Thundercatt99

... And Sing To Me

2012-01-25T06:22:00.000-08:00

In fiction class we were to choose a season and write a story with it in mind. Here is what came of it ...

… And Sing To Me

“There is magic in the hearts of people, a magic by the nameof hope and compassion. And in the darkest moments, this magic is the onlylight we have.”

~Author Unknown So Far

In dreams, wilduntamed thoughts can take wing and soar into the depths of the imagination,creating mysterious worlds where the lines between the real and the unreal areoften obscured. Truths and fictions weave as one thread to create luminousmemories. The ancient Celts were said to believe that there are thin placesthat not only transcend the senses, but transcend the boundaries of time andspace. It is a realm of infinite possibilities. Who is to say they aremistaken? Fantasy is like thousands of flickering candle flames set in the darklike stars. Most of the flames were unremarkable; they sputtered and wereswallowed by the darkness in quick succession. But every so often there wouldbe a flame that was so full of magic that burns brighter than the rest. Thedarkness retreated from its terrible glow, and the flames around it burned allthe brighter. And even if the bright flame dies out, oh how brightly it burned!This is how it began …

ii.

The scent of pinetrees fills the air. On an icy evening in December, snow fell from the sky andcaressed the earth with a glow that seemed to come from angels. There are noother people for miles around, and the forest lays silent except for the softsound of a gentle wind caressing the trees. It whispered melodies in a languageto ancient to fully understand. If you close your eyes you can drift away fromthe industry and hardships of modern life and return to a simpler primal time,a time when we were one with the boundless forest. Leafless trees trembled andconcealed sparrows arose with circling beauty.

Eli was cold.Terribly cold. Breath steams the air as his feet crunch on the ground. Hestopped and looked at his red and numb hands as he raised them toward his face.Skin seemed to flake from shaking fingers before they were shoved deep intojacket pockets. He wrapped his narrow fingers tightly around a cracked compass,his last remaining tether to a recognizable world.

A cool breezegently brushed across his reddening face. Eli couldn’t bring to mind much ofthis time outside the forest well enough to say what exactly he was thinkingabout. “Why was I out here at all?” But with or without knowing the reason,there he was at the mouth of the forest. He stopped moving and looked up to thegrey sky; it had started to snow again, sending zillions of crystalline flakesdown to Earth. With each gust of wind the trees danced in tune with the breeze.It seemed as though the trees and the forest itself was breathing.

Whether it wasthat or something else, Eli was drawn into the woods.

The forest pulledhim in.

iii.

Eli awoke to afeeling that could only relate to vertigo. He felt lost. Fear was there, ofthat he was certain, but it took an immediate backseat to his own captivationand reckless infatuation with the world around him. His eyes were open; beingsure they would not close again.

He arose from astone table which was standing alone in the heart of the woods. It was in apleasant clearing. Not too large; nor too small, and the surrounding trees werea pleasant and greenish green under their snowy veneer. Turning around it wassurprising to notice that the table had no snow on the top of it. Now seeingthat at any other time would have mystified a man. But, at that moment, thereseem to be so many other imperative things other than a stone block thatcollected no snow on a winter’s morn.

Curiosityovertook everything that morning.

Looking back, Elirealized that with the inexplicable he really should have been anxious. Usinglogic, one waking up in a strange place, with no understanding of how he gotthere, would be troubled, if not outright frightened. To a logical person, in alogical situation, this could truly be terrifying!

Curiosityovertook logic that morning.

Eli becameintoxicated with the dreamlike beauty of the forest. The perfect white of thesnow, the nakedness of the frozen trees, the eternal rhythm of death andrebirth, the beautiful innocence of nature encircled him. He softly exhaled anddropped to his knees in the fresh, soft white powder. He dug his hands into thesnow playfully and lifted up two handfuls, then slowly let it drop to itsoriginal spot. Watching the spot for a few moments, then lifting his head,scanning with his deep indigo eyes what lay in store around him. However, therewas nothing … Nothing but the miles of crystalline snow and his footprintsbehind him. Eli turned his head toward the sounds of animals in the distance,trying to stay warm on this crisp morning. And that was when he realized thathe was not cold whatsoever. He couldn’t help but notice that while inspectinghis hands, which were once raw and red, they were now simply his hands.

And unexpectedly,a different thought crashed into his mind: It just might not have been the nextmorning at all. It’s possible it could have been days - weeks – later. Youknow, a rational mind considers the possibility of these things. And it’s arational mind that comes to fear them, after which it’s the rational mind that dismissesthem out of hand.

Curiosityovertook rationality that morning.

Eli ambled overto the stone table, running his hands over the reflective slate. His gazewandered through the snow covered everything. A gentle breeze swept snow fromthe canopy in a powdery cascade. With lifted arms, he felt alive with theforest. Closing his eyes, it was felt within. He inhaled deep, deeper than everbefore. There was this feeling of being one with the woods which was enticinghis spirit. Memories were an anthology of lives he'd never lived. He was awriter, a singer, a painter, a pianist, an architect, a doctor, a teacher, anengineer. Eli had seen everything andnothing, and so now he needed to travel, to see everything again or for thefirst time. This was the day, the hour, and the minute he would start lookingat and beyond everything that enveloped him. Losing him, losing reality, losingeverything …

Something washeard in the far-off distance and that something brought him back. Standingcompletely still, there came the recognition that it was a voice. A woman’svoice; by far the most beautiful thing that he had ever heard. The notes weresoft at first but slowly rose. The ring was like ivory bells - not silver.Silver? Too common; anyone can have a silver voice. No, hers was carved ofivory, incandescently glowing. Creamy bone freckled with drops of shiningbeauty. Eli listened to it and was captivated. A last he opened his eyes andmused, not the origin, but the sound. The sound of it alone made him forget hisstation in the clearing. It was suddenly forgotten how alive and on fire theforest had made him, as the sound of the lady’s voice made him being more alivethan even the forest could.

Eli found thatthe beauty of that voice resonating had brought him to his knees, even tears;it was known in the depths of the heart -his very bones- that this voice waswhy he was drawn, no pulled, to this place. That voice gave meaning to thesenselessness and filled in the pauses left in his heart by the secrets of thewoods. It was understood, at that very moment in time, that the melody wasmeant for him.

“I need to findthis woman!”

But alas, thesound of her exquisite voice was fading, fighting a losing battle against thesubtle sounds of the forest and the graceful mourning doves. She was fadinginto the deepness of the snow covered trees, dulling the sound, where soon thesilent breeze would erase what little beauty of her song remained.

This just cannotbe allowed to happen! After having that splendor, it just couldn’t be given up.It wouldn’t! Eli had to find it … Follow it …. Take it. He needed it!

Rising from hisknees, he absently brushed off the snow and began to follow the distant soundsinto the thick of trees, and the darkening wilderness. Trying his best tosqueeze through apertures of the snow kissed trees, which were becoming evermore difficult to negotiate. Crafting a way through corridors and leaflessthickets lashing sleeves and legs, he forged ahead. The mist creeps closercovering the forest like a cape. Moving as quickly as possible, with legsfeeling like stone. But despite all the effort, he didn’t make it to her voice.

Her call stopped.The magnificence hadn’t gone entirely. Each astonishing note was etched intohis memory, and engraved on his soul. Lord knows how much he needed it back.His mind wasn’t allowing for anything less. Eli backed himself into a tree andallowed himself to slide down, slowly catching his breath. Tears gradually fellin sorrow. The sun’s rays spun silver. In the end he fell asleep in the stillquiet of the winter’s morning.

Eli slept for along time after that.

iiii.

Waking up, thefirst thoughts are of her. A smile spreads to his face as he considers hervoice. “If only” he whispers, “I wish we could be …” Sunshine was streamingaround him, dappling the earth and turning the misty air gold. A tear rolleddown his cheek as he rolled over and knew that she was gone. Another fell as itwas recognized that she was never there. What had transpired seemed as if onlya dream. It was some distant fantasy Elicouldn’t bring himself to entirely remember. Everything condensed to a speck ofdust, floating through the corridors of his mind.

The time that wasspent sleeping was not an empirical fact that could be recalled with anycertainty. The sun was high in the blue morning sky, so it was either stilllate in the morning, or this was later … Far later. Eli managed to suppress anydoubts of time and simply convinced himself that it was only a couple of hourslater in the same day. It was feeling cold again and the curiosity has all butevaporated. Vertigo too had turned itsunpleasant head toward him; and fear had revisited to play a bit part in thefamily of things. It was time to leave the forest then, but …

“Where is theway?”

Eli began to walktoward the rising sun, although he knew not the reason why. Maybe it was justassumed that if one walked in any one direction long enough and far enough, oneshould, by all logical and rational means, reach the end of such a place. Thenagain, maybe he wasn’t thinking much at all.

Hours slid past.The pit of his stomach is hollow, empty. Nothing fills it. His skin was red andstung like an inferno from the cruel cold. A breeze began to pick up and Elitucked his arms under his shoulders, and his chin to his chest for warmth. Thewhispering of old wood, groaned as it strained against the cold which filledhis ears. Clenching his fists, he kept walking. The pain of his nails digginginto his palms kept his mind off the trees and predicament. Some of their bark,so wanting of color it looked to be blackish-gray, seemed warped. Knotholesmade misshapen eyes, apparently peering out at him from mutated skulls of wood.The wind traced over his shoulders. There were the spreading stages of givingup hope of ever escaping this hopeless place.

That was when itwas heard again.

The voice. Hervoice! The Lady’s exquisite voice was trickling through the trees. Soon itbegan to ring loudly and distinctly through the crisp smells of forest pine. Itwas coming from the direction he was headed! Eli ran.

Wasting no timehe was soon racing up the gentle grade at a full on sprint, heedless of straybranches that may have drifted in his way. With every beat of his heart, withevery breath of his lungs, her voice grew louder, and in some unknown way evenmore wonderful. He ascended the rise, and the river below began to impartharmony. The sweet melody resonated as he ran down through the trees faster andfaster, kicking up clumps of snow in his wake. Some might propose that it wasthe running through the forest that had made every part of him regained warmth.But no one would be able to convince Eli, now, then or forevermore, that itcould be anything but her.

Finally heskidded to a stop, and away went the voice.

Eli was there.

She began to singagain. It was still so beautiful. The beguiling tune made gentle love to hisears. It was as delicate as a Lotus petal, yet as powerful as a full symphonyperforming Beethoven. Standing at the mouth of the river, frozen with both iceand time, he finally saw her. She was walking along its solid surface, singingher pure melody, and without as much as a glance, toying playfully with hisfascination. She, with her long silver hair, and elegant long ivory coloreddress, was as beautiful as the song she sung. From the beginning he just wantedto lay back and watch her sing. Just to pass the time looking into her eyes,and engaging himself to her song, was everything Eli would ever need to do.

As she walkedthere was heard a cracking beneath her feet, a minor fracture, and animperceptible slim line. Quickly a spider web of crevices spread across thesurface with growing speed. The ice groaned and popped. Abruptly … The Ladyfell into fragments of crystal, plunging into the freezing depths, and the songdrowned away with her, taking with it every part of Eli.

He needed itback. “I need her!”

Without thinking,without logic, without rationality, and so swift as to be without fear, heleaped into the abyss after her. It was a mistake he would ever regret. They wereboth in the water. There, together, they at last looked into each other’s eyes.And in that split second, they knew. And suddenly the world was warm and soft –suddenly, time stood frozen, spellbound.

Eli outstretchedhis arm and extended his fingers. She clung to them, and he pulled her to him.Together they swam against the flow of the river towards the chasm in the ice.The struggle was excruciating. Each stroke was a meager attempt against theprodigious current. Every second seemed like an hour, every minute seemed likean eternity. The frigid water seemed as a vice holding on to him. Yet … withher he felt warm, with her, they prevailed. Reaching the fracture, Eli pulledwith everything he possibly had left, and lifted her onto the ice. She turnedto help pull him on the icy surface.

Arm in arm, shehelped him to the bank where she laid him down in the snow. She kissed himsweetly on his forehead and whispered into his ear, “Thank you.”

After that hismemory dissolves …

Eli awakened in acabin which was clearly in the woods. The scent of cedars and firs hung in theair. Across the room was a fireplace, its lingering crimson color, dancingaround, painting the walls. And she was there, gazing very gently towards him.She rose from her Bentwood chair, bent over him, hair softly brushing his armand touched his face with her smooth hand. “You saved me” she began, “Thankyou, thank you so much.”

“You want tothank me?” Eli asked pulling away. “More than anything!” she exclaimed, hereyes watering, smile spreading.

“Then let meclose my eyes …” he said, pausing again, “… And sing to me.”

Every so oftenthere is a flame that was so full of magic that burns brighter than the rest.All Eli did know was that he wasn't dreaming. And he had taken the final stepinto the light.

*The End*

"After The Fall" (4/2/11)

2011-12-15T11:47:00.000-08:00

This has got to be one of the saddest songs ever written. As the story goes, Beethoven realizes that his love Theresa never would have cared about his deafness and is crushed as he realizes what might have been. Lord knows I would never want to be in this position. Nor can I ever let it happen! This video of the song by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra captures this song perfectly!

Here are the lyrics:

(Theresa)

Time only time could never take me away from you
And why should it try time never cares just what we do
It just sits on a star and gazes down
Dropping its moments all around
And if I could wish upon that star
I would find what you dream and then ask god to grant it

I wanted to say this long before this dark would fall
At night I would pray this then wonder if god heard at all
For the chances I've had are now long gone
And that star is no longer wished upon
For on this night it seems too far away

Try I have tried to pretend that I don't care
But then sleep arrives and in every dream I find you there
But I don't want the past to be my life
And I don't want to live inside this night
But I don't want to see your shadow fade
So I sleep and I dream though I don't understand it

I wanted to say this long before this dark would fall
At night I would pray this then wonder if god heard at all
For the chances I've had are now long gone
And that star is no longer wished upon
For on this night it seems too far away

You can live your life in a thousand ways
But it all comes down to that single day
When you realize what you regret
What you can't reclaim but you can't forget
If I could just fall back into my life
And find you there inside this night and let eternity just drift away

Those Summer Dresses

2011-12-12T14:10:00.000-08:00

This is the first "real" story I ever wrote. I was in a beginning Fiction class and people were writing all sorts of stories, mainly sci-fi, stuff that was at least somewhat violent and had orks in them ect. I was about to drop out of the class, I just couldn't write like that and my classmates could write rather well, how was I to compete with that? So a germ of an idea appeared to me while sitting in the commons on a rainy day and that weekend I locked myself in an dingy motel in the middle of no where, the rain continued to pour, and here is the result. It was make or break as far as I was concerned for this class as it was so different than what others were doing, I was going to drop the class the next day. Somehow it was well accepted and I was shocked! Its even going to be in our College's literary Journal coming out next month!

Here is my first story ...

Those Summer Dresses

Another rainy evening finds me sitting by the window. I am watching the drops of water as they fallagainst the glass, the streaks of light as the streetlight shines brightly. Thepane is cold to the touch; my fingers leave a small vapor from their trace. There is the tinkling sound of wind chimescoming from the porch. My cat Izzy has somehow found a spot to curl up in on myshambolic bed and Charlie dog is snoozing in front of me with his chin on myfeet. What is it about rainy days that make you feel so alone?

Onthe table a small candle is burning sweetly in its light as it flickers slowly.I have a very warm cup of coffee, not so much because I need it, but because Ilove to feel its warmth in my hands as it flows into the coldness of myfingers. The TV is on atop the small wooden dresser with the sound off, and thestereo is playing this Coldplay tune. “Look at the stars, look how they shine foryou.” I’m listening to music as it seems the only thing that relaxes me, for awhile I don’t have to really think of anything. Glancing at the tube I can’t helpbut notice a cute young looking brunette actress, flouncing across the streetin the rain, wearing a fluttering red and white flower print sundress. Damn. Whatis it about summer dresses that breathe their life into a lonely man’s soul?

Layingback in my overstuffed recliner, I recall sitting on a graffiti scared parkbench, with the summer heat on my skin, and glorious treats filling the senses.The summer dresses would pass by; they would sway and voice their concerns tothe playful wind. They would soak up the daylight and were worn like thesunshine itself. They would light up the world with their amazing colors ofyellow, pink, green and white, dancing in the sun with the grass and wind.There is no music but I feel it flow through me and come alive. How many arehoping for someone to dance with? What is it about summer dresses that make aman want to get up dance? A smile cannot help but to cross my face …

Ahyes, I remember back in high school when I met an angel named Judy. She boughtthis dress, made of the lightest green with little white flowers all over. Shewore it from dusk to dawn, sometimes for days at a time. She danced in it,drank in it, ate and slept in it. She sometimes did things we sure as helldidn’t want her Daddy to know about in it. It was a billowy, spaghetti strappeddress made of cotton that was perhaps a size or so too loose. She oh who she lovedit! Memories, drifting like feathers softlythrough my mind. Never will I forget Judy and that simple green dress!

Iremember another one, a taller one, a clean sleeveless white, with ruffles downthe side with a touch of lavender embroidery at the hem. I couldn’t help but towonder if she is wearing anything under it. She still believed in magic,unicorns and fairies. It is so easy to imagine her, with perchance a smallwhite headband to support her auburn hair streaked with grey, capering throughthe woods. She probably took a penny with her, or maybe a special quarter,hoping that perhaps that whatever she was wishing for would come true just alittle bit faster. Everything about her seemed so childlike. “Dreams arepriceless”, she said, and you can’t argue with that I suppose. For a moment thevision was perfect. Then again memories can make things that way.

Iremember a third, a blue and white one, which would flare up about her kneeswhen she spun around. I would see her by a massive oak tree, the one with thesmooth little bench that was under it, writing about thoughts, desires anddreams. Oft times she would ask me to join her and the warm summer breeze wouldgently sweep leaves about us. The writing would stop so that she could take itall in. I look up to the sky, let my hands reach over my head and I feel thegrass with my fingertips. Time would be delighted in looking at those loftyclouds, as free as the open air ourselves. Sometimes you would kiss me; sometimes youwould run your fingers through my hair. Sometimes we would sit there insilence. Silence with her was beautiful too. Eventually she would put herpencil to paper again, and the words came out evermore enchanting.

Eventhough it was only March, the end of March to be fair, but still March, shethought she would be optimistic about the weather and try for once to make aneffort. Feeling a bit down it was decided that wearing her scruffy jeans, the first t-shirt on hand and washed-outgrey hoodie, wasn’t going to make it yet again today. This dress has never been worn before, noteven on vacation, despite how much she loves it. It is cream colored sun dresswith blue flowers, tight at the top and then floats outwards, the skirt part ofit was gently ruffled to give it more shape. She also chose her thickest pairof black tights, it was March and it was pouring rain after all. Though still abit edgy and kind of close to tears, (though probably no more so than usual),she tried her best to smile and be chirpy. Like the way she used to be. Anacquaintance of hers does the same, acting as if she's confident and happy and somehowit seemed to help. I have to wonder sometimes, how many people are acting? Suresome people thought that what this girl was wearing was daft, but there seemedto be a change. She didn't particularly remember consciously being miserable, butthe world around her seemed to become a lot sunnier.

Somepeople like to say that looks don't matter, that they're not important. Ithought that as long as you are comfortable that's all that mattered. But I thinkI may have to change my mind. It cheered me up a little to find that sometimes,when all hope seems lost, that a simple thing like dressing nicely can reallycheer someone up, even me. What’s up with that? Obviously I'm not going to goand wear a dress now, though it may sound like fun in an odd sort of way, but Imight try making an effort to look my dashing self someday and seeing whathappens. But alas, today wasn’t that day …

Thewind stands still, and clouds roll across the sky. I take a stroll outside,getting myself wet on purpose so that I could sit by the heater and look outthe window. There was this itch to dance. The sky begins to darken, shadowsseasoning underneath. Izzy and Charlie doze on. The rain continues to beat atempo on the windowpane, though now appearing more soothing … calming. “Dreamsare priceless”, she said. It sure does seem that way I reply. I get up to and walked into the kitchen to ponder… What is it about summer dresses that breathe their life into a lonely man’sworld?

Girl on the Metro

2011-12-10T21:48:00.001-08:00

Another story ... This time from my first fiction class ...

Girl on the Metro

Hello ... A wholemonth and I’m still walking around on glass. But people wouldn’t believe me ifthey knew, even though they see me every freakin day.

You know, I’ve always hated the phrase, “I’ll believeit when I see it.” Those words give way too much credit to humanity methinks.Seeing to believe? How much do we really,really see? Shouldn’t people really say, "I’ll believe it whensomebody can show me rock solid evidence, when it actually matters to me?"Leave a message at the tone … beep …

People see every moment. Yet no one can surely, trulybelieve what they see. No one recognizes people for what they are, or theexperiences they wear on their skin like a tattoo. No one seems to ask for aname today because no one can see right in front of them, much less remember afew moments later. Why bother with formalities when there isn’t even time tolook at someone. Anything can start with a hello, can’t it?

There is not-a-one, yet we all continue to see andplace people in the tidiest of boxes, the emptiest of labels, in the simplestway. Fat Guys, Hot Girl, Baldy, Wino, Ugly, Gangster, Skinny Chick, Mother ofSeven, Dude, Lesbo, Baldwin, Dead, Zombie. The list goes on and on and on, somenames more interesting than other ones. Some seem more intimidating.

I have the honor and privilege to be one again for youtoday good, kind-eyed Sir.

Pleased to meet you, I’m just the “Girl on the Metro.” (ButI would feel much more interesting if I were The Zombie.)

I see you every day, week after week, but have notspoken to you. You’ve seen me every day, week after week, but have never spokento me. I haven’t said more than two words to anyone on this train for a whilenow. It doesn’t matter to you how this damsel ended up here in Metropolis,boarding the “E” every day of the week at seven in the morning. It doesn’tmatter why I prefer to stand instead of sit, even though my orange JanSportpack weighs over twenty pounds. Heaven forbid I have to sit down by someone.Sheesh!

You never wonder how I can afford that mauve leatherbag I clutch to my chest, or the handmade canvas protected by two sheets ofcardboard I snatched from outside by the dumpster. It seems to bother you that Idon’t wash my hands, like I’m some kind of Street Waif. But I do wash! Two,sometimes three or more times a day, under scalding hot water until I turncherry red.

Don’t worry good sir, its only pure pigment frommixing tempera on my fingers. Egg yolks are good for the skin you know, thoughI probably can’t say the same for the pigment. Now, if you could get past thestains, you would realize how enjoyably soft they really are. You can onlyguess I’m one of those Crazy Bohemian Chicks, minus the dreadlocks. You thinkyou know the ones; they don’t eat meat and brazenly dance naked in the rainshamelessly. WooHoo! Rain exists to dance off the ground don’t ya know. Thereyou go seeing again. Knock it off! Sheesh! Why do I have to be so discombobulated… so wary … so quiet when I find a guy interesting …

For a spell, maybe you just chalked it up to mywearing headphones. Possibly that’s why the girl is so silent. Oh no! Don’tworry. It’s not an attempt to ignore anyone (well, yes it is), it’s just my wayof performing the unapproachable ‘Girl on the Metro’ you’ve got locked insideyour head. Sir, Maybe I didn’t have thecash to plug them in to anything, so I just make up the songs in my head. Takeit as my Mad Bohemian Poet nature and not anything too important. I wouldn’twant to ruin your image, you know. The phones keep out unwanted questions – noone wants to bother with someone who shows as much interest in them as they doin me.

I see you Metro Boy between Glitter Girl and the Manwith the Magazine. I can’t help but feel tense from your chance casual looks myway. You have a smile that could brighten my day, making it about the onlything I see as natural and untainted in my stained world. My heart is goingb-dump, and begins to gallop. Still you continue with your discreet glances.Still I catch myself beginning to blush with every look you take. Does he thinkI’m pretty? Does this count as an admirer I wonder … Or perhaps I just lookweird? Trying to act natural, not daring to take in your profile, well not toomuch. A peculiar and wonderful muddle of fear, hope and happiness churn within.You know, I really must find that necklace my guardian angel left behind! Myfingers clutch tighter on the shiny hand rail as I turned to focus out a windowtowards the rear of the bus. The Bald Guy two seats back seemed unaware that myeyes were stealing his window outlook.

Everything looks grey out there ... The sidewalks, thewindows, the roads, the sky. It’s wet too, the kind of damp that makes yourConverse do the slight squeaking sound on the pavement thing. The greypavements mind you. Then suddenly something’s there; colors that stand outagainst the grey! Spray paint, Art! Coming in from the outside and then knockson the heart. Not sure what it says or means, but there is a historynonetheless. Maybe a Girl wrote that, or a Boy. Maybe Dropouts, maybe they’reAspiring Writers. Possibly they’re Potheads, Photographers, or Freaks. Whoknows? Who needs to know? With art,everyone’s the same, and still not the same. I recognize the value of how I canignore parts, yet let it pour out slices of me alike. Could it be a Lawyer maybeor a Lover? It may possibly be a Surreptitious Judge or ‘just’ an Offender?Hmmm …. Maybe it does matter. But hey, art is hard to interpret. Like people …Like the Metro Girls and Boys …

… Like me. I’m happy, quirky, kindhearted and caring.I’m also sad, lonely, depressing and barely here. I say every line is yetanother note in my symphony of colors. I’m all sorts of broken pieces,insecurities, and half-finished characteristics fleetingly blended together,here to give a little shading to the surroundings. I’m in the bargain bin, thefinished product will be sent out next Thursday if you please. In the end whichis more real? The little ole me that everyone sees every single day, or the onethat only I know? What is seen, what you all think you see, is not what’s infront of you. You see what I want you to see, what I want you to see. And thatgirl is not me. I hate her! If seeing is believing and I only appear when thelights are out or the doors are all closed, why doesn’t someone start bangingon the door! Come on; get a crowbar … something … anything! Yeah, maybe it doesmatter.

I wish that you’d get the nerve to ask me why yourarely see me smile, to investigate me. I’ve always had this fantasy, a sweetdream really, of someone being so kind as to inquire. They’d take me away fromthis routine “E” train ride, to somewhere quiet and ask me if I was okay, askme anything. Ask me over coffee perhaps at the cute little French Café on thecorner. Yes, that’s the ticket, that’s how it would happen.

“I see you every day and I never see you smile. Areyou okay?”

I’d slowly shake my head. No words yet. Can’t look anxious.I’d stare at the swirls in my coffee. It feels hot on my fingers, fighting thetemperature of my vintage country mug. I puff on the steam rising inspirals. “It reminds me that I want toshower again.”

There. Now I’m interesting.

“How come?” And then it would happen, “Tell me …”

But you won’t …

Best for me to build an uninviting fence I tell ya. Noone would care to climb over or crawl under it when they think they know whatis on the other side of it. Like a nasty Rottweiler snarling, licking its chopsor something. No one will know I have a story. And if no one knows, I don’thave to tell it. So I’ll reserve myself until my time comes. I was stupid tothink you could see Sir. I don’t blame you. You’ll just go on knowing nothingabout me and its best it probably stays that way. What was I thinking? Hell, Idon’t even like coffee!

I don’t want anyone to see anyways, unless they arewilling to look. It would only be then that it would be worth the risk of seeinga face without seeing someone’s back again. Suppose what you will, I’ll alwaysbe ‘that’ girl to you Sir. Kind, reluctant and forgettable. You don’t have tolisten, oh no you don’t. In fact I know that you won’t. I’m just that BohemianGirl on the “E”. You know all there is about the Girl on the Metro, don’t chanow.

But you know nothing about these: The Survivor girl,The Abused, The Sick, The Beaten, The Hurting, and The Muse. Therefore, my goodSir, you know so little about me. You don’t have a clue about the nights Ispent under my bed and under those men in whom I should have been able totrust. Do you understand what it feels like to be bent in half or snapped intwo? Wham, bam, thank you mam. Do you Sir, have a clue what it feels like tonot feel truly human. I open my mouth as if to say, “You’re still beautiful.”But we both know that’s not true. And the thought makes me want to cry, just alittle, but I hide it so very well.

It really is wrong of me to think that because you seeme every day that you are responsible to dig at me, and find the better partsof me. I shouldn’t think that of anyone. Everyone has secrets that they long tohide, hoping that they will not be exposed by anyone. Burying them in the backyard,veiled behind umbrella drinks in festive colors, and keeping them behindmeaningless conversation, hidden by flowers and barbeques. I am the secret andI want to be free. I want to be known! I want to get rid that that girl whopretends to be me, sweet, gentle, smiling and ever so kind. The one you forgetabout when you are in the same room as them, and on the same goddamned trainevery day.

Goodbye Sniper. Do not think I owe you anything, andyou’ll forget all about me and the words I’ve never said. I’m ready to breakthe rules of the ‘Girl on the Metro’. I wish you would make an effort, I’m sotired of being ‘hard to get’. I’ve tried to call out for so long but can neverfind my voice. No one is listening again today anyway; they only believe whatthey see. Well you know they all see me, why aren’t they looking?

The “E” slows to a gentle stop in front of the CaféToi et Moi. It’s her stop. Beneath the Tuesday morning traffic, the laughter ofthe teens in the back, and the flurry of activity of the fellow Metro-itesclambering to get on and off the train, there was a voice. It was a cautiousmasculine voice reaching towards the Bohemian picking up a handmade canvas,protected by two sheets of cardboard.

“See you tomorrow.”

I gather my ‘art’, dangling my bag over my shoulder. Ididn’t look back as I stepped of the train into the milieu. Nor did I look backas the train drove off down its tracks, leaving the busy sidewalk as mycompanion. I dare not see what look his face might show, apprehensive at whatemotions his eyes would betray. Does he find me interesting? Or would his facereflect disgust? Or worse yet, it would be nothing at all. Better to live inuncertainty, than face what his face might display. Now I can save my hopes,fears and anticipations, for perhaps the next train ride.

The “Girl on the Metro” walks a few paces, peeks inthe toy store window and then abruptly stops. Suddenly apprehending, and nearlygetting rear ended by another bumbling pedestrian with an unpleasant word ortwo to say in the process.

Was that “See you tomorrow???” Hello …

Cafe Toi et Moi = Cafe Me and You

The Violinist's Wife

2011-12-08T14:41:00.001-08:00

Here is a story I written for a Fiction class at school I would like to share .... Enjoy! .... Let me know what you think!

The Violinist’s Wife

Theodore isholding her intimately again, gently and warmly, as he has held her everysingle day for several weeks now. Without a doubt she is his one true love.From the doorway of his studio I stand back and watch him embrace her. I covetthe way he lays her body against him, the way they seem to seamlessly fittogether, the way they seem to be made for one another. Eavesdrop on her screamand whisper in crescendos, singing high, low, and every note in between. Teddytold me before we were married that he couldn’t possibly love another more thanme, but I’m afraid I just can’t see it. He absolutely adores her. And truth betold, how can I deny him the pureness and beauty of his love? When he glideshis bow over her strings, the singing of the vibration, the burning of thenotes, there is nothing else like it. Theodore’s violin is the woman he pinesfor, the one he desires. Late at night after we make love, I know her harmonyfills his dreams.

Theodore isplaying in legato enhanced by vibrato, the notes flow like streams, one overanother. As I lean against the entryway to watch, I see he is unwilling to partfrom her. As I turn to leave, he sees me from the corner of his eye, and looksup abruptly. He is still sliding the bow across her strings, his fingershovering over the delicate curve of her neck. He pauses …

“What is itCarly?”

“Oh …Nothing.” I recognize my reply isfragile.

He narrows hiseyes. “Sugar? You seem …” Whatever it was that he thought I seem he doesn’tfinish. He exhales and turns back to the sheet music in front of him. “I shouldpractice a while longer. Why don’t you get dinner started?”

Oh sheesh! I nod.Dinner. It’s what the violin cannot provide. I turn reluctantly to go to thekitchen. The music resumes to breath over me. The sound is so clear it fills mychest. I long to be Theo’s violin, I ache to be a part of it all. I never havehad the head for the wonders he and his violin can create. Although I love it,when I tried my hand at music, I could not throw myself fully into it withpassion. Writing was more my thing. Now I wish that I could, to save myselffrom the loneliness. When Theodore is not creating music with her for himself,he is performing for the Philharmonic.

His love for herhas taken him farther than his love for me ever could. Far, far from me. Themusic he makes is so beautiful; I can sense his romance with her with everysingle note. The slow concertos are like a fairytale love story, in which youanticipate the prince to find his princess. When Theo plays a daring suite, Ican see the dancers in shimmering dresses throw sparkles across the spotlesspolished wood dance floor, the stuff of storybooks. That is the potency oftheir love.

I know that it issilly, always very silly, to be resentful of an inanimate instrument. Who couldI tell? Who would listen? But she seems to be alive under Theodore’s touch, andhe is unwilling to part from her. From the studio, I can hear the mood of thepiece he is playing flawlessly change. The notes rise and become sharp andquick. This new melody is upbeat, almost has a bounce to it. The bow slidesquickly, the violin moans from pressured strings, notes tremble in the air,breaking silence into sparkling shards.

Ambling into thekitchen, opening the refrigerator, I realize how low we are on anything thatcan remotely call healthy. We, well mainly he, make good money. However, he isso preoccupied with her, he hasn’t bothered to grocery shop, and I have been swampedfor the past month. Today, really, has been the first day I haven’t had pagesto mark up, change, and re-edit for all of January. Releasing a weary sigh, Iwalk towards the front door of our flat.

“Theo,” I shout.

The musiccontinues to spill out of the studio.

“I’m going to thegrocery store,” I continued perfunctorily, knowing that my words were drowningunder the melody. His performing is ceaseless. I turn and gather my coat fromthe nearby rack and grey scarf. I open the door and stare. The hallway is nippy.*sigh* I have zero desire to shop. I quickly realize. I have no desire foranything. I step back and close the door. I do have a desire. I want my husbandback. Theo has been seduced by the magic and mystery carried in his music.Biting my lip, I turn away from the door and toss my scarf and coat on thefloor. I proceed towards his studio. He has paused momentarily, and is leaningover the gorgeous mahogany violin to scribble a few notes to himself. He looksup and sees me in the hallway.

“I thought youwere going shopping?” He sweeps a strand of hair that has fallen loose from hisponytail behind his ear.

“I’d rather youcame with me.” The words fell out quietly. “It’s freezing outside, and the cityis so…” my voice trailing off when I see the look on his face. “Forget I saidanything,” I say stupidly. What the hell else can you say to a musician?

But the look hegives me is not what I expect. His eyes hold me captive. It brings to mind thefirst time he caught my look from the stage long before we were married. He wasplaying a Paganini Violin Concerto. AndI remember the way he played her, as if just playing for me, just me alone. Theauditorium dimmed, the symphony orchestra became soft, and it was only he and Iand the music. The sound ... of the violin ... so brittle and innocent ... witha touch of bittersweet and longing ... made my heart ache and remember ... manythings. She was not a figure at all, but an instrument for our love. I believedwe glowed that night. The intensity of the gaze he is giving me, in silence, isthe same but, I cannot read its intention. I am anxious about what he will sayto me.

“I’ll order outand go shopping tomorrow, ok?” My voice is pleading, I’m not sure what for …

Theo breaks his look and nods, “That’sfine.” As I turn to go, he begins to play differently now. He is playing herspiccato, hitting her strings with his bow, notes being bounced off. The songhe is playing sounds downcast, yielding eerie memories. My mind conjures up theimpressions of storm clouds, amassing to form a funnel over some distant plain.

I leave the roomand wander down the dimmed hallway. Our flat is considerable, painted in warmtones of deep red, and muted orange. We’re the sort that decorates with fresh cut flowers and candles, andwith paintings blended so beautifully with colors, and no lines to tell me whoI should be or where I have to end. But despite all of our best efforts, thereis a chill in the place that apparently cannot be lifted. Even Theo’s love forhis violin can’t exorcise the concealed threads of ice. I pick up the phone andspeed-dial the number for the pizza parlor a block and a half away. I order alarge half- California Club and half-Hawaiian. Sometimes compromising is theeasiest. And besides, I don’t want to interrupt the music any more than I canhelp it. But damn …

I decide to headfor the bathroom right across the hall from me. It has a large, spaciousbathtub, the kind with the soothing jets. I scarcely ever use them, but theircomfort is not lost on me. I usually shower, so I don’t waste valuable time Icould be spending on changing tenses, and amending ‘there’ to ‘their’ on asloppy manuscript. Besides, this bathtub seems to be full of memories. I turn the handle and soon steam rises offsilken water, with bubbles floating through the air. Sitting on the side of thetub I take my slippers off and dip my feet in the water.

It was just abouta year ago from this very place that I had rushed to show Theo the plus sign onmy pregnancy test. He had loved me then, and he had loved the new life insideof me. Two and a half months later I felt something was terribly wrong, so Icrept to the bathroom. Soon enough I had discovered it; blood, lots of it. Iknew I was losing it. You can’t lose this much blood and expect it to still bealive, still be breathing … of course not … it is impossible. The pain, thecramps, they were unbearable, the vomiting, the dizziness, all of it ... toomuch to take. I took some medicine, lay in the bed, and eventually slept therest of the day and night out.

The next day Ispent the entire afternoon in this tub, contemplating how my body had become atomb. I was devastated and inconsolable. Theo had sat on the toilet next to thebathtub, leaning over me, rubbing my hand. There was nothing for it, nothingwas said. He left the room and silently came back with his violin, and satthere and played. Quietly weeping, the violin moans from pressured strings. Heplayed for me then, but I think he was playing for himself as well. The notesfill my chest as my tears would not stop. His music has always been where hehas thrown himself, and the way he played her that day, we shared thelamentation. Before long, tear drops stain the mahogany one by one …

I would notreturn to that day for anything, but he used that violin to love me. Now heonly loves her. I suppose I cannot blame him. After that day, several monthslater, I had another. Children cannot grow inside of me. It’s like I was poisonto them! And it was Theo who became inconsolable. He had never verbalized hewanted children, not aloud, anyway. But he way his face lit up when I told him,and the way he played when they passed from me … I knew how very much he aspired to be a father. Perhaps that is whyhe prefers her to me. With his violin he can create. She is superior where Ihave failed. Sometimes fate is so cruel.

I turn off thejets and kick my feet softly in the warm water, Theo’s playing has stopped. Ihear the front door shut. There issilence for a moment. Then I hear footsteps coming closer to the bathroom.

“I guess youdidn’t hear the door Hun. It’s on the counter if you want any.” He pokes hishead in the doorway then pauses before speaking. “Carly, is something wrong?”

I look down at myfeet making small ripples in the water and finally shake my head.

“Have you … Haveyou been crying?”

I keep looking atmy knees above the bubbles and don’t answer. I want him to take me in his armsand hold me, but I know very well that he won’t. I wait a few seconds whichfeel like minutes. At long last he grips he door face, tightly, before turningaway. “Don’t let it get cold,” he says half-heartedly as he begins to ambledown the hall.

He never eats inthe studio so I know that he is sitting at the table, or at the very leasthovering over the counter. I get up to rinse my hair then drain the bathtub.Dinner together, even in this state is more appealing than the alternative,dinner alone. I step out onto the floor. “Crap! There are no towels.” Whilepuddles form around my feet, I slip on my robe that was still hanging from thedoor, and proceed to make little footprints on the hardwood floor as I walk tothe kitchen and dining area.

As I supposed,Theo is leaning over the kitchen counter, munching on a piece of Hawaiian whilelooking out the window at the wall across the alleyway. He has a plate set outfor me beside the pizza box. I open and take out a piece of the CaliforniaClub. Trying to smile at him, and then giving up, I pick off a slice of avocadoand pop it in my mouth, taking the plate and the pizza to the table.

“Carly?” he saysafter a while.

I look up at him.He walks up to the table and sits across from me, a vase of tired Peoniesbetween us. He’s got the look on his face of a man grasping for words. He seemsto mentally shrug and continues, “The new piece is difficult. I keep gettingdistracted, slipping into older pieces. More natural I suppose …”

I nod slowly. “Itsounds nice from what I can hear.”

“It’ll be betterwhen I can play it smoothly, of course”

I stare at myplate, picking at the peppers and chicken distractedly. Then I stand up. “Doyou want anything to drink?

“Yeah … Sure … Isthere any orange juice?”

Opening therefrigerator, I am again instantly reminded about how low our supplies are. “Iguess I really should have gone shopping. There isn’t any.” I pour two glassesof water and bring them back to the table. We both sit. We both eat. Neither ofus speaks.

“How is themanuscript going?” Theo asks after wiping his face on a napkin.

I shrug. “There’snothing to write home about.”

“Well maybe youshould!”

“What???”

Why don’t youactually take up writing instead of just tearing other people’s to pieces? Youalways can find just the right words!”

The suggestionstrikes me. I’ve thought about it many times, but the excuses then begin, realand imagined, and those in between, to avoid actually doing it. “Oh please,” I say, trying to sound casual and amused.“One artist is quite enough in the house.”

“I’m sure youwould be good at it!”

I shake my head.“No … No … I’m … I’m content.”

“But are youreally happy?”

I force a smileas I look up at him. “When I am not, I know that this too shall pass. Youshould just be concerned with getting that piece prepared in time for theSpring Concert.”

He rises and picks up his plate and carriesit to the dishwasher with a sigh. After standing for a moment he turns and sayssoftly, “It’s not a piece for the Spring Concert.”

I cannot hide myconfusion. “Are you not playing? You are almost always first chair. You areexpected to be there. You can’t possibly be thinking of sitting this one out!”

“I can be!” hedeclares, rubbing his bottom lip with his long thin musician’s fingers. “Comehere.”

Theo takes myhand and leads me back to his studio and sets me down on the window seat, theone with the decidedly better view. With extreme care he opens the violin’scase, and lifts her by the neck-gently. Caressing the smooth varnish upon thecarved surface, he lifts her to his shoulder, and the tension heats. Horse hairplaced at rest upon strings. All thoughts leave my head. With a silent sigh ofanticipation, and an inward breath and preparation, with a flicker of light inthe dark of clover eyes, he begins to play. I have heard him play all day, butthis time he has made it clear that he wants me to listen. And so I do.

Describing thecomposition without poetry would be hard not to do. The violin plays my soul asmy heart glides across the strings. The beat of my existence represents a sadtale, of loss, pain, and suffering that can only be freed through theexpression of string and bow pressure momentously singing notes. There is apassion, an immense terrible passion that overcomes me, it crescendosthroughout my being. I can see it in the shift of his expression, in theconcentrated frown of his mouth and in the sincerity of his half-closed eyes. Icould almost hear the words in every touch. The song trails off into a sweet,deep melody, and then jumps up into lightness with sudden staccato.

I’m sure thatthis piece is not one I’ve heard before, but there is something intimate andfamiliar to it. It wraps around me, filling me with is deep vibration. I feelthe song binding me up, but softly, carefully. What makes Theo’s playingdifferent I realize, is that he is not playing it to hear the sounds she makes.He seems to be waiting for something in the playing, and when he is finished,he looks up at me. The decrescendo lingers in the air.

“That was … Thatwas …” I begin standing up.

“For you.” Hesaid quietly. “Carly, are you going to leave?”

“Wh-what?” myvoice stumbles.

“I’ve seen theway you … Like he rooms you are in no longer matters. Like you are planning toget out, to get away … Of all of this.”

I am taken aback.I look down toward my toes and shake my head. Looking up I reveal, “I don’tknow Theo. I’m going around and around in circles.”

He puts hisviolin back in her case and closes it as she has completed playing her part inthis. Then he takes my hand and pulls me close. We embrace, and the warmth ofit that rushes through me is far greater than any music, or perhaps borne ofit. Holding on to him, and bury my head in his chest. My heart is beating fast,allegro. I could swear I am hearing symphonies …

From a Distance to Bliss

2011-11-24T10:59:00.001-08:00

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&global=1&q=hopeful+heart#/dmkpws

I was up in the early hours of the morning a night or two ago and came across, in my more or less random surfing on the Internet, a pair of poems that totally moved me. Here is the first one whose author I wish I knew the name of to credit it ...

I’ve loved you for too long now
Do you know what you mean to me?
Do you know that my heart bleeds for you?
I need you to know now more than before
You may never know how I feel
Never give me a second glance
But what I need
Is to tell you I’m here for you
We are far apart
Too far away from you
You should know tonight
Know right now
That I want to be there with you

~Author Anonymous

Who knows but the author of course, what the situation was. But I know that there are times when enough is enough and the truth, this feeling of heartbreak and emotion, just must come out. One would hope that for whom this poem was intended received it. Who wouldn't want to have been given it! And you just never know ....

This next poem was found on an Arabic site ...

if i were the earth that envelops your form,

if i were the fire that kept you through winter warm,

if i were the cloud that gave you shade from the sun,

if i were the spring from which you washed for the One,

if i were the turban that your blessed hands had spun,

if i were the sandals that protected your feet,

my whole soul would sing and my bliss would be complete.

~Shaykh Muhammad

This kind of love is just beautiful isn't it!

Eight (or is it nine) Oscar Wildes

2011-11-13T05:07:00.001-08:00

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=oscar#/dupbcn

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), Irish dramatist, poet, and author had a whole bunch of quotable moments. Here are a few of my favorites ...

"Always forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them so much."

"Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter."

"Genius is born--not paid."

“I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying.”

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

"If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you."

And this famous one ...

“Women are made to be loved not understood.”

A Really Short Story ... Rubber Bands

2011-11-11T10:19:00.001-08:00

I haven't been writing of late with this being a rather tough term at school,but here goes it on a Friday morning ...

http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=rubber%20bands&order=9&offset=60#/d2dvyvg

Just one of the many joys of life, as I find, is cracking open those crispy little fortune cookies,with the crumbs going everywhere and scooping out the small bit of paper inside. There are those odd times where they tell you things you weren't ever aware of before.

And so I said: "What is it that it tells you?" to my smallish friend. Her name was Charlie. I called her Charles. It sounded much more sophisticated, in my mind.

"It says: good luck and good fortune are coming your way." she said, and ate the cookie shards all in one bite.

I carefully halved mine, and used my ring finger and thumb to pull the fortune from it's hold,trying not to make to big of a mess. And so, I looked at it. And it told me.

"The rubber bands are headed in the right direction."

To which I, and my friend, so very intelligently replied:

".....whut?"

The Delight

2011-11-09T05:31:00.000-08:00

The Delight

The lady’shouse sat alone, down a dirt road in the middle of a rolling field. Her lawnconsisted of dazzling yellow dandelions that were blooming in full. In hergarden were fruit trees and climbing Romano beans, every kind of tomato,numerous vegetables ripening in the warm summer sun. Off to the side of anoctagon cedar gazebo was a particularly noticeable raspberry bush.

Behind herporch was a single stone path that ambled straight through corridors oflavender, chamomile and an assortment of mint. It met a small koi pond that hadblooming lilies floating on its surface.

The dressshe had on was silk, very fluid and perfectly white like fresh snow, or perhapsa swan’s wing. The skirt was full length and golden ribbons served as a beltand trim to the neckline and hem. Her mahogany hair had been curled and hung inlong loopy tendrils past her shoulders to her mid back. She looked in a wordstunning, and yet …

She invitedthe gentleman in and showed him her cottage. It was hand built of stones andbricks, with wooden rafters from which there were thousands of scented leavesand sprigs drying. There were large glass windows which let in the moonlightand stood open to let in a gentle breeze tickling the Scottish Lace Curtains.Her bookcases were filled with knowledge, adventure and mystery. A river rockfireplace took up a wall of the kitchen, a large stone basin stood next to it.

The lady hadcounters of polished blonde oak, and cabinets full of dishes, some brightlycolored, some of simple clay, all of her hand. She smiled at him and producedan old copper pot, which was filled half full and set over the stove. Sheturned on the burner as she rolled fresh Moroccan mint and buds from thelavender and set them afloat in the water. After it had boiled, she strainedthe moss colored liquid into two simple clay mugs ….

“Where isthis place?”

“You’re onlydreaming”

This was a short story done for my fiction class a few months ago. My instructor made the comment to class no one should ever end a story with "and I woke up," or something like that. Of course I had to try ...

September 11, 2011

2011-09-04T12:40:00.000-07:00

As we look forward to our week of remembering 9/11, I offer the following hymn of peace for your consideration today.

“…and they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war anymore;
but they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree,
and no one shall make them afraid,
for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken.” (Micah 4:3-4, ESV)

I can’t believe its coming on 10 years since that day. I think the real message in September 11 is that there is a lot of pain and anger in the world. This world really needs hope and love. This morning I finished reading Philip Yancey’s “Where is God When It Hurts?” and he had something in there that startled me. In India only 3% of the country is Christian, yet Christians in India are responsible for 18% of the health care. In India when you ask someone what they think of when they think of a Christian, they think of love, compassion and graceful health care to the poor. Wouldn’t it be great if it were like that in the United States?

God of peace, bring your peace to our violent world: peace in the hearts of all men and women and peace among the nations of the earth. Turn to your way of love those whose hearts and minds are consumed with hatred. Amen.

Klamath Tribes Restoration Pow Wow 2011

2011-08-29T12:04:00.000-07:00

All is quiet on this Monday after Pow Wow, and normality, such as it is, has return to our usually quiet mountain town. But allow me to share with you some photos from Saturday afternoon's Grand Entry.

For more photo's check out my other blog:

http://thundercatt99.wordpress.com/2011/08/29/chiloquin-pow-wow-2011/

The Klamath Tribes Restoration Pow Wow Parade 2011

2011-08-27T16:05:00.000-07:00

This weekend is the Klamath Tribes Restoration Pow Wow, celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Klamaths regaining tribal status! To celebrate I'm offering pictures to this years parade ....

Yes .... Oregon Duck fans abound here!

More pictures are at my other blog:

Thundercatt99.wordpress.com

What If Social Media Were High School?

2011-08-21T16:39:00.000-07:00

An interesting tidbit to share with you all. At a place called "Flowtown", they have created a funny infographic about the social media landscape in 2011. Basically the question is ... If you were in high school right now, would you be the Digg boy, or the band geek? Or the Jock?

Or perhaps ... The Gossip Girl (Twitter), the Teacher’s Pet (Quora) or the English Geek (WordPress)?

Here is the chart:

Social Media Class of 2011 Yearbook

http://www.blogherald.com/2011/07/27/the-social-media-high-school-yearbook/

It pretty much had me pegged with my Flickr account and Wordpress blog with a touch of Twitter thrown in. How about you?

"brave"

2011-08-03T07:04:00.000-07:00

I’m writing this on an early Wednesday morning, looking for inspiration and understanding in the words of Madeleine L’Engle. This is what she has for me today:

“We have to be braver than we think we can be, because God is constantly calling us to be more than we are, to see through plastic sham to living, breathing reality, and to break down our defenses of self-protection in order to be free to receive and give love.”

I think it’s interesting that she placed “receive” before “give.” Some days, like today, I don’t really feel "brave" enough for either…

Looking For Chiloquin

2011-07-15T19:10:00.000-07:00

My son Shay is in a town over the mountains, Grants Pass, and he wanted a picture or two to show his friends there his hometown. So today I had time and went rambling through our hills to get the perfect shot.

Shay ... As you can see from the picture above I got sidetracked yet again. I went down a positively nasty rutted out road and ended up at another section of Modoc Rim. Here is Klamath Lake Looking Klamath Falls way.

To try to make up for it, here is a shot from the 4th of July parade.

Ok ... I did make it to the power lines on the other side of the river, an area I'm sure you are used to. Its the best I could do. I was to tuckered out from hiking the cliffs on Modoc Rim with Charlie dog. Perhaps I'll get the perfect shot next time ok? lol

Day 10: Living History Day Collier State Park

2011-06-19T16:42:00.000-07:00

Today, the last day before I go back to school, Melissa took me to Living History Day at Collier Park. Outside of Crater Lake National Park, this is probably the most 'famous' place in this area. This is a big event with people dressing in period costumes to celebrate to logging past. Below is a photo of Spring Creek which runs through the park before slamming into the Williamson River.

Below is a 1912 steam engine that was used to haul logs. "It's even older than you Dad!" Thanks Hannah ....

Hannah getting cozy with a beaver. This is Oregon after all!

One more shot of Spring Creek. It was a fun day. Now to begin thinking about school ...

Day 9: Klamath Marsh National Wildlife Refuge

2011-06-18T20:10:00.001-07:00

This wasn't the best of days out taking pictures and all; factor in I'm getting physically tired after nine straight days of hiking around .... But this afternoon I packed up Charlie dog and out we went to the Klamath Marsh Refuge.

The pictures above and below is of the Refuge. Even with the clouds and wind the birds were out all over the place! I even found a cool camping spot I must check out further another day!

On the way home we passed through Wilson Flat, A great name for a place I must say. ;-) Just one day left until school starts back up ... A trip to Collier for Fathers Day is in order, thanks to Melissa and Hannah.

Day 8: Back to the Gorge

2011-06-17T17:33:00.000-07:00

The Williamson River Gorge is a favorite place of mine and this was my first trip in there for the year. It was a great morning for a hike; bright and sunny with calm winds for those reflection shots! The picture below is of a favorite stopping point around the first bend.

There are several strange rock formations such as the one below in the canyon.

This picture I threw in for fun. Since I usually get out with crazy Charlie dog, I don't often get to take pictures of things that fly. Here is a rare exception, although from a distance.

Day 7: Fort Creek

2011-06-17T08:43:00.001-07:00

Today we took a short jaunt to Fort Creek. Another one of those 'only locals know about' getaway. The lighting was a bit harsh for taking pictures but I gave it a shot anyway.

Below is looking down the creek as it makes its way to the Wood River, then Agency lake. Above is Reservation Spring which is the source of the creek. Crystal clear water bubbles up, and around it as the creek pretty much just flows out of the mountain.

I don't know the name of theses flowers but the pop up here and there especially in drier places. I wouldn't know why a person can't help themselves not to smile when they see them!

Day 6: Modoc Rim

2011-06-16T07:14:00.001-07:00

The adventure this time was to take a rutted out dirt road through woods and meadows to Modoc Rim which overlooks Klamath Lake on the East high above Highway 97. I could see someone went ahead of me and they got stuck in the mud twice. The second time they were stuck so bad I decided to park the Zuzu and walk the rest of the way about a mile or so. When I finally got there, lo and behold I saw a mud caked Marty the mailman and a friend! Naturally we all wondered why each of us were up there in that extremely remote area! It goes to show that you just never know who you might meet and where!

The picture above is the view from the Rim looking southwest towards Modoc Point. The one below was shot looking directly west at Mt. McLoughlin and the Oregon Cascades.

Which way to go? These decisions come up all the time out here, although this time the decision was made for me soon, as the road to the right led directly into an springtime swamp. Tomorrow I think I'll take an easier trip ... However, that "Whats down that road?" question constantly comes up ...

Day 5: Agency Hill

2011-06-15T09:02:00.000-07:00

Today we decided to go a different direction, Agency Hill by way of Spring Creek.

Above is Spring Creek which comes bubbling straight out of the mountain. Its crystal clear waters stay at a constant 38 degrees! We came by here to scout out camping spots for later this summer. It is a tragedy what has been done to the campground here with the thinning of trees left all over the place and what looks like zero maintenance. However, over time it looks like the people who visit are cleaning the place up little by little and this is a great place to camp and get away from it all!

Here is the view from the top of Agency Hill. There used to be a fire lookout up here but it has since been torn town and the road to this place can be a little rough going. But as you can see, well worth it! In the distance is Mt. Shasta and Klamath Lake, with aptly named Crooked Creek below. There are plenty of ceders up here which give the forest a wonderful aroma to walk around in to enjoy the views.

Day 4: Telephone Flat

2011-06-14T12:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterdays Spring rain came and went last night, but the wind was up a notch today. I packed up Charlie the hound and we went to a favorite spot, Telephone flat. Why it is called Telephone flat is a mystery to me as there is not a pole in sight! In fact my cell phone couldn't get reception up there!

The three pictures above is of the flat which is covered in wildflowers this time of year, and luckily no mosquitoes! The lower photo is of the tree Charlie and I took a break under after some serious stomping around in the creek and through the meadow and woods.

The last photo is of what my older kids and I called "frog pond", which as you can see is flooded. For some reason very large bullfrogs live in this area on top of a mountain, so a return visit is in order later on.

The adventure continues ....

Day 3: Chiloquin Backroads

2011-06-13T16:51:00.000-07:00

A storm was to be coming in the evening so off we went a little bit earlier and sticking close to home. First off was a stop off was a stop along the Sprague River near the local "swimming hole" which is pictured above.

Ah yes, my kind of roads pictured above. A generic woodsy shot! lol

Eventually we made it by an extremely strange route, trying to get lost, to something on the map named "Lobert Draw," which is in the next two shots, I tried to go further, but a massive mud puddle blocked the way. I wanted so bad to charge the Zuzu through it, but decided against it after pondering for twenty minutes. The heart attack was only a couple of years ago and a long walk out wasn't yet in the cards! Maybe next time ....

Day 2: The Meadow

2011-06-12T08:41:00.000-07:00

Day two of the backroading by town/photography binge. Taking Hannah along for the ride,we headed out to some unnamed meadows about ten miles away. Vrrooooom Kersplash!

Some yellow flowers nearby a snow melt creek.

Wildflowers in "The Meadow" in all its glory.

Hannah lifting weights with a pair of "dinosaur bones" we found along the way.

Up Around The Bend

2011-06-11T15:46:00.000-07:00

Since college is out between terms for ten days, I'm off on a picture taking and hiking binge within twenty miles of town where I live. So, for each of the ten days I'll post my favorite from that day. This first shot is of the Sprague River and Winema National Forest from near the Sprague River Hwy. about five miles away.

The Delight

2011-05-24T07:27:00.000-07:00

I little something I wrote for Fiction class a couple weeks back.

The Delight

The lady’s house sat alone, down a dirt road in the middle of a rolling field. Her lawn consisted of dazzling yellow dandelions that were blooming in full. In her garden were fruit trees and climbing Romano beans, every kind of tomato, numerous vegetables ripening in the warm summer sun. Off to the side of an octagon cedar gazebo was a particularly noticeable raspberry bush.

Behind her porch was a single stone path that ambled straight through corridors of lavender, chamomile and an assortment of mint. It met a small koi pond that had blooming lilies floating on its surface.

The dress she had on was silk, very fluid and perfectly white like fresh snow, or perhaps a swan’s wing. The skirt was full length and golden ribbons served as a belt and trim to the neckline and hem. Her mahogany hair had been curled and hung in long loopy tendrils past her shoulders to her mid back. She looked in a word stunning, and yet …

She invited the gentleman in and showed him her cottage. It was hand built of stones and bricks, with wooden rafters from which there were thousands of scented leaves and sprigs drying. There were large glass windows which let in the moonlight and stood open to let in a gentle breeze tickling the Scottish Lace Curtains. Her bookcases were filled with knowledge, adventure and mystery. A river rock fireplace took up a wall of the kitchen, a large stone basin stood next to it.

The lady had counters of polished blonde oak, and cabinets full of dishes, some brightly colored, some of simple clay, all of her hand. She smiled at him and produced an old copper pot, which was filled half full and set over the stove. She turned on the burner as she rolled fresh Moroccan mint and buds from the lavender and set them afloat in the water. After it had boiled, she strained the moss colored liquid into two simple clay mugs, and lit a candle ….

“Where is this place?”

“You’re only dreaming”

Road Trip: Fort Rock 2011

2011-05-20T05:56:00.000-07:00

Last month I went on my first adventure of the spring trying to outrun the rainstorms to the Oregon Outback, destination Fort Rock. My first stop was to the Fort Rock Homestead Village Museum.

Above and below is St. Roses Catholic Church, which was the only church built in the Fort Rock Valley during the homestead years. Here it is in all its glory over 100 years later. I was real excited over the fact that I actually got to go inside the museum since I usually get here and its closed. It is a must see if you get the chance!

Above is Fort Rock rising out of the barren, immense flatness of Oregon's high desert. The first photo in this blog entry is the view from inside the rock formation.

A trip for me out here has to include a visit to the sand dunes. The Isuzu did get to frolic for it bit before it was time to go home. And yes, the rain did catch up to me!

Happy Easter 2011!

2011-04-24T07:19:00.000-07:00

May the miracle of the tomb invade your heart and burst forth with Resurrection gladness!

Good Friday Blessing 2011

2011-04-22T16:25:00.000-07:00

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=good+friday#/d1y2pv7

I have this blessing to share on this Good Friday 2011 ...

God the loving One, strengthen us

God the suffering One, speak to us

God the dying One, shock and humble us

God the resurrected One, surprise us

God the Spirit One, smile on us

God the living One, journey with us

today and always.

Amen.

Annette Reed

This is Springtime?

2011-04-06T05:26:00.001-07:00

Buds On Ice, a photo by Thundercatt99 on Flickr.

Another snowstorm is upon us here in Eastern Oregon. Alas ... Springtime is going to be mighty tasty when it finally gets here!

A Four-fold Franciscan Blessing

2011-04-02T21:15:00.000-07:00

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&global=1&q=Franciscan#/d1k7zl8

I haven’t seen this prayer for years and I had to share it! That fourth stanza is something else isn’t it? May you all be blessed to do what others say couldn’t be done!

A Four-fold Franciscan Blessing

May God bless you with a restless discomfort about easy answers, half-truths and superficial relationships, so that you may seek truth boldly and love deep within your heart.

May God bless you with holy anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may tirelessly work for justice, freedom, and peace among all people.

May God bless you with the gift of tears to shed with those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, or the loss of all that they cherish, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and transform their pain into joy.

May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you really CAN make a difference in this world, so that you are able, with God's grace, to do what others claim cannot be done.

And the blessing of God the Supreme Majesty and our Creator,

Jesus Christ the Incarnate Word who is our brother and Saviour,

and the Holy Spirit, our Advocate and Guide,

be with you and remain with you, this day and forevermore.

AMEN

Makin' Plans

2011-03-27T16:28:00.000-07:00

This quote confirms what I’ve been thing nowadays. I’m now in Spring Break and halfway to my graphic arts degree. It is true … Aim high … It gets exciting!

Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will not die, but long after we are gone be a living thing, asserting itself with ever-growing insistence.

– Daniel Hudson Burnham

... Never throw out anyone!

2011-03-22T16:49:00.000-07:00

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=Audrey+Hepburn#/d16vjnm

A really great quote I came across today ...

“People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.”

~Audrey Hepburn

Amen!

the Good, the Bad, the Ugly: The Grace thing revisited ....

2011-03-18T10:40:00.001-07:00

Just an observation … I think can be demonstrated again and again, especially what one sees on the news, that what many are comfortable saying to an unbeliever, we aren’t comfortable saying to a Christian. But the bottom line is … The Gospel is for Christians, too! We all love the story of the Prodigal son. Have you thought about what goes on the day after the party? What if the son messed up again in a week? Or even in a couple of days. What if he doesn’t live the life of a grateful son much at all? Or to be more lifelike, what if he sometimes does and sometimes doesn’t act all that grateful? Does that change the Father? Does the older brother get to come back into the story and say “Aha!! I told you so; I was right all along!”

The thing is that our brothers and sisters can be a combination of the good, the bad, and the ugly. And Christ died for the sins of Christians too. And we need to hear that over and over again! We all need that grace to continue on the path of ‘glory to glory’! Grace is a word that describes how you feel before you kiss someone. I think it's like when a bird decides that it can fly. Lets dispense that grace to our brothers and sister so they can realize they are about to take flight!

+ Happy St Patrick's Day! +

2011-03-17T11:31:00.000-07:00

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&global=1&q=st+patricks+day#/d1x6a8f

It’s March 17th so that means, ST PATRICK'S DAY!

I’m not actually doing anything for St Patrick's Day, I’m not even wearing green, well except for my Oregon Duck shoes, but here’s a post to celebrate St Patrick's Day anyway! May it be blessed!

I will be there for you ...

2011-03-12T08:50:00.000-08:00

A quote I just had to share ...

"No one enjoys walking people through dark valleys or through painful reactions, but love says, I will be there for you. I may not know what to do or what to say. But I just cannot let you go through this alone!"

~Wayne Jacobsen

Upper Wolf Creek Falls

2011-03-04T07:40:00.001-08:00

Upper Wolf Creek Falls a photo by Thundercatt99 on Flickr.

I took this shot a couple of weeks ago on a mini trip with my son Shay. Although the walk was wet, and my ribs still hurt from a fall I took, it was definitely worth getting to this special spot!

Psalm 42: Waves and Breakers

2011-02-26T07:31:00.000-08:00

This is one of the most REAL Psalms I know of. It doesn’t hold back or cover up the real struggles of the one who wrote it. Because of that, I think it can be encouraging to us, not because it gives simplistic answers but because we can realize that we are not alone in our situation or feelings. And there are times that is what is important ...

Psalm 42 (The Message)

A psalm of the sons of Korah

1-3 A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek;
I want to drink God,
deep draughts of God.
I'm thirsty for God-alive.
I wonder, "Will I ever make it—
arrive and drink in God's presence?"
I'm on a diet of tears—
tears for breakfast, tears for supper.
All day long
people knock at my door,
Pestering,
"Where is this God of yours?"

4 These are the things I go over and over,
emptying out the pockets of my life.
I was always at the head of the worshiping crowd,
right out in front,
Leading them all,
eager to arrive and worship,
Shouting praises, singing thanksgiving—
celebrating, all of us, God's feast!

5 Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?
Why are you crying the blues?
Fix my eyes on God—
soon I'll be praising again.
He puts a smile on my face.
He's my God.

6-8 When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse
everything I know of you,
From Jordan depths to Hermon heights,
including Mount Mizar.
Chaos calls to chaos,
to the tune of whitewater rapids.
Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers
crash and crush me.
Then God promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night!
My life is God's prayer.

9-10 Sometimes I ask God, my rock-solid God,
"Why did you let me down?
Why am I walking around in tears,
harassed by enemies?"
They're out for the kill, these
tormentors with their obscenities,
Taunting day after day,
"Where is this God of yours?"

11 Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?
Why are you crying the blues?
Fix my eyes on God—
soon I'll be praising again.
He puts a smile on my face.
He's my God.

The Earth Laughs in Flowers

2011-02-19T09:33:00.000-08:00

A couple of flowery quotes to share on this winter day in the mountains ...

To see a World in a grain of sand And Heaven in a wild flower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour

~William Blake

Earth laughs in flowers.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)

Your Power Bird

2011-02-12T18:48:00.000-08:00

My power bird? Good grief! Oh well ... why not ...

http://www.blogthings.com/whatsyourpowerbirdquiz/

Your Power Bird is a Vulture

You are always changing your life and the lives of those around you.
You aren't afraid to move on from what holds you back.
Energetic and powerful, you have a nearly unlimited capacity for success.
You know how to "go with the flow" and take advantage of what is given to you.

Love & Wild Irises

2011-02-11T06:55:00.000-08:00

With Valentines Day coming up I would like to place this, one of my most favorite of poems, out there. Ideally, love should be spontaneous and unexpected but the reality can be very different. The daily dreary routine of family life destroys the spontaneous give and take of true love. It gets completely choked and suppressed by the dull monotonous and boring duties of daily household life like cooking a meal for the family, feeding the baby or taking the clothes to the cleaners, becoming a chauffeur ... Susan Griffin captures, in a very moving way, the feelings of many people who yearn for true love which is as spontaneous and reinvigorating as the sudden and unexpected blooming of the wild iris after a thunder storm. However, it is not meant to be that love should die down, but blossom into something greater!

Love Should Grow Up Like a Wild Iris in the Fields

Love should grow up like a wild iris in the fields,
unexpected, after a terrible storm, opening a purple
mouth to the rain, with not a thought to the future,
ignorant of the grass and the graveyard of leaves
around, forgetting its own beginning.
Love should grow like a wild iris
but does not.

Love more often is to be found in kitchens at the dinner hour,
tired out and hungry, lingers over tables in houses where
the walls record movements, while the cook is probably angry,
and the ingredients of the meal are budgeted, while
a child cries feed me now and her mother not quite
hysterical says over and over, wait just a bit, just a bit,
love should grow up in the fields like a wild iris
but never does
really startle anyone, was to be expected, was to be
predicted, is almost absurd, goes on from day to day, not quite
blindly, gets taken to the cleaners every fall, sings old
songs over and over, and falls on the same piece of rug that
never gets tacked down, gives up, wants to hide, is not
brave, knows too much, is not like an
iris growing wild but more like
staring into space
in the street
not quite sure
which door it was, annoyed about the sidewalk being
slippery, trying all the doors, thinking
if love wished the world to be well, it would be well.

Love should
grow up like a wild iris, but doesn't, it comes from
the midst of everything else, sees like the iris
of an eye, when the light is right,
feels in blindness and when there is nothing else is
tender, blinks, and opens
face up to the skies.

~ Susan Griffin ~

(Like the Iris of an Eye)

petulant

2011-02-02T23:31:00.001-08:00

petulant
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

My granddaughter Jazzy not having the best of days.

A Natural Shower

2011-01-30T07:43:00.001-08:00

A Natural Shower
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

Ah ... Waiting for springtime. Whats left of a creek at the bottom of a 300' waterfall. Makes for a relaxing shower at the end of a warm summer day for sure!

Here, take it, it's yours

2011-01-27T07:56:00.000-08:00

The Gift Time wants to show you a different country. It's the one
that your life conceals, the one waiting outside
when curtains are drawn, the one Grandmother hinted at
in her crochet design, the one almost found
over at the edge of the music, after the sermon. It's the way life is, and you have it, a few years given.
You get killed now and then, violated
in various ways. (And sometimes it's turn about.)
You get tired of that. Long-suffering, you wait
and pray, and maybe good things come - maybe
the hurt slackens and you hardly feel it any more.
You have a breath without pain. It is called happiness. It's a balance, the taking and passing along,
the composting of where you've been and how people
and weather treated you. It's a country where
you already are, bringing where you have been.
Time offers this gift in its millions of ways,
turning the world, moving the air, calling,
every morning, "Here, take it, it's yours."

~ William Stafford ~

Life Passing By ....

2011-01-18T09:06:00.001-08:00

A rather to true quote I came across today ...

"Life is what is passing by while we are busy making other plans." ~Author Unknown 2 Me

A Blessing for the New Year

2011-01-04T10:46:00.000-08:00

We, as a family, rang in the New year at the Klamath Tribes Pow Wow in Klamath Falls, Oregon. It was a great time kicking off the New year with Friends!

Allow me to share this blessing with you all ....

A Blessing for the New Year

May the light of your soul guide you.
May the light of your soul bless the work you do with the secret love and warmth of your heart.
May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul.
May the sacredness of your work bring healing, light and renewal to those who work with you and to those who see and receive your work.
May your work never weary you.
May it release within you wellsprings of refresment, inspiration and excitment.
May you be present in what you do.
May you never become lost in the bland absences.
May the day never burden.
May dawn find you awake and alert, approaching your new day with dreams, possibilities and promises.
May evening find you gracious and fulfilled.
May you go into the night blessed, sheltered and protected.
May your soul calm, console and renew you.

- John O’Donohue

This poem is an excerpt from the book “Anam Cara”

http://www.johnodonohue.com/

I’ll hold onto your head!

2010-12-15T07:14:00.000-08:00

A mini bedtime story ... On one occasion, Peppermint Patty said to Marcie: “I'd like to read this book, Marcie, but I'm kind of afraid. I had a grandfather who didn't think much of reading.”

She continued by saying, “He always said that if you read too many books, your head would fall off.”

Marcie responds, “you start the first chapter, and I'll hold onto your head!”

Heaven in a Wild Flower

2010-11-27T10:57:00.000-08:00

To see a World in a grain of sand
And Heaven in a wild flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour -William Blake

Earth laughs in flowers.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882) ...

Purple Shroom

2010-11-26T09:45:00.001-08:00

Purple Shroom
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

A purple shroom, that is surely now buried in snow after last week, popping up along a Cascade trail in Oregon.

Some Thanks Giving

2010-11-24T19:21:00.000-08:00

Some reflections on Thanksgiving ... This year has brought so many challenges upon us. We have struggled. We have laughed. We have cried. We have embraced. We have rolled our eyes. We have marveled at how bizarre God seems. It has been an incredible journey. It has been an incredibly difficult journey at times. It has been an incredibly rewarding journey--even if we don't yet see the results. We trust by faith that God would not lead us somewhere where His grace and provision would not abound.

And, whether we see it or not. Whether we appreciate it or not. Whether we understand it or not. God has not left us; He has not forsaken us; He is still--very actively, very presently--working all things together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. And that is worth giving thanks for.

I have every right to be Thankful. I have every right to enjoy a moment of reflection. It has been a interesting year for me, and I have survived, even thrived at times. In fact, I think I have survived well.

I have earned my pumpkin pie this year. I plan on enjoying every last bite of it, too ... With lots of whipped cream! I hope you do, also. I hope that your heart is found in a spirit of Thankfulness. May we never forget all that Christ has accomplished for us. May we never cease to give thanks unto Him.

May God bless us with grace and peace, and mercy for those who are less fortunate than us. Happy Thanksgiving!

The Gift

2010-11-16T07:07:00.000-08:00

The Gift Time wants to show you a different country.

It's the one

that your life conceals, the one waiting outside

when curtains are drawn, the one Grandmother hinted at

in her crochet design, the one almost found

over at the edge of the music, after the sermon. It's the way life is, and you have it,

a few years given.

You get killed now and then, violated

in various ways. (And sometimes it's turn about.)

You get tired of that. Long-suffering, you wait

and pray, and maybe good things come - maybe

the hurt slackens and you hardly feel it any more.

You have a breath without pain. It is called happiness. It's a balance, the taking

and passing along,

the composting of where you've been and how people

and weather treated you. It's a country where

you already are, bringing where you have been.

Time offers this gift in its millions of ways,

turning the world, moving the air, calling,

every morning, "Here, take it, it's yours."

~ William Stafford ~

Rhythm of Aspen

2010-10-31T09:24:00.001-07:00

Rhythm of Aspen
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

Stomping around the local woods on a rainy day and happened upon this shot. The rythmn of autumn is a beautiful time of year, but alas, the snow should be here again soon....

Water Dance

2010-10-26T17:03:00.001-07:00

Water Dance
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

Just to share from a recent journey ... A close up of Watson Falls in the Oregon Cascades. The falls is over 200' tall and the creek is small so the water dances when it comes down. In fact you can climb up to it and go right under the falls for a quick bath! Refreshing!

YOU Are Accepted

2010-10-24T08:11:00.000-07:00

A quote to remember this evening ... and always! Have a blessed evening everyone!

"Grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness. It strikes us when we walk through the dark valley of a meaningless and empty life. It strikes us when, year after year, the longed-for perfection does not appear, when the old compulsions reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage. Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a great voice were saying: "You are accepted. You are accepted, by that which is greater than you..."
~Paul Tillich

“Grace must find expression in life, otherwise it is not grace.” Karl Barth

In The Graveyard

2010-09-20T08:55:00.001-07:00

In The Graveyard
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

I love going through old graveyards and the one in Jacksonville, Oregon is a cool one to roam around in on a rainy day.

Last Supper Lunch Box

2010-09-16T09:06:00.000-07:00

"Don't let your last lunch let you down, if it's the last than it better be good. The Last Supper Lunchbox will ensure that you and your disciples are fed throughout the day! Dimensions: 11.25"x5"x2.5"

Cruising around the Internet on this lazy Thursday I came across this! Keeping the disciples fed or so the ad says. What would Leonardo DiVinci think? I can think of other Bible themes which would have been a lot more interesting for kids. Elijah calling down fire perhaps? What do you think?

What kind of wine are you?

2010-09-15T06:39:00.000-07:00

Now I'm not one for drinking wine, don't even like it really, but this quiz was sent to me and I had to take it anyways! lol What kind of wine are you?

Click here: Blogthings - What Kind of Wine Are You? My result:

You Are Sauvignon Blanc

Engaging and energetic, you have a lot to offer the world - most of it they've never seen anywhere else!
You are the type of person who carves your own path in life... and you invite everyone else to come along.
The only thing predictable about you is that you could have anything up your sleeve.
You're all about sampling all of life's experiences. Both the savory and unsavory ones.

Deep down you are: Laid back and young at heart

Your partying style: Anything goes... seriously!

Your company is enjoyed best with: Smoked meats or spicy food

Anything goes???? I think not ... ...More

Chiloquin Pow Wow 2010

2010-09-08T07:29:00.001-07:00

It was a great 2010 Pow Wow this year!! It’s Pow Wow time here in the metropolis of Chiloquin, Oregon, but I figured I would share anyways. The Restoration Pow Wow is always a big event every year in this former Rez town.

The event was large this year. At least 50 vendors surrounding the powwow dancing grounds offered food, shawls, jewelry and other goods. Rain drove the event indoors Saturday but that didn’t seem to dampen the spirit of the event. More than 100 dancers filled the dancing grounds and celebrated throughout the day. Looking forward already to next years …. Of course!

For more pictures check out:

http://thundercatt99.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/pow-wow-time-in-chiloquin/

Love Should Grow Up Like a Wild Iris in the Fields

2010-08-22T08:15:00.000-07:00

Love Should Grow Up Like a Wild Iris in the Fields

Love should grow up like a wild iris in the fields,
unexpected, after a terrible storm, opening a purple
mouth to the rain, with not a thought to the future,
ignorant of the grass and the graveyard of leaves
around, forgetting its own beginning.
Love should grow like a wild iris
but does not.
Love more often is to be found in kitchens at the dinner hour,
tired out and hungry, lingers over tables in houses where
the walls record movements, while the cook is probably angry,
and the ingredients of the meal are budgeted, while
a child cries feed me now and her mother not quite
hysterical says over and over, wait just a bit, just a bit,
love should grow up in the fields like a wild iris
but never does
really startle anyone, was to be expected, was to be
predicted, is almost absurd, goes on from day to day, not quite
blindly, gets taken to the cleaners every fall, sings old
songs over and over, and falls on the same piece of rug that
never gets tacked down, gives up, wants to hide, is not
brave, knows too much, is not like an
iris growing wild but more like
staring into space
in the street
not quite sure
which door it was, annoyed about the sidewalk being
slippery, trying all the doors, thinking
if love wished the world to be well, it would be well.
Love should
grow up like a wild iris, but doesn't, it comes from
the midst of everything else, sees like the iris
of an eye, when the light is right,
feels in blindness and when there is nothing else is
tender, blinks, and opens
face up to the skies.
~ Susan Griffin ~

(Like the Iris of an Eye)

Silence

2010-08-13T20:28:00.001-07:00

"Silence comes to heal the blows of sound."

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Thunder

2010-08-11T07:26:00.001-07:00

Thunder
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

A recent thunderstorm rumbling through our part of the world ...

Scared of the Dark ~ Rich Mullins

2010-08-08T10:13:00.000-07:00

i don't remember meeting Him
He had just always been there
when people ask me, "how did you meet the Lord?"
i don't know how to answer.
meeting Him seems unavoidable
recognizing Him can be tricky
loving Him seems impossible.
people often ask that too - "do you love Jesus?"
and again i'm stuck for an answer
i know the right one - the answer you're supposed to give
i know that it presupposes so many things that it could hardly be honest
so i say
as much as i love,
i love Jesus.

if love was easier, i would love Him more
but then again
if love was easier, it would hardly be worth the little
it would ask
if i was stronger, i would love Him more
or maybe
i would more know how little i love

we grow slowly,
and love takes time...

He's always been there
even in that dark room where i
slept as a child
scared of that dark
in that room that seem to want
to suck me deep into the night's
great lungs
i hated the thought that we were all
hanging upside down - off the bottom of the world
and that all that darkness out there that we
might fall into
was just a shadow of our own selves
just a shadow you could fall through forever.

she said that You were out there too
and then she'd tuck me in so tight that i would likely be safe
till morning
but no woman - not even your own mother
can kiss you without mixing some unspoken sorrow
into her affection
and i always thought
she might be kissing me good-bye
as well as good night

my aunt said that Jesus would knock on the door of my heart
and if i would open the door
He'd come in and sup with me
and when i was old enough to be ashamed of trying to tether myself to my mom
(with that last desperate good night)
i decided
that instead of lying there being afraid
i would listen for His knock.

i heard all kinds of things
scary things
amplified by the dark
and by my nervous and hopeful listenings
was it the voice of Eli? or the call of God?
was it the limbs of the trees outside?
or the knock i was to open to?

i did not worry about what Jesus would find to eat if He came in
i was a child and knew that out of a crowd
a boy would most likely have some fish and some loaves

but i am no longer a child
i am no longer afraid of the dark
i have new things to fear
i am no longer afraid that i will drift away from this world
i am afraid i will never escape it.

and i'm not afraid of good-byes
i've become so used to them it scares me.

i have never heard any knocking sound
that was distinct from every other noise
but i have learned to listen
and i'm thankful for learning

i don't know that the rumble of the thunder
or the crackle in a good fire
or the hum of my wheels
is the sound of Jesus knocking on
the door of my heart
but i'm thankful to Him for all
those sounds
and for giving me ears
and for teaching me to listen.

i don't know that the lonely ache that i
feel - even when times are the best
and friends are near -
is the way that it feels when He knocks,
when He calls,
but i'm thankful to have a heart.
i don't know that He would like everything in it
or that He would find any fish or loaves anymore
or much besides stone and snakes.

but sometimes
i get really brave, and
if i don't open the door
i at least unlock it

and when i look in
or when i look out
i can see that He's just always been there.

meeting Him seems unavoidable
recognizing Him can be tricky
loving Him seems impossible

we grow slowly,
and love takes time

-Rich Mullins, 1997

Cliffs

2010-08-03T17:54:00.001-07:00

Cliffs
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

An afternoon stroll in the Williamson Gorge area near home ...

Which Era Are You From?

2010-07-24T22:25:00.000-07:00

You know …. When you are 54 and have kids, even grandkids … The kiddles just love to needle a man on how old they are. Just must be part of the territory! My daughter has been motivated to send me this quiz to “prove” that I’m not nearly as up to date as I think I am. Well lets see ….

http://quizilla.teennick.com/quizzes/16707302/which-era-are-you-from

My result:

70′s

You are very hip, and you love peace signs and are carefree!!

E-gads she’s right!!!! lol

God Sings?

2010-07-23T06:19:00.000-07:00

Zephaniah 3:17

17The Lord your God in your midst,The Mighty One, will save;

He will rejoice over you with gladness,

He will quiet you with His love,

He will rejoice over you with singing.”

Read this and take it personally! Your God, your Creator … rejoices over you. Your King quiets you with HIS love, and sings over you. Can you even wrap your brain around that? I try…I believe it is the romancing that the One who created romance, is pouring out on us..if we let HIM. Why would we not want HIM to do that?

I can not wait to hear what God sounds like singing!! I know it will be the most beautiful thing I have ever heard and will ever hear……HE sings…over me…over you…a divine love that compares to no other. Wow!

Have a blessed evening everyone! Tim

153 Fish

2010-07-19T06:52:00.000-07:00

Is there any significance to the fact the John 21:11 specifically states that 153 fish were caught when Simon Peter cast his net where the post-resurrected Christ told him to?

Why not say 'alot of fish'? Why specifically 153?

153 'dots' (representing fish) make a triangle; possibly the trinity?

...or do I just have too much time on my hands? Tim

Bug's Eye View

2010-07-17T22:38:00.001-07:00

Bug's Eye View
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

A little interlude .... Some small purple flowers in a meadow nearby ...

Stained Glass

2010-07-16T06:29:00.000-07:00

First Children's Message

An area minister tells of his first Sunday in the new parish and presenting the children's message.

Seems the sanctuary in the new church had some magnificent stained glass windows, so his message centered on how each of us is called of God to help make up the whole picture of life (the life of the community of the faithful). Like the pictures in the windows, it takes many little panels of glass to make the whole picture.

And then he said, "You see each one of you is a little pane."

And then pointing to each child individually . . . "You're a little pane. And you're a little pane. And you're a little pane. And..."

It took a few moments before he realized why everyone was laughing so hard.

Taking Time ...

2010-07-11T14:20:00.000-07:00

A cool little piece to share on a beautiful Sonday ...

Take time to think;
It is the source of power.

Take time to read;
It is the foundation of wisdom.

Take time to play;
It is the secret of staying young.

Take time to be quiet;
It is the opportunity to seek God.

Take time to be aware;
It is the opportunity to help others.

Take time to love and be loved;
It is God’s greatest gift.

Take time to laugh;
It is the music of the soul.

Take time to be friendly;
It is the road to happiness.

Take time to dream;
It is what the future is made of.

Take time to pray;
It is the greatest power on earth.

–Author Unknown

Psalm 51

2010-07-03T17:28:00.000-07:00

"Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me." That's a really good prayer to have. But notice how David isn't saying, "Yeah God, I'm gonna make my spirit strong and make my heart clean and then I'll come back and we can talk." No. David is asking God to do it for him. Another thing I like about this. It reminds me that we can't make it all by ourselves. And I know I'm not the only one guitly of trying. Life is such a constant struggle, so many things to overcome, and some days it just gets SO HARD.

But that's what I find my hope in. That I'm not alone. It doesn't matter how lonely I feel. He's right there for me all day. Every day. Forever. And He'll help me through the tough stuff.

Just some thoughts :) .

Psalm 51
1-3Generous in love—God, give grace! Huge in mercy—wipe out my bad record.
Scrub away my guilt,
soak out my sins in your laundry.
I know how bad I've been;
my sins are staring me down.

4-6 You're the One I've violated, and you've seen
it all, seen the full extent of my evil.
You have all the facts before you;
whatever you decide about me is fair.
I've been out of step with you for a long time,
in the wrong since before I was born.
What you're after is truth from the inside out.
Enter me, then; conceive a new, true life.

7-15 Soak me in your laundry and I'll come out clean,
scrub me and I'll have a snow-white life.
Tune me in to foot-tapping songs,
set these once-broken bones to dancing.
Don't look too close for blemishes,
give me a clean bill of health.
God, make a fresh start in me,
shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life.
Don't throw me out with the trash,
or fail to breathe holiness in me.
Bring me back from gray exile,
put a fresh wind in my sails!
Give me a job teaching rebels your ways
so the lost can find their way home.
Commute my death sentence, God, my salvation God,
and I'll sing anthems to your life-giving ways.
Unbutton my lips, dear God;
I'll let loose with your praise.

16-17 Going through the motions doesn't please you,
a flawless performance is nothing to you.
I learned God-worship
when my pride was shattered.
Heart-shattered lives ready for love
don't for a moment escape God's notice.

18-19 Make Zion the place you delight in,
repair Jerusalem's broken-down walls.
Then you'll get real worship from us,
acts of worship small and large,
Including all the bulls
they can heave onto your altar!

Mennonites With an Attitude???

2010-07-02T06:37:00.000-07:00

I just found this graphic, on the web site of a self-described Mennonite artist. I really don't know what to say other than, "You go, girl."

Celtic Circle Prayer

2010-06-29T06:12:00.000-07:00

God all powerful and all knowing encircle us

Keep love within and fear without
Keep peace within and violence out
Circle us with your presence

God all loving and all embracing encircle us

Keep wholeness in and disease without
Keep care within and selfishness out
Circle us with your love
God all mighty and all caring encircle us
Keep truth within and injustice out
Keep acceptance in and prejudice out
Circle us with your peace.

- Christine Sine

Crooked Tree

2010-06-24T18:35:00.000-07:00

A great quote I would like to share ...

"Your heart is blessed when you can see the beauty in a crooked tree."

~Author Unknown

Politically Correct Little Red Riding Hood (looooooooong one)?

2010-06-21T05:38:00.000-07:00

There once was a young person named Little Red Riding Hood who lived on the edge of a large forest full of endangered owls and rare plants that would probably provide a cure for cancer if only someone took the time to study them.

Red Riding Hood lived with a nurture giver whom she sometimes referred to as "mother", although she didn't mean to imply by this term that she would have thought less of the person if a close biological link did not in fact exist.

Nor did she intend to denigrate the equal value of nontraditional households, although she was sorry if this was the impression conveyed.

One day her mother asked her to take a basket of organically grown fruit and mineral water to her grandmother's house.

"But mother, won't this be stealing work from the unionized people who have struggled for years to earn the right to carry all packages between various people in the woods?"

Red Riding Hood's mother assured her that she had called the union boss and gotten a special compassionate mission exemption form.

"But mother, aren't you oppressing me by ordering me to do this?"

Red Riding Hood's mother pointed out that it was impossible for womyn to oppress each other, since all womyn were equally oppressed until all womyn were free.

"But mother, then shouldn't you have my brother carry the basket, since he's an oppressor, and should learn what it's like to be oppressed?"

And Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her brother was attending a special rally for animal rights, and besides, this wasn't stereotypical womyn's work, but an empowering deed that would help engender a feeling of community.

"But won't I be oppressing Grandma, by implying that she's sick and hence unable to independently further her own selfhood?"

But Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her grandmother wasn't actually sick or incapacitated or mentally handicapped in any way, although that was not to imply that any of these conditions were inferior to what some people called "health".

Thus Red Riding Hood felt that she could get behind the idea of delivering the basket to her grandmother, and so she set off.

Many people believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place, but Red Riding Hood knew that this was an irrational fear based on cultural paradigms instilled by a patriarchal society that regarded the natural world as an exploitable resource, and hence believed that natural predators were in fact intolerable competitors.

Other people avoided the woods for fear of thieves and deviants, but Red Riding Hood felt that in a truly classless society all marginalized peoples would be able to "come out" of the woods and be accepted as valid lifestyle role models.

On her way to Grandma's house, Red Riding Hood passed a woodchopper, and wandered off the path, in order to examine some flowers.

She was startled to find herself standing before a Wolf, who asked her what was in her basket.

Red Riding Hood's teacher had warned her never to talk to strangers, but she was confident in taking control of her own budding sexuality, and chose to dialogue with the Wolf.

She replied, "I am taking my Grandmother some healthful snacks in a gesture of solidarity."

The Wolf said, "You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone."

Red Riding Hood said, "I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop an alternative and yet entirely valid worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would prefer to be on my way."

Red Riding Hood returned to the main path, and proceeded towards her Grandmother's house.

But because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the Wolf knew of a quicker route to Grandma's house.

He burst into the house and ate Grandma, a course of action affirmative of his nature as a predator.

Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist gender role notions, he put on Grandma's nightclothes, crawled under the bedclothes, and awaited developments.

Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said,

"Grandma, I have brought you some cruelty free snacks to salute you in your role of wise and nurturing matriarch."

The Wolf said softly "Come closer, child, so that I might see you."

Red Riding Hood said, "Goddess! Grandma, what big eyes you have!"

"You forget that I am optically challenged."

"And Grandma, what an enormous, what a fine nose you have."

"Naturally, I could have had it fixed to help my acting career, but I didn't give in to such societal pressures, my child."

"And Grandma, what very big, sharp teeth you have!"

The Wolf could not take any more of these racist slurs, and, in a reaction appropriate for his accustomed milieu, he leaped out of bed, grabbed Little Red Riding Hood, and opened his jaws so wide that she could see her poor Grandmother cowering in his belly.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Red Riding Hood bravely shouted. "You must request my permission before proceeding to a new level of intimacy!"

The Wolf was so startled by this statement that he loosened his grasp on her.

At the same time, the woodchopper burst into the cottage, brandishing an ax.

"Hands off!" cried the woodchopper.

"And what do you think you're doing?" cried Little Red Riding Hood. "If I let you help me now, I would be expressing a lack of confidence in my own abilities, which would lead to poor self esteem and lower achievement scores on college entrance exams."

"Last chance, sister! Get your hands off that endangered species! This is an FBI sting!" screamed the woodchopper, and when Little Red
Riding Hood nonetheless made a sudden motion, he sliced off her head.

"Thank goodness you got here in time," said the Wolf. "The brat and her grandmother lured me in here. I thought I was a goner."

"No, I think I'm the real victim, here," said the woodchopper. "I've been dealing with my anger ever since I saw her picking those protected flowers earlier. And now I'm going to have such a trauma. Do you have any aspirin?"

"Sure," said the Wolf.

"Thanks."

"I feel your pain," said the Wolf, and he patted the woodchopper on his firm, well padded back, gave a little belch, and said, "Do you have any Maalox?"

-Author Unknown

A God Who Can Kick Tush

2010-06-15T09:33:00.000-07:00

Just some thoughts ...

I cruise around a lot of Christian sites from time to time and this observation has struck me of late ... God in general seems to be pictured as, for lack of a better word at the moment, "nice." There seems to be a want for a God that provides but not one really who meddles in our lives. A God who protects but never demands, never judges, keeps His distance ... This nice God doesn't seem to say much but greeting card slogans. Sheesh! A God who is basically a wimp!

But the fact of the matter is God is not just nice. God is a consuming fire! Although He cares for the sparrow, the fragile, the hurt, He just isn't all that pampering. God's main business isn't getting us the best parking spaces at the mall or otherwise make us nice and comfy. His main business is making us holy which requires the niceness .... And sternness of our God.

Let me share this verse from Exodus 20:20, "Do not be afraid, God has come to test you, so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning." Do not be afraid ... Only a God we fear, and yet not be afraid of can make our hearts burn with a passion. The God who truly is, who seeks after you and me is far more loving and comforting than the "nice" God depicted seemingly everywhere. He is also more fierce and fearsome than this "scorekeeper" God of those who threaten us with damnation with every misstep and misthought. His anger is not just irritability ... Its the distillation of His justice, His hatred of evil.

This is what we want, even demand from a good God. A God who can kick tush and maybe even spank our own when necessary... A nice, kindly old man type of god could never drive us to our knees in desperate prayer. He could never set us up on our feet in fierce determination ready to roll. A nice god could never inspire fervent worship, awe or sacrifice. The nice god is someone easy to dismiss unless we want or need something. How can we possibly explain a God that has His Son die a cruel, bloody death for us with a picture like that? God demands all ... In Hebrews it says its a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. Yet the thing more dangerous than that is to NOT fall into His hands! God may not be all sweetness and fluff ... But He is good!

Just wanted to throw this out there ...

What sort of key are you ...

2010-06-11T08:42:00.000-07:00

... And what do you unlock?

This quiz caught my attention this morning .... gotta try it out!

http://quizilla.teennick.com/quizzes/658911/what-sort-of-key-are-you-and-what-do-you-unlock

My result:

You are a mysterious little brass key. Everyone knows you open something, but no one is quite sure what. Don't worry, though; as long as people keep trying, they'll eventually figure out what you have to offer.

As long as people keep trying! lol

shows me the stars

2010-06-04T07:07:00.000-07:00

“I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness for it shows me the stars."

~The Ever Prolific Author Unknown

storm

2010-06-02T17:11:00.001-07:00

storm
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

Another one of those days ...

I am a Christian

2010-05-28T18:31:00.000-07:00

When I say, "I am a Christian," I'm not shouting, "I've been saved!"
I'm whispering, "I get lost! That's why I chose this way"

When I say, "I am a Christian," I don't speak with human pride
I'm confessing that I stumble-needing God to be my guide

When I say, "I am a Christian," I'm not trying to be strong
I'm professing that I'm weak and pray for strength to carry on

When I say, "I am a Christian," I'm not bragging of success
I'm admitting that I've failed and cannot ever pay the debt

When I say, "I am a Christian," I don't think I know it all
I submit to my confusion asking humbly to be taught

When I say, "I am a Christian," I'm not claiming to be perfect
My flaws are far too visible but God believes I'm worth it

When I say, "I am a Christian," I still feel the sting of pain
I have my share of heartache which is why I seek His name

When I say, "I am a Christian," I do not wish to judge
I have no authority--I only know I'm loved

Copyright 1988 Carol Wimmer

limbs

2010-05-26T06:05:00.001-07:00

limbs
Originally uploaded by Thundercatt99

Skulking around the trees at the Chinese Gardens in Portland, Oregon. This was such a cool place to stroll around on a rainy morning ...

Jesus Is ...

2010-05-23T06:58:00.000-07:00

Jesus is

He is the First and Last, the Beginning and the End!
He is the keeper of Creation and the Creator of all!
He is the Architect of the universe and
The Manager of all times.
He always was, He always is, and He always will be...
Unmoved, Unchanged, Undefeated, and never Undone!
He was bruised and brought healing!
He was pierced and eased pain!
He was persecuted and brought freedom!
He was dead and brought life!
He is risen and brings power!
He reigns and brings Peace!
The world can't understand him,
The armies can't defeat Him,
The schools can't explain Him, and

The leaders can't ignore Him.
Herod couldn't kill Him,

The Pharisees couldn't confuse Him, and
The people couldn't hold Him!
Nero couldn't crush Him,
Hitler couldn't silence Him,
The New Age can't replace Him, and

Donahue can't explain Him away!
He is light, love, longevity, and Lord.
He is goodness, Kindness, Gentleness, and God.
He is Holy, Righteous, mighty, powerful, and pure

His ways are right,
His word is eternal,

His will is unchanging, and
His mind is on me.
He is my Redeemer,
He is my Savior,
He is my guide, and
He is my peace!
He is my Joy,
He is my comfort,
He is my Lord, and
He rules my life!
I serve Him because His bond is love,

His burden is light, and

His goal for me is abundant life.
I follow Him because He is the wisdom of the wise,
The power of the powerful,

The ancient of days, the ruler of rulers,
The leader of leaders, the overseer of the overcomers, and

The sovereign Lord of all that was and is and is to come.
And if that seems impressive to you, try this for size.
His goal is a relationship with ME!

He will never leave me,

Never forsake me,

Never mislead me,

Never forget me,

Never overlook me, and
Ever cancel my appointment in His appointment book!
When I fall, He lifts me up!
When I fail, He forgives!
When I am weak, He is strong!
When I am lost, He is the way!
When I am afraid, He is my courage!
When I stumble, He steadies me!
When I am hurt, He heals me!
When I am broken, He mends me!
When I am blind, He leads me!
When I am hungry, He feeds me!
When I face trials, He is with me!
When I face persecution, He shields me!
When I face problems, He comforts me!
When I face loss, He provides for me!
When I face Death, He carries me Home!
He is everything for everybody, everywhere,

Every time, and every way.
He is God, He is faithful.
I am His, and He is mine!
My Father in heaven can whip the father of this world.

So, if you're wondering why I feel so secure, understand this...
He said it and that settles it.
God is in control, I am on His side, and

That means all is well with my soul.
Everyday is a blessing for GOD Is!

~Author Unknown

What is your stress level?

2010-05-21T06:08:00.000-07:00

Why not ... It has been a long week .... What is your stress level?

Click here: Quiz - What is your stress level? - YouThink.com My result:

My result:

Moderate stress for you. Stress level 3.

You can manage your stress levels but sometimes they get the best of you. You can sometimes become irritable, but that doesn't mean you're an angry person. Take a few minutes out of your day to relax and listen to music or do something you enjoy. You may find you'll sleep better.

joy a liquid

2010-05-19T06:13:00.000-07:00

The fact is always obvious much too late, but the most singular difference between happiness and joy is that happiness is a solid and joy a liquid.
~J.D. Salinger

I think that this quote rocks! Happiness breaks when something falls on it, but joy fits in whatever container you put it in. There is a distinction between joy and happiness I have usually thought of it as happiness being a sort of worldly emotion that comes from some worldly satisfaction - not worldly in a bad way, but in a mortal human earthly way and joy as being something God given that doesn't necessarily make us happy but gives us hope and inner peace . Just some thoughts... Tim