tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67446274186796527102023-07-17T21:56:35.297-07:00TheJumbledThoughtMy thoughts, my dreams, my regrets, and my ramblings. TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-34587169008907265922013-09-24T18:22:00.000-07:002014-01-27T20:34:30.948-08:00Poetry<div class="MsoNormal">
So I have been taking a creative writing class at my university and thought I would share some of the poetry that has come out of it...</div>
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<b><u>Robot<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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He was built inside a factory <o:p></o:p></div>
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With gears and steel and sweat<o:p></o:p></div>
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And men praised themselves in industry<o:p></o:p></div>
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For the challenge they had met<o:p></o:p></div>
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“He’ll be better than a man” they said<o:p></o:p></div>
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A robot always is<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ship him out and box him up<o:p></o:p></div>
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Put nails into the lid<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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He arrived at noon and twenty<o:p></o:p></div>
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And the neighbors stood and stared<o:p></o:p></div>
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The father grabbed the crowbar<o:p></o:p></div>
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And the mother pulled her hair<o:p></o:p></div>
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“He’ll do everything we hate, they say”<o:p></o:p></div>
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As he was made to do<o:p></o:p></div>
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Turn him on and let him go<o:p></o:p></div>
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A robot shiny new<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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At first he washed the dishes<o:p></o:p></div>
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And soon he mopped the floor<o:p></o:p></div>
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He built the tool shed in the back<o:p></o:p></div>
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And painted red the door<o:p></o:p></div>
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“What a wonder of technology” they cried<o:p></o:p></div>
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Far better than a man<o:p></o:p></div>
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He could do almost anything<o:p></o:p></div>
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Where once man had lent its hand<o:p></o:p></div>
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But one night as they were sleeping<o:p></o:p></div>
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From the basement heard<o:p></o:p></div>
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A pounding and a banging<o:p></o:p></div>
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And gears and motor’s whir <o:p></o:p></div>
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What could he be doing there? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Tomorrow we will know<o:p></o:p></div>
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Back to dreams and satin sheets<o:p></o:p></div>
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And let our questions grow<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But when they woke up in the morning<o:p></o:p></div>
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And called upon their bot<o:p></o:p></div>
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All they heard we’re tears and cries<o:p></o:p></div>
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And answers they were not<o:p></o:p></div>
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So they crept into the basement<o:p></o:p></div>
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The woman after man<o:p></o:p></div>
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And looked upon their robot<o:p></o:p></div>
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In terror, hand in hand<o:p></o:p></div>
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It had built a little heart <o:p></o:p></div>
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And placed it in its chest<o:p></o:p></div>
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It beat and glowed and spun around<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like a fire within its breast<o:p></o:p></div>
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The mother screamed and the father yelled<o:p></o:p></div>
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And the robot simply cried<o:p></o:p></div>
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He finally felt emotion<o:p></o:p></div>
And now he wished to die<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><u>The moon and the
mirror<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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The bridge is painted fog and holds me still.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The river below as dark as oil,<o:p></o:p></div>
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stirs and sways and licks the banks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The spear like reeds break through the mist,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pleading to bring me down upon their softened ends.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Image of a ghostly pearl and clouds that lightly drip.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The deadly sound of the laughing eddies,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Twist sweetly in Mother Nature’s mirror.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>No<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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I looked around the room then lay her on her back.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She smells like rye.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I smell like cigarettes, rye and ginger.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Will we always be like this?” she asks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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No<o:p></o:p></div>
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I forget the time when she wasn't here<o:p></o:p></div>
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like this, unkempt and unimaginative in her looks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Her heart is here for now, and so is mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></div>
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No<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m silent and so is she for once.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She’s like the book she gave me on the table,<o:p></o:p></div>
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closed so tightly I hardly care.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The radio sings before I turn it off, “as my guitar gently
weeps…” <o:p></o:p></div>
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No<o:p></o:p></div>
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We look up at the ceiling.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Her body begins to twitch itself to sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our bodies are tangled and I brush her hair away<o:p></o:p></div>
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and I think, “I hate when it finds its way in to my mouth.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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No</div>
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<b style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
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<b style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
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<b style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Lament of
Daedalus: My son</span></u></b></div>
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My son, my son, oh greatest of my creations<o:p></o:p></div>
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Whose life was quickly taken by what my hands did cruelly do<o:p></o:p></div>
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That now causes my eyes to shed more than the water that did
take you<o:p></o:p></div>
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Curse these hands, whose age is writ in scars and browning
callus<o:p></o:p></div>
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Curse my name and all who give sweet praise and dwell upon
it<o:p></o:p></div>
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My son, my son, oh greatest of my wonders<o:p></o:p></div>
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How do I bring you back to me, how do I pay the cost?<o:p></o:p></div>
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How does a father say goodbye to a son so swiftly lost?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do I tell them of your dreams or my looks you seemed to
borrow?<o:p></o:p></div>
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But all my words do simply fall and sink beneath my sorrow<o:p></o:p></div>
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My son, my son, oh greatest of my triumphs<o:p></o:p></div>
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For all that I have made and built<o:p></o:p></div>
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From wooden trick to stone and brick<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of monsters made and maidens lost<o:p></o:p></div>
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You were my noblest feat and now my shameful loss<o:p></o:p></div>
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My son, my son, oh greatest of my follies<o:p></o:p></div>
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If Gods can hear, then let them listen now<o:p></o:p></div>
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On bended knee their servant’s head does so lowly bow<o:p></o:p></div>
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Please give me one last mercy and switch the old for young<o:p></o:p></div>
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And raise him like the phoenix and set me like the sun<o:p></o:p></div>
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My son, my son, oh greatest of my regrets<o:p></o:p></div>
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No other could replace you, no other will I raise<o:p></o:p></div>
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And if they come I’ll throw them out on each and every day<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do not wait for me my son, pay the boatman’s fee<o:p></o:p></div>
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And know that though you fell so far, your soul is now set
free<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>Oh Messiah<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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Oh Messiah <o:p></o:p></div>
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Let me bend your ear<o:p></o:p></div>
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Will you listen to what I most fear?<o:p></o:p></div>
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The dark of night, the clear of day<o:p></o:p></div>
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A soul that’s lost by what you say<o:p></o:p></div>
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Forgiveness please<o:p></o:p></div>
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For what I’ll do<o:p></o:p></div>
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Due to moral lines you drew<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll never be all you want<o:p></o:p></div>
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The devil’s host always taunts:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Dear Child<o:p></o:p></div>
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Please just go in<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do all you wish to win<o:p></o:p></div>
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Drink it down and breathe it in<o:p></o:p></div>
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All these chemicals of sin<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Oh Savior<o:p></o:p></div>
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Why was I born to be<o:p></o:p></div>
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Just a pawn in a war for thee?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Though I am weak, you are strong<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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Yet now my faith in you is gone<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-61223788198165306682013-09-05T22:49:00.000-07:002013-09-05T22:47:51.013-07:00Echoes<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“If you can’t do what you love,
fight against what you hate.” This was once said to me while I was on my first
trip across Canada. Seeing one’s own country for the first time is a religious
experience; you feel its winds, taste its seas, and bring yourself to a
connection you never knew was possible. The people you meet are your people,
and the words that are exchanged bind you to them like air in your lungs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The comment was said offhand by a fellow
traveler in the back of a 40ft RV that sped across the vast expanse of trees
and lakes. For the speaker, it must have seemed like a simple statement of sage
wisdom or a conversation starter while the hours seemed to drag into one
another. I remember sitting silently, my eyes out the window and my heart
beating through my shirt as his words shook me. I didn't know what I wanted to
be but I knew those words were more true than anything I had ever heard before.
It haunts me and it echoes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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There is no question in my mind that everyone has a purpose.
We are all here to change the world we live in through action or inaction. Though you may hide or try to blend into the
background, your simple presence on earth reverberates through everything. Your
first breath changed the life of everyone in that hospital room, from your
mother or father to the doctor who had to reschedule due to your timely
arrival. Every time your life touches another’s you send them on a path of
unpredictability. You matter and have mattered since the beginning of your
existence until the end (and, in many cases, long after). However, as we get
older and develop a full view of ourselves we are given a choice to become
passive or aggressive in our interactions with the world. We will always shape
it, but we may get some say in how we are going to shape it. This can be from
the most mundane of occurrences to those times when individuals change the
world. So I ask the reader, when do you take a stand? When do you stop
something that you feel is wrong or speak out about something you believe is
right? How far must you be pushed till you speak out about what you love or
what you hate? If you are one of those who are outspoken right from the get go,
how do your words or actions produce tangible results? Do you feel that there
is no reason to take a stand? If you are one of those who do not speak out but
see the inequalities or problems with the world, at what point will you take
action? I do not have these answers but I do think we must look inside
ourselves. Well thought out action is one of the most beautiful abilities of
humans, while thought without action can be one of the most destructive. So easily can we fall into the pit of
cynicism, where we speak out but enact no real change. The Greek word kunikos,
which cynic comes from, was originally an adjective meaning "doglike".
So I ask you, as I often ask myself, “Am I just a dog barking, spewing nothing
but pointless sounds or am I a creature of action?”<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-37114647972570594692013-09-05T22:32:00.001-07:002013-09-05T22:32:49.850-07:00Liebster award<div class="MsoNormal">
So I was nominated for a Liebster Award and thought I’d pay
it forward.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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First, here are the instructions<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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1.Link back to ze person who nominated you <o:p></o:p></div>
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2.Answer ze 11
questions given to you by ze nominee<o:p></o:p></div>
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3.Pick 11 bloggers
with under 200 followers to be nominated<o:p></o:p></div>
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4. Come up wiz 11
questions for your nominees to answer<o:p></o:p></div>
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5.Notify ze
nominees<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Step 1:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://escapingnormal.blogspot.ca/">http://escapingnormal.blogspot.ca/</a> Leah Lotus<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Step 2<o:p></o:p></div>
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1.How did you come up with your blog name? I have always
just written stuff down on napkins, bits of garbage, body parts and almost
anything I can in hopes to keep some record of my jumbled thoughts. Ideas seem
to stream out of me without rhyme or reason so i thought my name summed it up nicely.<o:p></o:p></div>
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2. Dream Job? A travel writer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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3.What's the last movie you've seen? The place beyond the
pines.<o:p></o:p></div>
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4.What was the most annoying song of the summer? Why? I only
listen to radio documentaries, talk radio and the occasional folk… is aqua
still happening?<o:p></o:p></div>
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5.Pancakes or Waffles? Im celiac so as long as they are
gluten free ill eat the shit out of them with emensejoy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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6. Favorite superhero? Tossup between wolverine and iron man
(and this is comic book versions we are talking about not movie ones…)<o:p></o:p></div>
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7.What color would you use to describe you as a person?
Green and it’s not easy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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8. Guilty Pleasure?( Something you love but you kind of feel
embarrassed or bad about. i.e, my guilty pleasure is phineas and pherb) Cheese
wiz<o:p></o:p></div>
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9. Who inspires you? Anyone I see act out a selfless act of
kindness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10. If any, what quote or saying do you live by? I love
quotes and that’s hard to narrow down…can I say two quotes, is that ok? Hell,
ill do it anyways:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity
has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he
contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of
reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this
mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Albert Einstein<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
US (German-born) physicist (1879 - 1955)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you
at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how
to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't
teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't
teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach
you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth
knowing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Step 3: Yeah I don’t know 11 blogs so here is a few I have
enjoyed reading…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
http://iwriteexpress.blogspot.ca/<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://inthewordsofcarysjones.blogspot.ca/">http://inthewordsofcarysjones.blogspot.ca/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://shirscloset.blogspot.ca/">http://shirscloset.blogspot.ca/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
http://moacws.blogspot.ca/<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://notsosecretlifeoftheaverageperson.blogspot.ca/">http://notsosecretlifeoftheaverageperson.blogspot.ca/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Step 4:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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1.What animal combination would you like to exist? (eg.
Duckbit = a rabbit duck)<o:p></o:p></div>
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2. What 4 word sentence best describes you?<o:p></o:p></div>
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3. If you could travel anywhere right now where would you go
and why?<o:p></o:p></div>
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4. If you could make anything have the ability of human speech,
what would it be?<o:p></o:p></div>
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5. What is your favorite book?<o:p></o:p></div>
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6. What do think more people would enjoy if they just gave
it a shot?<o:p></o:p></div>
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7. Are you the kind of person who presses the elevator floor
numbers multiple times or just once?<o:p></o:p></div>
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8. If you could make one thing disappear from the world what
would it be?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
9. How would you like the world to end?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10. What is your perfect Sunday?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
11. How long can you hold your breath, starting…now!<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-38444732336976459902013-08-13T01:14:00.000-07:002013-08-13T11:41:58.194-07:00Sacrifice<div class="MsoNormal">
Personal growth is a thing of unpredictability. There are
moments when we choose to grow and there are moments when we are forced to. We challenge ourselves and are challenged by
others. We jump head first into the great unknown or the unknown rushes towards
us like a wave. Though all of us will
have to mature and become the men and women we are meant to be, the times when
we ourselves choose to grow will change us more deeply than anything life could
ever throw at us. These are often moments brought upon by self-sacrifice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I had left High school I lost touch with all of my
friends for a long time. When they went
to college and university I decided to travel. We never called or wrote and it
was a strange parting now that I think of it. We had been close, spending
nights drinking and talking of the future, but I always knew that as soon as
school ended my time with them was finished. We had different views on life and
religion and the cracks in our friendship had begun to widen into chasms. By
the time I heard from them again, two had already been married and one, my once best
friend, was having his stag party. They had heard I was in town, back from
where I had been living in Ottawa, and thought they’d send me an invite. I was
so happy and asked where and when. They said
that it was at a friend’s house and that I could bring my girlfriend as it was
a stag/stagette party. So we got into my 86’ Celica and after a bit found the
house they had described. I remember telling my girlfriend how good these guys
had been and how much I regretted not seeing them after so long. I rang the
door-bell and they welcomed us in. They were all there and we fell into
conversation. I felt welcomed if not a little overwhelmed by their questions.
What have you been doing? Traveling, working, blah blah blah. Have you been to school? I
tried but blah blah blah. How did you two meet… and so on and so on as
questions often go with friends who have become strangers. By the end of night we were sitting around
the living room as they filled me in on their lives when I realized that we had
to go. We said our goodbyes and walked out the door into the night. I looked at
my girlfriend in the car and can remember telling her how good it was to see
them and that it felt like old times. Moments later I could hear my cell phone
ringing. I picked it up and I heard the voice of one of my friends on the other end of the line. Had we forgotten something? No. They began to ask me why I had acted so strangely
with them. I was confused and said that I had had a great time but they said
that I had not been myself. They told me that the girl I was seeing was strange,
that it was strange how I still wasn't going to church and that I wasn't the
person they remembered. I realized that I was on speaker phone and that they
were all listening, having some sort of intervention for me. I couldn't believe
it. I hung up the phone. We rode back to our hotel room in silence. <o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-68297303680540513172013-08-12T01:19:00.000-07:002013-08-13T01:20:38.807-07:00Fear<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Christianity is a religion that is littered
with the idea of death. The Old Testament is filled with murder, war and even a little genocide. The New Testament is martyrs, death upon the cross, and the Day of
Atonement. As a child, the good book would leave me awake at nights, thinking of the enormity of what
death meant and I would call out to my mother for comfort. This was often triggered by my fear of Hell. There was nothing more frightening to me as a little boy then the concept of Hell. Hell was a place where you would be tormented forever if the life you chose to live on earth did not meet the celestial requirements.<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> Hell was forever and
forever was a long time and the torture that awaited me there, if I made the
wrong choices, hung over me like an unfathomable weight. Each day in church and
school our elders would remind us that when we died we would be held
accountable for our actions. Others may have ignored this or grown desensitized
to their warnings but I focused on it like a tic burrowing through my skin. Why
should a child be faced with his own mortality on a daily basis? How is this
way to make someone believe?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
recently had a conversation with my father where I told him this. He told me
that he always raised us to believe that God is love and that he wants us to go
to heaven. I can hear him say, "Christianity is a religion of eternal life through Jesus not death". This
is fine because I heard these same words before and after each discussion of
hell and our immortal soul. However, that was not what my little brain focused
on. Death was a scary word. My faith was built upon fear and not upon love no matter how many people
told me I was going to heaven and no matter how many told me God loved me. For
a child, love is an easy concept to receive and to dismiss. Our parents love us
unquestioning and we love them back. We love our homes and all we have. But
love is always there and so we take it for granted when it is given and received. Fear, on the other hand,
rears its ugly head and leaves a lasting mark; once burned by the boiling pot
you never grab hold again. Fear is a strong motivation for a child. I loved God as a child because not loving him meant
that I was damned and the fear of that was unimaginable. My father would say that if I believed in God I
should have nothing to fear, but when doubt filled my mind fear was always
standing right behind it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I have
grown older I realize this is not the belief of most Christians and most will
and do say that I had a miss guided view or feel sad I thought this way, but as
a child this was my reality and not a far stretch for Christians to understand.
I believe that all ways of life, be it religion, philosophy or lifestyle, are a personal adventure and that no one knows
100% what will come. Being afraid of things we have no control over (like the
afterlife if it exists) is crippling and does not lead to a productive life.
However, we do have the power to make these lives we live as joyous as
possible. I agree with Christians that we should focus on love and not fear. Fear is often
thrust upon from outside ideas or events but love is something that we must
give. Love is an action where fear is a response. But here is where we may part ways: I think that we must try to
make a world where love is an action only used to affect the world we live in. Love
should be used to abolish stereotypes, racism and bigotry. Love should be used
to bring people together, to heal wounds and to give comfort to those who live
in fear. Love should be used to change the world we live in and not to save our
immortal souls for one that may follow. <o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-26147674707116761432013-08-03T12:57:00.000-07:002013-08-03T13:00:06.443-07:00Music<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was first traveling on my own I struggled to meet
people. I would sit at a hostel dining table, wondering what to say as
conversations flowed around me. By the end of the night I would be the one
sitting by myself with a book while other’s sat in circles with guitars or
wandered into an evening of possibilities. I made a decision one day: I would learn
three songs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Music is communication. It breaks
all barriers and ties us all together. A single song can make us feel so many
emotions and these emotions are the words that form a conversation with our
soul. It is an inner dialogue that each individual may experience but that all
of understand. We may not always feel
passion, love, anger or those emotions that cannot possibly put to words, but
through music we experience these feelings as the artist reaches out with each
note. When we share music with others,
that music we listen to in our rooms or behind headphones, we show others that
inner dialogue that is so personal and intimate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
If we take the leap ourselves, to
create our own music, we begin to find a new way to express ourselves. No
matter what language we speak we being to speak a language that all may
understand. Music and the passion it
brings is the chord that ties humanity together. It is the voice of change. It
is the voice of community. It is the voice of one. It is the voice of many. And
if we allow ourselves to create music, we allow others to realize that they are
not alone in the world. It doesn’t matter how well you sing, or what instrument
you can play. It is something that must first be done for our own soul and then
naturally it becomes for the soul of others. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Lyrics from a song I
once wrote</i>:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wrote your epitaph on the window pane<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They said you wouldn’t get better but I loved you all the
same<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pictures of you, quiet letters to me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sideways glances all the words that fall between<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Spoke to your father about when you were alive<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Spoke to your brother, couldn’t look him in the eye<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We laid you to rest in your mother’s dress<o:p></o:p></div>
I could love anyone, but all I want is you<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-67478143321368511572013-07-31T21:40:00.003-07:002013-07-31T21:42:10.443-07:00Anxiety<div class="MsoNormal">
There are times when my brain begins to race. I think of
things that must be done or things that happened in the past and they lead from
one thought to another. Soon I find myself smothered in the thoughts of things
that worry me or leave me with regret. I am so distant from the current moment
that I hardly know what is going on around me. John Lennon once said, “Life is
what’s happening when we’re busy making plans.”
When we are busy making these plans the world goes on and we miss so
many things and our lives begin to slip away.
I have to remind myself constantly that whatever I am worried about for
the future, like work or relationships, will be there when I actually have to
face them and that things of the past are impossible for me to change. What is most important is inner peace in
every action we do and learning to recognize those things that disrupt it. This
takes mental training, that I am in no way a master of, but I have been trying
to stop myself when thoughts that cause anxiety in me emerge. They grow and
grow and grow till they are bigger than anything I could possibly handle. So I tell
myself to stop. I remember that there are always people that love me (even if I
don’t really know who they are) and that when I die there will still be things
that I have left undone. Life is
constant and unyielding and we will never control it. Tomorrow will always come and if it doesn't then
what is there to worry about? I recommend imagining yourself at your own
funeral. How will others see you? Will they have an image of a stressed out
individual that did nothing but worry? No one will care that you didn't Ace
that last assignment. No one will care that you made some small social
mistakes. All they will be left with is the memories of the moments where you
were truly in the moment with them: the laughter and the tears that you shared
together. Think of the kind of stories you want people to tell about you and
start living them. Yes, stress will always be with us but we will never receive
more than what we can take. If that ever does happen we won’t be able to handle
it, there will be a rough patch, but eventually we will return to a place where
we can function. Life has a way of leveling out and storms don’t last forever…nothing
on earth or in the universe does. Have faith in yourself that life won’t always
be this hard and that everything will be ok; though it may rain for weeks the
sun will someday shine.<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-28406382022837414702013-07-27T12:49:00.001-07:002013-07-27T12:49:43.802-07:00Creation<div class="MsoNormal">
With every word you read you are witness to my creation. I have
the pieces that are consonants and vowels which are brought into phonemes and
morphemes. I attempt to use the tools of grammar and syntax, though my command
of them may fail. All of these come
together to bring my creation into being; the words and sentences I have chosen
to express my thoughts and emotions. I believe everyone deep inside them has a
desire, a need, and an ability to create. To stop this piece of our lives is to
deny part of what makes us human. One must only find out what or how they will
create. Finding that outlet is the hardest part but once it is found you begin
to do your part in shaping the world. We are all builders of reality. We are
the ones who create the art, the literature, and the music that bring dreams
into reality. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>A piece of a song I once
wrote:<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me and you ran deep in the woods<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chasing for stars like good people should<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The faster they fell the quicker we went <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Till we found those gifts that heave had sent<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You cried whoa oh don’t go<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whoa oh don’t go<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time goes slowly <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whoa oh don’t go<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My heads been spinning since the minute you left<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shuffling for space in line with the rest<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did something then didn’t make me a man<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I buried my so soul and my heart in the sand<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cried whoa oh don’t go<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whoa oh don’t go<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time goes slowly</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whoa oh don’t go<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-60467766589394622652013-07-23T16:59:00.000-07:002013-07-24T00:50:13.810-07:00Anger<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I can remember my father telling
me many times as a child that sometimes getting angry for the right reason was
a good thing. To him, anger should be a controlled force that could be funneled
into righteousness. He would show me and my brother how to fight so that, if
one day, someone to or our-selves were in trouble or if we ever saw something
being done to someone against their will, that we would be able to defend that
person. He would put us into self-defense classes and martial arts programs in
a hope to better prepare us for a dangerous world. His one rule: Only fight for
the right thing. Fighting wasn't fun, it was scary and violence and inflicting
pain on another human being was always a last resort. I would like to say I followed this golden rule
to a “T” but to be honest I half followed it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I literally prayed for someone to
be attacked in my life so that I could defend them. In school, if one of my buddies looked like
he was going to get into a fight, I would quickly see if the golden rule
applied. If not, I would try and defuse or distract my friend. If my friend was
in the right, my fist would fly. When the school called my father he would
listen and, if he felt that I was not in the wrong, he would never say a word.
I wouldn't say I fought a lot at all,but when the moment arose I relished in
it. The adrenalin, the fear, and the solid connection of fist to jaw.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I have begun to try something new
in the last few years. When I feel angry with someone I breathe and try to be
thankful for them. I try to hope them the best and send out as much good
vibrations as I can. I have found that the fire of anger is quickly
extinguished by forgiveness, love and acceptance. The mind adopts this faster then i would have thought possible. When we dwell on anger it
grows in us like a cancer. It fills our bones and leaves us a hollow caste without the best parts of our human nature. Anger
breeds anxiety, depression, fear and, at times, even hate. Patience, wisdom,
understanding and selflessness breed love. We do not get angrier to become more
relaxed. A calm mind and a smile bring peace. This is easier said than done but
since I have begun this way of living I have found it easier and easier. Even
when people are horrible, when they throw us down into the dust, we must answer
back with peace. It is the only way they will change and it is the only way we
will change ourselves. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-91832325625794653982013-07-20T20:09:00.000-07:002013-07-24T00:44:53.035-07:00Discourse<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Some of my earliest memories of my father are of
him in our local church. I would peek into the side room, down brown carpeted
hallways and pale beige walls, and listen to him teach Hebrew and Greek to the
willing. To him the words of the bible could only be understood if one got to
the original text of the early church. He strived for the truth, whether if it
was in his job with the Police Department or in his current teachings in the
church. I feel like my childhood was governed by such phrases as, “the word is
law,” or, “in all things speak truth.” The bible was our handbook to all things,
be it décor or dialogue. This is the basis of the discourse of my family as a
child; the “Good Book” defined our existence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If one was to walk into the house of my
childhood you could literally see the writing on the wall. In light brown
picture frames you would read psalms and proverbs; the words to live by were
not just passed orally but visual through the medium of needlework. Your eyes
were pummeled by the dogma of my family from the moment you stuck your head in
the door to the moment you walked out on the, “God bless you,” mat. My father’s jewel was the room at the end of the hallway, the one whose
acquisition had forced me and my brother to sleep on bunk beds, which had been
converted into a library. Floor to ceiling were the books and smells of
biblical knowledge. From apocryphal discussions to the large leather bound
tomes that were never to be touched, the spines of all these books spelled out
his great respect of the written word. At the end of every meal my father would
go and grab one of his books and read some passage he had been pondering while
he locked himself away after work. He
would ask us questions to check our comprehension and my brother, sister and I would
squirm and day-dream of escaping his inquisitions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My parents had met at a small bible college
in the woods. It was the 70’s and it was more of a Christian hippy retreat then
a bible college. They, and a few small families, had decided that they would
live separate from main stream Christian culture. They built a school, church
and living space on the property they had bought so that their children could
learn in an immersive Christian environment. To go to the school you had to be
a part of the church to assure that the doctrine they so fervently believed in
would be safe in the hand of the future generations. Every breath, every word
and every scratch on paper would be in testament to the glory and power of God.
Amen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One
verse that dictated much of our discussions was Ephesians 4:29 “Do not let any
unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building
others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” To
break this law, to swear (the temptation as a child was so great) or speak
badly of another would entail the punishment of my parents. This created a very
separate world in the dialogue between my parents and the conversations with my
young friends. With my parents a slip of the tongue could have you sent to bed
without dinner. With my friends the curses and bad talk spilled out like a
satisfying deluge. My siblings and I quickly learned the language of Christianity
and the language of the outside world. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As my family aged, views began to develop
and change. My mother watched as the steam of our childhood piety evaporated.
My father and I’s communication turned quickly into debate, which he welcomed
as long as he held the higher ground. He would take out a dusty book and find
the answers I apparently needed. I pulled out contradictions and he reverted to
faith. The word “faith”, to have it and believe wholeheartedly in it, was the
only answer when push came to shove. But one word wasn't good enough for me.
Words had been what he had given me and I used them in all their glory; my
father was faced with the monster he had created. As I began to read books by
the Dalai Lama and talk to people of other backgrounds I lost the language of
my childhood and I formed my own. The arguments, that my father and I had, held
an intimacy reserved for when a religious father knows he’s losing his son to
the outside world. Before the end of high school (one I had switched to after
too many problems in the first one) I had moved out of the house. My language
and beliefs conflicted with my parents and they couldn't understand me anymore.
I no longer went to church and my parent’s greatest fears were embodied: I had
lost my “faith”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now, many years after high school and many
of those years spent traveling on my own, I have moved back to my home town. My father has retired from the police force
and is just a pastor now. They have long since separated from the old church
and school, that is still somewhere in the woods, though the picture frames
with the needlework still hang on the walls. He is more relaxed now and we
understand each other better. He apologizes for his strictness and I apologize
for my verbal attacks I had once been so proud of. Why has our dialogue
changed? Maybe it is that I’m not a child anymore, and maybe he isn't the
authoritarian I had once believed he was. I believe the discourse of
our family, like in any family, has evolved. Amen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-22991929085284190772013-07-17T02:43:00.001-07:002013-07-25T11:02:40.765-07:00Honesty<br>
<br>
For many people, our relationships in life are like a mountain. In our early years, when we are at the base of the mountain, there is lots of space for friendships. We can stretch ourselves out amongst many people and they fit into our lives with room to grow and change. As we get older and we climb the mountain we find that our groups of friends, our true and close friends, become smaller and smaller. The space on the mountain grows smaller. We define our preferences, what we need from others and what we can fully offer up ourselves. People fade away or move on and some new ones tag along for the climb. As we reach the peak the people we are truly intimate with often become less and less. Many things can be said about this idea. We must try to climb the mountain of life slowly. We should take time to enjoy the relationships we are allowed to be a part of and gather as many as possible. We should know that, for most, there are only a few who will be with us till the end and these are the people who will know us the most deeply. One day we will reach the peak and we will be alone as there is only space for one. And as we look into the sky we will face whatever is next that will come. But to let someone in, to let them truly know every part about you, the good and the bad, is to allow them to climb to the top with you as far as possible. The more people we can let see every part of ourselves the closer we become and the more help we can give each other when we reach the end.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br>
I must admit that one of my greatest faults is mistaking passion for love. I have met people who completely enrapture me and I fall head over heels for them. The way she smiles or the curve of her neck as it reaches for her shoulder. The way her hair twists and curls or the feel of her hip as my fingers dance down her side. When I met her on my first trip alone and she served me dinner or when I met her sitting on the ground in front of the coffee shop. When she sang that night in front of a group of strangers or when I raced her back to our fire on the beach and she fell in the water laughing. When I first noted the shade of brown in her eyes or when I saw the happiness in her blue ones. At times, all of these people, I thought I was in love with. But love has only truly been with me once. I had known her for years and our love grew slowly. Our love grew out of honesty. We knew everything about each other, from the darkest secrets to the funniest quirks. We understood when space was needed and when we needed each other. We saw our country together and slept on couches for months keeping each other warm. She painted pictures and I watched. I learned to play her songs on an old guitar and she laughed. We talked and we listened. And then, as can only be done by people who truly know each other, we broke each other's hearts. It's strange how hard it is for me to be truly honest with anyone now but yet how much I wish for a love like that again. I give the illusion of intimacy while wanting nothing more than to love and be loved. I pick and choose my honesty and it leaves me with passion but far from love. Hopefully this time will be different. I have told her all my horrors and she has told me all of hers. I have held her while she laughed and kissed her cheek. This time she is all the things I have loved in all those other girls, from the moment I found her again, sitting by the fire, to the fingers dancing down her side. I will be honest with her, come what may, and only time will tell the rest.TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-54909043646975277552013-07-14T13:28:00.000-07:002013-07-14T13:28:25.203-07:00Nature<div class="MsoNormal">
I went on a bike ride today. It was warm and blue skies
seemed to stretch like a never ending dome above me. I thought of how beautiful
my home is. The trees that scrape the sky. Rivers that twist through the town
with small bridges that cross them. There are spots that allow the music of
nature to erupt, unburdened by human cacophony. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 48px;">
<o:p></o:p><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">There was a silent awe that
filled us when we looked around.</span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">There
was not a soul in site and the strange quiet gave a feeling of supernatural
energy in the air.</span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">We unpacked our
belongings into the emergency shelter and we went our separate ways. I went to
a rock that overlooked the lake below and the vast mountain ranges stretching
off into the distance. Here I was at the edge of my countries frontier and I
imagined I was looking at places where man had never touched. As I sat there I
slowed my breathing and felt my body calm. To my right I could see members of
the group, some in twos in deep conversation or listening to music, others
alone wandering the ridge to the tree line. To my left, the peak of the
mountain watching us.</span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">As I relaxed with arms and
legs folded, the sun began to set.</span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> The sky exploded with layer upon layer of colour and the lake bellow echoed the sentiment. The hills were silhouetted against the pastel sky like sleeping giants. </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">I was
reminded of a Korean creation story “Cheonjiwang Bonpuli”.</span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">In the beginning, earth and sky were one. At some point a
gap appeared in the middle of all that was. All that was heavy became the earth and all that was light
became the sky. Then, from the sky fell a clear blue drop of dew, and from the
earth came a dark black drop of dew. As these two drops mixed, all that existed
between earth and sky was made. From these two drops came humans, animals, plants and even
the gods.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /><o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-65873126053722017292013-07-06T21:29:00.002-07:002013-07-07T10:49:20.243-07:00Action<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
If there is one thing I am sure
of it is that human drama is inevitable. Some seek it out and their lives are
often a very busy thing. Others may try to live a peaceful life or even try to
avoid dramatic moments all together but almost all of these will at some point
run into unavoidable interactions. We are social animals, and even though we
ourselves may try to be anti-social, those other social animals tend to barge
right in. This is not a bad thing or a good thing. It is simply the way we
humans tend to live our lives. We are pushed to moments where we must make
decisions and these decisions have the habit of affecting the people around us.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The moments when we are forced to
make choices are amazing. Every day, every second, every turn of the head, we
make choices that define the rest of our lives. It’s completely beautiful and
absolutely terrifying. But we all continue to make these leaps into the
unknown. Each day we not only make decisions for ourselves, but our decisions
affect the people around us. Their decisions, in turn, also affect our own. We
are all interwoven through our own personal experiences.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
But sometimes, once in a while,
there are the decisions that make you feel so alone. Though we make countless
choices every day that define everything, they usually follow the inertia of
our lives. We are so comfortable with these choices that they are not even seen
as choices but just living. But
sometimes, once in a while, something big happens. We are faced with a moment
that will change the direction of our lives.
In my own personal experience I feel these are some of the moments I
have felt most alone. Leaving home, moving on, arguments, career choices,
personal stands, travel, falling in love. We are forced to make choices as
humans and we suffer or rejoice in them.
These things are inevitable. But, as with most things that are
unavoidable, the best method to deal with it is accept it, to face it head on;
to try to live life through it and embrace the change that comes. This is no easy
task, but when we are driven to these moments of actions we pour into the lives
of others. We suddenly become not so alone anymore. We meet new people and we
affect their lives. Some for good and for bad, but no matter what we perpetuate
the ongoing creation of who we are and who they are.<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-34271571252884834462013-07-01T14:16:00.002-07:002013-07-01T14:32:05.293-07:00Distance<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Duality is the concept that everything is divided. You from me. Us from
them. East from West. Good from evil. Up from down. Yes it exists in the world,
but it is no law of the universe. It is a human invention and one often
perpetuated by religions. I believe it
doesn't have to be this way. We do not need to feel the distance between things
but rather we should look for those things that link them together.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I
am fascinated by other beliefs and philosophies. If they can teach
me how to live a better life or make the life of others around me better then they are a part of me. They are all pieces of
the human condition to understand the unknown; </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">to try and make sense of it all; to reach out with
our minds and find order in the chaos. There has to be no greater </span><span style="line-height: 17px;">endeavor</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> for
the human soul. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I hope that, like in a dream, I will see her one day and she won’t recognize me. I
imagine that she will be working at some coffee shop and I will be a customer.
She looks up at me and smiles and asks me what I want; a general friendly chat
that can only happen through small business transactions. I’ll see her and know
that she’s at peace, she will just go on living and I’ll see her smile. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36pt;">Sometimes i wish i was just like an animal she heard of suffering somewhere in the amazon. She is
aware, keeps up to date on the news if someone mentions it, but has no more
than a disconnected connection. I simply exist as a thought unburdened by her
emotional investment. I wish I had never entered her life because, then, she
would never have entered mine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-9643024680305791822013-06-26T01:30:00.000-07:002013-06-27T20:18:58.403-07:00Grief<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I was once
invited to a funeral while I lived in Thailand. I had been working, trying to
sell condos in an area completely devoid of tourists (a rarity in Thailand),
and found myself driving around looking for a place to eat. I had stopped on the side of the road for
some gas when a man came up to me and invited me to what I thought was a party
across the road. I agreed and entered
the funeral. It was for a little girl I had never met, her little body lying on
a bed in front of me. I can remember her family crying around me and the petals
of brightly colored flowers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Grief is such a tough thing to witness and is so rarely seen publicly.
When faced with it I think most people are understandably uncomfortable. What
do you say to someone who has lost a child? How do you comfort those whose
world has fallen apart around them? Public displays of grief seem to strip the
participants naked in front of us, showing us the pain that all of us fear to
feel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
When I was in high school there was in a car accident. My friend, my
brother, and two other boys were driving when they collided with another car.
The two boys in the back died, the two in the front survive. My friend and one
of the other boys was in the back, my brother and his friend were in the
front. I can’t imagine the pain my
friend’s parents felt as they heard there son was not coming home again. Each
person involved dealt with grief in their own way. Many cried. I turned against
my religion. My other friends wanted to talk. My brother, one of the survivors,
became quiet, left with a sadness that destroyed his confidence. My mother announced that she would write a
book.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The book my mother decided to write, her first book, would be a
children’s book on the subject of grief.
When she announced it to the family I don’t really think any of us
thought she would follow through with it. My mother is a quiet, non-articulate,
shy woman. She has battled mental illness for years and is often uncomfortable
in many social situations. She is the
woman who stands behind my father with his confidence and clear voice. I think
for many of these reason I have always felt a distance from her.We are so different and i admit that she embodies many of the things i fear.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
We encouraged
her politely, saying it was a great idea. She interviewed members of the other
families involved the best she could and then locked herself away in her sewing
room to write her magnum opus. <span style="text-indent: 36pt;">After a several months we all forgot about the book. We all
adjusted to living with our grief as many often do. One day she began to talk
about a writer’s conference that would be coming up that she wanted to go to.
They would read her manuscript, add some constructive criticism and help her
with information on the process of publishing. No one had read it but her. We
sent her off with the best of wishes, though deep down I think we all felt apprehension
and fear. We wanted to protect her but we didn't want to hurt her. It’s strange
how we want to protect the emotions of our loved ones, while in turn not
allowing them to grow emotionally. She left, off by herself for the first time
since before her and my father’s wedding. She left and then one week later she
returned. She never talked about what happened there. She never told any of us
how it went and if she told my father about it, he never said a word.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
After high school I left home. I went across Canada
for a year then down the west coast, saw a bit of Mexico, spent a couple months
in Hawaii until I finally found my way back. My parents gave me my old room
back until I could find a place somewhere downtown. One day I walked into the
kitchen and my mother was at the table thumbing through a stack of papers. I
asked her what she was doing and she said it was her book and asked if I’d like
to read it. I sat down, turned the page and began to read.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
It began with my mother explaining what she was like as a child. She described
herself as full of fear. The world was a big place and the people, places and
things in it often left her with anxiety. There was a tree on the little farm
in Saskatchewan, and there she would hide from the world. As I read I realized
that I had known nothing of my mother’s childhood. In fact, I realized that I had
never even considered that my mother had a childhood, she was simply my mother;
she had always been a two dimensional character in my own story. I loved
her but I never knew her. Here, on this piece of paper, my mother became a
human. The story was short, clunky, slow and utterly personal. As it progressed
she wrote about the accident. She described the circumstances around the death
of my friend and the other boy. She talked about the grief it brought and how it
made her want to hide. She held guilt over the happiness she felt of my brother’s
survival and deep sorrow for the parents of those who had lost their own sons.
She wrote about how the other families dealt with their grief and how, through
family and community, she had found safety.<o:p></o:p></div>
I asked her if she had published
it and she said no, it needed a lot of work and it probably never would be good
enough. My mother’s grief was displayed before me on the table and I didn't
know what to do with it… and then I realized there was nothing I could do. For
my mother this book was an attempt at healing and, according to her, it has
helped. It didn't matter if it was good or bad or whether I liked it or not. It
didn't matter if it was published or not. We all grieve in our own way and this
was the way my mother chose to do it. All I had to do was just be there and
that is often the case with grief. Kind words often fail. We cannot understand
what other’s go through and I believe we should not try to. When confronted
with grief, all that’s usually necessary is to listen, to witness and perhaps
on occasion, to read.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-60335720135245842072013-06-20T23:40:00.000-07:002013-07-01T14:34:44.222-07:00Religion<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In religion
there is an important rule that should not be ignored: “Knowing” and faith are
separate. If someone turns faith into knowing they take away from best parts of
anyone’s religion by trying to make it fact. They take away the leap of faith
and the unknown; we take away the arguments and discussions that breed a more
full and richer understand of our personal walks in life. We close the door to
other better or opposing ideals that could raise us up to greater heights.
Religions can contain wisdom for all if they choose to follow it, but it doesn't
mean it’s for everyone. There is not one
truth but many because no one knows what will happen in the end; we are all taking
a chance. No religious person should fall into the trap of stating that they
“know “a faith is true. If this is done then religion, as well as philosophy,
lose their beauty and power to transform. We are all trying to understand the
unknown. Never stop questioning and never stop listening.<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-9989639374686780152013-06-20T14:18:00.003-07:002013-07-07T16:45:26.450-07:00Self<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How do we
define ourselves? What makes us individuals in all the mess of human drama and
idea? Do our actions ring out, as we hope, or do they end meaningless? I realize that my mind often thinks about this
when I’m alone. I look into the mirror and wonder. I have spent half of this life trying to
figure out who and what I am and I’m sure that this will not stop. Who is that
I see in the mirror and who is that I see is being reflected by the emotions of
the people I talk to? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I want to be many things. I want to be
honest though, at times, I lie. I want to be just but sometimes I am selfish. I
want to love but I rarely allow it. I give and I take. I am happier now then
I’ve been in a long time and yet…I still have not found myself. Many things I
have wanted to do I have done. I have seen some of the world though there is
still so much to see. I have loved and lost and my heart still aches and will again,
I’m sure. My family is rooted so deep
inside me that I will never let them go. And after all this, a list that could
go on, I am left wondering if there is
something I am missing in my list that I have not discovered. There must be and
there will be and I hope I will find it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So I sit and think and question myself in
every action. Maybe there is one moment that is yet to come? I worry that if I get a glimpse of what I
could become that I will run away like a coward. Will I take my chance if it comes? Will my defining moment come and pass me by? I
am afraid that if I wanted to change I won’t be able to and I will stand and
question who I am without taking action. Sometimes there are people and I want to speak with them, to know who they are and what they think they are. Maybe I’ll find my answers in them or see a
shadow of what I could become. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Every life seems so beautiful that I
forget how to see the beauty in my own. Sometimes there are moments when you
look into someone’s eyes and you feel you know them. I am not speaking of what
they did or how they do things but who they are. You see kindness or perhaps
grief. You see trust or perhaps mistrust. But at these times you get a glimpse
of what the person truly is and what defines them. I wish I could see this in
myself and make sense of it all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We live the
unlived lives of our parents. We enter a world that they never saw, full of
opportunities and failures. We either
surpass and impress or veer off the road. I’m now older than when my father
had his first child. What does that say about me? When is it time to move on
from their expectations or be what they always dreamed you could be? Are they
my dreams? Am I something similar to a reincarnation of my father, trying once
again to become something bigger than what I was? I see my eyes, my father’s
eyes, and they watch me in every reflection. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We search a world of facts for moments that resemble fiction. Magic
is simply when the world defeats our expectations. A miracle is when, somehow,
words bridge the gap between thought and reality. These times are rare
but searched for like a lost world. We drench ourselves in the unexplainable
moments that drive us into understanding. I am comfortably uncomfortable with the
questions life has made me wonder.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-73926578636234982542013-06-19T21:06:00.000-07:002013-06-19T21:06:51.523-07:00Power<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We must never forget that we are capable, as a nation of power on the
world stage, of great atrocities and terrorism. We must also be aware that
those who seem to terrorize us might simply be a small fish fighting against a
great shark. The story of the pirate and Alexander the great must not be
forgotten and is an excellent example. Alexander asked a pirate after he had
been caught “what is your idea, infesting the sea?” The pirate replied “the
same as yours, as in infesting the earth. But because I do it with a tiny craft
I am called a pirate: because you have a mighty army you are called an
emperor.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ideas are
aggressive. They do battle and there is a winner. Two may have different views,
which sit in their own reason, but one will conquer if the will behind that
view is more powerful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-12631667829542762822013-06-19T13:04:00.000-07:002013-06-19T13:04:09.286-07:00Connections<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I think
therefore I am.... In our age things are made to be faster, more user friendly
and more efficient. The hope is that these objects will be so easy to use that
they become an extension of our body, successfully transforming us from human
to cyborg. The less we have to think and the more intuitive technology becomes,
the happier people are. Though I am guilty of these desires and I understand
the pleasure of technology, I fear we are losing, or perhaps even sacrificing, parts
of our humanity. Our social lives are now a constant with text messaging,
e-mails, instant messengers, and social networking sites. We are closer than
ever before but still we feel a distance (one that many feel comfortable with)
growing in the human condition. I would not be surprised to hear that 70% or
more of our social life is digital. How has the need of human touch, the beauty
of a smile, or perfect words with a hand on your shoulder been pushed aside by
technology? The machines we use have become mother and father, confessor and
forgiver, lover and betrayer; where there once was flesh there is now the World
Wide Web. This technology may make you feel, at times, like you are part of
something bigger. You may feel that because your consciousness can travel
through to the other side of the world that we are all connected. This is a
lie. We were always connected through the bond of human nature. Now we can
talk about reality and get what we want more efficiently from farther away, be it
entertainment or commodity. The internet
is a selfish thing in most cases, though it asks us what we want and it
delivers to us. It satisfies the individual’s desires in the now. One no longer has to
think about what is good and bad because the time to think is over; true love
is just a click away. Thinking is a thing of the past, live in the now. But
thinking is what defines us. It is all that is our being. For thousands upon
thousands of years man has been using his brain to think, to understand, to
reason, to dream, and now we let machines do it for us. Yes, technology can be used to bring our imagination to life but we would not cease to be creative without it. </div>
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Thinking is not just
the reading of information, it is the searching for it, the time one ponders on
it and rules if it is applicable to one’s own life. I think therefore I
am. But I think that when we think, when
we sit and contemplate, we cannot help through introspection to think about
others. We are drawn to the idea that happiness, peace and the common good of all is in the best interest of society. When we think of others, we realize that typing a message is
not enough and that a hug is much more efficient in expressing love. There is a
word in an African language, UBUNTU, which means “I am because we are”. We need
each other in not just a mental sense but in a physical one. We must think, so that we are aware of each other and how much we need each other. We must always
understand that we exist to be with one another; we exist because of one
another.<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-66370569059619361152013-06-18T22:40:00.000-07:002013-06-18T22:55:10.392-07:00Love<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
How the immortality of nature surrounds us<o:p></o:p></div>
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As we move around it and above it<o:p></o:p></div>
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Who is it to
be blessed with so many faces?<o:p></o:p></div>
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And we with
our roles in these short lives<o:p></o:p></div>
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We unlucky
inhabitants of nature<o:p></o:p></div>
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At all times
we are so immersed in things that live on<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like the sun
rise, or the flight of birds<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dark water
and blue skies<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh, our love
affair with it runs deep<o:p></o:p></div>
Perhaps that
is why it is so hard to sleep<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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The people
we meet affect us so deeply: their ideas, their hopes, and their needs. It is
impossible to live apart from this. We are inextricably guided towards
interaction and drama, whether it ends in tragedy or comedy. How easily the
touch of a loved one can change a day, or how the distance from one can bring
it down. How beautiful a breath can be;
the moments that fall between words when we just are. To describe these
connections is like trying to explain a dream.
You know of if its importance but can’t understand what it means. Have I
searched the whole wide world just to have these connections? Have I searched
the whole wide world just to find you? For up to these meetings there is
nothing but the past, a past you weren't apart of, and from now on you are a
part of me, into whatever future that comes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Love has to
be one of the most difficult and most sought after experiences in human
existence, though the genuine article is so distant I sometime assume it
doesn't exist. The closer I get to real love, the farther it is from me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When you
fall in love, you’re not yourself anymore. You lose control of being natural;
showing the beautiful parts of yourself. All anyone recognizes is total
desperation; a fool trying to run on water. <o:p></o:p></div>
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TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-67469216936568291362013-06-18T12:58:00.003-07:002013-06-19T15:17:58.119-07:00Travel<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">My
father use to keep national geographic magazines on the bottom shelf in his
library. I’d look at them and realize
that the world was big. I’d imagine my body floating around the world and
standing beside the people I saw on the pages.
I wanted to be there. I made
mental notes to one day go to these places. I’d get there but I </span><span style="line-height: 17px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> know
what I’d say to them, but I knew they were real. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was a
time when I was in Vietnam where I closed my eyes while I was riding over a
bridge with other commuters. The sound of the engines around me and the smells
and heat prompted it. I was happy. In that moment I had gotten what I wanted
since I was little.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p>I know so
little and will ever know so little. I could travel all my days, talk to all I
meet, read books and study maps and still be lost. We don’t need to look to the
stars for the infinite but to the world around us. The possibilities, the
people we can meet and the places we can go are beyond our understanding, for
new creations are born every second and the world is ever changing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So many of
the people I’ve met, in the countries I’ve been to, will never travel abroad,
hell, even out of their city. And they are content and live full lives. Travel
is the luxury of the rich. Many of the travelers I meet are either running away
from something or want something new. Its funny how, when we travel, we spend
most of our time trying to capture moments of a simpler way of life. Like it’s
out of our grasp and we get a glimpse of it by going to foreign countries. We
envy the Farmer toiling in his field while we would never trade our lives … I
understand this. The grass is always greener. What a lie! Life is simply life,
Complex how it may seem, for every person on earth. You deal with what you got.
It is by our choices, our desire to change or to be content that we shape it. I
think travel, at its core, is just a way to put proof to statements like,
‘’it’s a small world’’ or that we are all part of humanity. One giant entity.
People are the same everywhere. They want a place to sleep, things to eat, and
people to talk to but we don’t fully understand it till we see it. But still,
the grass is always greener. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then maybe,
we should travel to take advantage of a gift so few have. We should travel to
gain experience and to open our minds to different ways of life. Maybe just to
appreciate what we got. Traveling is often a selfish act but it breeds
selflessness. Being anti-social or an asshole will only ruin experiences around
the world and thats a lesson to take back home. You learn to depend on and
appreciate a conversation. There have been days where I haven’t talked to
people because I don’t know anyone, just to realize that it’s my own fault and
that I have the power to change it (even if we speak different languages). Fuck
self-help, go traveling.</span><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-4793984076710771772013-06-18T01:16:00.002-07:002013-06-19T15:37:48.416-07:00Childhood<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If you look back on the video cassette tapes
that my father documented our childhood on, you see some footage of me standing
and starring into a TV screen. I’m four feet away with glazed look and a slight
lean forward. The TV enraptures my 4 year old brain and I am too weak to fight
back. I am told this was some of the last days of cable tv in our house. I
think this was a wise decision. My parents obviously saw a danger here and the
cable was canceled.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After the cable went we were strictly on a
movie diet of entertainment and, being a religious family, that meant only
classics. Ben-hur, The wizard of OZ, Lawrence of Arabia, Citizen Kane, Treasure
island (1932), Abbot and Costello and Gone with the wind. If they predated the
1970’s, with some limited exceptions, we had seen it. I would watch the same
black and whites over and over again. These movie’s pop into my head from time
to time or a quote I’m reminded of when someone talks. They have become some part of me. They were
my moral compass as a child, educating me about a world in grey.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Childhood,
more often than not, is destroyed
quietly. We read something or a friend informs us on the truths of the world
and we take it in and add it to what make sense. We breathe in…and then out.
Not every story is romantic. Not every battle is glorious. Reality isn’t a good
story and it is rarely ever black and white.<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6744627418679652710.post-75389519362207933962013-06-17T15:14:00.000-07:002013-06-17T15:14:13.213-07:00Innocence <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Let’s start at the beginning. As any good
child raised in a Christian home can attest, the beginning of our human existence
begins with Adam and Eve, be it mythology or truth. They are naked and without blame. An unnamed
and untouched world awaits them and they can do no wrong but one: they must not
eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. With no history behind them
and the vastness of future ahead, they are without shame. Shame… this word, as
a child, was always what stuck with me. They had nothing to be ashamed of.
Innocence had its blessings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The story goes that one day Eve is walking in
the garden and the devil, in snake form, tempts her with the fruit of the
forbidden tree. She eats of it and then shares it with Adam and God finds out
and searches for them. Like any good father that knows their children has done
wrong, he gives them the chance to come clean. When they finally come forward
they are hiding their nakedness. No matter what this story is trying to tell us
or symbolizes of our early existence, the loss of their innocence stays with
me. There is shame in the innocence they once had and the realization that they
were once so naïve. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was younger my family use to go
camping a lot and one place was always Eden: Bay view. This campground on the North
West coast of America was my adventure into the world outside Christendom.
Here, in the big open field surrounded by campsites I would learn the lesson of
a world foreign to my upbringing, here would begin my fall from grace. Here
children cursed and talked in hushed voice about the things we overheard our
parents say. The knowledge of good and evil hung heavy from these limbs. But, in the beginning, my innocence held me
back. In the beginning, these new words didn't need to become part of my
diet. In my world, the problems and
conversations of parents were akin to a higher power which did not concern me.
My innocence was all encompassing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To describe myself at this point would be to
say I had no grasp of the judgement of others.
I was still in that eager learning period where my opinions were still
protected by a child’s mind. I was malleable but had created a comfortable view
of how the world around me worked. It is not till we grow old that we feel our
lives are incomplete. I could act in this world as one without a character
picked out for it. I was free to be what I wanted and, for the most part, lived
in the moment as most small children do. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This memory is one of my earliest. Is so
clear to me in my life I feel I can touch it, though, at the time, I did not
know how to interpret it. This was the
moment where I became ashamed and aware of judgement. This was my fall from
grace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We were all playing in the field and I began
to laugh. I cannot remember what it was that had made me laugh but it had been
something I was thinking about. While all the other kids played on, I stopped
and laughed harder and harder. I think I even forgot about what I was laughing
about but the laughter had caught me and I reveled in it. I fell on the field
and laughed. The other kids must have noticed and made their way over to me. I
can remember looking up with all their faces looking down on me. My brother’s
face was there along with the faces of other children. I remember not caring
and simply laughing but then suddenly one of them told me to stop. They asked
my brother why I was laughing and he said he didn't know. They began to kick me
and became angry. I suddenly realized that something I was doing was wrong. Before this moment, their opinions of me
didn’t matter. In fact, the idea that people had opinions of one another was
foreign. I realized that what I did and what I said mattered to others and
changed how they saw and treated me. I had now realized that I could be judged.
I had now eaten from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. I was ashamed
of my innocence. I was ashamed that I hadn't cared what others thought of me. I
ran back to the trailer that we had borrowed from our grandparents and cried
alone, hiding this shame from my parents.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Though I know the statement is bold, I
believe this was the moment that defined how relationships in my life worked.
Every word I said, every move I made, was not mine but someone else’s to take.
I was not defined by myself but by the others around me. I wanted to be loved
and so I created my character to the world set forth by what it wanted. I
learned not to laugh out loud at things I thought were funny but to think of
what others would find funny. Still, to this day, I sometimes find it difficult
to truly laugh in public. I learned self-control and fitting the mold was what
they all wanted. I internalized. I
constantly worried how others perceived me. My innocence was gone; my fall from
grace, complete.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, as I sit here, I feel the judgement of
the world surrounding me but I have learned to live within it and have begun to
laugh at it. I am starting not to care. Still, I have my moments where I hold
back and follow the inertia of the group but they are less frequent. The
innocence and wonder I once had now does not seem so buried or hidden behind
the leaves of shame. I wish I could talk to myself and tell him to not care and
go on living in that world. I find
myself trying to draw out that younger self in me, like God trying to find out
where Adam and Eve are. I am beginning to realize that paradise is not lost but
simply hiding. For me the story of Adam
and eve is the story of what all of us face at one point or another, though
many may not remember it. It is the loss of our childhood and the discovery of
a world full of the views of others. But who, I ask, who are the ones we lift
up and praise? The ones with the curiosity and wonder of children; the ones who
break the mold and bare all to be judged. They are the ones that define our
culture. Strangely, like the fruit on the tree, we are given a choice. Do we choose
to be defined by the world around us or to define the world? Luckily, unlike
the story where Adam and Eve are cast out of paradise, we can, if we have the
courage, re-enter that world of wonder; a paradise that is not defined by others
but by what we want it to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
TheJumbledThoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18076059973299822258noreply@blogger.com0