Effing Ripoff

Some of you may have felt cheated when you read the title Silence Is Juicy and instead of getting some sweet tidbit of gossip or mystery you got a poem about a pear.

Do you think that is false advertising?

I’m not sure what I think. It’s fun to make up snappy titles for these posts. And you know words are some of my favorite things. I like them more than whiskers on mittens.

But I’m beginning to feel like I’ve had too much cotton candy at the fair and too many pickles and corndogs too.

I’m hungry for simple.

But will you read what I write if it doesn’t catch your attention?

I guess that is not up to me.

I want you to.

More than anything I wish I could make you a cup of tea and adjust the sun to shine on you just right so you could read to your heart’s content. And when you finish the last word I’d be happy if you felt like the universe winked at you or gave you a hug.

But I don’t want to trick you into that space with a hook title.

So I promise not to do that on purpose. But I can’t help it if the stuff turns out funny sometimes. Words are just like that.

Silence Is Juicy

I wonder if I could write less and say more, or say less because what I say holds more meaning.

Sometimes I just like to play with words, mold them and mix item all up like wet clay to see what kind of pottery it all has in it.

But this time of year I crave more silence. Not complete silence, obviously, but more than usual. I crave something more like a poem and less like an essay.

To see a plowed field,

Or the fruit tree by the gate:

One brown leaf, one pear.

 

Oh The Blog Posts, They Are A Changin’

I am an inexperienced, wishy-washy water sign and I am noticing that I can’t stop myself from posting new stuff as soon as I think I should put it out there. But then I realize it’s crap and I have to go back and change it. Again. And again.

So what I am wondering is this: if you read a post and then I update it, do you get a notification that I have updated or are you left with the last sorry version in your memory to haunt you forever?

Could you let me know, please? I am trying to learn enough self-control to only post after I have gone over the writing a zillion and three times, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.

If My Anguish Had a Sound

Please listen to the video after the anguish because this is what happened: I let myself feel the anguish. I shared it so that others would not feel alone. And this afternoon, I received the message of such peace and comfort I posted it after my own video.

 

Here is a text version of the story:

https://asingingtree.com/2018/08/18/if-my-anguish-had-a-sound/

 

 

 

Hog Wild!

My son and daughter-in-law in Dallas just got a pig named Paubla. Apparently, she makes them very, very happy. So I had to include her in my manifesto.

My Spirit Guide, Horse Lady told me to paint a poster to remind myself of the things I need to do to stay focused…at least I think that was my assignment. To be completely honest, when she asked me if I remembered the poster, I didn’t lie; I said “Yes.” That was true. I just couldn’t remember what the poster was supposed to have on it. Therefore, I made one with what I think it should be on it. A Manifesto.

So here is my mission statement.

Gonna sleep like a rock, rise like the morning star, work like a dog, pray like Baba Ram Dass, gonna love and meditate, gonna just be me, gonna live to serve till every one of us is free, gonna laugh and dance and play and sing, and like a happy little child, every once in a while I’m gonna go hog wild! Hog wild.

Let me clarify a couple of points.  When I say work like a dog, I am saying that work is good. working dogs are happy dogs. They like to have a job and do it well. So that is what I mean by that. And when I say pray like Baba Ram Dass, well, I aspire to be like him, to learn from him as much as I possibly can and to pray all day, from my heart, the way he does. And to go hog wild? I think we need order, but as Alan Whitehead emphasizes, “Not too much order.”

Walking Home

I love walking home with you.

Every day I see something new.

Looking into your eyes

when you’re wondering why

Buttercups dance in the sun

like they do,

I see inspired, unanswered questions,

Bloom one by one, into your truth,

Into your love, into your faith.

My world is blessed by your grace.

The whole world is blessed by your grace.