Coming My Way

Once upon a time I wound up in a windmill. It was a tall wind mill that whooshed every time a blade went by as I peered out the window, out the window taking in the deep golden aura of the sun as it set off in the distance sinking into a golden ocean of shimmering water teeming with thousands and thousands of tiny fish swimming around for their lives as schools of giant predator fish swam up from the depths to forage for their nightly meal in the hopes of satiating their hunger. It was hunger that they could not control, barely even knew it was there, just driven by a non-feeling compulsion to swim for the surface for no conscious reason, just swim with gaping open mouths to take in whatever might come their way. Some times life seems like I'm just going along with whatever comes may way.

FB

Facebook is starting to seem pointless and banal to me. What people post are starting to seem irrelevant to me and I hardly see that what I have to say would be relevant to anyone else. I think I've shared all I feel like sharing or have time to share. Maybe there was a friend that I valued sharing with, but that opportunity was exhausted as well. It could be useful to share with someone with whom I have a real relationship on the outside. c'est la vie.

But a Child

I am but a child

A child with much too learn.
A child that refuses to learn.

A child that knows the answers.
A child that doesn't understand.

A child that is nothing without God.
A child that is everything with God.

A child forever more and again.
A child just wanting to be a child.

A child forever in need of mercy.
A child in longing for forgiveness.

A child in peace at home with God,
safe within the love of God.

I am but a child.

Our Sums

There was a boy. Hmmm, I seem to always have that in my brain when I decide to come here and write. There was always a boy, in my head, in the air, everywhere and no where, never ever anywhere. In the nothingness that lies between the particles that make us up is where we really reside, that is where we really exist. All we really are is the sum of the impressions and impacts we have on the things we perceive.

Starfish and Peace

What is the dancing in my head. It makes me recall the Dancing Wu Li Masters, a book by Gary Zukov that makes an association between Eastern mystic ideas and observations from modern 20th century physics. "Wu li" can be translated as "patterns of organic energy." It is the Chinese phrase of "physics."

I was just imagining walking along the beach and that always reminds me of a story about a girl once on a beach. She was a sweet, little girl, may be five years old. I don't remember where I heard the story, maybe at a homily one Sunday mass, and I don't know where that storyteller heard it. The beach was completely covered as far as one could see with bright red starfish, thousands and thousands of them, maybe even millions, that had all washed up on to the shore. The sun was hot and baking down on the starfish and they would soon die from the heat and from drying out. The girl ran down and started picking them up one by one and throwing them out back into the sea as fast as she could, getting as many as she possibly could. There was a nun walking along the shore that came up on this girl trying to save these sea creatures. The nun said that it was a futile effort to try and save these starfish; there are so many she could never hope to save them and what difference could she possible make, just one little girl and so many starfish. The girl responded, holding up one in her hand, and said "It makes a difference to this one."

In our lives, there a thousands of people all around us, and billions in all the world. For most of us, as individuals, we could never hope to aspire to bring about world peace, or in even peace within own community. But, if we live with the aim of being peaceful all the time with everyone, then it WILL make a difference to each person we encounter. And, unless we strive to be peaceful with everyone, then our peace with those we do choose will be compromised.

Just my 2¢ on this day of memory.

Daze

There was a boy, a very pretty boy who saw nothing but that was in his head. It danced; it played; it never went around so much as in a daze. The daze was high; the daze was low. It went 'round and 'round about so much it spun around his head. It was such a pretty sight, that very pretty little boy. The daze was him, and they were one. The daze is all and all are one. We're such a very pretty thing, all of us in all our heads. We're never alone; we always have the one's we love. They're in our heads; we keep them there. They guide our thoughts along our paths. The paths we chose are never bound by those we love. They guide us in our thoughts but we can chose to go our way. The way is ours to guide and turn; it's there for us to find our daze, the daze that's all we have our own. The daze is who we are, it's what are for all in all.