Today while visiting a great farmers market in East Harlem I noticed a wonderful poem in one of the booths and I asked the owner if she wrote it and she said yes. The poem entitled Life was written by Moma Grace from Ghana who formerly worked in her country’s version of the FBI! She said the poem was given to her in a dream and that she reads it everyday after her prayers. I feel so blessed to live in a city where you can run into wonderful people like Moma Grace! Read her poem below to be inspired!
While researching for another article, I came upon some of my favorite quotes. Among them are a few from Plato, the Greek Philosopher.
My dad has adopted this one for himself: The Golden Rule: He who has the gold makes the rules.
One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you will end up being governed by your inferiors.
The greatest wealth is to live content with little.
There are three classes of men: lovers of wisdom, lovers of honor and lovers of gain.
This, and no other is the root from which a tyranny springs-when he first appears he is a protector
I remember, as a child, when I thought my cousin “had it all.” OK. Let’s say it for what it was: the green-eyed monster. I used to look around my world and think, Everyone has such a perfect life.…
until my mother saw that I was beating myself up with this attitude. She sat me down firmly and said, “Everyone has something.”
To tell you the truth, I didn’t believe her. After all, G.’s life looked pretty darned good to me. As I got older, of course, I came to realize the wisdom of her words. I was looking at the outside, the surface things. And while those might look good, they’re certainly not everything.
This was in the early stages of my having epilepsy, and I admit that I was in an Oh, poor me kind of mood. But my mom’s words began to sink in, and I’ve heard them in my mind over and over and over. She has been gone for 17 years now, and I hear them still.
Yes, everyone does have something, be it a physical, emotional or psychological challenge, an employment difficulty, a financial burden, parenting stresses…whatever. No one slides through this world without challenges.
I tend to wrap myself up in a ball of pity too often, and those parties are lonely. So now I look at people in different ways. If someone says something negative to me, rather than wondering what I did or said to deserve it, I think, instead: What is the reason that this person needs to say this? What is their inner motivation to hurt? They must be hurting, themselves. And perhaps there’s something I might do to assuage that hurt.
So today, any old Monday, I am thinking about my mom, and I thank her for giving me some of the best words I have ever heard. They have helped me manage some extremely stressful situations.
Thanks, Mom. I love you.
It takes so little effort to amend
an argument, or straighten out the bend
a road oft takes. Forgive the careless word
that flits around you like a little bird.
Please realize that this might be the hour
you leave the earth, so sniff the red rose flower
and praise the trees that stand there mighty, tall.
The spring, the summer, winter, and the fall
have given you a panoramic view,
provided excellence, each season new
in character and dress. You leave the seed
within your words, plant wisdom others read.
There are spring storms and the way children
quickly dart into your bed when frightened
during them. Allow this.
There is not going to be enough time, ever
Half the distance will never amount
to a hill of beans, but here she mixes metaphor