The Whittington Family: Ryland's Story

Take the time to watch this video of this incredible family unit and their acceptance of authenticity. It is a great example of being authentic and the need of those in your life to love and accept you genuinely. Why is this so difficult for many?

Check out and think about these quotes below...worth the ponder.

“We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.” 
― May Sarton

“The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” 
― C.G. Jung

“There is nothing more beautiful than seeing a person being themselves. Imagine going through your day being unapologetically you.” 
― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

Amen, Amen, Amen!

Just The Way You Are

Don't go changing, to try and please me
You never let me down before
Don't imagine you're too familiar
And I don't see you anymore
I would not leave you in times of trouble
We never could have come this far
I took the good times, I'll take the bad times
I'll take you just the way you are

Don't go trying some new fashion
Don't change the color of your hair
You always have my unspoken passion
Although I might not seem to care

I don't want clever conversation
I never want to work that hard
I just want someone that I can talk to
I want you just the way you are.

I need to know that you will always be
The same old someone that I knew
What will it take 'till you believe in me
The way that I believe in you.

I said I love you and that's forever
And this I promise from my heart
I couldn't love you any better
I love you just the way you are.

Song Lyrics By Billy Joel 

**This clever and heart-felt song has been a favorite of mine for years. Thought of usually as a love song from one lover to another, it does have deeper spiritual meaning when you consider such a conversation with the Divine.  Ignatian Spirituality teaches that none of us have everything "sorted out" in our lives and that God truly accepts, loves and even celebrates us as we are.  I would also add that in my meditation of this truth that God does not only accept, love and celebrate us as we are, but also as we were and as we are becoming.  Arrival Theologians (people who are convinced they have arrived spiritually, or are continually in pursuit of such arrival) fall into a performance trap that leads to an appearance of peace while a continual war is active in their mind and heart.  It is comforting when one stops performing for God and allows the Divine to saran-aid such a melody of "I love you just the way you are."  God's love surpasses and overshadows our mood swings, our behavior (good or bad) and even our limited view of past, present and future.  You don't stop and let God love you, such Divine love just is.  The more aware we are of this the more capable we are of loving others in the same light.  

The Red Shoes

Someone buried red slippers under the floorboards

and the mice nested in them. The floors splintered no matter

how many cans of deck paint we used. And one night

at the Embajada I broke a tooth, and the very next

night three teenagers were shot dead as they sat at

a booth by the window eating mofongo. The neighbor

woman used to sing a funny song from the forties

about a “road” and “clear day,” a fast car and a woman

with a pistol. You could see her back had been broken,

and she dragged her left foot behind her down the

stairs to the mail room. And Junior began smoking

crack after his church on Columbus failed and started

going by his birth name which was  Jesus, until he

fell in love with Irma of the hideous rabbit-fur-and-

white-leather jacket, who stopped the cars by waving

her watery hands, smoothing her moth-bitten hair

from her moon-pale face, the violet lipstick she

always wore, until she wound up drowned in the East

River, and no one would say if it was suicide or

murder. But Junior said there were eels inside her and

began preaching again, doped on the corner. Mr.

Rodriguez fired him, though he didn’t want to, and after

Mr. Rodriguez often looked sweaty and pale as he

labored to move stuff to the basement, which he had once

done with Junior to help him. We painted our rooms

cinnamon, Aegean blue, repainted them eggshell, gris-perle.

We fought, and you tore all my letters and diaries and

sprinkled them out the window where they landed on

the roof of your car, plastered there by a violent

summer storm. It took hours to scrape them off; I wept

and Mr. Rodriguez gave me a small plastic-wrapped

packet of Kleenex and a month later you wound up in St.

Luke’s on lockdown and Junior caught pneumonia,

died that November. He was thirty-eight, though we

had believed him older. They buried him in Calvary

Cemetery in Queens. Once I rode a cab out that way — 

we got lost, so many ticking minutes among the

slender white spikes of the graves. The red slippers — 

they must have been for dancing, thin soled as if with

mouse skin, a powder inside that might have been talc,

rosin, or years of plaster dust, a piece of   broken ribbon,

black at the edges as if   burned off or torn and smeared with

shoe polish. Or the mice had gnawed it. And you

said “The name of the film,” and I said I thought it was a

story older by far, a girl who puts on the shoes and cannot

get them off, who skips down a road, then another and

across the world, until her feet fall off, and her hands

and they make her wooden ones.

BY SHEILA BLACK

Source: Poetry (March 2014).

**Terrific representation of the orderly disorder in all our lives on any given day, week, month or any pocket of time.  The fruition of internal and external characters are eloquently playing out the inevitable processes of life, for all of us.

U2 - Ordinary Love (2013)

our place in the world...

You can learn a lot about someone in their prayers.  The following is a revised prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi.  It is an example of much more than a simple list of requests to a deity. It is revealing the issues related to the human element, as well as the human relation element that authentically impacts our daily lives whether we realize it or not. Take a minute to read through it…

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.


O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen

Can you hear it?  Francis is communicating from his known place in this world as it relates to his belief in the life now and the hereafter.  Think with me about humanity in general and how much of our daily actions and decisions come from our personal belief and current understanding of our place in this world.  Man has struggled getting this right throughout history.  We are not alone.  We are not above.  We are not below. Humanity is in this together. No matter the race, creed, economical status, level of education, political affiliation, condition of health or age in general. No matter if we are historically part of the recorded past, present or unwritten future of mankind.  Simply being human places a mandate on each of us to function in view of the grand scheme of things.  We are connected.  This not a choice, it is nature.  How does this affect how I live and function daily?  There is no expectation of perfection in Francis’ prayer for himself or others, only a seeking after the wisdom to function within the dysfunction.   This is our place. This is our time. It goes without saying, this is mankind’s daily prayer.

~2013 Vaughn Wood   

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

by Mary Oliver

Soulfull Tunage...

You saw my pain washed out in the rain
Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins
But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart
And you knelt beside my hope torn apart

But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
We'll live a long life

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as you like
Just promise me we'll be alright

So lead me back, turn south from that place
And close my eyes to my recent disgrace
'Cause you know my call
And we'll share my all
And our children come and they will hear me roar

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as you like
Just promise me we'll be alright

But hold me still, bury my heart on the coals
But hold me still, bury my heart on the coals

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold on as long as you like
Just promise me we'll be alright

And the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
And we'll live a long life

Mumford & Sons - Lyrics from "Ghosts That We Knew"

a gem passed down by a cuz...

THE SITUATION 

In Washington, DC, at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, this man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About 4 minutes later: 

The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk. 

At 6 minutes: 

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again. 

At 10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly.

At 45 minutes:

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour: 

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all. 

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities. 

This experiment raised several questions: 

*In a common-place environment, at an inconvenient hour, do we perceive beauty? 

*If so, do we stop to appreciate it? 

*Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this: 

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made . . .. 

How many other things are we missing as we rush through life? 

Enjoy life NOW .. it has an expiration date


*found on facebook from my cousin Michelle Schwab

reality check...

Laerte's Dilemma: looking, accepting, loving, and caring for himself...

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

William Shakespeare

From: Hamlet Act 1, scene 3, 78–82

"To thine own self be true" is Polonius's last piece of advice to his son Laertes, who is in a hurry to get on the next boat to Paris, where he'll be safe from his father's long-winded speeches. Polonius has in mind something much more Elizabethan than the New Age self-knowledge that the phrase now suggests. As Polonius sees it, borrowing money, loaning money, carousing with women of dubious character, and other intemperate pursuits are "false" to the self. By "false" Polonius seems to mean "disadvantageous" or "detrimental to your image"; by "true" he means "loyal to your own best interests." Take care of yourself first, he counsels, and that way you'll be in a position to take care of others. There is wisdom in the old man's warnings, of course; but he repeats orthodox platitudes with unwonted self-satisfaction. Polonius, who is deeply impressed with his wordliness, has perfected the arts of protecting his interests and of projecting seeming virtues, his method of being "true" to others. Never mind that this includes spying on Hamlet for King Claudius. Never mind, as well, that many of Polonius's haughty, if not trite, kernels of wisdom are now taken as Shakespeare's own wise pronouncements on living a proper life.

(comments above from enotes.com)

            It is easy to falsely attempt to take care of oneself by way of denying oneself.  In many circles of religious fervor, self is seen as something evil, yet a true created being can only be in every good and bad way what they truly are.  Some have mentioned that they enjoy being around me because now I seem to be more myself, who I supposedly truly am.  I find this interesting.  This perception implies that in someway I have not been myself all these years until now.  We are not robotic, static, with the inability to evolve or change. 

At what age do we arrive at being our true self?  I believe at every age.  What most people want and enjoy from each other are glimpses of authenticity, that which we may refer to as being “real.”  I do believe that it is important for a person to be comfortable in their own skin, but even when they are not, they are still being their authentic self.  People who like our company usually enjoy the current personfication of who we are (which is never the whole picture in light of personal change and transcendance).  One can easily change their name and image if so desired.  But one thing never changes. Deep within each of us are the fingerprints of our maker.  The true self is ultimately a mere image, a glimpse, of our creator.  You can see it in everyone if you look hard enough.  I’ve witnessed this in people of all faiths and lifestyles.  In light of Shakespeare’s quote, true responsibility begins by honestly viewing, accepting, loving, and caring for oneself…then viewing, accepting, loving, and caring for others naturally will flow.  I've said it a lot in the past to so many people, "a distorted view of yourself will distort your view of everyone and everything else."  Be kind to yourself.  Don't ignore yourself.  Feed yourself from a perspective of respect and value.  Forgive yourself.  Be patient with yourself.  Be honest with yourself.  Talk to yourself.  Listen to yourself.  Love yourself unconditionally.  Other's will benefit from it hugely...  

wisdom from my mom....

(My folks - Charci & Randy)

Perhaps the greatest gift of being middle-aged is the opportunity to truly look back over the years and reexamine the lessons learned and wisdom poured out by so many in our lives.  My mom easily makes the cut of several who have been the most influential in my life.  The following is a brief list (only 10) of things I've learned from my mother, all of which she has experienced and lived as a shining example endlessly....

1.  A servants heart is the key to faithfulness.

2.  Our children should be treated and loved the same when they fail as when they succeed.

3.  Never give up on anyone that God hasn't given up on.

4.  Don't give food to the homeless, provide a feast.

5.  It's better to be a bit overdressed than under dressed in any situation :)

6.  There's no better diet than the new one you are on :)

7.  Prayer works and should be a family recipe that's cooked up often and passed down from generation to generation.

8.  Every child deserves the chance of a quality education, no matter the cost.

9.  The key to keeping your head above water is to never veer into the deep where your feet can't stay firmly planted on the ground :)

10.  Love your enemies and those who have spitefully used you.

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY 2011

on writing...

Writing is far more than a seemingly learned skill, it is a genuine connection with one's most inner-self, willing often to color outside the lines placed by previous expectations, both from self as well as others, and a willingness to put such mystery on display.  The following is an excerpt from Mark Doty's Souls On Ice which renders a brief journey into the internal process of an accomplished poet and author who has dared to journey and color outside the lines....

Our metaphors go on ahead of us, they know before we do. And thank goodness for that, for if I were dependent on other ways of coming to knowledge I think I'd be a very slow study. I need something to serve as a container for emotion and idea, a vessel that can hold what's too slippery or charged or difficult to touch. Will doesn't have much to do with this; I can't choose what's going to serve as a compelling image for me. But I've learned to trust that part of my imagination that gropes forward, feeling its way toward what it needs; to watch for the signs of fascination, the sense of compelled attention (Look at me, something seems to say, closely) that indicates that there's something I need to attend to. Sometimes it seems to me as if metaphor were the advance guard of the mind; something in us reaches out, into the landscape in front of us, looking for the right vessel, the right vehicle, for whatever will serve.

Living in the Newness of Life...

~ I came across this poem recently published by Benhur Soans, “Let’s Make a New Start.” I’m unable due to copyright reasons paste it on my blog, but can provide the link above for your viewing and make a few comments of discovery as I reflect on this poem, in simple form, which calls for a much needed element in the lives of those in need of second, third, and fourth chance to reach down deep inside themselves and mold a much needed new normal.  Ironically, this poem was officially published the same week (4/28/10) that I experienced a major transition in my life that left me momentarily void of any hope that “love, happiness and joy” would be any part of my future.  It’s amazing how dark such a place called “failure” can be.  But if a person can be strong enough to hold on and not give up, you can hear a subtle whisper (echoed by this poet), “Come, let us make a new start.”[1]

~REFLECTION:  Like a fresh sea breeze on the dawn of a new day, this invitation awakens your senses to the fact that there is more life to live, more friendships to cultivate, more lessons to learn, more love to embrace, more memories to make.  In other words, there is more to life than the past.  The past is only one third of an entire life.  We give the past way too much credit, attention, thought, and power.  With only one third of the vote, the past must submit to the present and the future, which together hold two thirds ownership rights to a person’s life.  The poet subtly employs a strategy for the new encounter of love, happiness and joy - which is to try “new ways to deploy love, happiness and joy.”  In other words, if you want to experience love, happiness and joy, creatively and intentionally deploy it (arrange and position it) for others to experience.  Who am I to deploy love, happiness and joy to today?  What opportunities are right in front of me?  This is the reason for the intentionality of the plurality of the invite, “Come, let us make a new start.”  A new start is never an isolated event.  A new beginning is never a solo act, it’s an ensemble of many who dare to live.  To truly live is to continually embrace the often mysterious, and at times scary, newness of all that we are in the now, and  inevitably becoming.

---

[1] http://www.buzzle.com/articles/lets-make-a-new-start-poem.html

recommended poetic meal... June Jordan

excerpt from Poem for Nana

Your heart indivisible from my real wish
we
compelled the moon into the evening when
you said, “No,
I will not let go
of your hand.”

An Admirable Man

If a man is honest with others

                And with himself…

If he receives gratefully and gives quietly…

                If he is gentle enough to feel

And strong enough to show his feelings…

                If he is slow to see the faults of others

                But quick to discover their goodness…

If he is cheerful in difficult times

                And modest in success…

If he does his best to be true to his beliefs…

                Then he is truly an admirable man.

Author Unknown

~ I was given this poem when I graduated from high school many moons ago from my grandmother, who has since passed away.  I found this in a box of items that I haven't seen for over twenty-six years.  It has new meaning to me during this time of major transition in my life.  Particularly the statement, "If he does his best to be true to his beliefs..."  My recent journey has been a process of the answer to two of the most important questions any person can ask themselves: Who am I and What is it that I really want?  Wrapped up in these questions is the needed soul search of "what do I really believe?"  I would not consider myself "critical" of the church culture of which I have been a part of for over two decades in various leadership capacities.  But I am extremely fatigued and dissallusioned of the way in which the Christian church culture continues to function.  It is not difficult to find many tired, weary, and overly worked leaders and members in the church at large.  After twenty years of full-time ministry, I found myself extremely unhappy and dissatisfied.  This, according to our Christian beliefs, is not to be.  But the more I speak to leaders, the more common I find this delimma.  Unhappiness is not stomached very well in the circles of fellowship.  Many jump to conclusions that this must be due to something the believer has done or not done.  If you read your Bible everyday and pray, and attend church regularly, you should be "happy."  This is where the believer finds themselves all alone in the midst of a crowd, who for the most part, appear happy.  So how has this effected my belief system?  Greatly!  I have a very hard time picturing Christ pleased, as well as involved, in such a media frenzied and fast pace marketing world the church is full force involved in.  I simply believe we are missing something.  Something vital.  Like depth and the ability to simply sit with people who are broken without trying to fix them.  Some things just can't be easily fixed, or perhaps, God-forbid, are not meant to be fixed.  The church can't stomach dysfunction and therefore is blind to its own dysfunction.  Simply my opinion, but I am finding it in almost every house of worship I visit.  How much of the weekly busyness in the church is simply an illusion?  What would people do if that illusion was revealed?  Jesus could handle being in the company of people with problems without fixing every problem.  I think we should be too.  So, back to the above poem, concerning being true to my beliefs... a person's belief system is not meant to be static...same as always.  The church can't stomach that either very well.  Doctrine that is not growing and transitioning, is not living, and therefore not transforming.  I don't claim to have the answer, just revaluating the questions of the heart.  There is a question behind every sermon, Biblical lesson, group discussion.  What are we really asking and are we ok without an answer.  I fear those who have an answer for every question concerning faith.  Jesus answered most questions with a question.  Interesting.  Perhaps because the real need was not an answer, but people discovering the true questions of their heart.  That is where a belief system is conceived, but not always tolerated by man's dogma.

The Invitation, by Oriah

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming,
from the book The Invitation
published by HarperONE, San Francisco,
1999 All rights reserved

**This poem and accompanying book was recommended to me by a very trusting source - THANK YOU SIS!.  Very seldom does one connect with the entirety of an author's prose as I have with Oriah.  Very few are willing to shed the surface of superficiality and get in touch with one's own soul, no matter the condition.  I had to share this unearthed idiom, as it seems to have a rightful place in the mix of my own ideological compositions.  The emotions it stirs is illuminating, to say the least.  The reality involved is a voice for all who desire human interaction to be far more real than we discover in most social settings.

in light of the eve of election day...

In my humble opinion, one of the greatest leaders our country has ever known was Abraham Lincoln.  I continue to hope for a day when men and women of God-given rank in our country would present to the populous such honor, integrity, character, strength, and faith as Mr. Lincoln.  The following letter was written to a widow and grieving mother who lost the men in her life and home to the Civil War.  Today, I anguish over whom to cast my vote, for all the names on the ballet seem to represent something so different that true God-fearing grit and ability to actually lead our country out of such a current furry and downward spiral in so many aspects.  Someone has to make the tough choices that truly free the people, even if someone in the dark shadows of an ally are preparing a bullet in return of such a choice.

Letter:
Executive Mansion,
Washington, November 21, 1864.
Dear Madam,
I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle.
I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save.
I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.
Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,
A. Lincoln

collins says...

In a recent interview, notable contemporary poet, Billy Collins, described the fictional character in his mind as he creates poetic justice eloquently as "...a daydreamer, obviously unemployed, plenty of time on his hands, spends a lot of time by himself, and has an unhealthy fascination with his thinking process, his own speculations and fantasies."  No wonder I love his stuff...ha!

Sample of Collins work:
From "Forgetfulness"

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
------
There are various guesses as to his introspection with the letter "L," of which I won't bore myself with.
I interpret the "L," with its context of being the name of a mythological river, to be a river of "Lies." 
Nevertheless, some things we choose to forget, due to the pain of remembrance, or we forget them simply because they were not true, a fabrication of the mind and heart.  We (mankind) have the capability of such a crime.  If its true that most of which we all worry about won't ever happen, then it may be safe to assume that the past can be recreated in an exaggerated fashion too, making the past worst than it really was (i.e. a tragedy more catastrophic than we actually experienced, or a job loss more of a nightmarish experience than an accurate account of the facts).  Facts are much more easily remembered than emotional fabrications that somehow numb the pain of the awful truth, usually about us. 
Why is it that the older you get, the more forgetful you seem to become?  Perhaps because the past is so painfully true, if and when totally revealed, in comparison to the collection of make-believe scenerios that we have held to be true.

My Pillow is an Endurance

My pillow is an endurance,
The pillow shares my secrets
On it there were painted
Colorful flowers so bright,
Every evening I water
The sad flowers
With tears of my eyes.
The buds would laugh.
Every night make
A compromise with day
The tolerance ending
The missing leaks tick-ticking.
Scared from this noise
Its flight a butterfly would take
Sitting on the flower
Leaking down a little pool
My tears would make.
Being tired of my grieves
The flowers would joyfully float
On the streams down.
No sign is left
on the pillow
from the flowers, alas.
In the desert of love
I’m still wandering
Its tolerance being overfilled one day
Would the flood of missing
drown me too.

by Uktamoy Khaldorova