Last night we watched Brene Brown’s Ted Talk on You Tube.
This morning during yoga, Adriene gave us the mantra “Peace in my thoughts” and I had a realization that my convictions are my own and they are valid to me, but I note that I lack strength sometimes in standing up for them. In efforts to avoid confrontation and maintain the peace, I stay silent. This weakness is in me, not in the truth for which I stand.
The truth is strong. I must exercise my muscles of conviction so that I may effectively communicate Peace.
My speech, my stand for my convictions, need not be aggressive, or combative. How I am “being” during my communication of my truth, speaks more to the point than words. I simply need to practice embodying peace while disagreeing with those for whom violence is the only option.
Hate...comes at us...but...never from all sides at once...if we’re lucky.
What I learned from reading the works of Tolkien was my own sense of self-worth. That even though all seems fallen into ill favor and disrepute, something Honorable and Nobel endures. And no one can take that away from me.
“All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.”
I find it dangerous and disturbing that there are those in this world dedicated to perpetually keeping people angry at one another while at the same time ensuring they have easy access to lethal weapons. It is a deadly combination plaguing us with seemingly no end in sight. It is time for me to raise my voice, not in shout, but in calm protest against, the tide of inequity rising everywhere.
Tomorrow marks what would have been my mother's 92nd birthday. Happy Birthday in heaven mommy. Miss you everyday.
I wrote this about Paul Rebhan last weekend while at the in-laws house.
Reinvention
Unlike a machine with its levers and
purchase
he no longer swings from the flys
but encrypts data with pandemic precision for his first love:
A Theatre of the Mind
like a Richard Foreman or an Ann Bogert disembodying wisdom, folly, satire, lunacy...
Ever it was music or ...was it always music?
Sometimes melancholy, often sardonic, hypnotic, offensive, absurd,
yet ultimately, tragic, brutal, sad as a tale of cyber crossed lovers shocked as they kiss over convoluted wires entangled in nebulous clouds of stellar gases forming new dimensions recently imagined with nonsensical understanding,
a loyal old friendship in revision reverting to original settings of wonder
The universe expands within
contracts without
outer space folding at depth inside pressurized cabinets of
cognac, single malt, mezcal, and tequila.
“Margarita, rocks, no salt, please Bruno,”
before a wrecking ball steamrolls this venue
into an oblivion of disintegrated nostalgia
along with Don Julio, Santa Maria, Desdemona, Harley Quinn,
and all the magically real characters of Gabriel Garcia Marquez
His poem is not over
O no. Not yet. Not until
eons of time cycle over nature
in an infinite ramble of passionate rhapsody
exhausting and rejuvenating force beyond breath
exhaled by Buddha
laughing at genius unrecognized
by narrow eyes in beings barely sentient
to the present
Moment
