Holidays and Weekends, too

holidays and weekends, too
enough to wash away the blue
smattered on the old photographs
we hold so dear

another land so far away
a song enchants us so we pray
come again some other day
but now is not the time

right now I'm not here to be
I cannot walk and I cannot see
a dream of you is dear to me
but next to you I'm warmer

speak softly now cause I can hear
the words you speak I will hold dear
like the hands I have you shouldn't fear
I'm with you now it should be clear

place all your worries on the pillow
the chimney roars but softly billows
disaster lurks where eyes won't see
so hold me close, stay next to me

we'll make it yet, of this I'm sure
love is strained, it makes it pure

The Shame of the Ostrich, a short story

One beautiful summer’s morning, a hedgehog set off for a walk across the sandy desert. He was going to see how far the barley had grown in a nearby barley field. The hedgehog had watched the barley grow form the first tiny, green shoots. Now the stalks were too so tall that they towered above his head and the barley would soon be ready for harvesting. “There’s no finer sight than a field of golden barley in the desert,” the hedgehog said contentedly. As he stood on the edge of the field admiring the view, a great ostrich came striding along.

Now, ostriches cannot fly, so they have to walk or run everywhere on their strong legs. But they can certainly run very fast. The hedgehog looked up at the ostrich and called out, “good morning,” in a cheery voice. But the ostrich merely looked down his nose at the hedgehog and said in a superior voice “I am not in habit of talking to stumpy-legged creatures like you.” “My legs may be stumpy,” replied the hedgehog, bristling indignantly, “but, I can run faster on them than any other animal for miles around.” “Humph!” scoffed the ostrich. “No one can run faster than I can, with my strong, long legs.”

The hedgehog’s eyes twinkled. “that’s what you think,” he said. “Why don’t we have a race? Then we’ll see who is the faster runner you or I.” “Oh, it’s sure to be me!” boasted the ostrich. “Let’s race now, shall we? On the count of three. One, two…” “wait a minute,” said the hedgehog. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet. I cant run on an empty stomach! We’ll meet back here midday. Then we’ll race each other up and down between the rows of barley. Is that agreed?” The ostrich nodded, thinking that nothing could be easier than racing against such a dumpy little creature. He went off to take a nap.

As soon as the ostrich had gone, the hedgehog raced back home as fast as he could, calling to his family, “please come quickly, all of you! There’s something I want you to do for me in the barley field.” So all the hedgehog’s family: mothers and father, brothers, sisters, cousins, even aunts and uncles ran up to the barley field and gathered around him. There he explained to them what he wanted. “You must help me win a race against the ostrich,” he said. “But how?” asked the hedgehogs. “You can’t hope to beat the ostrich, with his great, long legs.” “I can and I will, if you all listen carefully and do as I ask,” replied the hedgehog. “You must all go and position yourselves so there is one of you at the end of each row of barley. The ostrich of I will start the race at the beginning of the first row, but when he is a few yards ahead of me, I shall turn back. Now, when the ostrich comes racing up to the end of the row, one of you will be sitting there, pretending to be a bit out of breath from running so fast. He will think it is me. Then, when he reached the end of the next row and sees another hedgehog a bit out of breath, he will think I’ve beaten him again. And so on.” The hedgehogs thought this was a brilliant idea and they quickly ran up to take their positions.

At midday, the ostrich returned to the barley field. He was refreshed from his sleep and looked very smug at the thought of winning the race. He lined up with the hedgehog at the start of the first row of barley. “Are you ready?” he asked. The hedgehog nodded. “The one, two, three –GO!” shouted the ostrich, and he ran off with great strides, smirking to himself and leaving the hedgehog far behind. But when the ostrich reached the end of the first barley row, what did he see? The hedgehog was already there, puffing and panting and calling to him, “Ah, there you are at last.”

The ostrich was so surprised he did not reply. Off he ran, even faster, along the next row, but when he came to the end, what did he see? The hedgehog, standing waiting, a little out of breath, but calling, “You’ve arrived at last.” Again and again the ostrich raced away, running as he had never run before. But each time he reached the end of a row, what did he see? A hedgehog! The ostrich could not tell the difference between one hedgehog and the other, so he did not realized that he had seen several hedgehogs – not just one. When he reached the end of the last row, panting and completely exhausted, what did he see? A hedgehog, looking as fresh as a daisy and calling, “So you’ve made it at last!” The ostrich could not understand how he had been beaten by a stumpy little hedgehog. He limped off on his tired, sore feet and buried his head deep in the sand. He was so embarrassed at losing the race that he didn’t show his face again for a very, very long time.

On Trees, by Herman Hesse

I enjoyed reading Herman Hesse's Siddhartha in high school, and I've since gone back to it to engage the story more actively and researching Hesse online. I find his writing is reflective of a very sharp wit from a wise soul. Here are some quotes that I've found interesting:

"Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours."

"There is no reality except the one contained within us. That is why so many people live such an unreal life. They take the images outside of them for reality and never allow the world within to assert itself."

"You are only afraid if you are not in harmony with yourself. People are afraid because they have never owned up to themselves. A whole society composed of men afraid of the unknown within them!"

Another selection piques my interest because I have also contemplated the nature of Trees and their representation of strong, upstanding beings with lines and limbs like ours, reflecting steadfastness and solidarity, exposing all to nature with no fear. Reading this passage by Hesse, I can't think of a better way to express the wisdom of the tree and so poetically concise and clear.

"For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness."

Have you ever sat outside at home and wondered about the genealogy of trees? Find yourself observing the intricate variations each tree silently embodies? They really seem to capture all of nature, as humans are microcosmic reflections of our universe. When I was in the 5th grade, one of my teachers had us bind a scrapbook of leaves, with point values for the variations of leaves you were able to collect and identify. Remembering this, I recall it as one of my most enjoyable learning experiences...visiting the homes of family and taking walks in parks and around town to explore these endless varieties. I earned the most points in my class for my efforts, later becoming interested in tracking different types of spiders. Is there anything you've studied in nature that makes you wonder endlessly about the significance of living creatures and plants?

The Most Amazing Treat You've Never Had!

ahhh.. So I made my first last night and basically realized I was missing out on the greatest treat ever!

The Fluffernutter

-Ingredients-
* 2 Slices of Bread
* Peanut Butter (creamy)
* Marshmallow (creme)
* (Hershey's Chocolate)

Microwave for 15-20 seconds to melt the marshmallows or chocolate; it's best using creamy peanut butter and marshmallow cream, though.

I've even been successful with Nutella & marshmallow creme, considering a double-decker w/ bread - marshmallow - Nutella - bread - peanut butter - marshmallow - bread

So try this thing out and let me know what you think!

Brain Storm

The strongest words echo in the mind, not in the mouths of

those who simply beckon it into existence. A word is

sacred. All of them are alive. There is a growing problem

with determining the direction we take with language. Is

it time to universalize all languages? Should we create a

new international language? Which one could possibly be

the best? Why? What is the true nature of language? Have

we created it, or are we still one link away from reality

in our use of language? Many questions have been

unanswered, and still others arise as we enter the age of

the technological catalyst in communication with

nanocomputers and studies in artificial life. It seems we

are making progress, and we expect it to, but will it

really keep going at this pace? Are there no limits to our

human capacity or should we press onward for the finale?

Who or what is to ultimately decide where humanity's

future is destined? Have we come to any reasonable

accumulation of information or justification for any major

world religion? Have we expressed any certainty on the

ideas of relativism, perspective or consciousness, despite

an extensive record of experiential data? What derives the

element of Power, Freedom, Justice or Truth? Will we ever

know? Should we continue our struggle or accept what is

given?

If I had an answer to even one of these questions, it

would have to fill volumes! They are all intertwined and

are the result of information's compact intensity due to

technology. This is the time, as never before. Today is

our blessing, tomorrow uncertain. To find success, seek

nature and believe. Be aware and connect, above space and

time, beyond numbers: the only thing holding words back

from flooding every blank surface with joy!

Dead Awake

Suddenly, quickly, the room feels colder. Yawning to defeat the morning, I wake and shift to clean myself off of the filthiness a prideful dream can leave on a man with an ego as large as mine. I start the shower and pass the mirror with disinterest, clambering for the heat residing in the life emitted from the shower head. That was fast, I feel fresh, but somehow no different than before. Hoping to evade the dreadful commute to the office, it soon comes to sense that Time will not work in my advantage; rather, I must leave early to seek that advantage and the time to begin would be right now. Almost at a leap, I enter the car and dissolve out of the driveway and recognize my place under the burning Sun; it is pleasant. The other vehicles on the road appear to be following me more than usual, at odd times disbanding the caravan to linger into their buildings of mutual hatred, for the brightest of men understand how much the creatures in the concrete jungle starve for their innards. Partially withdrawn, I hastily enter the parking lot and discover a single open spot: the handicap space, for those who are looked at more than others and somehow socially ignored. I resent the the fact but I confidently park in the only remaining place around and gather my files before entering the building I come and go no different past the hate that brews while inside its swathing dungeon.
Squeak! the dead cold invisible door creaks open to allow my passage into its still colder domain, reticent of its true nature though eager to disavow those who make partners with its walls. In a shocking stream of sense, my memory feels eerily disjointed - as though I am eternally familiar with this castle of greed, while still through its portal for the first time - now. I make it to the office I've on and off inhabited for years, only to realize it isn't mine and there are others behind the door, making transactions indiscreet. As amazing as the finding has propounded me to my displacement here, my first course of action relates me to my still-warm car outside and I use my excuse of a bad parking spot to remove myself from this place and seek refuge in my room asleep again.
Turning, pivoting, whirling, rotating, spinning, twisting, revolving, I make my way down the corridor and with an even larger leap, I enter the car and jet out of the lot with ease, returning to the stream with the rest of the school that makes its way through this deserted industrial park we call home in the night. I yawn.
As I angle the vehicle to turn down Memory Ln. I am entranced by its uncanny visage of safety, its eternal sinister groove in my mind. Coughing and wheezing from an abrupt aversion to what awaits me behind locked doors, I turn the key and cross the threshold. With a silent but deafening slam, the gate returns to rest and I quickly follow. Pacing down the hallway, I halt and notice the absence of pictures on the walls, the steadiness of the room, the lack of common aroma wavering through the chilling air.
I enter the bathroom to relieve myself but am cut short when I forget my objectives, my wandering eyes focus on the counter, the sink, not much else; so I leave. As with following a map, I unmindfully creep towards my destination; sleep calling though no living man may answer without succumbing to its seductive coo. I open the door and laugh, for before my lies my body, eroding to the stream of Time and the trickle of blood exiting cold wounds.
[Fade to black.]

The Space Between Thoughts

The perplexing issue with raw data is that there is no scale of time or self to frame subject in which to examine it, a fleeting moment bringing idealism, and solitude, all of chaos and guilt, as well as pure and direct communication. When hinged between two moments of thought, the unaided soul is guided betwixt the experience of memory, thought, organization & language with the future-formed personality which is viewed as “projected.” If other beings may “project” their raw data to us, should we receive it in our own faith? Apply it to our own religions and ideologies? Give rise to capital murder and blatant misuse of trust? Informational in nature, the raw experience brings the awareness of the bonds of souls, among themselves and within the larger systems recognized as God, then Life. This bond is what has given fuel to the inedible flames of ESP research and extra-terrestrial communication. Rather than look beyond, why not search within to find the deepest and remotest essence (as secrets, then knowledge) of our souls and greater purpose? Had we considered the meaning of the subtle hints, before it may be attributed to a spiritual communion or by blight of mental illness, it may be possible to recognize this direct communication as necessary and involving, part of life itself, a key to the “Future” and a window to the “Past.”
The instant between cognizing a postulation and replying in reference to this object or topic (as is present in all language) contains a multitude of mysteries which may be revealed by deep contemplation and direct communication. Rapidly, the sense of self dissolves and the Other is incorporated into individual thought, thereby bridging true communication, however aware, and thought-forms that attempt to predict future modes of discourse or elements of still-further external nodes in games and entertainment are supplied by the mind, sometimes with an unquestionable accuracy, however coincidental. Though no claims rest on the dependency of Real and natural limits on sentient beings to the actual results, (if such an experiment were devised) there is a framework within which to develop more focused attention, gain spiritual awareness, alleviate suffering, bind individuals, etc. Between two persons who are aware of this situation, a breach in the social framework develops into minute, yet broad schizophrenic phenotypes. This is to say that the True identities of included persons are shattered by the recognition of such a state of being that a priori (e.g. déjà vu) awareness briefly searches for potential matches of realities among a dubious multiverse. The primary benefactors to this blind “research” are religious fanatics and cult science circles.