fading sunburn and harsh words,<br />but I cannot make a connection to tell you<br />when all the phones keep beeping busy.<br />I cannot get through, and all the faces,<br />blurred when they pass, are smeared with<br />the same disconcerting isolation.<br /><br /><br />Sunlight blinds us on the walk home,<br />filled with bagels and juice, tired.<br />You speak of war, of death, of drafts<br />but your voice is cracking, crumbling,<br />breaking, fading in and out of service.<br />Your words float before us, and as<br />we walk, we bump into them, bruising.<br /><br /><br />Tomorrow the calendar will change<br />Mostly without us noticing and we will<br />regain lost connections, and get used to<br />morbid media, the violet vertigo of what<br />we come to accept as photo and memory.<br />Down the arm of the road to the elbow,<br />we will drive: a sharp, quick turn into release.<br /><br /><br />But today, my building harbors a girl,<br />raven-haired, who shared the shower,<br />the sink, the hallway for twelve days.<br />We are not allowed to see her, with<br />her swollen eyes, mystified expression,<br />as she is lifted out, quietly. Driven back,<br />I imagine, to the city still bleeding.<br /><br /><br />All her hope breaking off on the interstate<br />as she realizes language has stolen<br />the safest word, her peaceful haven: home.<br />Her brave house still standing, its insides<br />burned and blacker than what she has left behind:<br />single strands in the drain of a shower. <br /><br />~Someone named SharryRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-63174423598864114522011-08-30T16:01:00.001-07:002011-10-14T15:37:24.028-07:00Income? What income?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq3eUD3HweG28GIiJLCqqeezNEoJNIv33TpefCowpVwVrdKbC80XnBs8yT67UeoA2trx6r_jGTx-GLWtC5ImFYYs8pAljgcrrugGXH5GVLFDav7p7omhyphenhyphenDZjvuUwfB9hgLSK99MKkMN1U7/s1600/One-Dollar-Bill.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq3eUD3HweG28GIiJLCqqeezNEoJNIv33TpefCowpVwVrdKbC80XnBs8yT67UeoA2trx6r_jGTx-GLWtC5ImFYYs8pAljgcrrugGXH5GVLFDav7p7omhyphenhyphenDZjvuUwfB9hgLSK99MKkMN1U7/s400/One-Dollar-Bill.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663480480328918882" /></a><br />"I'm living so far beyond my income that we may almost be said to be living apart."<br /><br />- e e cummings (1894-1962)Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-44444715829978243182011-08-20T19:36:00.001-07:002011-08-20T19:36:54.812-07:00When All Else FailsWhen all else fails,
<br />
<br />hug the dog.
<br />
<br />~AnonRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-2834644333887807982011-08-20T19:35:00.001-07:002011-08-20T19:35:16.941-07:00The InvitationThe Invitation
<br />Oriah Mountain Dreamer
<br />Canadian Teacher and Author
<br />
<br />It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
<br />I want to know what you ache for
<br />and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
<br />
<br />It doesn't interest me how old you are
<br />I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
<br />for love
<br />for your dreams
<br />for the adventure of being alive.
<br />
<br />It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
<br />I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
<br />if you have been opened by life's betrayals
<br />or have become shrivelled and closed
<br />from fear of further pain.
<br />
<br />I want to know if you can sit with pain
<br />mine or your own
<br />without moving to hide it
<br />or fade it
<br />or fix it.
<br />
<br />I want to know if you can be with joy
<br />mine or your own
<br />if you can dance with wildness
<br />and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
<br />fingers and toes
<br />without cautioning us to
<br />be careful
<br />be realistic
<br />to remember the limitations of being human.
<br />
<br />It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
<br />is true.
<br />I want to know if you can
<br />disappoint another
<br />to be true to yourself.
<br />If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
<br />and not betray your own soul.
<br />If you can be faithless
<br />and therefore trustworthy.
<br />
<br />I want to know if you can see Beauty
<br />even when it is not pretty
<br />every day.
<br />And if you can source your own life
<br />from its presence.
<br />
<br />I want to know if you can live with failure
<br />yours and mine
<br />and still stand on the edge of the lake
<br />and shout to the silver of the full moon,
<br />"Yes."
<br />
<br />It doesn't interest me
<br />to know where you live or how much money you have.
<br />I want to know if you can get up
<br />after a night of grief and despair
<br />weary and bruised to the bone
<br />and do what needs to be done
<br />to feed the children.
<br />
<br />It doesn't interest me who you know
<br />or how you came to be here.
<br />I want to know if you will stand
<br />in the center of the fire
<br />with me
<br />and not shrink back.
<br />
<br />It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
<br />you have studied.
<br />I want to know what sustains you
<br />from the inside
<br />when all else falls away.
<br />
<br />I want to know if you can be alone
<br />with yourself
<br />and if you truly like the company you keep
<br />in the empty moments.
<br />
<br />
<br />© 1995 by Oriah House, From "Dreams Of Desire"
<br />Published by Mountain Dreaming, 300 Coxwell Avenue, Box 22546, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4L 2A0Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-63268005548702889532011-08-14T20:06:00.000-07:002011-08-14T20:10:10.303-07:00Native American Code of EthicsNative American Code Of Ethics
<br />Rise with the sun to pray. Pray alone. Pray often.
The Great Spirit will listen, if you only speak.
<br />
~
Be tolerant of those who are lost on their path.
Ignorance, conceit, anger, jealousy and greed stem
from a lost soul. Pray that they will find guidance
<br />.
~
Search for yourself, by yourself. Do not allow others
to make your path for you. It is your road, and
yours alone. Others may walk it with you,
but no one can walk it for you.
<br />
~
Treat the guests in your home with much consideration.
Serve them the best food, give them the best
bed and treat them with respect and honor.
<br />
~
Do not take what is not yours whether from
a person, a community,the wilderness or from a
culture. It was not earned nor given. It is not yours
<br />.
~
Respect all things that are placed upon
this earth – whether it be people or plant.
<br />
~
Honor other people’s thoughts, wishes and words.
Never interrupt another or mock or rudely mimic them.
Allow each person the right to personal expression.
<br />
~
Never speak of others in a bad way. The negative
energy that you put out into the universe
will multiply when it returns to you.
~
All persons make mistakes.
And all mistakes can be forgiven.
<br />
~
Bad thoughts cause illness of the mind,
body and spirit. Practice optimism.
<br />~
Nature is not FOR us, it is a PART of us.
They are part of your worldly family.
<br />~
Children are the seeds of our future. Plant
love in their hearts and water them with
wisdom and life’s lessons. When they
are grown, give them space to grow.
<br />
~
Avoid hurting the hearts of others.
The poison of your pain will return to you.
<br />~
Be truthful at all times. Honesty is thev
test of one’s will within this universe.
<br />~
Keep yourself balanced. Your Mental self, Spiritual
self, Emotional self, and Physical self – all need
to be strong, pure and healthy. Work out
the body to strengthen the mind. Grow
rich in spirit to cure emotional ails.
<br />~
Make conscious decisions as to who
you will be and how you will react. Be
responsible for your own actions.
<br />
~
Respect the privacy and personal space of
others. Do not touch the personal property of
others – especially sacred and religious
objects. This is forbidden.
<br />
~
Be true to yourself first. You cannot
nurture and help others if you cannot
nurture and help yourself first.
<br />~
Respect others religious beliefs.
Do not force your belief on others.
<br />
~
Share your good fortune with others.
Participate in charity.
<br />Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-65677226571410138122011-08-08T15:54:00.000-07:002011-08-08T15:55:45.394-07:00A VoiceThere Is A Voice Inside Of You That Whispers All Day Long, "I Feel That This Is Right For Me, I Know That This Is Wrong." No Teacher, Preacher, Parent, Friend Or Wise Man Can Decide What's Right For You- Just Listen To The Voice That Speaks Inside.
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<br />Shel SilversteinRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-56337855982586661062011-08-03T14:44:00.000-07:002011-08-03T14:45:25.405-07:00Look again at that dot.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYzPcJUGpozoztkWERcW7qHIxDvQLmRjACRRvZ5KxoG4Y4wkr4XnE_W_XPKV-NlvSC6fy0z4808WxCr71cArsR76W0jPdDYQm01Owe9T0mt2IUZaRnsO0XCOiYu-kiuS59Ly7UzCCxuUYZ/s1600/carlsaganexistence.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 295px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYzPcJUGpozoztkWERcW7qHIxDvQLmRjACRRvZ5KxoG4Y4wkr4XnE_W_XPKV-NlvSC6fy0z4808WxCr71cArsR76W0jPdDYQm01Owe9T0mt2IUZaRnsO0XCOiYu-kiuS59Ly7UzCCxuUYZ/s400/carlsaganexistence.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636748960495679970" /></a>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-72235391513659358222011-08-03T13:45:00.000-07:002011-08-03T13:46:56.421-07:00When someone says....When someone says, "You've changed" it simply means you've stopped living life their way.<br /><br />~AnonRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-25634484081952798932011-03-09T17:10:00.000-08:002011-03-09T17:14:23.962-08:00Choice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoRh63tVkKE3fJw3wTFhE6mQShVyYNxGcFsfRH3gzs6pyjgQFWoauiMrvSwS0TqotHfB4jqD3OeOrzgN462aj_JOLLeN2HgZEhHJUH2Eu0B0VlRLTHPuuDD1wiizWpLKBw4JSgOLtFBmd/s1600/weather-worn-rock-seward.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoRh63tVkKE3fJw3wTFhE6mQShVyYNxGcFsfRH3gzs6pyjgQFWoauiMrvSwS0TqotHfB4jqD3OeOrzgN462aj_JOLLeN2HgZEhHJUH2Eu0B0VlRLTHPuuDD1wiizWpLKBw4JSgOLtFBmd/s400/weather-worn-rock-seward.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582253351835982562" /></a><br /><br />We choose-either to live our lives or let others live them
for us. By making and keeping promises to ourselves and
to others, little by little we increase our strength until our
ability to act is more powerful than any of the forces that
act upon us.<br /><br /><br />~Steven R. CoveyRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-30144276731367811762011-03-02T18:51:00.000-08:002011-03-02T18:52:55.666-08:00What are days for?Days are where we live.<br />They come, they wake us<br />Time and time over.<br />They are to be happy in:<br />Where can we live but days?<br /><br />~from Days, Philip LarkinRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-84903309492653094682011-02-12T19:23:00.000-08:002011-02-12T19:53:40.144-08:00Give Away.... Mary Sarton<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35yWVVpJ7eLtrGmDUsOG4XfqwAiuIDlQHetvsEFJRWmZUyV-r3NCrb_DtRhz5W8vliYV9yCLEdYsr5b3-FSgpI3cI3LXpFbHwfYaem5Kufvq28FcnV4R5KNz2LwXDmkA86JSUdlN885iX/s1600/tree.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35yWVVpJ7eLtrGmDUsOG4XfqwAiuIDlQHetvsEFJRWmZUyV-r3NCrb_DtRhz5W8vliYV9yCLEdYsr5b3-FSgpI3cI3LXpFbHwfYaem5Kufvq28FcnV4R5KNz2LwXDmkA86JSUdlN885iX/s400/tree.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573016820271940082" /></a><br /><br />" I would like to believe when I die that I have given myself away like a tree that sows seeds every spring and never counts the loss, because it is not loss, it is adding to future life. It's the tree's way of being . Strongly rooted perhaps, but spilling out it's treasure on the wind. "<br /><br />~Mary Sarton<br /><br />(Thanks, Deb)Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-83692681725259772312011-02-09T18:31:00.001-08:002011-02-09T18:32:34.443-08:00Howard and Honey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNXT_2pX7eNPR3t_MirlcvMR2xJgHrhOmCV1pEW4oYcI5IEg145g1LDQp5q13Ibci9HQYXMtAkoUzAASD5S-3uvQpHi99AwCxAo_5Vf8kFQ0GIFCYSaxkkbI4qpVNKqbL19RG31_JBA6qN/s1600/dogs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNXT_2pX7eNPR3t_MirlcvMR2xJgHrhOmCV1pEW4oYcI5IEg145g1LDQp5q13Ibci9HQYXMtAkoUzAASD5S-3uvQpHi99AwCxAo_5Vf8kFQ0GIFCYSaxkkbI4qpVNKqbL19RG31_JBA6qN/s400/dogs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571883019531195554" /></a><br /><br />“It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with <br />them. And every new dog who comes into my life, gifts me with a piece of their <br />heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I <br />will become as generous and loving as they are.”<br /><br />~UnknownRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-48171473590468784302011-01-30T20:34:00.000-08:002011-01-30T20:38:23.133-08:00Praying.... Mary Oliver<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5KLue4nRAhnJB1ZrNHmSlv29JSO6FZVujXVz3Pb1I8176P2RZc_cIe7MXJeLbadzxrMzw9eeKYPycYaulOko0USplMvAVqRhycNU_-I8oczg5xyoDKhVHwX9UnjKY9TbttwHxOCZMRFMb/s1600/blue-iris-300x225.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5KLue4nRAhnJB1ZrNHmSlv29JSO6FZVujXVz3Pb1I8176P2RZc_cIe7MXJeLbadzxrMzw9eeKYPycYaulOko0USplMvAVqRhycNU_-I8oczg5xyoDKhVHwX9UnjKY9TbttwHxOCZMRFMb/s400/blue-iris-300x225.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568204598819629858" /></a><br />Praying<br /><br />It doesn’t have to be<br />the blue iris, it could be<br />weeds in a vacant lot, or a few<br />small stones; just<br />pay attention, then patch<br /><br />a few words together and don’t try<br />to make them elaborate, this isn’t<br />a contest but the doorway<br /><br />into thanks, and a silence in which<br />another voice may speak.<br /><br />~Mary OliverRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-38547957519708012002011-01-02T17:07:00.000-08:002011-01-02T17:13:19.741-08:00Love.... Anatole France<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWfg5HZGP3zD6xIUj3XMsUp4eaJA6SexkayUtkIA_holXgdoLS5DycJiHA5axLvFOzO6GJKWKDJGEflG8JwOr5dMEz2DiAeqNXcEZCrfFti75-sKWFveOQnaDMWICxsODEKN_YqLzIRT0n/s1600/pepper.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWfg5HZGP3zD6xIUj3XMsUp4eaJA6SexkayUtkIA_holXgdoLS5DycJiHA5axLvFOzO6GJKWKDJGEflG8JwOr5dMEz2DiAeqNXcEZCrfFti75-sKWFveOQnaDMWICxsODEKN_YqLzIRT0n/s400/pepper.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557760522941544898" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened." - Anatole France<br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(This is my neighbor Pim and her dog Pepper who is old and likes being outside. He sits on his back porch often and I watch him watching the night from my bed. He obviously wanted to just lay down and enjoy the day, and she stood there for the longest time so that he could.</span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528448422653716788.post-65274226964362440322010-12-29T14:11:00.000-08:002010-12-29T14:22:33.239-08:00Growth.... Anais Nin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNoMQzVCBGS0sQA_zLoQP7MBwu2c-1SpYDD0LRAUS1Jbj89HZ47gbKOJ3xqQPefcRvvUKKPT9yClEGklQzir9_1sg0O4REsDcW3JsH1BV3DePpGA26kHTm3pgNX4Rgxpv2iCcnwMvORnAp/s1600/bigdipper_december.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNoMQzVCBGS0sQA_zLoQP7MBwu2c-1SpYDD0LRAUS1Jbj89HZ47gbKOJ3xqQPefcRvvUKKPT9yClEGklQzir9_1sg0O4REsDcW3JsH1BV3DePpGA26kHTm3pgNX4Rgxpv2iCcnwMvORnAp/s400/bigdipper_december.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556232908578113010" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.<br />~Anais Nin<br /></span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(Last night as I was trying to sleep, I looked out the window and sat straight up. Here along the lake we see stars more often than most people in Chicago, but... framed perfectly by the window and bright as diamonds was the Big Dipper. There are just some gifts that take center stage...)</span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07089977665165118563noreply@blogger.com0