20 Lines A Day

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Every Human Being Is An Artist – Inspirational Quotations, Don M.Ruiz

E.D.:

 

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The dream of the planet is the dream of all humans together. We can call it society, we can call it a nation, but the result of the creation of the mind, individual and collective, is a dream. The dream can be a pleasant dream that we call heaven, or it can be a nightmare that we call hell.. But heaven and hell only exist at the level of the mind..

~Don Miguel Ruiz

Originally posted on Children Of Light.:

You tube  with quotes from Prayers, A Communion With Our Creator -Don M.Ruiz

 

Moving to some light reading on the blog today, I’ve decided to post one of my favourite passages from  “Prayers – A Communion With Our Creator,”  by Don Miguel Ruiz. I love this little book of homilies and always keep it on my desk by the side of the computer. Don has a writing style that hits  at the heart and opens it through his loving words. I could have chosen to write the passage from the book on “Love” for it is beautifully witten,  but instead, after the story-telling effort of my previous post, I’ve decided to write instead on “Humans As Artists” and Story-Tellers, because that is what we are. The great teacher Nisargadatta Maharaj once said this: “To expound and propagate concepts is simple, to drop all concepts is difficult and rare.”  I…

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A Blossom in the Wind

It wasn’t difficult to remember the first time I had been to that old house.

My curly hair was drooping in pigtails, golden brown from the summer sun.

 My Aunt Lilly had whispered to me as we dried the dishes, “I have something I want to show you!”

 “Okay.” I smiled as we continued to work.

 Soon, we climbed into her 1966 white Ford and bumped our way a few miles down the dirt road to a drive way that looked as if had not been used in years. It seemed like the bumping and grinding of the gravel went on forever. Now, I realize, it was only a half mile or so.

 My aunt grabbed my sweaty little hand as we skipped up the chipping rock steps of a wooden cabin, paint long faded to the natural gray of hardwood. She took the key, clipped to her shirt with a safety pin, and unlocked the door.

 It smelled musty inside, and I giggled, ”Yuk,” as I looked up at her.

 “Houses smell like that when no one lives there anymore, Sarah. This is the house I grew up in. I was born here.”

 “But you live on the hillside, Auntie!” I protested. “We were just there!”

 “No, honey, I mean when I was a child, like you. This is where your mother and our brother Willie grew up.”

 I glanced around he room in wonder. It was a mess. The curtains hung down limply, so dusty that the bright sunlight filtered through as if it were sunrise. There was a desk cluttered with writing materials,a yellowed tablet, the edges of the paper curled. a pencil that badly needed sharpened. I noticed that one of the drawers was partly opened and reached to see what was inside.

 My aunt stopped me. “That as mama’s drawer. We weren’t allowed to mess around in there.”“But it’s opened ,Auntie,” I said “Why can’t I look?”

 To be honest, I don’t have a reason, Sarah.” I guess it is just my remembering how we were not to mess in that drawer. Obviously, someone has!”

 “Yeah,” I whined, eyes cat to the floor. “I sure would like to see what’s in there.”

 “Sometimes, Sarah, it is more fun to imagine what a drawer may hold than to actually know.”

 I shrugged my ten year old shoulders and smiled. In my young mind, knowing what was in the drawer would be much more fun.

My aunt and I spent another hour or so wandering through the room. We looked at boxes of old doll, metal cases filled with uncle Willie’s cars. My aunt show me how the pedal operated sewing machine worked, the drawers where scissors and thread were kept. I remember my favorite was the button drawer. In it was an assortment of buttons removed from many different items of clothing before the cloth went into the rag-bag.

 “Why did you bring me here, Auntie?” I asked her as we started out the door.”

 I saw a tear slide down her cheek. “Oh, Sarah,’ she cried. “I was thinking of mamma. It’s been ten years today since she died. We started clean the house , your momma and I and one day, we just didn’t come back. It hurt too much. It was sort of like the drawer, we decided we would rather remember the house the way it had been when she was there, when we were children.”

 That was twenty-seven years ago. I had brought my children there a few times, my mother and I had even come here with Willie one day to get some things out of the barn. But today was different. Today, a tear slipped from my eye as we walked down the steps. We had just buried Aunt Lilly in the family cemetery on the hill. Somehow, I felt a deep, almost mysterious connection with my Aunt Lilly as I looked up at the apple tree, bursting in bloom as if nothing had happened.

 Life changes, time goes by, memories are made, but somethings never seem to change. I snapped a small branch of blossoms and twirled them in my hand. I already had a place picked out for them-the would dry and remain on the inside cover of my Aunt  Lilly’s oldest photograph album. Someday, a young girl with golden brown hair would remember the story that her mother had told her that day.


Daily Prompt: Keep Out/ Hoping My Child Will Not Dig Deep Into My Blog

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

You asked if there were someone we would not want to read our blog and immediately I thought of my son.

Yes I do not mind if he looks at all the pretty photographs and all of your posts I have re-blogged.

Why I want him to KEEP OUT is I do not want him to know how much pain I used to be in.  See it is key that he gets to see

how very happy I am today.

Happiness spreads Joy and  Sadness spreads Pain.

We are both to BE HAPPY for the rest of our days.

So Keep Out

Mike

BE HAPPY!

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They Needed Me As Much As I needed Them/Daily Prompt: Silver Linings

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

I was still injured but I needed a job.

I used to drive a “big rig”  but then I was hit,  by that bus.

I went through the savings which were sadly,  as in most case, s never enough.

I saw an Ad in a local paper for a Special Needs School Bus Driver,  surely I could drive a small van.

I applied for the position and they could clearly see my wounds but it was the ones inside that hurt the worst.
Due to my physical injuries I was given the troubled youths to transport to schools where they did not want to attend.

Many never even bothered  to get up and shower and dress for the day,  never mind step into the van.  Very sad.

One by one as they entered my school bus I introduced myself,  the one with the huge blue knee brace on.

I asked…

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tiptoe

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Amid this winter’s grey mist grip
our April mocks her Spring impression.
Rush hour red lights stop and start,
frustrated and my happened glance at

a waif like girl no more than nine,
she’s mouthing words of imagined rhyme.
I watch her whispering monologues
as she tiptoes boulders in the park.

Pure innocence her soft protection
from cruel worlds I suffer much too well.
I mouthed my thank you to the waif
and she tiptoed boulders until dark.


After My Son Was Gone

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

After I had my son there was no reason for me to stay in the hospital.  He was healthy and beautiful and nurses,  bless them,  kept bringing him in only to say OOPS, sorry, do you want to hold him?  I asked the doctor if I could get discharged,  he understood and said it would be OK,  good thing as I was going anyway.  I had things to do.

 

It was mid February and there had been snow. Mom came to get me as I had stayed the last 2 months at home and my car was there.  I was in a hurry to find an apartment.  I needed to get out of the family home,  no reason to cause them more pain seeing me each and every day in pain and tears.

 

I worked at  the factory where I had been for three years.  They had taken…

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