“No matter how hard the past, you can always begin again.” -Buddha
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Found on an Anonymous Blog re: 9/11
I 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.
~R
..................
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.
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.
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.
September in Delaware
Morning of bagels, a man shouting out
cream cheese on plain, lox on sesame
louder today because it’s harder to hear
with the television turned up.
The picture is yelling, smoky and frantic,
at us, sitting at a plastic table
smearing yellow butter on circular bread.
Outside, the grass is still summer-soft
and the sky is bright blue quiet.
No planes grumbling as they soar home,
Heavy with the weight of packages or people.
For a while, we are silent too, shocked into
forgoing our own routine takeoffs and landings.
We are grounded, feet touching soil.
I can feel it better today, grass and dirt,
fading sunburn and harsh words,
but I cannot make a connection to tell you
when all the phones keep beeping busy.
I cannot get through, and all the faces,
blurred when they pass, are smeared with
the same disconcerting isolation.
Sunlight blinds us on the walk home,
filled with bagels and juice, tired.
You speak of war, of death, of drafts
but your voice is cracking, crumbling,
breaking, fading in and out of service.
Your words float before us, and as
we walk, we bump into them, bruising.
Tomorrow the calendar will change
Mostly without us noticing and we will
regain lost connections, and get used to
morbid media, the violet vertigo of what
we come to accept as photo and memory.
Down the arm of the road to the elbow,
we will drive: a sharp, quick turn into release.
But today, my building harbors a girl,
raven-haired, who shared the shower,
the sink, the hallway for twelve days.
We are not allowed to see her, with
her swollen eyes, mystified expression,
as she is lifted out, quietly. Driven back,
I imagine, to the city still bleeding.
All her hope breaking off on the interstate
as she realizes language has stolen
the safest word, her peaceful haven: home.
Her brave house still standing, its insides
burned and blacker than what she has left behind:
single strands in the drain of a shower.
~Someone named Sharry
~R
..................
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.
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.
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.
September in Delaware
Morning of bagels, a man shouting out
cream cheese on plain, lox on sesame
louder today because it’s harder to hear
with the television turned up.
The picture is yelling, smoky and frantic,
at us, sitting at a plastic table
smearing yellow butter on circular bread.
Outside, the grass is still summer-soft
and the sky is bright blue quiet.
No planes grumbling as they soar home,
Heavy with the weight of packages or people.
For a while, we are silent too, shocked into
forgoing our own routine takeoffs and landings.
We are grounded, feet touching soil.
I can feel it better today, grass and dirt,
fading sunburn and harsh words,
but I cannot make a connection to tell you
when all the phones keep beeping busy.
I cannot get through, and all the faces,
blurred when they pass, are smeared with
the same disconcerting isolation.
Sunlight blinds us on the walk home,
filled with bagels and juice, tired.
You speak of war, of death, of drafts
but your voice is cracking, crumbling,
breaking, fading in and out of service.
Your words float before us, and as
we walk, we bump into them, bruising.
Tomorrow the calendar will change
Mostly without us noticing and we will
regain lost connections, and get used to
morbid media, the violet vertigo of what
we come to accept as photo and memory.
Down the arm of the road to the elbow,
we will drive: a sharp, quick turn into release.
But today, my building harbors a girl,
raven-haired, who shared the shower,
the sink, the hallway for twelve days.
We are not allowed to see her, with
her swollen eyes, mystified expression,
as she is lifted out, quietly. Driven back,
I imagine, to the city still bleeding.
All her hope breaking off on the interstate
as she realizes language has stolen
the safest word, her peaceful haven: home.
Her brave house still standing, its insides
burned and blacker than what she has left behind:
single strands in the drain of a shower.
~Someone named Sharry
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Income? What income?
"I'm living so far beyond my income that we may almost be said to be living apart."
- e e cummings (1894-1962)
Saturday, August 20, 2011
The Invitation
The Invitation
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Canadian Teacher and Author
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dreams
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."
It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
© 1995 by Oriah House, From "Dreams Of Desire"
Published by Mountain Dreaming, 300 Coxwell Avenue, Box 22546, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4L 2A0
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Canadian Teacher and Author
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dreams
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."
It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
© 1995 by Oriah House, From "Dreams Of Desire"
Published by Mountain Dreaming, 300 Coxwell Avenue, Box 22546, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4L 2A0
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Native American Code of Ethics
Native American Code Of Ethics
Rise with the sun to pray. Pray alone. Pray often. The Great Spirit will listen, if you only speak.
~ 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
. ~ 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.
~ 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.
~ 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
. ~ Respect all things that are placed upon this earth – whether it be people or plant.
~ 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.
~ 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.
~ Bad thoughts cause illness of the mind, body and spirit. Practice optimism.
~ Nature is not FOR us, it is a PART of us. They are part of your worldly family.
~ 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.
~ Avoid hurting the hearts of others. The poison of your pain will return to you.
~ Be truthful at all times. Honesty is thev test of one’s will within this universe.
~ 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.
~ Make conscious decisions as to who you will be and how you will react. Be responsible for your own actions.
~ Respect the privacy and personal space of others. Do not touch the personal property of others – especially sacred and religious objects. This is forbidden.
~ Be true to yourself first. You cannot nurture and help others if you cannot nurture and help yourself first.
~ Respect others religious beliefs. Do not force your belief on others.
~ Share your good fortune with others. Participate in charity.
Rise with the sun to pray. Pray alone. Pray often. The Great Spirit will listen, if you only speak.
~ 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
. ~ 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.
~ 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.
~ 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
. ~ Respect all things that are placed upon this earth – whether it be people or plant.
~ 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.
~ 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.
~ Bad thoughts cause illness of the mind, body and spirit. Practice optimism.
~ Nature is not FOR us, it is a PART of us. They are part of your worldly family.
~ 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.
~ Avoid hurting the hearts of others. The poison of your pain will return to you.
~ Be truthful at all times. Honesty is thev test of one’s will within this universe.
~ 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.
~ Make conscious decisions as to who you will be and how you will react. Be responsible for your own actions.
~ Respect the privacy and personal space of others. Do not touch the personal property of others – especially sacred and religious objects. This is forbidden.
~ Be true to yourself first. You cannot nurture and help others if you cannot nurture and help yourself first.
~ Respect others religious beliefs. Do not force your belief on others.
~ Share your good fortune with others. Participate in charity.
Monday, August 8, 2011
A Voice
There 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.
Shel Silverstein
Shel Silverstein
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)