To say that life is hard and tough, or that you think the future’s dark and bleak is more than reason to choose a little fun, use a splash of vibrance, add a fleet of fancy or use something precious and pretty to brighten your day.
I find that some colour usually work for me, but you may tantalise reality to your own individual taste and choice. Contrary to popular belief, life is what you live it, and how is what you give it.
And if you cannot imagine how much it will cost to be happy and carefree for the rest of your life, you’ll be pleasantly surprised to know that its paid for a day when you open your eyes in a smile.
And if that’s not enough to put a jig in your step you’ll be trotting to know that by sharing in thrift you are buying stock in the dividend of a better life.
Equanimity in life is found in the choice of harmony, and the ritual of living well.
Awake despite anesthesia ~ now you may think that the time spent smelling roses are futile or even funky, pending on the sensibility of your nose, but one thing is certain that smell is rhetorically the best solution to being lost.
According to the linked article ~ Singer Katy Perry is upset with Madonna for peppering her music, videos and performances with religious references and says she doesn’t like it when religious references and says she doesn’t like it when artists take spirituality “lightly”.
To me it seems as if even famous people confuse religion with spirituality
Values are irrelevant to addiction. Suppose you had a terrific illicit sexual encounter, and the opportunity to throw over your life to pursue it further. Most of us - if it involved social disapproval, losing spouses we love, certainly being separated from our children and losing our livelihoods, would say - perhaps regretfully - no. I bet Spitzer decides to stay with his family rather than feed his addiction. That he previously made poor choices that endangered his family life - and ost his job - is a statement about his willingness to abide by his values.
The brain can only process 200 bits of the 11 million bits of information it receives at any given moment.
Given such a massive processing deficit, the only way that we can make sense of all the information our senses provide is by recognising patterns we have experienced before. Patterns that our brain predict will maintain without our attention. Patterns that we consider are safe. Patterns that we believe hold our best interest at heart. Patterns we choose.
It is by choice that I am who you see me to be, and by choice that I live to be the best me I can. Choice is the limit to whom I become, and the best choice of all is to be what I’ve always been and will always be. What I am. Me.
From the eleven million bits of information that we recieve every single moment of awareness, we are the one’s to decide on the tune, we are the piper and we are the song. We are to blame if we do not hear a whisper on the breeze, or see nothing of Pandora’s box in the play of the clouds.
From everything we sense, we direct the orchestra to play, we decide the patterns that we choose, we become the melody we strum from everything we hear and see and touch and feel. We are what we believe.
They say choices change your world. It does. Like my choice not to attend the funeral of my friend. It made me feel guilty at the time, but happy I didn’t go in the end. The people there knew very little of the Jimmy I do. Jimmy made me laugh.
Some of the people attend that it was guilt that kept me away, some people thought i was distraught. The truth is i wanted to remember him in death as he did in life, and that jimmy wasn’t even remotely the same as the fallen son or black sheep he was buried as.
Those of us that loved him had to pay our own respect after the family left.
If I think back on the whirlwind journey that we shared i cannot imagine that jimmy would ever harm a fly, and it was he that changed my life when he insisted that i hug a tree.
I remember well the balmy May we went to play at the botanical garden. We were high, and drunk on joy and bubbly happiness and fairydust, and at the time I remember well how stupid it feels to just randomly give some stranger a hug, especially to such a majestic oak.
I remember well how four of us amazed when down the glade along the path and out of blue a white horse proudly passed unbridled into shade of wood one day. I member the wonder next day when the fog we cut through on our way revealed a white horse trotting by, and shared with them the silence as we rode into the mist to lay my brothers ash to rest.
Now there’s three, and like the musketeers we claim a bond never said, but always shared in joyous care and trust when we’re together. Its choices like those that we share in honesty, without the need and wont in bonds of happiness that bring us closer.
Choices to care, choices to trust, choices to laugh, and choices to share the beauty and majesty of our world. Those are the choices that rock our world. Choices of love.
My brother was gay, and I grew up in an environment where guilt by association was always on the verge of conversation that ended up with me in denial of the wonder to be who I am.
Within months of starting to think that my peers may be different than me I had managed to keep out of the spotlight of attention and power hungry teenagers, and thanks to the fact that my grade 7 group of friends had similar difficulties in being accepted to the more popular groups, I found a fragile safety in the protection of their company. When all the students were together on the playing field for breaks, our huddle of misfits kept us from being easy targets, but they were powerless in the face of a direct challenge.
When I was called out by one of the popular groups leaders they could do nothing but stand and watch my humiliation as the heckler continued to make fun of me. Unable to provide any explanation for the size of my ears, and trying to ignore the hurtful shame that was the brunt of his joke, all I could do was to hide my mind from the reality of what was happening.
I hardly noticed how, encouraged by his group of supporters, the confrontation had changed from humiliation to confrontation, and my mind immediately withdrew against the emotional onslaught of a crowd swept in pack mentality. What had started as an exercise in abusing power of popularity, had turned a group of teenagers trying to fit in into a laughing mob, hungry for blood.
As more and more people started pushing me around, my mind withdrew deep to a corner of safety, my consciousness hiding away from the reality of my abuse. I fell. Someone kicked me, and howling for blood, someone else landed a jolting hit to my head. With a primitive roar the rest of the pack joined in, and my body became the target of every group member that felt they had something to prove.
I couldn’t believe what was happening! Through the haze of pain the only thing I could think of was how every single one of them would someday have to answer for what they did. I felt like Abel once, and wondered if he like me hardly felt the pain as I was crying in silence at the blasphemy of what was taking place.
And then, through the corner of my eye I noticed that one of my friends had joined the angry mob. It felt as if someone had ripped my heart from my chest. As if everything that I believed in, friendship, trust, the goodness of mankind, God and all the angels had all forsaken me.
When it eventually stopped I was laying on the ground, covered in dust, bruised and broken. I told the teacher that was trying to help me that I was fine and rolled myself up in the dirt, humiliated and hurt, shivering as my physical injury and pain was swept away by the cold and vast emptiness inside of me.
I don’t remember much of the rest of my time at school. Not that day, or much of any other day. I completely lost myself in the pursuit of science, literature and music. Every now and then I would let myself surface for a special appearance, or a performance in drama, music, or singing in the choir, hiding away from every possible source of confrontation.
I filled my mind with the mystery of the classics, the wonder of heroes and myths, and challenged myself in intellectual pursuit, refusing to look anybody in the face. Living my life in fear of recognizing the glint that I saw in the eyes of my friend as he kicked me…