Restore Reality

expose

Be brave.

It’s time. It’s been time for too long. It feels eternity.

Take heart … tune off naysayers … and remove the grime of fakery and deception. Speak fact to polish off stains of misinformation, so Truth can once more spread its wings to sunlight, unburdened from prevarication.

Expose the burnish of veracity from under messy piles of perfidy.

Be kind, be firm, and wipe clean fib to showcase verity.

Reality awaits. Impatiently.

It is past time.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Think Deeply

 

Think deeply about life.

Hold people closely, gently, in your heart.

Think deeply of the things that nourish:

Care and hope, compassion, truth, light.

Think deeply about what you know

And what you still would like to find out knowledge of.

Think deeply of the seeds you plant

In your soul’s soil

In others’.

Think deeply of the past and all its lessons

Of the way it can shape future histories

Or repeat woe.

Think deeply of the power of both joy and sorrow

Of the choices that can lead to more of both

And which one matters more.

Think deeply of the path you walk

The roads you pave for children and their children’s children

For this Earth.

 

Think deeply of all this

And think beyond it

Yet above and through and in between all of this

Thinking

Breathe in light

Breathe out hope

Offer comfort

Cultivate love.

by Buddha doodles

By Buddha Doodles

 

For The Daily Post

 

The Line

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Photo by: A. Barlev

 

They walk the line as morning comes

As new day draws its dawn,

They walk as night approaches close

And sunset sinks alone.

They walk the line of now and then

Of sand and rock, death, growth,

They walk as footsteps mark the soil

And press it deep with hope.

They walk where many walked before

With others not yet born,

They walk in dust of those who passed

Of stories told and torn.

They walk to sew new roads to life

Connections old as time,

They walk a line of young and old

Their hearts as close as mine.

For The Daily Post

Life’s Craft

spacornerjan12no1

Photo Credit: E.F.

May your life be your craft.

Well defined.

Aged and fine.

May your life be your craft.

Practiced, shared

Worked and honed.

May your life be your craft.

Filled with heart

Buoyed by joy

Lit with hope

Let to grow.

May your life be your craft.

Skilled,

Perfected,

Helpful,

Whole.

 

What if bad people forgot how to be bad? (An irreverent fantasy)

broken-umbrella

I was walking home from a meeting the other day and ran into an elderly woman with a walker and a broken umbrella. She looked lost.

I asked her if she was okay, and she shook her head. She couldn’t remember where she was going, then brightened slightly: she had a card. She dug around in her purse, broken umbrella perched over one shoulder and rain drenching her head, keys and change spilling onto the wet pavement. I held my umbrella over her, picked up the fallen items and looked at the card she held out: A senior center. I knew which one–it was quite a ways away. How did she end up so far from it?

She’d been trying to get there and must’ve taken a wrong turn. Got lost. She was flustered–she’s lived in the area a long time but couldn’t get herself oriented to what avenue was where or in what order or how far. She kept repeating an attribute of her destination. A ramp. For wheelchairs and walkers. It had a ramp. She’d been walking and looking for ramps…

I told her not to worry. I knew where she had to go and would walk her there.

On the way and as she looked for ramps and we slowly navigated in the rain that dripped over the edge of her broken umbrella and as we dodged puddles and splashing cars and potholes that snagged the wheels of her walker, she told me (and repeated the same every minute or so) she has “some dementia.” She used to be very independent and “drive all over the place” but now keeps getting confused. She said she tries to leave the house to be with people because “it is important” and because otherwise she sits home alone “and cries like a baby all day.”

My heart ached for her.

Her broken umbrella mirrored her flickering brain–she held on though it barely did what it ought to.
It took us a while to inch our way to the senior center. I kept reassuring her we’ll find the center (with the ramp). She retold me of her dementia. How independent she used to be. Of her forgetting. Her wanting to be with people. Her “crying like a baby” at home.
After I left this sweet lady safe and sound at the center (with the ramp–she was so delighted to see that ramp! Its presence a small proof of her memory still holding on to something!), I walked home and couldn’t help thinking … Wouldn’t it be helpful if instead of this little old lady, some of those who thrive on cruel manipulation, got a touch of dementia?
Irreverent simplicity.
Oh, dementia is no joke, and I did not and do not intend to trivialize it!
Nonetheless I found myself considering how safer our world would be if those who connive to hurt and harm, forgot how to … and instead became immersed in small-radius-activities of afternoon bingo and word-searches. If tyrants and terrorists of all types of violent intrusions, lost interest in victimizing or power-hunger, and instead had their world contract around organized daily existences in protective housing someplace … to be occupied with lunch and naps and no longer be capable of manipulation and scheming …
Just saying.
They would be a far more deserving audience for a bit of dementia, than this sweet woman and so many the world over whose full heart and intellect we can use.
Wouldn’t it be helpful, I thought, to have the wish-to-harm turn dull in those who relish spreading agony?
At least until the shuttle to Pluto was ready …
pluto-stamp