I tend to be adventurous when it comes to food. If I see something on the menu that I have not had before, or even heard of, I tend to order it. I have seldom been disappointed when I take a chance and do it. I remember the first time I went to a Japanese restaurant with some friends. They told me that I had to try Sushi, raw fish, and at first I was not too keen on the idea. So we went to our table and I looked at the menu. I saw all kinds of dishes that I have never heard of, so decided
No one knows how much better Leo will get, but today he seemed to show some improvement. He was also able to talk coherently upon awakening, for a longer period of time than what had up to that point been the norm for him. He got restless about mid-morning, and it was decided to try to take him for a longer walk than usual. So he was prepared, and we went for a stroll together. A belt was placed around his waist, something to hold on to in case he should lose his balance while walking, and n
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
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
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,
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,
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
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,
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.
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
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,
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
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
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
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
Weariness at times envelops perception.
The body, mind, and soul,
Depleted of energy,
Simply weary of existence, seeking rest.
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.
Offering us a lie
Since eternal oblivion is denied us.
We are called t
How is the infinite measured?
Can its depth be fathomed?
Is it possible to understand,
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,
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
The soul before the chasm stood,
Alone with its inner struggle
Silent before the darkness below;
A place unknown,
Yet the call is strong,
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.
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
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
The towers fell
Silent from the screen
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
Loved ones lost
The buildings turned into coffins
Holding the dust of many never found
Only ashes remains.
She stood behind the door
Tapping on the glass gently
Seeking my attention,
Or perhaps just anyone who passes by.
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,
Trapped in her private world.
Each who experience her need
In the end
Knowing they cannot help,
The pope speaks,
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,