“The earth is warming. Spring is rustling, in the chill of the air, and tells Winter, “It’s time to go!” But, still, so much snow! Impatience lingers in the atmosphere.
Author: TiffanyCreek
The Sun Turns Black
When sorrow spills out on the earth, a river of tears gushes through the valleys. Birds sing a requiem, and the sun turns black. A blue moon rises in the sky, remembering, and the forest gets darker and darker. Dusk falls, while the cobalt rays of the lunar aura, glow down on a world engulfed by sadness.
Superstitions
A while back I read an interesting article about superstitions. If I recall, it was from the Wall Street Journal, or the Washington Post. Anyway, the ideas have come back to me. The article, defined superstitions as associations made with habits, or the acquisition of objects, for a desired outcome, or to prevent an undesirable outcome. When we hear of a habit, that could bring good luck, we might say, “Oh, I think I’ll start doing that.”
Why do people develop these habits and superstitions? Well, the article suggests that these ideas give us the illusion of having control over a situation, or give us meaning, and psychological comfort. Sometimes they can even boost our performance. The discussion eluded to the negative aspect of having superstitions, and that is, that people who acquire them, are perfectionists, have a sense of helplessness, and a high need to feel in control. For example, many of us have good luck charms, and are not willing to part with them, for fear we have bad luck. The article also suggested that emotionally secure people tend not to have superstitious beliefs, and are able to cope without creating a system of habits, that run contrary to reasonable thinking.
Now, I will be the first to admit, that I do have habits, things I do, the way I think, and even a few good luck charms, which I want to keep around. On the other hand, it would be liberating to shed these things from my life, to adapt a more carefree and secure sense of being. Becoming a minimalist seems like one way to approach this way of being. Another is to begin to look at good personal characteristics within myself, to lean on, instead of these mental crutches, whether it be a thought pattern, or an object to have in my possession.
But really, do we want to throw the rabbit foot out into the garbage, or take away the upside down horseshoe over the doorway? All these symbols of good luck are like religious icons donning the churches. Which brings us to another topic of ways we think to cope. Well, maybe we want to keep the horseshoe up there to rust away, but trimming down anything that gets into the way of sound thinking and stability in life, sounds like a good idea to me. “I think I’ll start doing that.”
A broken friend, & other random thoughts.
Sometimes biting in to a bad chocolate, and eating it, is like adopting a broken friend, and never giving up on him, or her.
When everything seems hopeless, browse for that inner voice calling your own name. You are not alone.
There seems to be a cosmic conscience of alter egos, in the universe. It appears like a wave from the ocean, or a gust of wind, out of the clear blue sky. It can be strong and persistent, only to subside, and return again.
Synthesis is needed in life, for it to have meaning.
Lightness of Being ~ Ser liviano
Happy birthday, dad!
I keep putting this up and putting it down. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s denial. It’s hard to believe he would be 100 years old, and that I am still alive to be able to know this fact.
This is my dad’s way of thinking, per my brother. In a nutshell, my dad wrote to him after a huge fight, that lasted a whole day; “We all have our ups and downs, differences of opinion and happy times. In those bad times, when we know that the issue is not as important as the relationship, we should forget the differences and move on. He said that he can accomplish that by writing down his feelings or opinion and delivering that in the form of the written word. It is less passionate, is likely to be less vehement and with much more consideration of the other person.”
Protected: February 17 ~ Gey & Winden, Germany to February 27, 1945
My Grandmother’s Love Letters by Hart Crane
- Photo TiffanyCreek
There are no stars tonight
But those of memory.
Yet how much room for memory there is
In the loose girdle of soft rain.
There is even room enough
For the letters of my mother’s mother,
Elizabeth,
That have been pressed so long
Into a corner of the roof
That they are brown and soft,
And liable to melt as snow.
Over the greatness of such space
Steps must be gentle.
It is all hung by an invisible white hair.
It trembles as birch limbs webbing the air.
And I ask myself:
“Are your fingers long enough to play
Old keys that are but echoes:
Is the silence strong enough
To carry back the music to its source
and back to you again
As though to her?”
Yet I would lead my grandmother by the hand
Through much of what she would not understand:
And so I stumble. And the rain continues on the roof
With such a sound of gently pitying laughter.
Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t…
…pick a daisy in the grass
by the creek at the dam
chasing butterflies.
Homework assigned!
Capture the crickets
and their friend
the grasshopper,
a problem, this was not.
But to stick a pin in the thorax, well…
it seemed barbaric at the time!
Spinning dreams in the sunshine
with the breeze at my neck,
running fast
my feet would carry me,
seemed more sublime!
The civilized ruled
an F was divine.
As mother told me:
“It doesn’t matter!
That grade is not of thine
but of those who seek a feather
to put in their scholastic hat,
and say:
‘The best collection was done by a student of mine!'”
And so I got an A for living,
for freedom,
to inhale fresh air,
while others worried about growing up,
I thought, “I never will!”
And better yet,
the horse I ride
out to pasture to dine,
where it dawns on me that having the right answer
is a mistake…
and wish it not to be mine!
One Human Tear
Photo courtesy Dave Dreimiller
Oh, if there is one human tear
By mortal man in sorrow shed,
As pure and as Angel’s dear,
Tis that which falls for kindred dead.
O.S
G. Ville Jan.y 20th 1833
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On Tiffany Creek 