Psyche’s Call with Donna May: “The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty yes to your adventure.” ~Joseph Campbell
And the biggest problem, is it not, is knowing which path to take? To understand that sometimes the direction of the path, the adventure, has to be created by ourselves. Waiting for the magic billboard in the sky is a sad mistake that too many of us make. The months, the weeks, the years go by and standing at the side of the road takes its toll. Sometimes the teacher does not arrive. Sometimes the teacher is not recognized. Sometimes we needs must create our own path, come what may, but dig in!
And now, dear friends, a sweet good night, and thoughts of Rilke to hold us tight.
Posted by Psyche’s Call with Donna May
And once more from our dear friend, Donna May. May we all dream on with thoughts of snow and angel wings. And may we plumb the depths of our own souls, our own center which cannot hold.
So many thoughts, so little time. So for just now, and a catch-up later, here’s a thought to tide us over once more.
Tao and Zen
“There is a misconception that Buddhism is a religion, and that you worship Buddha. Buddhism is a practice, like yoga. You can be a Christian and practice Buddhism. I met a Catholic priest who lives in a Buddhist monastery in France. He told me that Buddhism makes him a better Christian. I love that.” – Thich Nhat Hanh
Sometimes it’s just easier to say what you do not want or do not like than to say that which you do. (There’s a note on previous ramblings about same.) This is an extended version, just to pass the time while I bake. Yes bake. (From already prepared dough. But still. It requires oven time.)
I do not care for Andre Rieu. I think he is a poseur. And a narcissist. However and of course one needs to be those things to be a conductor in any case, yes? Perhaps not as obviously—if so. Or as long-haired-blond, look-at-me, about it. And I certainly have nothing against long hair on men/boys.
Yikes to Ravel. No thank you. Bolero is tedious and repetitive. I don’t know about his other works; as soon as I see the name I move past.
No, no, absolute no: “Post this if you love” me. Love at all. If you can see my name. If you don’t post or share this within two minutes you will die by lions tonight. It will mean you hate god. Or you don’t care for the grief-stricken woman who just lost her: …………(fill in the blank)…
No and sad about it: Al Pacino and Robert De Niro. Neither one has made a star-quality film since their bigs—The Godfather & Raging Bull. Though I keep checking and watching their latest films. Such a disappointment.
NO NO NO: baby talk for animals. Why do posts make otherwise fine content a reject because someone just wolfs me? Why do people believe misspelt words are charming? Excuse me while I barf.
Not to my taste: Beautiful horses posed beside a model. What’s wrong with a real person next to that beauty?
Do not, not, not—Stop it I say— call poetic justice irony. It is NOT ironic. In most cases irony is misused. I may have said this before. Most likely. And that is not ironic.
Please do not have the not snow. It’s winter. Here in the midwest or eastwardly leaning, we should have snow, should we not?
And that’s all for semi-thinking on this Sunday night. And I managed to burn the last load of cookies. Maybe baking should seriously go back on the list of Nots.
Bob Blair
“Another-wintery-scene-from-silver-springs-park-in-stow-ohio,” posted by Rob Blair. I post this for those of us who have forgotten what snow looks like.
Sometimes it seems as if the slate will never be clean. Can we ever truly start over? When does the trail of our lives end? Or, is it ever possible to look back and see far away to the Eden that was once ours? The beginning of our soul lives, the purity of our ancestral longing and a spirit so pure as to be invisible—is it there?
What future do we hold to give away to those who follow? What time will we spend seeking the sunshine ridges of our youth? Not the old which can never be recaptured, but the new with faces turned into the wind to seek new mountains, new valleys, new ways of thinking and new music played on instruments yet to be created. New joy beyond, just there…just there… wafting above ground to the pilgrimage of the future, carried past what was into the unknown. What is it that we will create for ourselves?
Writers Ink—Writing and Stuff 