i come here to write and only i don't really know why but sometimes there is a feeling deep in the pit of my gut and what results when i put finger to key or pen to page is simply some approximation of greatness just a sliver, a hair, a microscopic granular diamond... it's moments like these that have me wonder if we really are the image of God- but a fingerprint, a shape, a chemi-coded, oil outline of three dimensions... a touch of heat in the darkness of space
“The turtle was crossing a swamp, covered in mud, when it passed a temple. There it saw the shell of another turtle – all adorned with gold and precious stones.
“I don’t envy you, ancient friend,” thought the turtle. “You’re covered in jewels, but I’m doing what I want.”
Original story found at: http://paulocoelhoblog.com/2011/02/19/the-place-we-desire/.
Sometimes another says it best. Freedom is the essence of peace.
Sometimes it feels like we’ve been thrown into this world blindfolded with cotton stuffed in our mouths and rubber in our ears. And we’re bumping into each other and stumbling and feeling every nudge, scratch, bump and fall. And the world is cold and dark and we’re deaf to each other. But in the middle of it all, we still feel each other. We feel for warmth when the sun goes down. We huddle together to stay alive. And yet we’re given sticks and stones and guns and bombs. And nobody really knows what they’re doing. But we don’t even need weapons to hurt one another. Sometimes all it takes is the cover of a blindfold to stop us from seeing where we put our hands. Our feet. Our words. Our hurts. I guess that is why we’re so drawn to miracle stories and healing. Because we sometimes feel so damaged that we want to know that once in a while we get it right.
Life is this thing bigger than all of us and part of it is to forget that we’re connected to it. That we all share the same blood, even if it’s a different type. That we all share the same skin, even if it’s a different colour. That we all have a voice even when we don’t know it exists. We are one stone in a path across the river.
It scares me to death…. that i have a cousin
who has taught me all i know about anti-homophobia
and the dangers behind a head tax
and the microscopic filaments of society that
stab into my skin
eyelashes flickering and wounding me
and the spiral-ivy vined reigns
which lock my wrists together…
it scares me to death to think that
all she has taught me:
the matri-anarch of wholesomeness
and warm love…
cannot be enough for me
to get off of my privilege
and cannot show my near-sighted eyes
the beauty of a time and place
so rightfully beside our present
i am blind to the daggers
which i deliver into the trans human goddesses
whom i share blood…
because i am ignorant.
I found this video when looking up Youtube lessons of how to play Jimi Hendrix’s version of “All Along the Watchtower.” Gotta say this cat can jam! But I’m a little partial to this video…mostly because I have mad respect for old guys (old gals, too if I knew any) who can jam. So enjoy and kick it to a sick track as you go onto wherever you’re going for this Friday night: