tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58112694019431745492024-03-05T14:16:09.554-08:00Hippie LizAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-7116876364375261612016-01-21T21:22:00.000-08:002016-01-21T21:23:58.483-08:00The Death of May Blossom<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxWTWR3yD_QA-aR0D-ZafRLHzGYFayLww674jJqnAZXm-XPfbgNACZ5bsH2GhDDRbY-O1rMR_D-4rUUlu8HeR9mfA9FaB6dK8mm6f4pperKljbWNG9mVaYh8F5IyWQsEQFI3sYIUS1S0/s1600/Guatemala+2011+273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxWTWR3yD_QA-aR0D-ZafRLHzGYFayLww674jJqnAZXm-XPfbgNACZ5bsH2GhDDRbY-O1rMR_D-4rUUlu8HeR9mfA9FaB6dK8mm6f4pperKljbWNG9mVaYh8F5IyWQsEQFI3sYIUS1S0/s320/Guatemala+2011+273.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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<br />
I was born of a fiery flower<br />
and upon flowers I did live and slumber<br />
until one day I was taken away<br />
from my tiny life and my mother.<br />
It was a terrible fate to be so tiny<br />
Always at the mercy of another<br />
scooped up and forced to take a lover, <br />
though I had no affection for any of my suitors.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fish, the birds, and the butterfly<br />
saved me and led me away from my demise<br />
I found shelter with a field mouse<br />
but even she tried to push me out of her house:<br />
“Marry the mole,” she suggested to me.<br />
I befriended the sparrow and he helped me to flee.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
We flew away and landed upon a flower<br />
The sparrow lived in one and I had to find another<br />
A flower of my own I did spy and so<br />
down to the flower I did fly,<br />
but a tiny man was living inside!<br />
Just imagine my surprise,<br />
to find another person so tiny in size.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Tiny people inhabited each flower,<br />
but the people had wings and thus, power.<br />
At last, I received my own set of wings,<br />
my independence to move <br />
safely from flower to flower.<br />
I lived communally amongst the fairies<br />
and to a tiny man, I got married.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The bliss could only last, but so long.<br />
One day, the air got thick, like smog.<br />
The enemy had come and they wore strange masks<br />
I knew that something was wrong.<br />
They sprayed from their hoses a poisonous gas…<br />
Little did I know that that breath I took<br />
would be my last.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And there in the distance<br />
sat Jesus on a hill of green.<br />
Brown and blond dreadlocks<br />
with a headband of flowers.<br />
Leaves gliding down from giant trees<br />
all around<br />
Dancing, beautiful balls of light<br />
I joined the fairies in eternal flight.<br />
<br />
<i>(Based on the fairytale of Thumbelina)</i><o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-8743104543574226152015-07-22T20:04:00.001-07:002015-07-22T20:04:11.416-07:00Holding Time<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9kstQ2QiuCR54pTZsJwgcXQcOLOt0NIr58KeiFbckSZ-Cy8oz-NHuVlsQvUmdi39LJuRIXfQmtCdGr-O9yAyt7eg8M8BZPOtiAKWBdtuHPhgpzJMXGMr-LH1I2j3dN4h7ZROiGJ7oMhg/s1600/1073192_673297639351776_190492922_o+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9kstQ2QiuCR54pTZsJwgcXQcOLOt0NIr58KeiFbckSZ-Cy8oz-NHuVlsQvUmdi39LJuRIXfQmtCdGr-O9yAyt7eg8M8BZPOtiAKWBdtuHPhgpzJMXGMr-LH1I2j3dN4h7ZROiGJ7oMhg/s320/1073192_673297639351776_190492922_o+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Holding Time</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
Holding time in our hands</div>
<div>
Holding our breath</div>
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Holding back tears</div>
<div>
Holding hands</div>
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Holding hope in our hearts</div>
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Holding memories of you</div>
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Holding tight to one another</div>
<div>
Holding tighter to you</div>
<div>
Holding every moment (like it may be our last)</div>
<div>
Holding time in our hands</div>
<div>
...Wanting to hold on to you forever.</div>
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A little over a month ago my father-in-law's eyes turned yellow. A few days later, his skin turned a yellowish hue, too. On June 23rd, he went to the ER. Within a week or two, he was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer called Cholangiocarcinoma. After running countless tests, the doctors determined the cancer was inoperable and that radiation and chemotherapy were not even options we should consider by that point. "Death is imminent," the doctors told us. About a week and a half ago we brought him home with hospice care. On Sunday, my fiance and I had a small wedding ceremony so that his father would be able to see it before he passed. Today, my beautiful father-in-law was given peace and passed on the next life.</div>
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In the midst of driving back and forth from the hospital and caring for this extraordinary man in his last month, I wrote a poem that expresses a little piece of what my family has been going through during this difficult time. My father-in-law once read an article I wrote about his son (my husband) that moved him to tears. I hope he likes this one just as much. </div>
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Every day is a blessing. Every moment you spend with someone you love is a moment to treasure. Do not ever forget to acknowledge that. Always make sure your loved ones know that they are loved.</div>
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Daddy, this one is for you.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-44493947345162190112015-06-10T17:25:00.001-07:002015-06-10T17:25:08.145-07:00The Probation of Poesy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPsBJVVQdMHZ9mRuZ9REfUOpwiCcyQRmgkQ1TIlLLYbb4HdCKEUA2QvGQzcuwUd3wJ5UFlmuo2Oeeu_bGBNaU3wl0_XRMXkSfpr69DSseQU5h2AVQq1_d6nadsH2yW_XUmh5RjZPvsqU/s1600/IMG_4603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPsBJVVQdMHZ9mRuZ9REfUOpwiCcyQRmgkQ1TIlLLYbb4HdCKEUA2QvGQzcuwUd3wJ5UFlmuo2Oeeu_bGBNaU3wl0_XRMXkSfpr69DSseQU5h2AVQq1_d6nadsH2yW_XUmh5RjZPvsqU/s320/IMG_4603.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
What does a poet do<br />
when she has lost her muse?<br />
<br />
Bereft of inspiration,<br />
that rattling, prattling on in her head is of no use,<br />
no poetical truths.<br />
<br />
What does a writer do<br />
when the words simply will not come?<br />
<br />
Her mind races and rambles on and on,<br />
But she cannot put the thoughts together,<br />
She cannot quiet all the unnecessary clutter.<br />
<br />
There is no logical connection,<br />
no more intellect from meditation,<br />
no heart and soul to brain communication.<br />
Just blank hesitation.<br />
<br />
<br />
Does anyone even read anymore?<br />
Or am I just chasing a dying art?<br />
Scribbling words on a page<br />
that no one will ever even see.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-51126754301133283882015-06-05T18:57:00.000-07:002015-12-07T20:24:31.227-08:00Be Not Afraid<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqTvkU3xDG1xz01KgxNc6vw6hyphenhyphenrteb9Mgsoh-p_ZoZQV78dlhcA04qhZ94cljF1YrkhFxXrYrgb9qbEU8wxlQt_VhbDwqn4Bz2pR8QuJ9Ele5lP_KToZKkpWcjWP3ecqGX8UUy1vE0_g/s1600/IMG_4675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqTvkU3xDG1xz01KgxNc6vw6hyphenhyphenrteb9Mgsoh-p_ZoZQV78dlhcA04qhZ94cljF1YrkhFxXrYrgb9qbEU8wxlQt_VhbDwqn4Bz2pR8QuJ9Ele5lP_KToZKkpWcjWP3ecqGX8UUy1vE0_g/s320/IMG_4675.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
These scars,<br />
though they were deep,<br />
have had their time to heal.<br />
<br />
It's time to begin again.<br />
<br />
Let go of fear.<br />
Walk forward into the sun.<br />
Stand firm and<br />
<br />
Be not afraid.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-9802737467064573972015-05-24T19:14:00.001-07:002015-05-24T19:14:14.127-07:00What We BecomeWell there once was a girl that I knew<br />
She wore black clothes and her hair was blue<br />
Her face was sad and skin pale in hue.<br />
She rarely spoke. Her heart, it broke.<br />
She lost everything.<br />
<br />
Her arms had scars and her legs did too<br />
The scars on her heart were black and blue<br />
I had heard, but were the rumors true?<br />
No, they could not be. It's too hard to believe.<br />
How could she live with that memory?<br />
<br />
Came home from school and she walked inside<br />
A chill down her spine, and then she spied:<br />
Dead on the floor her mother did lie.<br />
Her brain had died, though she had tried.<br />
She was alone.<br />
<br />
Now her dad, he drank and she got hit.<br />
He found pleasure in telling her she's shit.<br />
She turned her music up and she'd sit<br />
Alone in her room. It became her tomb.<br />
She wished she would die, God she did try.<br />
<br />
This sad solemn girl befriended me<br />
She led me inside her misery<br />
I fell crushed by waves of sympathy.<br />
The empathy... it ruined me.<br />
The darkness had descended on me.<br />
<br />
Inside, I began to feel a shift<br />
A most disconcerting kind of drift<br />
To drugs I turned, just to feel a lift.<br />
Life is just meaningless. Everyone's full of shit.<br />
What is this all for?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Before I end this post, I feel it is necessary to mention that though the poem's content is 100% from my own mind and soul, it was also inspired by a song I love that was stuck in my head. I took the rhythm of the song and wrote the words to go along with it. Though it does not exactly mimic the songwriter's melodic pattern, it was the inspiration behind the poem. The song is called, "Don't Know When, But A Day Is Gonna Come" by the indie/folk band Bright Eyes. Check it out:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDjo1oIPAPI">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDjo1oIPAPI</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-633747837091752112015-05-14T19:02:00.003-07:002015-05-14T19:10:30.480-07:00Daily Demons<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJM9g4kxLUzbvCROox0njypZ4J9QqoHhuYhPAN68KobMI9wiYMlJp72kZT_DlbEuzh551qcfHGAAfqNp4NmbY6ugZes-_6SEeTUMz-AIECpIM56LjktsG6izpgjmNeSMHAbjXxGP3SI3E/s1600/IMG_3951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJM9g4kxLUzbvCROox0njypZ4J9QqoHhuYhPAN68KobMI9wiYMlJp72kZT_DlbEuzh551qcfHGAAfqNp4NmbY6ugZes-_6SEeTUMz-AIECpIM56LjktsG6izpgjmNeSMHAbjXxGP3SI3E/s320/IMG_3951.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Early every morning, <br />
the daily demons,<br />
they attack.<br />
Physical, painful,<br />
gut-wrenching.<br />
I have to get these demons<br />
off my back.<br />
<br />
They get inside my head,<br />
run around lighting little fires <br />
in my brain.<br />
Fear, hate, insecurity,<br />
anger, jealousy<br />
deep dark depression.<br />
Refrain.<br />
<br />
The demons control my blood;<br />
they weaken it, make me pale,<br />
and make me sick.<br />
Dizziness, fainting,<br />
small seizures.<br />
These demons exhaust me.<br />
Anemic.<br />
<br />
<br />
It was such a heavy price to pay,<br />
to get these demons<br />
off my back.<br />
First, they will take you up so high,<br />
but they never warn you<br />
of how far you will fall when you come down:<br />
a screaming, wailing, clawing back<br />
...a heart attack.<br />
<br />
<br />
To get out of hell,<br />
I must travel back through;<br />
It's never-ending<br />
the head never stops throbbing<br />
the stomach never stops aching<br />
the eyes never stop closing<br />
the demons always jump back<br />
on my back.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-35818125045224764202015-04-21T18:57:00.000-07:002015-04-21T18:57:20.410-07:00Reunion of Hearts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8mdo6jHvpxrXg-P70tkJuXfR3qCtavl1UMqx9h7s8jjKGJIeRlmgQxpLP3_IMwNGwJG4fvpbP_OUcuFy7z2xWmhfaWss6ExDgbS7ymx23DA3-csuJUMNSbVnlswaGF6S5_iNSCp0oyQ/s1600/IMG_4434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8mdo6jHvpxrXg-P70tkJuXfR3qCtavl1UMqx9h7s8jjKGJIeRlmgQxpLP3_IMwNGwJG4fvpbP_OUcuFy7z2xWmhfaWss6ExDgbS7ymx23DA3-csuJUMNSbVnlswaGF6S5_iNSCp0oyQ/s1600/IMG_4434.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Come over here to me;<br />
Meet me in the middle.<br />
I need to breathe in your scent,<br />
to run my fingers over your smooth skin<br />
and through your soft tufts of hair.<br />
With our eyes closed,<br />
just laying there.<br />
<br />
I yearn for this reunion of hearts<br />
and wait for the setting sun;<br />
I watch the hours tick slowly by,<br />
agonizing with deep sighs.<br />
How much longer must I wait?<br />
I need to feel at home, and safe,<br />
the way I feel in your embrace.<br />
<br />
Come over to me now;<br />
It has been far too long.<br />
Let me look upon you and<br />
take in everything about you I can.<br />
I want to memorize you forever,<br />
remember every blemish, every hair;<br />
I want to get lost in the maze of your icy stare.<br />
<br />
Every moment that passes without you here,<br />
the demons get closer and threaten my mind...<br />
You must come home to me<br />
and fold me up against your body.<br />
Protect me from the nightmares in my mind<br />
and please do not ever leave me<br />
For you were so very hard to find.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-75511977273844038382015-04-18T19:50:00.001-07:002015-04-18T19:50:28.685-07:00Beyond the Disease<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVws1A4k9mkpR72Y8xYR0zW_LjLRgyG2f_2SMq-yCJFFhGdqkUir3C_ovPzV3zGCSkubL8WYgI2JnuPVWTDCt8biL-saIxzm3O5WpebPauZsTeSztG_cXfK4h6bLsfNMYDCP1_0bFJcK4/s1600/IMG_3729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVws1A4k9mkpR72Y8xYR0zW_LjLRgyG2f_2SMq-yCJFFhGdqkUir3C_ovPzV3zGCSkubL8WYgI2JnuPVWTDCt8biL-saIxzm3O5WpebPauZsTeSztG_cXfK4h6bLsfNMYDCP1_0bFJcK4/s1600/IMG_3729.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I am not the things that I have done.<br />
I am not the way that I have acted.<br />
I am not the words that I have spoken.<br />
None of those things are me.<br />
It was only me<br />
shadowed<br />
by the disease.<br />
<br />
I alone<br />
I am energy<br />
and light and compassion<br />
I am good intentions.<br />
I am love and I am life.<br />
I am the smallest<br />
and biggest<br />
particle in this great Universe.<br />
I am the sum of all of these things and<br />
I am nothing.<br />
<br />
I was created<br />
with a lotus flower heart,<br />
to be open and to heal<br />
To nurture.<br />
I was created to do more.<br />
<br />
I have to break through<br />
the shadows,<br />
beyond the disease.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-1023327085474501042015-04-16T19:11:00.000-07:002015-04-16T19:16:36.936-07:00Good Versus Evil<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQoVJjYRh5gsmkc7ysBaG_qxs8NliDUOScsA6_ZJzFrltCEFe7MVV3elLA6OwXE4itJFvtA6iSx2FB29PNy58do6yiZyCU7g_nFhybxnlgpCZtbGFeUG9Urk4HaNyeOCLkVIKxaZ9oFAk/s1600/IMG_4071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQoVJjYRh5gsmkc7ysBaG_qxs8NliDUOScsA6_ZJzFrltCEFe7MVV3elLA6OwXE4itJFvtA6iSx2FB29PNy58do6yiZyCU7g_nFhybxnlgpCZtbGFeUG9Urk4HaNyeOCLkVIKxaZ9oFAk/s1600/IMG_4071.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
Part I: Good<br />
<br />
When it is just him and I<br />
The things I will do are limitless,<br />
my only goal is to please,<br />
to watch that devious grin wash over his face<br />
and know that I have done well<br />
and he is close.<br />
<br />
I give in to his power and force,<br />
happily allow him to overtake me in every way.<br />
I sigh and moan as he presses his weight against me,<br />
shiver under the staccato kisses he bestows upon me:<br />
lips, neck, bosom, stomach, thighs<br />
and what's inside.<br />
<br />
My desire is to be devoured,<br />
and he delivers deeply<br />
thrusting as I dig my nails into his skin,<br />
surrendering and submitting to his every movement,<br />
his every request is my desire to fulfill<br />
I shake for him while he showers my face in his love.<br />
<br />
He is mine and I am his;<br />
our bodies are proof in the way they fold<br />
and mold and become one whole.<br />
When he is inside my warmth and embrace<br />
He is mine,<br />
I am his.<br />
<br />
<br />
Part II: Versus Evil<br />
<br />
When it is just me and me alone<br />
My mind projects the paranoid possibilities<br />
of my overplayed obsession;<br />
I am poisoned and plagued<br />
by visions of temptations too great<br />
for his hungry desire to deny.<br />
<br />
This place is filled with sin and<br />
it's seeping out from within.<br />
Beautiful women with abandon and bored<br />
Find games in seeking out men's attention<br />
and flirtatiously arousing<br />
even those with purest of intentions.<br />
<br />
I envision him ensnared by the<br />
seductions of another, bestowing endless kisses<br />
upon foreign lips, necks, bosoms, thighs,<br />
and worse.<br />
I envision him making someone else shake<br />
and showering her in adulterous love.<br />
<br />
The thought of him not being mine<br />
is what keeps me up at night:<br />
these paranoid phantoms I create in my mind.<br />
It makes me sick with psychosis<br />
to think of him entering another<br />
after already claiming and devouring me whole.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-11829805398217230412015-04-02T18:59:00.002-07:002015-04-02T19:01:54.979-07:00To Bloom Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKNnqBWlA4ORfnFGvAtj3hsHFCNDIcQawIqe4gErXUnQAZVFsfQx3M0C88ZEas-t2MuT45hLSNVvTAFsLxvRH8KzseDmcU9KaHw_pM_-C0DDjiOEnCrUhVep2DbS-xoHQJYCykO_za4U/s1600/IMG_4345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKNnqBWlA4ORfnFGvAtj3hsHFCNDIcQawIqe4gErXUnQAZVFsfQx3M0C88ZEas-t2MuT45hLSNVvTAFsLxvRH8KzseDmcU9KaHw_pM_-C0DDjiOEnCrUhVep2DbS-xoHQJYCykO_za4U/s1600/IMG_4345.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I wish to disconnect with the me of yesterday<br />
To let go of any past associations with myself<br />
All of your impressions<br />
and judgments, <br />
all of my actions, <br />
all experiences, <br />
all reminders of before<br />
this present moment. <br />
<br />
I wish to live in this present moment:<br />
To sit still in meditation<br />
and feel the past shed from my being<br />
like a second skin<br />
I no longer need<br />
or want.<br />
<br />
It is letting go;<br />
the art of detachment.<br />
I wish to participate.<br />
<br />
Time to move on,<br />
morph,<br />
and transform.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">photography: Liz Collier (Me)</span></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811269401943174549.post-90448847621475703022014-10-24T19:55:00.001-07:002014-11-07T18:08:38.288-08:00The Art of Letting Go<br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
<br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMRB-_Lg6vtrSdLuTjNt1PePH7x790_IQWzhM9-uXRrT79hGP-T7uCahLuZykQVCRUFFI3Vm0RRdhEU65ZkhSdrhEj_yIicaUTMgPGP2kdPzpcxCwWreaYQ8MncJMObqXQG6M4rJ9Fvo/s1600/The+Art+of+Letting+Go.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMRB-_Lg6vtrSdLuTjNt1PePH7x790_IQWzhM9-uXRrT79hGP-T7uCahLuZykQVCRUFFI3Vm0RRdhEU65ZkhSdrhEj_yIicaUTMgPGP2kdPzpcxCwWreaYQ8MncJMObqXQG6M4rJ9Fvo/s1600/The+Art+of+Letting+Go.png" height="223" width="400" /></a></div>
<ol type="1"><span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></ol>
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
<br /><span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The hardest part about
growing up, is figuring out how to go throughout life without being scared.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I spent many years of
my life studying the Buddha and all the different paths he took throughout his
life in order to perfect, essentially, “growing up.” He lived out his childhood
and most of his adolescence in lavish quarters, decorated with all the finest
things. Anything he ever could have wanted was at his fingertips. It was not
until he stepped out into the real world, or, “life,” that he realized
everything was not as easy and perfect as it seemed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
<br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Are we not all like
the Buddha in this? Do we not, also, go through childhood and most of
adolescence in our own comfortable bubble of blissful ignorance? Like the
Buddha, it takes most of us stepping out into the real world, declaring our
independence from our families, and seeing what life is really like, to realize
that life - and death - are out there and they are scary!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After this
realization, the Buddha was deeply disturbed and did not know what to do.
He decided to renounce everything that he had known: the wealth, clothes,
even food and nourishment that he had grown accustomed to. He took up
meditation and would sit beneath the banyan trees and meditate as the hours
turned to days. He withdrew into himself and lived within his mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I relate to the Buddha
in his disturbed reaction to what life is really like. Though I have never
gone so far as to renounce my clothes and daily nourishment, I relate in the
sense that I also withdrew into myself and within my mind, unable to cope with
this new “life” that I was supposed to somehow assimilate into.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It took the Buddha a
great while, but eventually he realized he could not completely renounce
everything, nor live in his comfortable bubble from childhood. He would have to
find a “middle path.” Later, the Buddha went on to achieve Enlightenment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m still at that
withdrawn point in my life, too wrapped up in my own mind, or, more
accurately, too wrapped up in my fears and anxiety. I have every piece of the
“middle path” surrounding me, but I’m too afraid to reach out and grab hold of
it all. I’m too afraid to fail at life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then I try to focus my
mind on another one of my favorite things about the Buddha: the art of letting
go. The more I go through this life, the more I realize I have absolutely no
control and I need to stop acting as if I do. The more you try to control
something, the less control you really have. Life really is about blind faith.
We might all have faith in something different, but I believe in the Universe
and its harmony and Oneness. I have to learn to trust that the Universe has
given me everything I need for my “middle path,” my Enlightenment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07940922065303156829noreply@blogger.com0