tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81902255809620162052024-02-19T01:11:44.126-08:00Diary of a MadmanAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-8404328930171503882012-04-25T11:15:00.000-07:002012-04-25T11:16:38.168-07:00Amongst the Yangtze<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_b42M3fl-5Qhj-u6Y1vH9IvBf9G0zARdfTzcDzij9T-UmKWc3W5AbofGyls1RX-Mc1hmLoqx_9V8BiZ6ywVMEZWOBknN4dUaudjL0GizppWknahoVtfH7rvOBtBKHDt2RmJYN-maD3w0s/s1600/yangtze-river-mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_b42M3fl-5Qhj-u6Y1vH9IvBf9G0zARdfTzcDzij9T-UmKWc3W5AbofGyls1RX-Mc1hmLoqx_9V8BiZ6ywVMEZWOBknN4dUaudjL0GizppWknahoVtfH7rvOBtBKHDt2RmJYN-maD3w0s/s200/yangtze-river-mountains.jpg" /></a></div>
Amongst the Yangtze I feel sunlight,
a hum of the forest breaks down the barrier
that is capturing my thoughts.
The return of Spring will also rise
and greet anyone who is willing,
to greet him.
Legends declare my future,
but I heard the decree-
and my road shall split.
Keep my hills and streams close at heart,
but do not allow the smell of the city to make it here
to the garden.
What form is broken?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-81720185974790306802012-03-29T07:50:00.002-07:002012-03-29T07:54:11.415-07:00swallowing the sun<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCs17EvIXW6r5I4vJFdfeG2aybGa31ztkpC86QHbACRaWFKdKG8f80xZy0zes-Fof-pKHXbRsxvQcp3ywOlVY_g_vINarRZzKHbYcgiZ3pWOssBbXFIMwnEhkI__eSkT9FimoEtNLyZTH/s1600/sun.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 151px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCs17EvIXW6r5I4vJFdfeG2aybGa31ztkpC86QHbACRaWFKdKG8f80xZy0zes-Fof-pKHXbRsxvQcp3ywOlVY_g_vINarRZzKHbYcgiZ3pWOssBbXFIMwnEhkI__eSkT9FimoEtNLyZTH/s200/sun.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725331733194716178" /></a><br /><br />becoming more, or less<br />balance.<br /><br />seek the cave, and the ridge<br />together.<br /><br />putting the next step forward<br />trust.<br /><br />this is the path I go<br />the way.<br /><br />my way is not your way<br />peace.<br /><br />chopping wood, blinking<br />the unconsciousness.<br /><br />In love with man and spirit-<br />solitude.<br /><br />The tower of my spirit becomes-<br />brighter as I swallow the sun.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-45873122567672102932012-01-17T12:40:00.000-08:002012-01-17T12:49:44.539-08:00Victory Garden<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBaubnU961zDH-l49t1Wmkr_4UAtkP1oHa2G2KoYYmf2xg2Q8y01xx0GeYeF0Hzo-8H1cWug80DgOztOU28-KfCEUmPH526d7f9UgOEW13QC57vvb2aT7PSes9YavxdOt5zT5-TXowLYm/s1600/Victory+Garden+Sign.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBaubnU961zDH-l49t1Wmkr_4UAtkP1oHa2G2KoYYmf2xg2Q8y01xx0GeYeF0Hzo-8H1cWug80DgOztOU28-KfCEUmPH526d7f9UgOEW13QC57vvb2aT7PSes9YavxdOt5zT5-TXowLYm/s200/Victory+Garden+Sign.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698704104558641170" /></a><br /><br />On a grey afternoon,<br />I put myself into the car <br />though after it started,<br />I wished for the blue bicycle.<br /><br />The clouds were high <br />as the wind roared its motor.<br /><br />I passed fields, homes, and a row of fences.<br />Dogs were out looking for me-<br />speaking to one another.<br /><br />I caught the rhythm-<br />stretched in it.<br /><br />A farmer was off to give the cattle food,<br />as I slowed my wheels.<br /><br />The grey afternoon was different for all<br />who lived it.<br /><br />Not like any other day,<br />and yet, it was.<br /><br />The schools were closed,<br />but the buses passed me by.<br /><br />As the last thought occurred to me,<br />as I saw the sign reading-<br />"Victory Garden."<br /><br />"I wish I would have taken the blue bike,"<br />as I hummed.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-57755152547362812932011-12-11T13:40:00.000-08:002011-12-11T13:45:11.250-08:00The Halt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsO0In1CHtYD8A6bw_LjRvFU5OKQ4go7AnXAu7pMQJ5QQuG5NZv7oc_D3Oy7W08ghUv5XOEx7DBx6_zond-R5M-GRU-7m8Xw-9UDCkzM97R7SYQYCOHhXIMrXqfmKXoBNT9B40LDYH5wPJ/s1600/dream.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsO0In1CHtYD8A6bw_LjRvFU5OKQ4go7AnXAu7pMQJ5QQuG5NZv7oc_D3Oy7W08ghUv5XOEx7DBx6_zond-R5M-GRU-7m8Xw-9UDCkzM97R7SYQYCOHhXIMrXqfmKXoBNT9B40LDYH5wPJ/s200/dream.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684989058410922034" /></a><br /><br />Slowly I take my steps, careful as I move.<br />The woods are dark now and I hear nothing familiar. <br /><br />Crunching leaves and glimpses of stars through the trees<br />come to be the only hope- and a beacon they are.<br /><br />Carrying it all- up<br />and back down, but I am too scared to stop.<br /><br />No moon can I see, even he has abandoned me.<br />The drum of my heartbeat and the pulse in my soul are all to rely on.<br /><br />Coming to a halt, I sleep in the snow.<br />And I take on the dreams of the ones who have slept there,<br />hoping that one day I will do it again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-62713378105163750412011-12-09T18:09:00.000-08:002011-12-09T18:13:48.886-08:00The song I refused<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquoEDWAFfJAwEDRnMfFRgrv5VjKzX71C-xt32GEb16aGGTvQHmYpJsTs4YW85lYaNOnHOLJMmtWZZoEXtNnMIp9cwma2QlnubL4eM3L3Fa8EDfHAw-QrjY9wxam3XKP4HyHuNTIDQnEj4/s1600/krishna342x360.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquoEDWAFfJAwEDRnMfFRgrv5VjKzX71C-xt32GEb16aGGTvQHmYpJsTs4YW85lYaNOnHOLJMmtWZZoEXtNnMIp9cwma2QlnubL4eM3L3Fa8EDfHAw-QrjY9wxam3XKP4HyHuNTIDQnEj4/s200/krishna342x360.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684317160071903698" /></a><br />Time moves like a freight train<br />passing up my town.<br /><br />But off in the distance-<br />smoke can be seen, engines can be heard.<br /><br />The calenders will lie to you,<br />but the past will come back. <br /><br />Krishna helped me load my boxcar<br />but when it came down to it-<br />I couldn't do it.<br /><br />The trouble with him is the flute he plays,<br />puts you in that mood.<br /><br />I refused it like one refuses chocolate,<br />or a door-to-door salesman, "no thanks"<br />then I smile.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-47545946371888984872011-12-07T11:12:00.001-08:002011-12-07T11:22:01.417-08:00Hoping for Hope- Advent, Week 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipH5Eg-kMlxmvHrMqy92Tnowosn_DaCMvFbPJGtq7v2qkI8Rbu9S70UQyWR4TMhCz7oPgiGWq_F3eqZrfWipAtYMxZLHFcXGBOZ_qVzo3Z4apBdMTI9099pUrZ7DkAai0DbJ0douBC4EQd/s1600/Memling-Hans-Advent-and-Triumph-of-Christ-1480.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 84px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipH5Eg-kMlxmvHrMqy92Tnowosn_DaCMvFbPJGtq7v2qkI8Rbu9S70UQyWR4TMhCz7oPgiGWq_F3eqZrfWipAtYMxZLHFcXGBOZ_qVzo3Z4apBdMTI9099pUrZ7DkAai0DbJ0douBC4EQd/s200/Memling-Hans-Advent-and-Triumph-of-Christ-1480.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683468754297196514" /></a><br />"Restore us again, O God of our salvation,"<br />-Psalm 84:4a<br /><br />"Hope is a state of mind, not of the world..Hope, in this deep and powerful sense is not the same as joy that things are going well, as willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good."<br />-Vaclav Havel (Czech Republic)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-78860483195520698512011-12-03T07:50:00.001-08:002011-12-03T07:51:07.576-08:00Ocean Solitaire<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykdJ08cQj-nr7dqgBhZ2afad9gRv3O33H8aM3avdPVA2auWaR-dfItnn26ul-5TR0CRPAy1LhXF5El8UzjFwqrbm2edC-0yEU2XcsMCMNeob0C_aaB3Pp6NXZBZVSKGlhbHBd1s50BISN/s1600/waves.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykdJ08cQj-nr7dqgBhZ2afad9gRv3O33H8aM3avdPVA2auWaR-dfItnn26ul-5TR0CRPAy1LhXF5El8UzjFwqrbm2edC-0yEU2XcsMCMNeob0C_aaB3Pp6NXZBZVSKGlhbHBd1s50BISN/s200/waves.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681930174566596082" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-50096342364276751542011-12-03T07:48:00.000-08:002011-12-03T07:49:53.642-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggb_5C1JnoUKpwhUjx0t8UrBq2ACPxPZohx6KNHK9ClMfe4HPOcmXluPEiLEJe53ADXA96SXtN0AfCwQOJaIMv9UUrGDCY3FH1aqC5cuyeCEMrajljggQREsX9zsLIqzt88J9B-zyfzzgf/s1600/india.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 161px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggb_5C1JnoUKpwhUjx0t8UrBq2ACPxPZohx6KNHK9ClMfe4HPOcmXluPEiLEJe53ADXA96SXtN0AfCwQOJaIMv9UUrGDCY3FH1aqC5cuyeCEMrajljggQREsX9zsLIqzt88J9B-zyfzzgf/s200/india.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681929675552673394" /></a><br /><br />Are we more than ants running wild in our anthill? <br />I think,<br />we are. <br /><br />We will be.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-91391308257889863212011-11-28T14:09:00.001-08:002011-11-28T14:13:53.206-08:00Advent<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTBlWATk8YnRsIcLSvTcjRjfHPiXMqhwADOwpY4ej9uI9mAloHM_xZM5U5zHQ0IU7ZGX9oDgt7G25jJLfRKm1Podf3CruFjufV6dFVZ0Y_BsxMB7LCh9-k86rbuPMhUAGrm1tQj1OBS7W/s1600/Da_Vinci_The_Annunciation.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 88px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTBlWATk8YnRsIcLSvTcjRjfHPiXMqhwADOwpY4ej9uI9mAloHM_xZM5U5zHQ0IU7ZGX9oDgt7G25jJLfRKm1Podf3CruFjufV6dFVZ0Y_BsxMB7LCh9-k86rbuPMhUAGrm1tQj1OBS7W/s200/Da_Vinci_The_Annunciation.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680173382898629586" /></a><br />"Advent..helps us understand the fullness and value and meaning of the mystery of Christmas. It is not our commemorating the historical event, which occurred some 2,000 years ago in a little village of Judea. Instead, we must understand that our whole life should be an "advent", in a vigilant expectation of Christ's final coming. To prepare our hearts to welcome the Lord who, as we say in the Creed, will come one day to judge the living and the dead, we must learn to recognize His presence in the events of daily life. Advent is then a period of intense training that directs us decisively to the One who has already come, who will come and who continuously comes."<br />-Pope John Paul II (Poland)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-17078730168349779832011-11-15T11:14:00.000-08:002011-11-15T11:21:27.565-08:00Bare-feet on Back-roads<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkC4DTqJTzcUzWKqOgaWE7_oXokVPPT8JFRsKIO-fn3An4yrKKY4SDtJ7SBh7V3w3SuiQ-xqHnfEHONQGJB948q_3LYQlpTLXKnbCpcX6iKHqkoTnM1-PNfYZ_tJTfROkv1Qj-oIaLmAm9/s1600/fog.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkC4DTqJTzcUzWKqOgaWE7_oXokVPPT8JFRsKIO-fn3An4yrKKY4SDtJ7SBh7V3w3SuiQ-xqHnfEHONQGJB948q_3LYQlpTLXKnbCpcX6iKHqkoTnM1-PNfYZ_tJTfROkv1Qj-oIaLmAm9/s200/fog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675304678179231106" /></a><br />The field is full of fog at this time of night<br />and the fresh bales line up like children in school.<br />Four houses surround it as they stare down on the night<br />as it becomes so much more.<br />Dogs whisper my name in the distance <br />while the little dipper appears again.<br /><br />Now I become warmer<br />and the moon is smaller in the windshield.<br /><br />The fog comes again in the morning.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-88332096858381687622011-11-15T11:12:00.001-08:002011-11-15T11:13:50.774-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ATJh1amz-_q3YoHx_EZO06d54sPfhgiLHbXFXl5HoviwIndLbQr6l64HN2nERCvUgSpyZKFl0aZvX4m401JP7N2ynOF-abfauHN8EwN0KEyssClaMJoROawNMXmOQHNQSG6jFepfAfHX/s1600/141.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ATJh1amz-_q3YoHx_EZO06d54sPfhgiLHbXFXl5HoviwIndLbQr6l64HN2nERCvUgSpyZKFl0aZvX4m401JP7N2ynOF-abfauHN8EwN0KEyssClaMJoROawNMXmOQHNQSG6jFepfAfHX/s200/141.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675302871441780946" /></a><br />"All paths lead to nowhere, so it is important to choose a path that has heart."<br />-Carlos CastanedaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-15808121163761282142011-10-17T13:35:00.000-07:002011-10-24T15:55:39.711-07:00standing in the Indian Ocean<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOX15bQ_Cxo6MuTuKgHEId5u8HSB2qybHzIXqGRX8X-tISwtPHzHOeRjaWQZPfYlrMVxEyhKvapyn2R7ALoy5cryYmWH2bqgUV_bPINRv4kzbeEg5xzOfSZRnoYEuYTVjNLWMLxUTOxDik/s1600/DSC01256.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOX15bQ_Cxo6MuTuKgHEId5u8HSB2qybHzIXqGRX8X-tISwtPHzHOeRjaWQZPfYlrMVxEyhKvapyn2R7ALoy5cryYmWH2bqgUV_bPINRv4kzbeEg5xzOfSZRnoYEuYTVjNLWMLxUTOxDik/s200/DSC01256.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664562695076410370" /></a><br /><br />The tide is hidden and waiting to pull.<br />From afar it is visible, what moves this river.<br /><br />Ancient waters meet my pale feet<br />sands of times in my toes<br />with the salt of history in my mouth.<br /><br />It is here that I walk-<br />where the four waters come together <br />and the people come to worship. <br /><br />Blue, green waves that break as time remains.<br />The lepers are still here- asking for my help.<br /><br />But what can I do, but watch the waves<br />rise and<br />fall.<br /><br />What the sadu says I say,<br />in not so many chants.<br /><br />I am here- taking it all.<br /><br />And still my feet are in the water,<br />as the children play and splash.<br /><br />I am here standing tall,<br />very alone and very surrounded.<br /><br />Knowing all the while- <br />it is true.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-46942363086741258872011-04-19T08:28:00.000-07:002011-04-19T08:39:35.340-07:00A Traveler's Shade on my Head<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzX6lsVeSA2Pjg4tHEdESw277zmBj9O_c90nPJGw4cET5zm5MQ1OdADOnPiYbmhXvavNtj7gZbEfMisXbgaCXZiHcD-uLQ6aDReOhC_xbr_wWl3kKcu9pCvqXglP09EmhnT52nYVk0YBXw/s1600/prometheus.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzX6lsVeSA2Pjg4tHEdESw277zmBj9O_c90nPJGw4cET5zm5MQ1OdADOnPiYbmhXvavNtj7gZbEfMisXbgaCXZiHcD-uLQ6aDReOhC_xbr_wWl3kKcu9pCvqXglP09EmhnT52nYVk0YBXw/s200/prometheus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597317600914139650" /></a><br /><br />The ancient paths are long forgotten,<br />they are in need of revival from young souls.<br /><br />In the dust there may be possibility.<br />Through the wind I hear a voice, "one must search to find."<br /><br />Basho must have followed me here like Woody Guthrie followed Dylan,<br />passing a torch of beauty.<br /><br />But I thank good Prometheus for sharing,<br />and revealing to us a fire so bright.<br /><br />The road is visible now yet hazy like a dream<br />or a very old memory.<br /><br />A sign reading, "Get Born" strikes me eye as I pass<br />"just one pilgrim to another," I hear through the trees.<br /><br />As my pace picks up I can hear the screams<br />and see the others emerging from the Cave.<br /><br />My road has diverged to yours<br />and the lights are visible to my sleepy eyes.<br /><br />Sounds and smells of the carnival find me here<br />and carry far in this summer wind.<br /><br />At last I arrive with the voices that have called me,<br />like a lynx searching for its kittens.<br /><br />To an open field by the sea we arrive, you and I.<br />"It is finished," I hear in unison.<br /><br />The fire is here also- with a note attached:<br /><br /><br />to: the mortals<br /><br />from: the gods<br /><br />I have taken the ancient paths.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-17501372814619200822011-02-08T09:07:00.000-08:002011-02-08T09:10:55.094-08:00recent views<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg48YvBAQBP4BYYgMWQ1eTou6ZirqeWmwTNgy9Ut9p7An4VnSaroKz9d-nhFnJ7HR1laKYN1Vnlmy_8OkgN96jSUOoWMyeoq0IQbchKqfuELV90bReMep06H61vH6jOsT1uLkVGiJ6VOb9W/s1600/200px-Changeling_poster.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg48YvBAQBP4BYYgMWQ1eTou6ZirqeWmwTNgy9Ut9p7An4VnSaroKz9d-nhFnJ7HR1laKYN1Vnlmy_8OkgN96jSUOoWMyeoq0IQbchKqfuELV90bReMep06H61vH6jOsT1uLkVGiJ6VOb9W/s200/200px-Changeling_poster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571366726099293586" /></a><br /> <br />1928 never felt so real. Great film, full of plot twists and dramatic imagery. The film was based on the Wineville Chicken Coop Murders in the 1920's outside LA. A true story of a mother's love and fight, a boy's innocence and violence. Watch it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-62394728589046877232011-02-08T09:03:00.000-08:002011-02-08T09:07:10.828-08:00recent reads<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHumHKIrFGDrPBojSnQb78O7kbuG0gH-ZYH0V7_5hgtiK5JalgS5x1TjELBNOfKQLdD56n_uV4kFl-1hWFHRcywTaaourEe4RGYRtMnuhHxPHabwknK5l8GgtNQUz6UYARYS8XDjYCmgC_/s1600/the_road.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 129px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHumHKIrFGDrPBojSnQb78O7kbuG0gH-ZYH0V7_5hgtiK5JalgS5x1TjELBNOfKQLdD56n_uV4kFl-1hWFHRcywTaaourEe4RGYRtMnuhHxPHabwknK5l8GgtNQUz6UYARYS8XDjYCmgC_/s200/the_road.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571365979995508306" /></a><br /><br />McCarthy's elements in "The Road" make it a favorite. I am making this a annual winter read. Also looking forward to starting the desert trilogy and seeing the film based on the novel.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-6093239317585551762010-08-29T12:41:00.000-07:002010-08-29T12:45:33.426-07:00Night and Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqtLR38uG-xd6WkOfHYr3of4XeuVbk3E9QQY-uQNOKwIieeMab8ODRk8-F-uQzXVDYc3IY7AuZ60IOqFTWmXuoe-7xZUZql5Em1USw08zSuiEbxWPzH_jrPwScGsM799l8_0ndfqww4N8/s1600/sunsphere.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 142px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqtLR38uG-xd6WkOfHYr3of4XeuVbk3E9QQY-uQNOKwIieeMab8ODRk8-F-uQzXVDYc3IY7AuZ60IOqFTWmXuoe-7xZUZql5Em1USw08zSuiEbxWPzH_jrPwScGsM799l8_0ndfqww4N8/s200/sunsphere.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510920255330913922" /></a><br />These days come and go<br />purple nights and pink sky.<br /><br />City skyline so far away-<br />so ripe to taste.<br /><br />Water moving so sweetly<br />going down and passing<br /><br />Signs of the past<br />and tales of future.<br /><br />Washed so deep and fresh<br />Tomorrow what will come?<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><br />Purple morning and city skyline. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-42694982760893843052010-05-25T10:44:00.000-07:002010-05-25T10:45:49.015-07:00Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.<br />John Lennon, "Beautiful Boy"<br />English singer & songwriter (1940 - 1980)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-37527930079756978952010-05-21T01:12:00.000-07:002010-05-21T01:13:44.149-07:00Train Station at NightThe train station is cold at night<br />As the passing blaze makes that noise.<br /><br />And the money of trade comes, then goes<br />I think it fine to go fast and slow.<br /><br />Coming to an end that is less than beautiful<br />Leaving behind the dust of the east, headed for the coast.<br /><br />The light is here now, don’t fear the cold.<br />As fast as it comes- it slows.<br />Leaving behind the dust of the east, headed for the coast.<br /><br />The light is here now, don’t fear the cold.<br />As fast as it comes- it slows.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-21909690049363004042010-04-13T21:04:00.000-07:002010-04-13T21:07:08.454-07:00Smokies Day 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEh416DQ2unn7jbqMqmxqv_fyQNLXnBMTH95v3fn-u0szeaGOoeXyYbHJyNFl1-QVSu6ACVk8HdUZ7EfVFwPr3MO2FWtnhdhFRjTMcP8WXQeVVT-BHvJrcvNophaJjWgGBH5swEAt3nhKV/s1600/DSC01044.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEh416DQ2unn7jbqMqmxqv_fyQNLXnBMTH95v3fn-u0szeaGOoeXyYbHJyNFl1-QVSu6ACVk8HdUZ7EfVFwPr3MO2FWtnhdhFRjTMcP8WXQeVVT-BHvJrcvNophaJjWgGBH5swEAt3nhKV/s200/DSC01044.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459839778808386658" /></a><br />I thought I would put a little update of my Spring Break trip thru the Smokies.<br />Day 1 started at Fontana Dam and hiked 11 miles to Mollies Ridge, killer hike and a nice fire tower at lunch.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-73017609240157356932010-01-29T21:37:00.000-08:002010-01-29T21:38:25.129-08:00The Smell of NatureGet out of your window,<br />move into the world and feel.<br />Feel the deep cry and footsteps.<br /><br />It is not gone, grasp the universe.<br />Visit old friends, who tell stories.<br /><br />Stories of older times, that sound fresh.<br />As the red sky creates a show, I listen.<br />Surely darkness moves in.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-56145735534155398652010-01-24T11:26:00.000-08:002010-01-28T15:01:44.134-08:00Love Vigilantes by Iron and Wine<span style="font-style:italic;">While reading these lyrics I cannot help thinking of the film, "The Sixth Sense", the speaker is viewing life as if he is a part of it, but in reality he is dead. Also one gets the theme of war/violence, "for my country I would die, and I will see it soon" and "Said that I was a brave, brave man, but that I was dead." The contrast of good and evil are very powerful in this song and tell a story. I understand the patriotic mindset but in reality the speaker is dead and is still wishing to see his family. My favorite lyric is, "with our rifles and grenades and some help from God." In reality they just want "some help from God" and a clear conscience. Fighting the war was not the problem, convincing yourself that it is morally justifiable to kill another human is the battle. <br /></span><br /><br />Oh, I've just come from the land of the sun<br />From a war that must be won in the name of truth<br />With our soldiers so brave your freedom we will save<br />With our rifles and grenades and some help from God<br /><br />I want to see my family<br />My wife and child are waiting for me<br />I've got to go home<br />I've been so alone, you see<br /><br />You just can't believe the joy I did receive<br />When I finally got my leave and I was going home<br />Oh, I flew through the sky, my convictions could not lie<br />For my country I would die, and I will see it soon<br /><br />When I walked through the door my wife she lay upon the floor<br />And with tears her eyes did soar, I did not know why<br />Then I looked into her hand and I saw the telegram<br />Said that I was a brave, brave man, but that I was deadAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-3304690954080045972010-01-22T13:52:00.001-08:002010-01-22T13:54:14.478-08:00Born<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKi7ts75hqmRl4s5z-STisbr34ZLVJhSuPqIXAeJeUN4QCpWQvoILsvT9vfMJWmn8e1e3Y6huNGm-CXfXe-ppMnmaB8XLIN9UL2T_0dSfhrg3ej8eYU6jDsmgKKXjDUHbjjLGg8g9g7Fe/s1600-h/DSC00504.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKi7ts75hqmRl4s5z-STisbr34ZLVJhSuPqIXAeJeUN4QCpWQvoILsvT9vfMJWmn8e1e3Y6huNGm-CXfXe-ppMnmaB8XLIN9UL2T_0dSfhrg3ej8eYU6jDsmgKKXjDUHbjjLGg8g9g7Fe/s200/DSC00504.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429685821347550322" /></a><br />Born<br /><br />Crushing leaves, splashing water, and ripe pine.<br />Here in the thick quiet, time is alone and true.<br /><br />Smells of satisfaction and open skies-<br />bid good day and farewell.<br /><br />Roaring into soul and marrow,<br />mountain fragrance relaxes the heart.<br /><br />World so good, tell of your deeds.<br />Power into this place and shift our minds.<br /><br />-Seth GilmoreAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-74751847247529982592010-01-19T07:48:00.000-08:002010-01-19T07:51:40.640-08:00The River in Winter<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The tired tree lays down his head<br />in streams that will forever flow.<br /><br />No worry of future, past or present.<br />No thought as the river pours wisdom.<br /><br />So time goes on, a season in change-<br />the quiet hum of what once was<br />will become a peace that is true.<br /><br />The path is laden with footprints,<br />and tired, I lay down my head.<br /><br />-Seth Gilmore<br /></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-75186333862945659492010-01-12T07:35:00.000-08:002010-01-12T07:37:57.901-08:00For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://fineartamerica.com/images-medium/garden-of-eden-nature-overwhelming-itself-michelley-queenofqueens.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 537px; height: 700px;" src="http://fineartamerica.com/images-medium/garden-of-eden-nature-overwhelming-itself-michelley-queenofqueens.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" width="700"><tbody><tr valign="top"><td width="488"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:85%;">There is a country to cross you will<br /> find in the corner of your eye, in<br /> the quick slip of your foot—air far<br /> down, a snap that might have caught.<br /> And maybe for you, for me, a high, passing<br /> voice that finds its way by being<br /> afraid. That country is there, for us,<br /> carried as it is crossed. What you fear<br /> will not go away: it will take you into<br /> yourself and bless you and keep you.</span><span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:85%;">That's the world, and we all live there.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:85%;">-William Stafford<br /></span></p> </td> </tr> <tr> <td width="212"> </td> <td style="vertical-align: top;"><br /></td><td align="center" height="30" width="488"><span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8190225580962016205.post-11506159128868664742010-01-09T12:51:00.000-08:002010-01-09T12:54:02.179-08:00Winter SolitudeWinter Solitude--<br />in a world of one color<br />the sound of wind.<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:Arial;font-size:14px;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />-Matsuo Basho<br />Translated by Robert Hass<br /></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02618100737185916150noreply@blogger.com0