I need His peace

Often what I hear is "location, location, location," and I suppose you need to know what your location is for: business, living, recreation, but I am looking for that perfect spot for reflection.

Each of us would benefit with time away from the "busy-ness" of the world to reflect on how we are doing. If you have a higher power, this could be a great place to "meet" the power and discuss the things you need to just "be".

The thing that I like about this photo is the ocean and the always calm feeling when I'm there. I hear the roar of the waves and know they are bigger than me, and yet they continue to come into shore and often lull me to peace. Is there anything in the business world that can lull me to peace? Absolutely not... and why is that?

In the world I have to always stand guard over my rights, over my property, over the thinking that keeps me headed in my path. It's a major discernment of which voice do I listen to. I have to practice acceptance of rules, regulations, and man-made laws that "tell me they're good for me," or else they'll take my life and throw it in a jail cell. Within the world there are many countries and even more rules; can anyone stop the spinning of the world and let me get off?

So lest the world try to lull me into a sense of peace I look for a place to meet my higher power and listen to His voice. Only His strength will help me remain calm in the day's trouble. Only His vision is accurate and tells me what I'm really seeing. Only His arms comfort me when I feel lost among the many locations, locations, locations of turmoil. And His grace lulls me when the day is done and I need peace... His peace.

My Tender Arms

Ease and comfort we do share
Beside the other in your lair

Watchful are you every day
Help my life become what may

Sword to guard and chase the fool
Away from me just like a tool

Warm air circles as I sleep
Dragon's breath soft and sweet

Never go too far away
Keep me near is what I pray

Skin to skin we rest awhile
Morning brings a secret smile

I will live with creature charms
And offer up my tender arms

Time to take that cruise

Sometimes things are just too hot.

Lots of news to feel sorry over.

No answers come along.

Just read one bad story after another.

I'm writing in a form like a poem.

I don't feel like hearing rhyme.

Psychological war all around us.

Just there to beat us down.

My van cost lots to fill with gas.

I don't go anywhere any more.

Candidates are debating issues they already have answers to.

They just forgot to share their ideas with the public.

I grabbed my bathing suit and a hoodie.

Packed some sandwiches and drinks.

I may be gone a while.

Time to take that cruise.

Ode to my gas pump: satire?

This little song is just for you
I wrote it out when I was blue
It never fails to stop or stump
My little ode to my gas pump

To fill her up or let her go
A quarter tank is just too low
My grocery list is getting dumped
By the needs of my little gas pump

Our favorite Bush reversed the ban
No where’s safe: ocean or the land
One small gift from commander chump
Who brought about the high-priced slump

One day soon I’ll take my song
Play for people who wait so long
The price has hit us in the rump
All join in: “ode to my gas pump”

Wall and more walls

Sometimes I get down right disgusted… and disgruntled over countries, including the one I live in, that claim they that don’t interfere with internal issues of another country. That usually translates into: “We have an agreement to look the other way.” And that’s exactly what’s happening to the citizens of Darfur. Oh USA, oh China, oh Sudan, and all you other pious countries that allow genocide to rule instead of life. Do you think this will be your only “taste” of death?

No one seems to be paying much attention to a possible boycott… and I understand: “Why should the athletes be punished for their governments’ failings in helping to secure peace for Darfur or any other region that is currently suffering from occupation?”

I was surprised and angry when my own government sent goods and supplies to Burma recently with stipulating conditions. What has happened to us? When did we become so greedy and manipulative? And yet the majority of citizens I spoke with were greatly surprised that “our aid” would be refused because we too often pull the “self-interest card.”

It is said over many internet sites that China furnishes Sudan with weapons, and most recently offered finances for a new palace. But they can’t find time to talk about the needs of Darfur, and trying to influence Sudan to ease up the battle? Then I’m thinking there’s something behind the scenes that I haven’t found yet.

I did find out that practically all Christian villages in Darfur, have been burned to the ground. Now that would be a good reason for China not to interfere; their dislike of Christianity is not hidden. And I’m perplexed as to why the American Christians are not sending aid. But I did read that most shipments were intercepted by the Sudanese militia… so have we reached an attitude of “why bother?”

The Olympics in Beijing, China runs August 8-24, 2008. Darfur is planning to have a team there. I’m personally hoping they win every event they place in. Maybe that will knock down a few walls.

Long Ago Flower

Long ago flower you gave us our lead
As the first of the blossoms that opened indeed
Your fragrance was strong, each nostril would flair
To inhale your scent that remained in the air

Bewildering color so rich and so soft
Gave rise to the spirit, it sent us a loft
Your petals now fade and crack at the edge
The last bit of beauty invites love’s sweet hedge

Your graced my long locks for the special event
When dancing was done your beauty was spent
I wish I could keep you from ruin and decay
And not have to pick another this day

Comedy or Tragedy

Do you remember the Michael Jackson song that said, “I’m starting with the man in the mirror; I’m asking him to change his ways”? Well that’s what entered my mind as I read about Bernie Mac at the Chicago event for Senator Barak Obama. Mr. Mac’s moment on stage was not as well received as anticipated. Since the event we hear that the Obama campaign has stated their objections and distance from the ill-received performance. I understand that Mr. Mac’s appearance was a surprise and that makes it more difficult for the crowd, paying $2300 per seat, to accept.

The zeal of some people to “sound” politically correct; to “associate” their opinions as those that are appropriate, means we all take a hit to freedom of speech every time. How do we avoid this misguided zealousness? And it is misguided; many are simply too captured by “how polite it seems to hold hands and pretend to sing together”. Okay, let’s do four verses of “Kum Bah Yah.”

I don’t think some material is appropriate when you’re having a family event, but if things were not worked out before the event, then laying complete blame at Bernie Mac’s feet is more inappropriate. It was up to the campaign event director to indicate what content would be acceptable for the Chicago event. Alas, it has come down to the scrutinizing of the words we speak or plan to speak. Senator Obama, in the end, asks Bernie to “clean up his act”, while at the same time, reassuring his friend that there was no initial harm meant; an absence of malice, if you will. Nothing gained, nothing lost?

Jackson executes a quick turn on the stage, performs several pelvic thrusts to the delight of the preteen and teenage audience, grabs his hat to pull down over his head and belts, “I’m starting with the man in the mirror; I’m asking him to change his ways..”

We don’t hear much from Michael these days; maybe he did change that man in the mirror. I know my mirror has reflected back many issues for me to deal with, so looking at Michael or Bernie shows me that my own freedom of speech is under question. And that if need be my friends and associates will distance themselves as well. If the celebrity world can no longer speak freely, then the “private, lesser citizens” are next.

A Rare Find

The most precious and most expensive spice in the world is saffron. The filaments, or threads, are actually the dried stigmas of the saffron flower, "Crocus Sativus Linnaeus". Each flower contains only three stigmas. These threads must be picked from each flower by hand, and more than 75,000 of these flowers are needed to produce just one pound of saffron filaments, making it the world’s most precious spice. Because of saffron's strong coloring power and intense flavor, it can be used sparingly. Saffron is used both for its bright orange-yellow color and for its strong, intense flavor and aroma.

I love cooking with saffron, a wonderful taste indeed; I use it on special occasions. There’s nothing like making rice from scratch and pouring the saffron flavoring over it when I’ve finished steaming the rice. Served with a Persian dish called Ghormeh Saabsi, it’s quite the treat. I have a passion for Persian food as well. I once lived near three women from Iran and saffron was almost a daily item for them to use. I really miss their cooking!

Along with sharing cooking in a small community, I found that our differences in culture did not have to divide us. One of their sayings became a favorite of mine: “Gorbana shomah,” which translates to “G-d be with you or bless you.” More and more I learned their language, Farsi”. One day I was visiting their apartment when a visitor from Iran showed up. The visitor heard me speaking downstairs and asked who I was? The three women told her that I was an American. She ran downstairs to see, because she did not believe I wasn’t Iranian. Seems in Farsi I have a southern accent; well that figures!

My point is that having friends that you cross cultural, religious, and civilian divides is just as rare and precious as those saffron filaments. Think about that a moment. Saffron was our initial connection, as we talked about recipes one spring day in the parking lot.

It was a wonderful moment in time in the late seventies right before the hostage situation in Tehran. After that life became a blur as one by one they disappeared from this country. I felt so sorry that there was something for them to fear in the United States. But today I understand more as I see our own citizens battling the same issues of privacy and safety. There is neither.
Today when I purchase saffron I remember those women and their wanting to have a better life. I hope they’ve had much success. “Gorbana shomah”.

Refined as pure silver

A friend of mine sent me this story in my email and she wishes to remain anonymous. I thought it to be very interesting and worth sharing.


Malachi 3:3 says: "He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."

This verse puzzled some women in a Bible study and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God. One of the women offered to find out the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible Study.

That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining Silver.

As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities.

The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: "He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver." She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined. The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.

The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, "How do you know when the silver is fully refined?"

He smiled at her and answered, "Oh, that's easy -- when I see my image in it."

Jabba Talk

Hello, Jabba here, taking over while dcrelief is out with health issues. So let's do "Jabba Talk" and discuss: why do people insist on going to work when they are sick?


I sat back and watched as dcrelief struggled to post to Saffron Sights; she couldn't see clearly, the pain medication was keeping her groggy, so why push the button that's broken? She needed to rest.


Often I go to the pond and find a neighbor with the sniffles and wiping their nose constantly and I want to yell: "Go home and take that cold with you."

Did you know that a single sneeze can travel 25 feet? A lot of people can be infected through that vehicle. Look, take you tail home, get into bed and stay there until you're over it. It is our personal responsibility to take care of ourselves the best way we know how; then courteously extend that care toward others.

Give work it's place in your life, but not your whole life. Choose something bigger than work to center your life around. If you are a believer of a higher power let him choose a path that includes some kind of charity; not necessarily money, but a choice of giving of your time. Like me giving my time to help out dcrelief. May she be well soon and return to Saffron Sights.

written by Jabba

the waiting stage

I'm a bit lost because of changes in my life and developing an illness. I can tell you about the changes, but the illness still awaits diagnosis.



Right now I'm taking a pain medication that practically knocks me out. This makes it difficult to blog, as I'm groggy, sometimes not even seeing the typing in front of me. Without the pain med. I would not be able to sit up.



Earlier I tried to type but fell asleep in the middle of it. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!



My family has a history of kidney failures, and cancer of the stomach, gal bladder, and pancreas; I'm a little scared. I wish I had more to write about but that's it for now. I'm in the "waiting" stage.


Changes: through a zimbio portal I met a man whom I shared interests with. He had another site of his own and I became a guest author. This carries a lot of responsibility... blogging on someone else site. I thought I did okay.


Next thing you know he gives me my own blog, and it proves to be a bit intimidating. Not to insult blogger, but this blog site is just more than I could imgine; yet here I am typing out my stuff on blogger because I feel safer. Does that make any sense to anyone? Can anyone explain why I feel this way? Alas with the change I'm in the "waiting" stage to see what I'll do.


It's as if only the "perfect" blogging stories or articles should go in the new site; meanwhile the lesser items can remain in blogger. Maybe this is all about having confidence in order to proceed. I'm waiting.

The Perfect End

The perfect end to every day

is watching children sleep

and though they hate to go away

the morning brings relief

Each child loves the silly games

and special gifts are given

the time will come we'll all complain

with children all's forgiven

So we should hold their light in close

and help them when they doubt

The lesson that each day will bring

Is: was it lit or out?

Waiting on One

This is the luckiest man when it comes to fly fishing! He invites us down to his place once in a while and gloats when nobody has caught anything. Gloats! That's definitely the word.

I stood out in that water and it was cool... I mean temperature cool, for two hours. I had to stay a little closer to the shore because I don't swim. Finally I could not take it anymore so I stumbled over to the bank and sat down.

Meanwhile he's a bit miffed because he only has nine fish and there's no limit on how many he can take. Score-wise I'm the closet to him, with an "almost turtle snatch" and two tangled branches. "Here," he says and places some fish in my basket, "hang on to these. I need more room."

In the next hour and a half he landed 16 more, to which he says, "Okay I think we have enough for the grill." It was like watching a spider throw webbing as he whip, whip, whipped, the line above our heads.

Maybe I could have sketched the fishes, painted them on canvas, written a poem about a wayward fish, but the best I could was sit there: waiting on one.

Our Lotus Life

Our life is like the lotus flower,
Each year is like a single hour.
The petals slowly open up,
And we are given breath to sup.

We float in water, waiting birth,
To share our beauty in the earth.
While in the womb, we often sing,
And pop out with our leaves of green.

The God, who sends us, is waiting there.

Who tells us to cast, on Him, our every care,
And with His will, we tarry long.
'Till we return where we belong.

We're given years to equal petals.
Our hearts grow up among the nettles.
But we survive to seize the day,
When we apply His loving way.

The years pass by and as we fade,
The lotus once so gently made,
Has traveled through the thick of night,
To arrive in kingdom's joyful light.

We realized we never left.
The lotus was a short sweet breath.
Instead we are the light of Him,
Whose pool of life we live within.

Our Shepherd bids His garden grown.
He gathers us about His throne.
Our petals shine, there's no more strife,
Because of His redeeming life.

Sweet Beulah Land

Faith is the oasis I walk toward, to eliminate the worldly exposure of, “why bother? I hear that two word statement too often. I know it because I, myself, have said it, felt it, and cried it into my pillow! Why bother!?

There was a voice that kept giving me an answer, but I wasn’t hearing it. In fact I was a bit concerned about hearing any voice, given today’s agenda of misfit humans. Then one day I stepped into what I call, “my prayer closet,” and politely asked this voice to “explain or leave me alone.”

Don’t change the channel because you think I’m a preacher! One song sung in peace and reverence of G-d means more than any 2,000 word power sermon! I am the way I am because I have chosen a road that leads to that faith oasis.

I am an avid reader of “The King James Bible, version 1611” without a copyright. That means that the company that translated the original voices or languages did not add or take anything away from the 1611 version. That’s what I read. Why bother? Because I really believe there’s a power that’s running everything… He is the beginning of time and the end of time. There are no coincidences… everything is planned out from the beginning. Keep living, “it” will prove “it” to you.

Back to the closet: I had been reading my KJV1611 and noticed a set of verses about having a “prayer closet.” I was reading Matthew 6:5-8:
Verse five talks about being humble, not loud and proud to impress people.
Verse six says to enter your closet, shut the door, make your prayer secret to Him and He will openly reward you.
Verse seven says you can keep it short without vain repetitions, much speaking, and
Verse eight tells you to avoid being proud and that your Father knows what things you need, before you ask him. (All paraphrased)

Okay, so why bother with this? Remember I’m walking towards that oasis where the faith is kept. I didn’t know that the oasis was the faith. That place, that spot that you come to and you feel really content with a higher power running everything. You are no longer taking on the big role of “gotta do this, that, etc.” You are clearing your heart and mind to remain in this faith oasis. Old-timers used to say: “Sweet Beulah Land.”


Sweet Beulah Land

I'm kind of homesick for a country,
To which I've never been before;
No sad goodbyes there will be spoken,
Oh time won't matter anymore.
Beulah Land I'm longing for you,
And someday on thee I'll stand;
There my home shall be eternal,
Beulah Land sweet Beulah Land.
Well I'm looking for a river,
Where my faith will end in sight;
There's just a few more days to labor,
Before I take my heavenly flight.
Beulah Land I'm longing for you,
And someday on thee I'll stand;
There my home shall be eternal,
Beulah Land sweet Beulah Land.

A moment to share...

I was straight from the city, she was country and lore
With peanuts around her, did she have any more?
I watched her intently as each nut she’d toss,
Just missed hitting closely, I counted my loss.

Engaged her in chatting to distract her aim
And hopefully fetch what I craved for my game.
Two nuts would appease me, lasting all night
And try to nab one at the first ray of light.

She whipped out a baggie and placed nuts inside.
Not trying to be nosy, but where would they hide?
The season for harvest had been in late summer
I’d traveled around in my awesome green hummer.

The darkness unfolded I slipped past her tree.
A voice spoke behind and said, “You’ll need these.”
The baggie was full of the best tasting nuts
Now every fall season we fill up our guts!

Seek to help: G-d says when you help feed someone
It is as if you are feeding Him. Thank you,

Fire and Water

I searched for an example of “fire and water” and this photo hit the spot. Purple is one of those colors found to be annoying or is soothing. Yellow is the very complimentary color of purple, being opposite purple, on the art color wheel. There are several tones of yellow which help balance the presentation of the photo. Finally we have the huge display of lightning which picks up more yellow at the water’s edge. Then suddenly we have this almost white space of lightning, where the electrical discharge from the ground, is climbing into the sky.

Look carefully at the lightning’s center. Layer upon layer of color builds toward to you:

· wonderful sapphire at the water and horizon edge reflecting the glow of the lightning against itself
· yellow and green from the dock’s lights cast shadows into the lightning
· Finally the whipping motion of the lightning delivers pale lavender, pink, pink-white, then yellow-white.

The water appears rather calm and maybe that’s the reason why the sky appears on fire. The water has used many other colors to aid in its covert action. It’s a minimum to observe the water’s movement in the channel. The lightning appears to be the focus. The fact that it’s raining over some spots is missed as well by the casual observer. Additionally the lightning is from behind the western landmass, but appears to be biblical in presentation; lightning is discharged from the ground. A small boat, red light shining, hurriedly streams across the channel.

What happened to California dreaming?

Sometimes I wonder if the whole world is burning.
I wonder why the excessive rain doesn't dump onto the excessive fire. Or send it to a drought tortured country?

Makes me ask the question: am I living right? No and that's the truth. Some things I get right but other things still trip me up. I don't see myself as a mentor to be imitated, yet I look at all of the kids in my family and think: what about them? Who will they follow if there are no nice people left on the planet?

For that matter what about the kids in Zimbabwe? How much were they negatively influenced by the "uproarious" election?

How tired and hurt are the children of Dar Fur? How lonely, hungry, feeling unloved, feeling abandoned by family, country, and worlds of plenty? I can only briefly imagine their broken, contrite hearts as those U.S. ships pulled away. To think of that one act of unkindness rips me to pieces!

G-d speaks about those with a broken and contrite heart. You might want to look some words up.

Then again remember that golden saying: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Just try. Keep trying. One spark becomes a roaring flame. Got any dreaming to do? No, then help someone else to reach theirs.
dcrelief

Is it an ill wind or peace

You've likely felt a wind of change
and can we know it's total range
We'll have to wait for it's unfurl
In this small place or in the world

We need to know a way to peace
That gives us strength to fight the beast
A beast that suffers our life rent
A peace to guide or ill wind spent

Let voices shout and join awhile
With no more tears, just heaven's smile
Repent, be free of desires wthin
Uplift in peace your sad ill winds.

http://dcrelief.blogspot.com guest

The past that shaped today

I'm reading a book that is classified "fiction," but often that's not the case. This is my second reading of it; once in 1993. The contents are clearer and more true that then.

I found it dead on for the amount of adrenaline, restlessness, and anxiety I've had... for the last five years. It increases exponentially when I'm upset or worried. I don't know how to explain it.

At the same time I can become calm, like a sea foam skirting my skin as I lay somewhere on a beach. My mind becomes soothed by sunsets and sunrises; something about the pinks, yellows, and golds. There was one picture with a blue sky and strong white flash that sat me down for a long rest one afternoon. And all of these things are in this book. Not the same photos and paintings, but the evoking of the same moods.

Coincidences follow me like a bird in flight, encircling my life and I think to shrug them off. Only later do the strange coincidences occur... actually occur in my real life!

Right now I'm in a chapter that says I have to look at the thoughts and feelings of the millenium before our modern one. Looking to the past will help me know the general thinking of that generation... as they shaped the going forth of this one. It's a fascinating read. Be looking fo part two.


http://dcrelief/blogspot.com

A Rock Cairn Story: Fiction

I do not have any current stories on people using a rock cairn to guide them, so I have created one from my mind. Enjoy!

In 147 A.D. a small group of nomadic people moved across a great plane of harsh landscape. There were no trees; no grass; only dust and a dusty trail could be seen from my mountain top. I waited to welcome them. Toward the sunset they came and immediately rested at the small but deep well.

I was a scribe, a keeper of words, for my own people. I was amazed that they looked so much like my own people. Later by my small fire I would write, “How many people did God make?” Answer: He only made two complete people. So these people must be part of those same two people. I remained by the fire with some guards while these welcomed people were still climbing the rocks to safety for the night.

High in the sky was a full moon, and in the light I could see the cairn: strong, showing the way to our mountain pass. But it was tricky; you could not face it and find the pass. As scribe it is forbidden for me to share more, as those coming here must be hidden and protected. It is our duty and kindness to the maker of people.

The morning would come soon enough and I would like conversing with the leader of the people. His white robe has threads of blue and gold; is he a royal line? He commands his guard to remain off of the sacred mountain. They listen and enclose it as if a cherub has covered us all. It is said of old times that this mountain belongs to the maker of men. My royal guest says that all mountains and all lands belong to the maker as well; man has chosen to forget and that is folly. The maker will reclaim the earth and the meek shall inherit!

Just as the angels suffered the flood, the man shall have his suffering; then the maker will have His family of children to go forth. They will be His for all time; showing forth His creation, His G-d filled creation. The rock cairn will show the way. The end.

http://dcreliefblogspot.com guest

Out of One, Many

I enjoy the summer, and getting out in the yard to weed the stuff that grows the best. By far the easiest plant I deal with it this "Rose of Sharon." And at summer's end there are at least seven plants that have rooted from the main bush. So I transplant them all over the yard. They're all the same purple-pink color but that's all good. So you could say: out of one, many.

Hey, doesn't that phrase sound familiar? Like it's written on our money? I'm not even sure what that's about, but let me share something I recently read about. It will amaze some of you. Others will have already known, and, OH! the problem with trying to share new items of research.

I was playing on the Internet and typed in the following question: "where do white people come from?" Okay for those of you who just dropped your jaws, please pick them up because the answer is going to be important for you to remember... and you may need your jaw to drop again!

There were a great many websites sighted, so I went to the first one and jumped in. He was thorough and explained the DNA testing that accompanied the entire study which concluded: "Technically there is no such thing as 'white' people." He and his group have completely traced all "race" around the globe!"

I know you're not going to believe me so you go type the question in and read away. They'll tell you all about the sunshine you need, or too much of it; vitamin D and it's addition to foods.

I finally got tired of reading the exact same information from ten websites; all different professors, doctors, historians, archaeologists, paleontologists and ministers, priests, etc. There is no race; there is the creation of man KIND and WO-man KIND.

This is the same thing I was taught as a child, so where did these facts go? Further, I was told that as the creature MANKIND moved over the earth that DNA, reacting to various environments, created the various color differences. Melanin...skin pigmentation adaptations. Environmental influence on the DNA transferred from Mother to daughter.

Quite a shocker for those looking for their skin color to build your platform, base your life on, or be considered "better off". Some of you may even cry because your insensitivity regarding dangerous situations for people of color deserves redress.

Of course there's the off-chance that I have offended somebody. I hope so! $620 Billion dollars to build "star wars" and it does NOT work. (Rolling Stone May edition). Dar fur is dying.

http://dcreliefblogspot.com guest

A Sea with Life

A sea with life on every shore
So many rules that gut the core
The people bleed, their dreams seem lost
We make them pay with all the costs

Some die daily, others slowly die
I evoke one question: “could that be I?”
What rules prevent world tragedy?
While other rules give pageantry?

Could I be one who causes hate?
While choosing one I celebrate?
Please let the time be right I pray
Stand with one with changing way

We’re not all right, we’re not all wrong
Yet what we need is growing strong:
We need our studies to exercise care
Remove all blindness to do what is fair.

I’m sick that even God’s own rules;
Are trampled on by dogs with drool
Now I leave but know my heart
Is standing with the brand new start.

http://dcreliefblogspot.com guest

Who's handling world trade now?

Are we going to find out, via a document leak in twenty years the "proof" that this was an insider deal? And just how sweet was the deal?

I believe we already know but it's painful to think that we were scammed... so we don't think about it. We don't talk about it. We're scared of it and the people responsibile for it.

Part of security is taking notes, talking with people, collecting data and evidence; to set up the case which is to come. How fast did that metal move, having been sold, to China? Don't worry, we're going to the Olympics!

I listened to a tape recording made inside of the stairwell; the firemen are trying to get back down to the ground but all these incendiary devices are going off at every level. The tape wasn't hidden and can still be heard today, but not in a court of law, will it?

Meanwhile I'm wondering if this can be done and hidden in plain sight: who's handling world trade now?

The "Graceful" Gift

Silly nieces that give me the strangest but deserving gifts... like this one. Each niece picked a color for the bouquet and it really looked nice. On the card, I laughed as I read: "To Aunt D with love: the graceful gift."

Now you might think this is about my graceful poems, my graceful art, whatever, but these five sent a message of sheer delight, mimicking my graceful walk. So funny and out of the mouths of babes!

Fibromyalgia is an issue for me and has caused me to walk into walls, door jams, even closed doors; there's no discrimination!So it was a family gathering where the girls hanging out in the kitchen, when I walked into a BEAM in the great room. Standing alone, everyone could SEE IT... even I could see it. But I could not walk past it without walking into it. The story of my life: why miss it when you can muff it?

Later I wanted to photograph it but no one wanted me to stand in the chair to hold the camera, hmm, wonder why?

Giving

Today it's easier for me to give. Why? Because I've needed so much over the last twelve years and people have "been there" for me.

There was a time when the only thing that helped me was a trip to the coast; something about the sea and salt improved my life. But my husband did not love the coast but said he'd go for the golf at the Outer Banks. So OBX it was!

I like the sand and sitting out: hot, warm, cold days... whatever. I want the breeze to surround me, the salt spray to splash me and sand like silk between my toes!

So he got the golf cart, I got the blanket, and somewhere mid-afternoon we'd connect.

He's the most giving person I know; has stood by through some horrendous stuff, and sometimes I can't remember our marriage ten years ago. I get a bit lost and though it's not Alzheimer's it scares me just the same.

So if you read something and it sounds really strange... don't worry.. I am strange. It's perfectly normal. LOL

Living Cairns

A friend of mine is "gathering rocks for his cairn? I wondered what he was talking about.

There are several in this photo and long before I knew what they were called or what they were, I'd hiked the area. I remember thinking: maybe someone is gathering rocks to build a house! I could already visualize a stone chimney. Yes, I wanted to “gather rocks for my fireplace!"

Cairns can be found all over the world. They are used as grave markers, markers for the sun's solstices, mark paths to take, and maybe a shortcut to the local pond.
But my friend's story was to build a cairn of people; gathering people to work together in harmonious spirit.

The KJV 1611 version 'says that man does not know the way to peace.'

If we know peace then why has any war ever occurred involving my nation: America? We do not know it!

I'd better get back to gathering my rocks. I hope my friend is having some success with his. Caring people as living cairns showing the way to peace.

One slightly used Rose

One slightly used rose, she wrote in her ad,
And terribly meek, she wanted to add
But deep down inside, she wasn’t that meek
Just troubling and bubbling with flush on her cheek

The years have been fair and this is no lair,
It is only I, with time meant to share.
I’m soft but I’m rough with a life that’s been tough
I long for life’s fullness that begs ‘say enough’

The petals are going I feel them curl up
But I’ll have another enjoy my last sup
So please do not fear to wander in here
For the rose you would hold is wise and is dear.

An Oregon Sunset

Sometimes the sight of a place carries me to it, dragging me like a mouse across my computer pad! Graciously dropping me into the wet sand where I long to walk.

I can feel wetness of the sand between my toes; not too much as the sand becomes impacted, but dried in spots where the tide pulls away from the rocky shore.

Closer now I feel the mist and then wisps of the stronger water, against my face and body, washing in; a baptism in pure salt water!

My eyes are amazed at the combination of golds, oranges, blues, chocolates, and a subtle shadow of black on the inside of larger rock formations. And the sand in it's blandness mirrors the beauty of it all.

What a glorious surprise ending: the sun peeks through to say goodnight. He is yellow, a color for perfect breathing, orange for humanity, and only the sun knows how long he's been peeking through this formation. I cannot imagine it without him.

The Pelicans

There were eighteen flying
in a single row like a huge train across the skies...

dipping, swaying, hugging the coast.

Dolphins were churning the waves and a school of fish were trapped...

they all were fed.

I jumped to my feet, applauding their perfomance of grandeur...
but the sea roared a larger approval...

The first one to go

I wanted again. I wanted again. Within three months... I wanted again!

At least this one helped me de-focus on the main one.

My friend says, "you might as well obssess over 5-6, as much good as for one!"

So I have a plan. Out with the old, in with my new.

Always be the first one to go.

A place to belong

A place to belong...

tis heaven's song

When asked to go

make sure you know

That in your haste

you leave no waste

and love abides in every space.

The Fields of Kandahar

The old man walked; not in a feeble way
To pluck the plants that must be shipped today.

He hates the act that they’ll be sold
To greedy men who think they’re gold.

The stems so green to reach the sky
He’ll cut in half and half will die.

But oh the pain left to the flowers
Their petals crushed for many hours.

The old man’s tears stream down his face.
What G-d gives us they’ve laid to waste?

I say no ill for G-d is judge
Please let me live without a grudge.

Give me strength to use the calm
And voice to sing your every Psalm.


“The Fields of Kanadhar”
Afghanistan 2002

A Lone Healing

A small place, a lone space
my prayers do I say.

Then seagulls come join me
we rush to our play.

The sun arrives glowing
and gentle winds rise.

I stand on my on,
yet learn from the wise.

Do not take too much
do not leave here cold.

Embers now glowing
will pepper your soul.

Return every time
your heart becomes wet.

And find the lone space
that heals your regret.


(poem: dcrelief
painting:flicker-sharing
Ron Niebrugge)

In a world of peace

In a world of peace I want friendship, with lots of big rocks to climb on.

In a world of peace I want a tongue

that speaks kindness.

In a world of peace I want water

to swim and splash in.

In a world of peace oh how I want to

sing and share voices.

In a world of peace to live in God

would soothe my soul.

Jabba the Frog: A Tale of Reality

Jabba the Frog tells a tale of reality:

Okay kid, I’m going to give it to you straight. I’m going to give you the bigger than life clues “why” you feel so__________ (fill in the blank) on any given day.

You are a self-propelled blogger… accomplishing feats of fun and frolic or either the heavy nasty stuff. Just remember that the fun and frolic sell faster. Throw some fantasy into the mix and maybe they’ll toss you back a kudo.

Expose a little leg while you’re sitting there banging them black keys and feel it… really feel it. Uh, whatever it is, but don’t ask former Prez Clinton: “Define “is”… remember that? We sat back and laughed ourselves silly as the prosecuting panel dropped their jaws.

{“Yes! That was a powerful hit as we watch the ball go up, up, and my god it’s out of the park!”} Just a little more leg please.

With all of the self-propelling you’ll want to be challenged or paid attention to, but try not to let the pitfalls take you out. Write about some good stuff. Give something that someone might actually LIKE to read. That morbidity kick you got on is dulling my space. It’s a major downer, and you’d be better off writing about breasts.

Have some fun. Be curious. Be mysterious. Everybody else is… why not? Toss your name… in fact, erase it… in your case it only gets in the way because you think everybody else should play your way; puh-lease. You are not the Zim… get a grip on yourself and stop being so crazy.

#2 Love… in spite of feelings that pass… in spite of thoughts that get lost… in spite of actions regretted… try to love others as you would have them love you. You are free. Enjoy that.

Dawn's Dock

I search for calmness in my soul. The need I have for dawn’s gold glow. And why do I not stop and ask: Can someone show me a place of rest? Pastel hues I love to see; whispering clouds to carry me. Bowed palm trees that lazily hang and I would climb their trunks. Pearly sand beneath my feet, with swooping gulls that skim the sea. The foam is cool and I wade in and hear their cries above. No one near I walk the dock and in my strength I ponder stock of what I’ll be when I arrive, to take the morning’s usual dive. A lonely porpoise swims nearby and I can here his lonely sigh, in answer to my life’s deep need, the calm I would possess. His fin is slippery; I hold on and travel to the sun. Once there I loosen my last grip, his duty has been done. My farewell is no secret, the restful calm is come.
http://dcrelief.blogspot.com/

I am a writer

I am a writer; blogs are just a place to lay my words, or your preference: places to blog my words. As in blah, blah, blah, or blog, blog, blog, a matter of preference or is it?

Stumbled I did, and before I knew that ‘stumbled” had its own meaning, into Zimbio I fell. I saw it as finding a place to hide my reality in a slather of words that actually told who I was. I’m not used to hiding, keeping secrets and there are those who probably think I’m dangerous because of my innocent outlook. I stumbled, and continue to do so because my ignorance of the ugliness of blogging.

Talent, who has talent? I am a writer of every thing in my heart, in my gut, in my head, buzzing around my being, and quite a large quantity of electrical stimulation that propels me forward! This is my fourth step; I’ll give a brief on the first three steps.

Do you know what it is like to lose your mind? Forget “going crazy” coupled with institutional jargon… I’m talking about the use of prescription drugs that literally renders one incapable of thinking or feeling. Think zombie. In 2000 a brother gave me a small computer where he’d loaded card games; just card games. He told me to focus on playing cards to regain my mind. I hated playing cards all of my life, but suddenly it was so easy to sit down and toss them around. My favorite thing was to watch them all flip about whenever I’d win a game. Amazing huh? By the end of 2001 I was off of all “wrongfully diagnosed, clinical depression” prescriptions and on the way to hell, having left the sides of the black pit. I crawled out fearing I would slide back down for the longest time.

In hell I took up pencil doodling, taking notes from web sites that were interesting and thought I might actually do full sketches again. Lo and behold I wrote a story with pencil drawings for a four year niece. Four years of stories for nieces and nephews and step two was done; the year 2004.

Because I like to draw so quickly I decided to go back to painting (from years and years ago); bought some canvas, paints, and step three got moving and is still taking me places I’d thought I’d never see.

Step four is tough; technology being where it is and my lagging in knowledge… often threatens to run me off. But I am a writer and even if paper is my only tool then utilization of it will still be mine. I will lay my words down; I will to give expression to every thing that has, is, and possibly will, haunt me, love me, keep me, kill me, because I am a writer.




Note: I often add photos or paintings with my writings; they are a key to what I feel or experience.
I have added the photo titled, “Glen of the Downs” in Wicklow, Scotland. There are ruins of a very old site; so am I. I step into the photo from the open side and can view the downs through arches. I think of the portals described on the internet and how each beckons me to follow. My insatiable curiosity is my own snare. . . I must follow. I must write.

The Net

I came here to play but the nets in the way
So I’ll have to go back to my life
A day of tomorrows is always the promise
Which only abounds in more strife?

The coaster looks ready and I’m feeling heady
Just crank up the thing and let’s ride
Still the net it surrounds and my shoulders are lowered
My heart is all broken inside

When did I stop playing?
When did tears become my all?
What was I thinking?
Living is painful behind this wall

I still want to play I must fine a new way
To have life and be wonderfully bliss
A day of tomorrows is always the promise
Please seal with a hug and a kiss

My long gown is flimsy and I feel such whimsy
The scissors I have are quite sharp
I snip and I rip and I take down the net
As I joyfully speak to my heart

Summer

In summer I like to work in the yard;
Humidity makes my gardening so hard.
The weeds have to go and under duress;
I fight for the flowers between lots of rests.

Then early one morning I felt oh-so lively;
The weeding went well until I saw poison ivy.
My two-hour spree of cool morning work,
Had ruined my life, I felt like a jerk.

The weeds were all waving as I left the bed,
With two guys who carted me off, and I said:
“I’m coming back soon… don’t think that I’m done,
And I will be toting my ortho weed gun!”

Reason to Play

When you know what you know, and that you know it… do you share it?
It’s easier when I prepare myself for adverse reactions. It might be more difficult when someone wants to “praise” my being; I am just not that important today. There should be many who can accomplish what I do. What do I do? I write. Simple, nothing requiring even a high school certificate. Why? Because my fist love are the children who ask questions. Show me a child that asks a question and I will show you a brave soul; one who has not been brain-washed into thinking that all answers have been received. One who has not been so threatened that she’ll cry or be silenced by force; and yet it is her very silence at times, that conveys her anticipation of your answer. Does this child want truth no matter what the cost?

In the U.S. of America our children know we lie to them. Their little cell phones text “the real” answer in seconds and we are convicted of withholding vital information. Never mind that the text message was also a lie… they received an answer and that was their goal. Children’s needs are really more simplistic; various adults have told them or introduced them to “multiple-guess” solutions. My personal fave: “multiple purchase” choice; forget they do not have the power to buy it all… it’s enough that someone says, “You can have it all. We call it “A secret.”

Note: Speaking of this law of attraction issue: do you think its okay… that if you want all of the children in the world at your disposal, then you should dream them into your existence and hold them hostage as they arrive? Let’s call it “the pedophile farm.” Okay so you work hard visualizing swimming pools, swing sets, slip and slide, and all THAT fun you plan for the children. Don’t forget the nice big house on the ranch-land with horses out the ying-yang.

Note: Let’s look at the flipside: they’re you’re kids and you’ve raised them to be pure and loving. Someone made a prank call and said they were attacked and instead of the authorities (not the local boyz and there’s a reason somewhere behind it) sent the “upper authorities” (DC’s finest agents of order and mayhem), to take the kids… not the accused, out of the home. (Excuse me a second here… I’ve got a text message………………. oh my niece… just wanting to ask if this was “normal” procedure… no but then again… welcome to 2008!)

My niece says she doesn’t want to go to church anymore. All the kids would be in one place and the “bad guys” could scoop them up and take them away. She has just called the moral agents of the U.S. of A bad guys; and she’s adamant. And though I see both sides I’m glad she’s questioning this behavior. I’ve suggested a family contingency plan to counter future anomalies, where possible. As the old green witch in “the Wizard of Oz” stated, “these things must be handled delicately…you see?” referring to the tazer power of the red shoes, now worn by Dorothy! Get rid of the power, capture the child.

I hate to think “Elitist,” because truly that could cover something more important than rich persons using the lives of others to enhance their own existence. It’s a rabbit hole without visible end to many of us. And yet the meek shall inherit the earth. If you have a meek meter, I would be very interested to know who falls into that group. Additionally because one becomes rich… is that justification for exclusion to inherit? We are so not over ourselves and petty issues we push by enacting an overkill of inappropriate policies.

Much like the wordiness of this article; I speak and speak, bang da board, and wonder if I’m only reciting my lot. Do I still feel it? Do I end another day asking… is this not the brightest sunset I’ve seen all year? But where is that dark band coming from; the one at the bottom edge of every dawn and plays all day.

Plethora

Plethora! I love the word and the way it rolls off the tongue. Plethora.

I love the way it vaguely describes my mood when I travel.

Everything must go: my clothes, my shoes, my, under hirelings (ha), my jewels, my hair ribbons, my perfume, my soaps, my political satire, my political playmates, my political enemies, and my very important documents. Strictly plethora.

If only I could learn to pare down and take less, but why? There's no harm in moving one's entire possessions with one's faculties trailing in the breeze. Plethora!

Lots of stories, mega poems, sonnets, haiku for you, and blog spots for me. Articles of faith, articles to anger, remind them of the danger, nailing it like a stranger, after lying in a manger, and did I mention jokes?

Lots of insider tips to make you money, make one funny, be all that you can be... that's me... a wandering spirit, looking for passion that's over when the night is. Plethora.

My final leg of journey takes me across the seas, and I languish on beaches with lots of toy buckets and shovels; lots of very small people, charming individuals, always smiling, mostly giggling until the air ships approach. Running little people finding bigger people who place them in cages and send them off. I offer my plethora but they'll have none of it. Plethora?

I walked into the water watching as the gun ships and little people left. All around me adults are moaning and groaning in horror. One by one the little people are thrown from the air ships. There is no way to get to them in time to keep them from drowning. Who is the ghastly beast that takes them yet doesn't use them. They would have offered many years in servitude. Just as well I suppose and I stayed down in the water. Generous waves kept me down and I stripped off my clothes, my hair ribbon, my under hirelings, and my jewels: I will be their nanny under the sea. That's why I came. That's how I'll go... with my things. Plethora.

Zee Blogger

One time I found zee blogger
He throw me to the ground
“you must write some fancy words
Or you must leave this town”

I write a simple poem
Mine tail is on the line
But he don like my poem
And tell me it don rhyme.

He wanta thing that really speaks
And tells the world some news
He want all that and he don wanta
Buy me fancy shoes?

I walk a lot in city streets
My feets they hurt so bad
I never gonna write for him
He gonna be so sad.

Today he come for writing
The one I have is sweet
It talk about the homeless life
And how this guys a geek.

He loves the thing I wrote
He’ll add it to his blog
Zee only other copy
got eaten by my dog.

The Sound of Surf

The sound of surf
And rolling sea;
The sigh of you,
The breath of me…

The lunging aches
Start deep inside;
My love yet quakes,
I slip and slide…

Fingers play in tingling foam,
Caressing every naked part;
To a world as yet unknown,
I’ve come to share my heart…

I give you, I give you, I give you my breath.
You give me, you give me, you give me your sea;
I give up, I give up, I give up in death,
You take me, you take me, you take me, I’m free.

The sound of surf
And rolling sea;
My love has come,
And taken me.

The lunging aches are fully gone
I have to pain at all;
Your sighs become a wondrous song,
My breath becomes your rale.

(Photo: unknown)

Walking Alone

It's good to get out on my own, and just contemplate the things that comprise my life and lifestyle. Am I happy? Is there a problem that needs love applied to dissolve it? Because for me, love becomes the basic answer to unblock my seeing a solution, no matter what the issue is.

I was surprised to learn that the more I hated a problem, the bigger it got. The more anger I felt the darker the clothes I wore. Don't ask why, maybe I felt like I was headed down a rabbit hole and wanted to stay hidden... from what... rabbits?

Change is not an easy thing, for everything, that comes my way. Sometimes I can lick a problem like licking a stamp and the rest of the week is peaceful and calm. But along comes that "blue moon" and I'm standing on the volcanic threshold I call my brain... and I don't like my attitude. Maybe it's time for a decision so I take a walk.

Neither rain, sleet, snow, or hail, stops me; I must take the walk. My mind begins to work those eyes and I look around and see how other people are living. Mrs. H is working late again; bless her heart she's at it every day. L.K. is mowing the lawn for the second time this week; wonder if she's addicted to grass smell? Mr. J. is staring out the picture window and so are his two dogs and three cats. One of his dogs has to be put to sleep this month; eighty years old with arthritis, poor dog... poor Mr. J.

I gain a bit more perspective on how small my world can be when I'm willing to acknowledge their small worlds... and get out of my attitude and open my arms to others. And sometimes I make this the hardest thing to do. I want to be miserable and cry and whine and have my moment of pity and then berate myself for being self-centered. And when my childish tantrum is done, I'm halfway home. Literally my walk is almost over.

With Fibromyalgia I get these major rushes of adrenaline going. If affects me cognitively... in short, I lose my linear perspective and "go straight to plaid." I'm what's known as a "pop-corn" brain, my thinking is often sporadic... and jumps around a bit. I fear I need an editor! I mention this because for me it is important to slow the rushes first and the walking gives me relief... and I'm all about relief.

The picture with this article is one of the most soothing photos to date. My clothes match the background and I blend in. That's where I want to be at the end of every walk. I want to blend in, be calm, be alert, but finesse it. Nine out of ten times the answer hits me before I hit the door. It just works for me.

But what about that tenth out of ten times? That's when I stop and talk to all of my neighbors along the way. I ask my higher power to let one of them share something that would help me. I don't come out and ask them about my problem; I simply listen to them talk about their day to day living. You'd be surprised how many times I've received the answer in this manner.

Prayer, meditation, exercise, sun or moon watching... these things work well... but there is nothing like a spirit-filled human touch on my life. It envelopes me, encourages me, and causes me to want to reciprocate in kind. But I'm not talking about the soul-mate or the lover; I'm suggesting you use your own potential and energy to think for yourself. Allow others to enter your thinking space, but bottom line baby, take the walk! Love them and be grateful that they have ideas to share, but the walk is for your benefit... to hear your thoughts, to hear your dreams, to put those dreams in front of you just as a projector would ... and see them... really see them. Love them. Love walking alone.