Jump to content
Join the Unexplained Mysteries community today! It's free and setting up an account only takes a moment.
- Sign In or Create Account -

talking to myself

  • entries
    2,955
  • comments
    1,573
  • views
    672,916

About this blog

personal stuff

Entries in this blog

 

Mosaic

The mosaic I had a great walk this morning. I awoke at 1:30, and knowing I would not be able to go back to sleep, got up, felt the cold coming in through my open windows, put on a light jacket and went downstairs. First stop, coffee, hot, mixed with a little creamer and sugar, my first cup, then after that, all my other cups I have black. I love making coffee in the quiet of the early morning hours; I find the ritual soothing. The sound of water running, the opening of the coffee bag, the

markdohle

markdohle

 

A boyhood memory from Panama

A bus on a Friday afternoon Filled with tired workers eager to get home, People quiet with their own thoughts Either ignoring or enduring one another. Three boys get on with high spirits, The silence unbroken by those who inwardly groan Only wanting some peace before they get home With their endless chores a-waiting. The three get the only empty seat, Sensing the mood attempting quiet But to no avail, Such are boys when 12 years old. One boy leans over and tells a joke

markdohle

markdohle

 

No one exempt

The journey long and rough, no one exempt, Suffering aplenty, worry deep, tears enough to wade in, Is the path trod by all, the rich, poor, good, and evil, All must pass through the fire and experience of existence. There is joy along the way, as well as love, The embrace priceless in its intensity and depth, The joy of friends, children, food, literature and music, Lighten the burden of the pilgrimage we are all on. Yet nothing fills the inner longing or thirst, Our restless

markdohle

markdohle

 

Time enough

Dreamlike our lives wind down, The years long past race by hardly noticed, So quick their passing decades adding up, Most forgotten buried deep in unending slumber. The burden carried no longer felt, the chains we wear unnoticed. So our lives continue in pretending that time enough is ours, As the days allotted near completion, Standing naked before God the whole while, An open book nothing hidden, Such is our hope in infinite Mercy. Age leads us where we would rather not go,

markdohle

markdohle

 

Drunken mind

Sometimes my mind is like a holler monkey on weed, Swinging from branch to branch, Looping here, and then there, With no direction in mind At others my thoughts are centered and at peace, Focused on the path staying, Thinking deep thoughts That we all have from time to time. At times my body agitated Refusing rest seeking it knows not what, Something other drawing it down frantic paths of useless activity, In the end wasted energy leading to fatigue. Still there are ti

markdohle

markdohle

 

The ordinary

The beauty of a bare limb against the sky, Its shadowlike form a thing of elegance true, The gentle sound of wind among the trees Whispering softy its gentle hymn of peace, The beauty of clouds their shapes fleeting Though their beauty intense, The play of children laughing in delight Their joy bringing forth smiles on those who hear them, The gentle smile of an old man or woman, Loving and wise giving their benediction to those around them, Hot tea on a cold afternoon, Or

markdohle

markdohle

 

Deepening our sorrow

Oneness hidden yet true, Wounding others we wound ourselves. Lack of understanding Only deepening our sorrow. An endless cycle like the rings of hell. Self laceration the fruit of hatred, The suffering self inflicted as others are struck down. Seeking relief in hatred and revenge, Is as futile as a thirsty man drinking dust, The man seeking peace through revenge and contempt is forever lost.

markdohle

markdohle

 

The strangers touch

She walked in pushing a wheelchair slowly, Looking tired and a little worn out, The man in the chair perhaps her father, Old, and sickly, his arm in a cast acting confused. She walked with a slight limp with stingy blond hair, Her face looked as if she had not smiled in awhile. Her voice strong and intelligent yet gentle, Conversing patiently with the man she cared for. As I observed her from across the room, Perhaps not really seeing her at all, But nonetheless my reactions

markdohle

markdohle

 

Like rafts on a raging sea

Emotions rise and fall in the inner world of each, Strongly felt for good or ill, Giving pleasure or pain, or perhaps both in an instant, Like clouds constantly changing from one form to another. Some like storms, lasting long, With dark low hanging clouds fearful to see, Accompanied by loud peals of lighting flashing, Cymbals of thunderous noise blocking out all else. Others like spring rains bringing joy and hope, Filled with thankfulness for simple existence, Bringing qui

markdohle

markdohle

 

Seeking ways

Shriveled Alone the man in the wheelchair sat, head bowed bereft of comfort, Shrunken well beyond what he was in years not so long past, In a place he would rather not be, a journey he neither desired nor wants, Yet knowing this is his life what little he has left. Many "if only-s" run through his head, Knowing that nothing could now be done The knot now tied cannot be loosened, His past is written in stone. Still he hopes when loved ones appear, Seeking ways to let them know

markdohle

markdohle

 

Waiting for one to go

The old couple with silence sat, Each at peace in the others presence, Almost one, their love so deep with passion still aflame, Though hidden behind soft smiles and gentle touches, Unnoticed by those around them. The bright flames of passion present in their youth Now burns deeper and steadier than in younger years. Tested by years of joy, and pain, and anxiety aplenty, Yet with love present if not always felt or understood. Now the flame burns steady its heat a comfort, thoug

markdohle

markdohle

 

Are we so different after all?

As the years flow, by sometimes gently, sometimes not, With youth fading whether we desire or fear it, Wounds received as decades pass, challenging us to respond. Some become fearful retracting, hiding, Behind walls of toughness or seeming indifference, When it is only a cover for fear of what is unjust, and cruel Others strike out become powerful and in control, Not caring what others think, what they desire supreme, Yet just another protection, hiding need within. There are t

markdohle

markdohle

 

Billy Joe and Bobby Ray

Billy Joe, and Bobby Ray, were good old boys to the core, Men well met as far as that went, which was not very far. With ready smiles but eyes cold as death merciless in their depth; People gave them both wide berths, for fear of their inner void. Each carried a rage that smoldered strong, Seemingly possessed at times with the thirst for violence That only the sight of blood could quench, Vampire like in its need to feed off others pain and fear. Women feared them and fled when

markdohle

markdohle

 

To mercy's seat drawn

Light flows where it will Its radiance there for all to see Only that which does not want to know Seeks to hide from the truth shown Humility is strong based on truth The beam unrelenting in its force Based on love showing the way To mercy's seat drawn

markdohle

markdohle

 

Weary

Weariness at times envelops perception. The body, mind, and soul, Depleted of energy, Simply weary of existence, seeking rest. Seeking union, The oneness of oblivion, No-thing-ness, the void, Anything to overcome the standing apart. The earth beckons its arms wide inviting, Sink into the cold silent earth it sooths, The darkness of eternal sleep Where all separation ends. An illusion, A drug, Offering us a lie Since eternal oblivion is denied us. We are called t

markdohle

markdohle

 

Of a different order

How is the infinite measured? Can its depth be fathomed? God’s yearning, Longing, Is it possible to understand, Comprehend? God’s love without conflict, Open childlike in its purity, Simply present to the eternal moment, Seeking the beloved without urgency, The pursuit steady unrelenting, The passion fiery beyond human experience, Hotter than the Sun, yet cooling ointment to the soul Infinite love is other, of a different order, Kindly it is not in its presentation,

markdohle

markdohle

 

The flow

The flow of life runs at times rapidly, Years speeding by faster than the wind, Embracing each other tightly like frightened lovers, Just holding on for fear of the ending of the moment. Past events sometimes seem like yesterday The power of their memory like a wound opened, and bleeding, Of others filled with longing for things past, The desire for simpler times, Knowing all the while the illusion of it all. Or simply thankful that the past horrors are over, If still haunted

markdohle

markdohle

 

Into the viod

The soul before the chasm stood, Alone with its inner struggle Silent before the darkness below; A place unknown, Yet the call is strong, Insistent, Inflaming the desire for union. Eyes closed with arms uplifted, With faith deeper than the depths before it, Calling on the Father’s name It gently fell forward into the void Allowing the arms of Divinity to embrace, Bringing to fruition faiths journey, The pilgrimage in darkness ended.

markdohle

markdohle

 

Glass, water, roots, plant

The simple glass container Absorbed the surrounding light Becoming a thing of beauty and contemplation. The water clear pure to the eye, Its clarity a joy to behold with the morning sun, The union intimate for they were one in truth. The roots deep within the vase In twined in lazy peace, Flowing downward seeking ever deeper depths, Darker cooler water That never will be found. The simple plant dark green Naked without any decoration Floated peacefully upon

markdohle

markdohle

 

Perhaps the world is going mad

I was at a meeting, when the announcement was made that a nun had been murdered in retaliation over the Pope’s speech. The first thought that popped into my head was: “We will have to kill them all”. It was felt with such force that I wanted to get up and scream it to all of those in the room. It was very humbling to come face to face with the growing rage about the situation over the Moslems in the world. The thought was not rational, it was emotional and I felt enduring. Such is the war

markdohle

markdohle

 

The gathering

They gather slowly at first Each tribe drawing into its fold Those who are hesitant. The pressure builds As the fighting continues. Until. One day. When least unexpected Both strike at once.

markdohle

markdohle

 

Judith

She stood behind the door Tapping on the glass gently Seeking my attention, Or perhaps just anyone who passes by. Smiling sweetly, Seeking to charm its recipients Into doing her will, Her smile anxious for freedom. Elegant in her beauty, Her hair long and black With streaks of grey, Tied in a long graceful ponytail. Such delicate beauty, So alone, Misunderstood, Trapped in her private world. Each who experience her need In the end Knowing they cannot help, T

markdohle

markdohle

 

What are we to do?

The pope speaks, Muslims riot, A nun shot in the back, What are we to do? The world is moving towards chaos. Our bent on self destruction; Hatred of others, Is coming to fruition The fruit is deadly Destroying all who taste it, Bitter, yet desired by many To their own deaths. Soon the whole world will be drawn in, Muslims nations made hostage For the crimes of terrorist Who rain down fear upon the earth. Like a plague it spreads, Fear breeds more hatred, Anger

markdohle

markdohle

 

The Prison

The past can have a choke hold Limiting the power of thought, Gripping tightly, A death grip Cutting off life giving breath. Bringing to the surface great suffering, Anxiety, Fear, White hot rage Seeking expression All clamoring to be dealt with. Like lenses with a bad prescription Does our past often cloud true vision Swallowing those who are its victims In the prison of subjectivity.

markdohle

markdohle

 

The day they fell

The towers fell Silent from the screen Slowly crumbling Crashing to the street below Billows of smoke Rose and like a wave spread The streets filled with the dust Of what was once a great building Many died that day The power of a senseless act Such is the fruit of hatred seeking revenge Lives shattered Loved ones lost The buildings turned into coffins Holding the dust of many never found Only ashes remains.

markdohle

markdohle