Be kind to the people who hate you, it messes with their heads.
Be kind to the people who hate you, it messes with their heads.
I am not the person I was, nor am I the person I will be.
A child once sat at her mother’s knee,
And asked that tales be told.
Of God and Jesus and Angels true,
A world she could behold.
A tender age, a tender mind,
She loved the tales of God.
A gentle Father to us all,
A Son who once was flawed.
The tales she heard so long ago,
They stayed within her heart.
And formed the woman she became,
I think she’s pretty smart.
The mother passed on to her rest,
The child grew up to be.
For you know, so long ago,
That curious child was me.
Sometimes the strongest bonds in a family are formed by those you choose not by the ones you were born with.
Curiosity is your best travelling companion.
I recently ran across this post written in July 2018. I thought I would like to share it again. I hope you don’t mind.
It’s 4:00 in the morning!
4 AM. The clock ticks inexorably towards 5 o’clock but it’s still a long way away. It is dark. It is quiet. But it is not silent. I can hear a clock ticking in the other room . . . tick tick tick. A relentless metronome. Tick tick tick. Isn’t there supposed to be a tock in there somewhere? It’s funny how we interpret what we hear.
I just heard a car, I think, it was a quiet, dull roar. Fortunately no car alarms! I can hear my refrigerator faintly humming. Not a tune I know. Silly me. I get a little punchy in the wee, wee hours of the day. Or is it still night? Technically it’s the morning but that doesn’t seem right until after dawn. But it is a quiet time.
I can hear my heart beating. Odd. It is something that has been doing the same job for more years than I wish to admit to and yet it is alien to me. My liver, my spleen. These are all important aspects of what makes me tick but I have no relationship with them. They are the mechanisms within the shell of my body. And I am no mechanic!
I am tired. But I am not sleepy. My body wants to rest but my mind insists it has something important to say. I wonder what that is. I wonder what is the meaning of life. Meaning. Mean. Such different meanings. Can you be mean to your meanings? How do we understand? Why do we not understand? We are not so different from each other and yet we insist that we are. Why? Why do we hate what we do not understand? When? When did we come to believe that it was okay to hate? Is that the meaning of life?
Understanding. Perhaps when we understand each other we will realize that only when we are acting as one, can we become one. One species, one race, one people. Too few people have tried. We are raised to be individuals and we cannot comprehend how we can be a part of something bigger when we come together as a whole. We do not give up our individuality by joining a group we simply enhance the group.
I feel I’m in ranting but I also feel that it is important. I am important. You are important. But even better than all of that: WE ARE IMPORTANT! WE MATTER.
Moving forward is always a risk. So is doing nothing.
Some people have eyes that cannot see, ears that cannot hear and minds that cannot think.
Sometimes laughter is the life ring we hang onto to keep from drowning.
A word said in jest,
Can be misconstrued.
Words said in anger,
Are so over used.
The power exists,
For good or for bad.
The power of speech,
Is more than a fad.
Heroes are made,
By the needs of the few.
Their actions for many,
The usual view.
Who wields the power,
The spoken word holds,
Controls just what happens,
As the future unfolds.
Could you be the one,
Who guides with a word?
Ideals we hold true,
Must never be blurred.
Author: Lauren
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