The Color of Thoughts

                             Choose the color of your thoughts and flower      

                                                     your garden.

Progress?

     The other day as I was walking across a parking, near an old alleyway that runs directly into the street, I found this most intriguing, beautiful ribbon . Not a ribbon for the hair, or a ribbon on a package, or a ribbon tied to a tree. But a ribbon that chokes and squeezes the very existence of our environment. As I wondered where this meandering ribbon would end, I felt we are all invited to tie a rainbow colored ribbon on the fractured heart in solidarity for the healing of the water, wildlife, cultures, lifestyles and souls of all that are affected by all kinds of  meandering ribbons, large or small, that threaten our earth's existence. I leave with this thought. When we destroy something created my man we call it vandalism, but when we destroy something from nature it is called progress.

A New Point of View



“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life.
Don’t be trapped by dogma, which is living the results of other people’s thinking.
Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your inner voice.
And most importantly, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.
They somehow already know what you truly want"

Steve Jobs

Archived image Feb. 2012

 

Structure

this

bare-boned

structure

haunts

the

imagination

concerning

winter's

resolute approach

 

Alone

A Time of Thanks and Remembrance

Sent from Chicago Ill. 1911 from Mrs. John Teas to her sister.

"Dear Sis,

Do you remember three yrs this Thanksgiving?

As ever your loving Sis. Hope you are all well and

happy."

 

 




 



 

"Love and Kisses

Aunt Lillian"

From Helen (hand delivered)

               

    Today is Thanksgiving Day, a day in which giving thanks to all the beautiful blessings that have been given to us as people, as a nation, and as a universe sets one in awe of the creator that has given us these riches. Unable to find a real live turkey to photograph (maybe next year) I used these old vintage postcards . How wonderful it is to revel in the idea that in the past people actually communicated with letters and cards on a frequent basis. But to stay with the meaning of Thanksgiving, I'd like to dedicate today's post with thoughts of gratitude. First, I want to take this opportunity to say Thank You! I'm grateful for the Internet and this website for allowing me to reach people around the world. I'm thankful for people like you who read my posts. You keep me going. Again Thank You. Secondly, I move forward sharing these words with you from Mother Teresa.

From Mother Teresa

 

People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self- centered;

Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of having selfish, ulterior motives;

Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;

Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you

Be honest and frank

What you spend years building, someone could destroy it overnight;

Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, others may be jealous;

Be happy anyway

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;

Do it anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;

Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;

It never was between you and them . . . anyway.

 

Have a blessed Thanksgiving.

 



The Sound of a Bell

now don't you

                                                                     

just have to wonder

at the whimsical

creative

joyful

heart

that rings a

                                                     
                                              
                                                                      bell
                                                                             

 on a bicycle

with joy or fear

? ? ?

a heart

that finds

celebration

in the universe

: :

I wondered

and

smiled

as I rode

 

Freedom

“The soul that is attached

to anything

however much good

there may be in it,

will not arrive at the liberty of divine union.

For whether it be a strong wire rope

or a slender and delicate thread

that holds the bird, it matters not,

if it really holds it fast;

for, until the cord be broken,

the bird cannot fly.”

St. John of the Cross

Flavors for the Senses

 

 

                                                                            

flavors my senses

sweetens my disposition

stirs my imagination

nourishes my dreams

the glory of fruit

Questions

Image taken at the Loveland Colorado Art Gallery

               
      

if someone pushes

do you push back

what does it mean to

"turn the other cheek"

if you are wronged

must grievance last forever

can simple kindness

always (ever?) be enough

I have the questions

but not the answers

(interpretations may vary)

Symbotic Balance

 To Fungus from Alga - A poem by Mollie Caird (1922 – 2000)
I had thought we were lichen,
Symbiotic, a wonder,
Two creatures, one life,
And dead if asunder.
Lichen is multiform:
Long-hairy, small-grainy,
Braves ice-caps and sand-dunes,
Climates torrid or rainy.
Its colours astonish:
Sea-green, scarlet, gold.
Slow as granite it grows
And is almost as old.
Fungus dead, bloodless alga
Might linger a week;
So what monstrous fate
Makes me nature’s worst freak?                     
Long ago I thought lichen
True symbol of bliss;
That poem ― unwritten ―
Would have differed from this.

                                           

Small Scattered Moments

 

 

 

 

                  The small scattered moments of creativity and awareness that make up our days are

                 often where sacredness can be found. I find the beauty of the rising sun captured  

                 between the branches of this tree an example of this kind of creativity and

                 awareness. How wonderful to be friends with the moment.   

Twelve Lovely Things

 

 

     1.  The scrunch of dry leaves as I walk through them.
     2.  The smell of freshly line dried clothes.
     3.  The cold of ice cream.
     4.  Cool wind on a hot night.
     5.  The smell of a book and a bookstore.
     6.  The smell of fresh roasted coffee.
     7.  Babies smiling.
     8.  The beauty of colors.
     9.  The warmth of a cosy fire on a snowy evening.
    10.  Baby puppies and kittens.
    11.  The beauty of lightning.
    12.  And always flowers in my pocket!!

Content

      To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common--this is my symphony. William Henry Channing, 1810 - 1884
      If I could live by Channing's words the world would be a quieter, gentler, and the symphony more audible. I especially connect with the" unconscious growing up through the common," for me this is where the most sacred can be found. Bertrand Russel , a Nobel laureate(1872-1970) said, "To be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness." And is this not our goal on this earthly journey but to be happy?

The Monk and the Bird of Paradise

The banks of the Rhine stood a large Monastery, where dwelt a company of monks. These holy men were not only distinguished for sanctity, but also for their wisdom and learning, and one of the foremost was Brother Bernard, whom all reverenced for his piety. From far and near students came to consult him, and his words were quoted as if he were an oracle.

In spite of his holiness, however, Brother Bernard had serious misgivings as to the state of his own soul. He could not imagine himself living in Paradise forever without becoming weary of it.

"Alas!" he cried, "we tire of everything upon this earth, and I fear that even an eternity of bliss would at last become monotonous. The vesper hymn is very sweet, but I should not care for it unceasingly."

He was so tormented by this thought that he could neither read nor pray. At the foot of the mountain on which the Monastery was built stood a great forest, and here he wandered for hours in the shade of the giant trees, so absorbed in his reflections that he paid no heed to where he trod. At last he prayed that God would work some miracle that he might know that life in Heaven would neither be dull nor dreary.

After a while he grew fatigued by his long ramble and looked around to see whence he had come. To his surprise he found himself in an unknown part of the forest, and on reaching a clearing where the sunlight streamed on the fallen needles of the pines, he threw himself into the midst of their fragrance to rest awhile. Just then a little bird, with plumage the colour of the sky itself, alighted on the branch above him, and began to sing. So pure and exquisite were its notes that Brother Bernard listened in ecstasy until the sweet song ceased. As the bird vanished, the monk rose from his seat. "Dear me," he cried, "how stiff I am! I must have walked much further than I thought."

In stooping to brush the pine-needles from his robe he noticed that his beard was snowy white, and that his hands were wrinkled, like those of an old man. Even the forest itself looked changed to him, for the trees were larger, and the bushes had disappeared. He wondered if he could be dreaming, for otherwise, he thought, his senses must be deceiving him. With great difficulty he found his way back to the village, where he was surprised to meet unfamiliar faces. He rubbed his eyes again and again, feeling greatly disturbed.

"I thought that I knew everyone," he muttered to himself, "but here are people whom I never met before. Who are they, and why do they stare at me as if I were some wild man of the woods, instead of  hastening to kiss my hand and receive my benediction?" He was too weary to question them, however, and made his way to the Monastery. His astonishment increased when he found a stranger in charge of the gate instead of good Brother Antoine, who had held the office for more than fifty years.

"Where is the porter?" he asked him falteringly, "and what has happened to cause the changes which I see around me?"

The Brother looked at him curiously.

"I do not know what you mean," he said, "for I have been porter here for thirty years, and I can assure you that there have been no changes in my time."

"Then what can have happened to me?" exclaimed the bewildered monk. "I went out this morning to walk in the forest, and on my return I find no trace of my old comrades."

Just then two aged monks came slowly by, and Brother Bernard stepped in front of them.

"Do you not recognise me?" he asked. "Is there no one here who knows Brother Bernard?"

"'Brother Bernard'?" said the oldest, reflectively. "We have no Brother of that name in the Monastery now, but I remember having read of him in our chronicles. He was a most holy man, with the simple faith of a little child. One morning, they say, he quitted the Monastery and went to the forest that he might meditate and pray with nothing between him and the floor of Heaven. He never returned, and though a diligent search was made, no trace of him could be found. It was thought that he had been carried up to the skies, like the prophet Elijah, in a chariot of fire: a fitting end to his life of sanctity."

"How long ago was this?" asked Brother Bernard tremblingly.

 THOUSAND years," said the old monk. "You may see by our books that this is so."

On hearing this Brother Bernard fell on his knees.

"God heard my prayer, and worked a miracle," he cried, "that I might have faith. He sent His Bird of Paradise to sing to me, and, while I listened, a thousand years passed by. Now indeed I believe, and would feign enter His Holy Kingdom."

An excerpt: FolkTales From Many Lands
                        By Lilan Gask 1865

 

Reflections Can Be Reflective

                                                            
                                                           Using reflections in photography can lead to some amazing effects and beautiful images. Using water, windows, mirrors or any sort of reflective surface can change an image into a work of art. The wonderful thing about using reflections when taking photos is that they can completely alter the image from something fairly straightforward to something richer or abstract or otherwise more artistic. Sometimes reflections can be annoying and certainly interesting. But creativity depends on the photographer being able to see things differently, rather than seeing only one part of a larger whole. And is this not what we should be looking for in own reflections of life? Seeing differently, accepting differently, and seeing myself reflected in others, as they are reflected in me. We often times distort our own reality though thoughts, feelings, perceptions and images that our mind controls.
                Jesuit priest Jean Pierre Caussade believed seeing not with our physical eyes but with and inner vision that looks at the world in a way that sees "self" in context. This type of vision is often confused with "thinking", but the two are distinct. Often thinking too much about things can result in an inability to "see" them." I begin to see and object when I cease to understand it," noted Thoreau. And Chinese Zen master Shen Hui suggested that: "The true seeing is when there is no seeing." So as I look at this beautiful reflected image of our state capitol building, can I stop for a moment and see distortions of myself that have parts of something richer, something abstract, something annoying, something pleasant, and not think to much and accept the reflective essence that may or not distort my reality. Seeing these reflections and reflected light that shines in, through, around and close to me, and remembering true seeing is not thinking, but more about absorbing the reflection.

A Splash of Red

      Looking out the window this morning and seeing this beautiful cardinal reminded me to fill the feeder. He waits patiently knowing his seeds will soon arrive. What a joy to have this splash of red appear among the barren branches. Nature still provides us with beauty against a stark contrast which makes me appreciate this cardinal's gift to me this morning. I have whole peanuts on the deck railing in hopes of photographing a blue jay. Waiting patiently is a lesson that nature teaches over and over. And as time moves along, I have gradually learned to be more patient with not only nature, but with time, people, situtations, and more importantly listening for God's voice in the daily ebb and flow of life. Is it enough to have seen that when the colors shifted the beauty might become more obvious? And does beauty or proportion even matter? Perhaps it is enough to say these shapes, these colors caught my eye when I was looking for a sign that You are everywhere.

Take Time for Butterfly Thoughts

Rorschach Test

Archived picture from summer 2012

What have we here?

A Rorschach test?

So tell me -- what is it you see?

Does your imagination fly,

or are you simply practical?

What we see here

are the mottled result of exposure,

a simple accident, a stain

upon a fortress someone built

when feeling threatened...

How does what you think you know

color what you see and hear?

Silken Seeds

“ The milkweed pods are breaking,

and the bits of silken down,

float off upon the autumn breeze,

across the meadows brown. ”

Cecil Cavendish