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Nothing is wrong for long! There is a Rhythm that prevails.
From whence the Rhythm came is the source of many tales.
It makes a tree a tree! It makes a sound a song.
It lets me feel the balance so that nothing is ever wrong... for long.
Walking is falling... first left and then right.
Nothing is stable. Even day becomes night.
Sometimes I'm off tune. Sometimes I'm a song.
If I can sense the Rhythm, nothing is ever wrong... for long.
I don't sleep once and stay rested. I don't eat once and stay full.
Constant pleasure would have no value. Constant pain would soon be dull.
We strive to an extreme and fight change at every turn,
but adversity is our teacher and only change will let us learn.
If I swing in tune with Rhythm, I swing high as any steeple.
If my swing doesn't move at all then it's just a perch for people.
When the pendulum is stable and the bells no longer chime...
It only means the clock doesn't tick... it's not the end of time !
By: Greyspirit
Certainly, I am not totally responsible for all the problems in my life... but I am totally responsible for countering those problems.
Who caused my problem is less significant than who will resolve my problem. I could pursue, litigate, admonish and punish a transgressor but that does nothing to prevent future transgressions. You may have noticed the law does not successfully control anyone's behavior, it merely makes some behaviors require more anonymity.
If I have more tempting possessions than I can protect, thieves will be attracted. If I am victimized, I am assured that every effort will be made to apprehend and seek punitive measures against the perpetrator, for all the good that does me. Stolen possessions are not often recovered.
If someone lies to me, it is my fault for believing them. I usually know what to expect from my acquaintances, and expecting more than they are known to provide would be my mistake. Parents, teachers and even preachers will tell you what they sincerely believe, but that doesn't make it true, even though they might not intend to prevaricate on purpose.
If I am killed by an intruder or aggressor, I am assured that every effort will be made to apprehend and seek punitive measures against someone, but murder victims seldom recover. I think it is more prudent to focus on not being a victim in the first place.
I believe that you believe what you say and are willing to stake everything on the truth as you know it. Honorable people will tell you untruths, though, if they sincerely believe it themselves.
If there is a crack in my crust, it is only my “fault” and only I can heal it.
If I blame you for my hurt, I have given away my healing.
Where does blame lie... It lies to me!
By Greyspirit
Something powerful watches over and protects me in love and caring. What that is depends on who you talk to and what they believe. I call that Force, My Guides, because there is more to Them than my mind can assign to one entity.
My Guides give me answers I need to protect my existence and maintain my direction. I asked for guidance for a dear friend… and was told “That is not Our job, it does not threaten your existence.”
“My existence is moot without purpose…” I replied, “What am I doing here?”
“You have chosen to be a Stormchaser chasing other humans storms while fleeing from your own. You seek out emotional danger for physical stimulation and try to make it moral for spiritual gratification. We are not concerned. Your pain is merely mental, your existence has no immediate threat, your efforts are noted even if they are unsuccessful… you will abide.”
“Your friends spirits are like a placid lake with a high speed watercraft race continuously in progress. You can watch the race and feel the excitement… as it drains you... or you can focus your effort to try to halt the race within and calm the waters… as it drains you.”
“We give you peace and you long for challenge. We provide solitude and you long for company. We give you protection and you long for danger. We offer you love and you feel a need to find it on your own… you are a currency in the Multiverse, but you are free to spend yourself as you choose.”
“We can’t guide your friends, they have their own guides… and, like you, they ignore them most of the time. You cannot point their way, you can only help them find their own relationship with The All, their own guides… if they trust you.”
“We cannot comment on others fate, we can only protect your existence, not theirs. We cannot protect your emotions… your own lake has its own turmoil.”
“It is all good! You will learn to be a productive spirit by learning to become a valuable human… or not.”
“Success is not always recognized.”
By GreySpirit
While riding my bicycle one day… I felt a wobble…
I fumed a fount of expletives and invectives and blamed everything from God to groundhogs for my plight.
Fortunately, I knew a wise man with a wrench… and soon my bike was wobble free and fun again.
Mr. Bikewrench made me realize that it was actually some of the questionable decisions I had made that caused the problem.
I sheepishly admitted I had ignored some of the laws of God, namely gravity, and some of the laws of groundhogs, namely don’t hit their holes.
The resulting imbalance turned out to be my fault.
While riding my car one day… I felt a wobble…
I fumed a fount of expletives and invectives and blamed everything from God to the Highway Pothole Department.
Fortunately, I knew a wise man with a wrench… and several dollars later my car was wobble free and fun again.
Mr. Carwrench made me realize that it was actually some my own questionable decisions that had caused the problem.
I sheepishly admitted I had ignored some of the laws of God, namely inertia, and some of the laws of the Highway Department, namely don’t hit their holes.
The resulting imbalance turned out to be my fault.
It occurred to me that every time I felt a wobble… it signaled an imbalance… and was usually due to something I did wrong… or did not do right … or did not do at all. I’ve had to rescind all my curses because I have been the one causing the imbalance all along.
While riding my life one day… I felt a wobble…
By Grey
I have known about The All almost all my life.
There was me… and there was all that was not me.
There was all I could see… and all I could not see.
There was all I could be… and all I could not be.
There was all I could understand… and all I could never understand.
There was all I could ever imagine… and all I could never imagine.
But that was still not All …
Many have said God is All… and each describes their All to me.
I know each All of theirs might be… but none of their Alls agree…
And none The All that occurs to me.
Describing is defining limits…
The All has no limits… thus cannot be defined.
All is all you know all to be… and all that you do not.
All includes all that’s pleasant and beautiful… and all that’s not…
All includes all that’s desirable and enjoyable… and all that’s not…
And that’s not All …
I discovered it is not just what I can be…
I discovered there is nothing that is not me or thee…
I am not All but All is all of we.
By: GreySprit
The battlefield lay behind me. I rested against the high rock wall and watched the melee of rage and fear that boiled across the meadows.
I heard a sweet sound… and through a small gap in the wall, I saw a beautiful orchard. The trees were fruited and songbirds warbled through the wood.
A rifleball ricocheted off the wall and struck my armor. It had lost it’s energy and merely cause the steel to clang and vibrate. An explosion nearby toppled me and shrapnel struck hard enough to dent my visor and gauntlets. Again, my armor had protected me.
The gap in the wall was inviting… and I scrambled frantically toward it. My armor stuck in the crack and I was unable to move forward. I wiggled backward enough to doff my helmet and drink in the smell of life on the far side of the wall. I shuddered to recall the smell on the battlefield.
I rolled back and leaned against the rocks. The hole was too small for a warrior in full armor. The battle had dissolved into small groups that would fight until nothing lived within the walls of the field. There would be no victory for either side today.
There was a rhythm to the war that bode certain death… and life was through the hole too small for my armor.
Could I be brave enough to remove my armor in the midst of the battle… or would I hide inside it until the end ?
By Grey Spirit
The rickety steps trembled as I swung open the back door of the dilapidated farmhouse.
There was no warning! The chunk of two-by-four appeared out of nowhere and split my chin. It was not the first time the old farmhouse had attacked me.
Once a proud weekend retreat for the family, the house and owners had fallen on unfortunate times… and some parts had fallen farther than the rest. I watched the front porch mysteriously collapse one day. When I came to, I was part of the rubble.
I had been trying to remove the deteriorated parts to see how much structure, if any, could be saved. The house seemed to resent my interest in it.
It had long ago been the home of Aunt Belle, an old wise woman reputed to have a fortune buried on her property. Someone had suggested Aunt Belle thought I was demolishing her home… and she had hit me with a board a couple times to make me stop.
They suggested I should have a conversation with Aunt Belle to make my intentions clear. I might possibly even enlist her help in saving the old edifice.
The moon was full the night I crept into the spooky farmhouse in the middle of the night to beseech Aunt Belle. I told her that if she would guide me to some of her buried treasure… I would either restore her home or make sure she always had a home, even if I had to let her share mine.
The next day I was impelled, for no particular reason, to dig in a spot I had not dug before. I had begun to wonder if it was Aunt Belle guiding me when my shovel touched something solid in the soft earth.
In an obscure corner of my home, there is an antique bottle with some of the original earth from the farm still inside. It occasionally also houses feathers from some special birds.
I couldn’t save Aunt Belle’s home… but the bottle reminds me she lives with me forever.
I haven’t had the bottle appraised. It doesn’t matter if it is a valuable antique… the memory it contains now is already priceless.
If it is worthless, so will be my story… so I don’t want to know!
I am an artist.
My art manifests in many ways… indeed, in everything I do… but it is Performing Arts that earn my living. I bring a character to life and get rewarded for it.
Earlier I learned some of the things I did were endearing… and several folks would buy my dinner for entertaining them by pretending I was some other character. I was fortunate to now have a patron who had been providing for my needs for some time.
I was entertaining my liege one day when a stranger interrupted. He spoke of a gift but I could tell he had come to receive something instead. I spoke to him harshly and revealed what I had surmised.
My patron could not smell a “rat” as well as I… but I was pleased he deferred to my judgment and asked the stranger to leave.
His trust obliged me to accept, perfect and perform a new role. Now I must pretend I am Chief of Security. I am not the subject of laughter much anymore… but I do see contented smiles. It must be that I am convincing in my portrayal of a competent protector.
My role is relatively routine with rare bursts of creativity when a stranger appears. I walk the grounds at dusk and check the livestock. The outbuildings are inspected and the estate is secure when I retire.
Once I am satisfied my patron is resting normally, I take up my position between the house and the outside world.
Everything is usually routine… including my habit of scratching a shallow depression in the cool earth… and turning around several times before I curl up with my tail over my eyes…
But not my ears!
Greyspirit
The island is small…
Just the rock, the tree, and me.
and, of course, the sea.
The island is small…
Though I would like to see All..
I see only sea.
I sleep on the rock,
I also breathe on the tree.
The tree breathes on me.
Far beyond the mist
Did Intelligence exist?
Whence did we once come?
The island is all…
Just the rock, the tree, and me.
and, of course, the sea.
The island is small…
Though I would like to say All..
I say only … see!
By Greyspirit
My mission required I cross the lawless land.
I was told to escort an old monk, but the robed figure was spading a garden when I saw him. He seemed to be unaware of the pending journey.
The message I was to deliver could broach no delay. I urged him to be rapid in preparing to leave.
His motion was more fluid than fast as he separated the metal shovel blade from the handle. The metal disappeared beneath the folds of his cloak and the handle became a walking staff.
His long gait had carried him a distance before I realized he had started the trip. I had to hurry to catch up with him.
My sword was useless in the shelter less sea of sand between forests… but the old man’s shovel carved a shaded burrow into the coolness of the earth when needed.
The edge of my blade was my protection… so I dare not defile it on the sticky vines and woody growth of the forest. My sword was only feared by humans. The briars had no fear.
Fortunately, the monk kept his shovel blade sharp enough to clear the trail overgrown from last passage.
My intent had been to see the monk safely along the road… but so far he had been the one exploring the trail ahead and providing protection.
There was only one threat where my sword would be useful… but I was more than a sword length behind when the monk was attacked.
I raced forward as the huge assailant swung his weapon against the frail figure in robes supported by the walking stick.
Still too far away to assist… I heard the clang as the weapon struck the shovel blade beneath his robes. I saw the attacker fall… entangled by the walking stick.
By the time I covered the distance and arrived panting… there was no throat for my sword to threaten. The thief decided a shovel blade could be as frightening as a sword blade and had departed for easier prey.
At the edge of the city I was feeling proud of myself for my success. I had not only arrived with my important message, but I had safely delivered my human charge as well.
The old man did not enter the city; however… he held his walking stick in obvious salute to me and said…
“You have arrived safely to deliver your message. My job is done.”
He turned then and started his return trip to his garden.
Trained to stand against any man…
He had been struck, stabbed, shot, and burned.
But none won the war; just some had lost more,
And again his adversary returned.
Matched in their skill, neither wanted to kill,
But both struggled still, to survive.
The threat would draw near and in the shadow of fear
Is where they felt most alive.
But the battle grew old and with heart turning cold,
He struck desperate blows … and then several more.
That battle soon done with the war still not won,
But the mirror then shattered and fell to the floor.
Joy overwhelmed me when I first poked up through the cool dark into the warm light. The sun’s energy bathed my unfolding green shoots. My roots grew deeper into the nourishment. Anticipation surged into my leaves as I watched my brothers stretch into the sky.
My kind and I would each eventually die to be consumed into oblivion by tiny creatures. But, another brother would rise from our memory.
One day, the pasture quaked and fear shook my outstretched limbs. I saw brothers being crushed into the ground un-withered. The rays of Father Sun were blocked out as the huge beasts descended on us.
I saw white scythes appear and shear a swath through my green society.
Then my roots were gone… and I became darkness.
……………..
Life was good. I spent most days wandering in the sunshine… leisurely grazing on the luscious green grass. Anticipation quivered through me as I passed the food trough… soon substantial treats would appear there. I snorted with glee and rubbed up against the warm skin of my kind.
Occasionally, some of us would be honored and chosen to walk through the gate and up the ramp into the chariot of the gods who provided our food and comfort.
Today, I had been chosen. I ascended into the vehicle with much pride.
…………….
My home is beautiful to me, even though others prefer their own home the best. It is like many other farms but is perfect for me. I admired my own cattle as I trudged towards them with the buckets of grain.
I considered how fortunate they were to be destined for consumption by a higher order of life… what a marvelous purpose they bring to us. My own oblivion, I reflected, would be at the hands of tiny creatures in the soil…
As far as I knew…
I thought i was a guru... i thought i knew it all.
I saw myself above the crowd... but i was really small.
My human sought a lover... my spirit sought a peer.
But none met my conditions... and my human would not go near.
I helped with others problems... so i could ignore mine.
I put them in a little box in a corner of my mind.
I felt the pressure build as the little box filled...
with what i didn't want to find.
“I'll give“… i said, “the love i have... if it’s returned by you.”
And thus placed on love, conditions, that sent it all askew.
What flows from me when i set it free... is energy and true.
What i lack would fill a sack, all the things i thought i knew.
Logic tells me love means pain... and warns me not to leap again.
It speaks to me "There is no way!!”
Emotion screams, "That was yesterday!"
"Find the joy of the moment... don't send it away!”
Tomorrow makes its own rules... and we all must wait and see.
Likelihood can be misunderstood... because anything can be!
Dear Yesterday,
It’s not as if I have forgotten you. Without you, I would have nothing on which to stand when I reach for Tomorrow. I truly appreciate the effort and sacrifice that was made for you to be available to me.
You have done your job well. Thanks to you, Today is much better… and Tomorrow promises to be better still. What you have taught me makes each day and my way more progressive.
You would think less of me if I did not focus on what you taught. You would be disappointed in me if I missed a marvel you promised while in reverie of our good times. It is in your honor that I enjoy Today… and gratitude for you that I anticipate Tomorrow.
I may contact you less… but it only means I love you more… because you made my path so full and marvelous. You know you will not change and will always be in me… but I will change Today to honor your memory Tomorrow.
Good Thoughts,
Greyspirit
Today i found something i knew was lost... and with it i found things i did not know were lost. It is a very emotional and spiritual experience for me... so i will give only the facts.
Opal is a wise woman of the Cherokee Nations who adopted me decades ago because i defended her son.
She gave me a family name and a beaded neckpiece to show who i was. I asked her if that made me officially Cherokee. She said i was Alltribe... and Anach Bemossed translates as Starwalker.
It was at a time in history when no one wanted to be caucasian and many claimed to be part of a red family, or some other minority, but were not. I knew of no heritage that gave me indian blood... and did not want to be identified with the wannabees... so i often did not share my spirit either.
When Opal stepped beyond... the neckpiece broke... and all my efforts to repair it failed. I put it away to protect and keep all the beads and parts of the neckpiece... but it has been over a quarter century.
Recently, i have been guided to the tribes again. I was guided to a flute player with both blood and spirit. A flutemaker came into my life as well... and other representatives of the original American culture. A flute, a friend, a voice known as 2birds joined me. It brought me a source of strength in spirit... but my spirit still had leaks.
Today, the neckpiece found me again... and a vision of how to repair it. I am wearing it now... and 2birds seems to have found a sweet new song.
I am no longer compelled to challenge any wannabees... for even they are Alltribe, too.
The Republic (for which it stands) is founded on “Rule of Law”. Rule of law is also the foundation for monarchies, theocracies and dictatorships.
Democracy is the concept that “Majority Rules”. Majority rule is also the foundation for lynch mobs and the terror each child faces who is recognized as different in some way from his peers.
A pure democracy is likely to implode because the majority demographics are constantly changing… so instability is guaranteed.
A pure republic is limited by the wisdom of the archy but provides some stability with its semi-permanence.
Our founding fathers developed a Demopublic… in which the majority chooses the rules to which we adhere for stability… and everyone can voice their opinion. Each of us is given credit for the ability to look at the information and come to a logical conclusion as to the best choice for a rule or ruler.
Political discussion would be expected to be a sharing of information in search of a decision in keeping with the best interests of the future of the Demopublic. A brief excursion into that arena reveals, instead… a very emotional, unyielding quarrel about the impact on the present… or past.
Could it be that not everyone has an opinion… and simply accept someone else’s rather than pursue the data and a valid conclusion? Just think… if you could sell your opinion to enough people too busy to think for themselves… you could be the majority. Now all you need is a media network and you could rule the world.
Are we as willing to think for freedom as we are to fight for freedom?
To be, or not to be is out of the question. I be… so not to be is no longer a choice. To be is one of the many gifts I’m given… among them, too, is time.
In my time so far, I’ve been given many gems of moment… jewels to perceive and embrace. Some still sparkle in my sight… some are no longer in reach… but each exists in one or more of the many glorious moments I have been given.
If a thing can be conceived, it can be. I was conceived, therefore I can be. What I conceive can be as well. If it only exists in my time… it will be in time as I am. If it exists in the time gift of another… it may always be.
I thanked the peaceful slumber as it retreated… there had been times when I could have no slumber.
I thanked the growing light that had chased it… the birth of a whole new day… even though I had never gone sleep-to-sleep without one.
A delicious shiver smiled through me… as my body began its automatic isometrics to stir what flows in me… and I thanked it.
I thanked the faint smell that twitched my nostrils with the invitation to come closer. I thanked the familiar tunnel that guided me leisurely to the exit.
As I neared the top of the shaft… the smell became stronger, the light became stronger, and I became stronger. I thanked stronger.
I emerged and thanked the bright spot as I immersed and reveled in its warmth.
I thanked the green shelter above me and I thanked the food nearby. The food thanked me for giving it purpose… and then thanked something else.
I rolled over and closed my eyes against the bright source in the blue beyond. Perhaps that was what it was the food had thanked.
I thanked it also.
It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then to loosen up. Inevitably though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker. I began to think alone - "to relax," I told myself - but I knew it wasn't true.
Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time. I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don't mix, but I couldn't stop myself. I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, "What is it exactly we are doing here?"
Things weren't going so great at home either. One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother's.
I soon had a reputation as a heavy thinker. One day the boss called me in. He said, "I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop thinking on the job, you'll have to find another employer." This gave me a lot to think about.
I came home early after my conversation with the boss. "Honey," I confessed, "I've been thinking..."
"I know you've been thinking," she said, "and I want a divorce!"
"But Honey, surely it's not that serious."
"It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as college professors, and college professors don't make any money, so if you keep on thinking we won't have any money!"
"That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently, and she began to cry.
I'd had enough. "I'm going to the library," I snarled as I stomped out the door.
I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche, with NPR on the radio. I roared into the parking lot and ran up to the big glass doors... they didn't open.
The library was closed. To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night.
As I sank to the ground clawing at the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. "Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?" it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker's Anonymous poster.
Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was "Porky's." Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting.
I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home. Life just seemed... easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking.
Soon, I will be able to vote!
I awaken each day to a choice, which takes form with my focus and voice…
Surrounded by pleasure… and likewise, by pain… rewards beyond measure and challenges again…
Even though I would choose pleasure… neither can be ignored. Pain is opportunity to learn… Pleasure denotes reward.
“Damn the pain!”, I cry in vain… “What evil brings you here?”
“Like the tide, I abide,” it replied, “deep inside… I am yours, I am fear.”
The pain does subside… once the fear has died… and the energy of Healing manifests a better feeling.
Life can now be tasted while no energy is wasted on that which does not exist… again I learn, once more I grow… I persist.
There was the fear I would no longer be here… and all I hold dear would no longer be near…
But should I fear each tomorrow because some will hold sorrow… while the others are miraculous days?
Should I fear today because of what others might say?
Would I be what they wish?
Would I abandon my way?
