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Category: Friendly Fires

projects and support groups promoting creativity, educational opportunities, other people’s creative efforts

PINPOINT “ENOUGH”

PINPOINT “ENOUGH”

Probably we’ve all heard the teaching stories – the ones that make us all nod as if we know something, the ones that make us mutter aphorisms and wisdom-words at each other about the consequences of greed and getting more and more.

The stories are usually about some guy sitting all alone in a big old mansion on a hill somewhere.  He has everything and yet he feels like he has nothing.

(Usually the tale is about a guy, but, really, we could easily substitute a gal in there instead these days.)

Here’s a thought:  Maybe it wasn’t greed that led that lonely one down the road to Empty.  Maybe he or she just didn’t recognize when they had gotten to “Enough” and just kept on going.

prospect-hill-plantation
“The Legacy of Prospect Hill Plantation” by Michael McCarthy via Flickr [CC BY-ND 2.0]
That does happen.

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CONNECT WITH NATURE OR NOT (Another IPS)

CONNECT WITH NATURE OR NOT (Another IPS)

Another IPS (Inner Peace Symptom):  a tendency to notice what you are noticing and to ask why you’re noticing it.  [Sometimes you notice things that call to your heart and your heart responds by dancing.  The best move then is to go do more of that dance….]

Have you noticed the latest trend (especially after the pandemic lockdown) toward hugging trees, galaxy-gazing, mooning over wilderness landscapes and generally dissing our man-made constructs and urban follies?

Going-Outside-with-the-capital-O has become the new default mode of operation.  (Mostly ‘cause it’s pretty boring being stuck inside-with-no-capital-I, even with all the latest gadgets and doo-dads.)

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DO WHAT YOU CAN

DO WHAT YOU CAN

In the spring of 2020, world paradigms changed.

On March 11, 2020, the World Health Organization (WHO) officially declared that the Novel Coronavirus Disease, Covid-19, was a pandemic.

This came after China reported in December, 2019 that there had been more than one instance of a weird life-threatening respiratory illness in Wuhan, the capital and major industrial and commercial center in Hubei province.

The health-care professionals at WHO watched how the new disease spread and the effects it had on people wherever it popped up around the world.

The media, social platforms, and assorted rumor-mills went into overdrive trying to figure out what the heck was going on.  Panic attacks and near-terminal confusion ensued.

Almost immediately after the WHO pandemic declaration the world-as-we-knew-it shut down.  The rules changed and they still keep on morphing. 

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BABY WISDOM

BABY WISDOM

As you know, I invite everybody to send in a poem of their own making that holds meaning and mana for them.  I ask that the poets share the back-story about the poem.  The poems are often a delight and the back-stories are always interesting.

The following poem came from Andy Bia, a fellow online entrepreneur whose blog, BAD INVESTMENT ADVICE (And Ways to Avoid It), covers “the basics of the modern tools and markets” in the stock market world.  His site focuses on making the esoteric world of finance more understandable for regular folks.

The blog stance is really sensible.  If you get confused by the jargon and don’t even understand what all the mavens and pros are talking about, how can you (as a wanna-be financial wiz) make sensible decisions?  Concepts come first, then action.

Andy says he is “not a financial professional.”  I say he is still a wise guy.

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SOUL QUESTION

SOUL QUESTION

Here’s another free-form poem by guest poet James Ray.  It was posted on his site, WAR INC, in July, 2019.  He says he wrote it while he was having his Semi repaired on a very quiet and clear night.

“I looked up at the stars, as I’ve been known to do, and wished (not for the first time) that I did it with someone who could answer this question for me.  All the easy questions of why and where here, but that one slips away time and time again.

 “My soul, why is it here? What now? I dream to meet someone to dream and answer it with….
Souls are eternal but not all knowing
.”


What of my soul?

For the love of a tree. For the love of a branch. For the affection of the air. For the warmth of the ocean. For the touch of Terra firma.

I live for none of these things. I live because biology fills my lungs, oxygenates my blood. The electricity of my body chemistry powers my heart. The seemingly random flashes of my synapses activate my brain.

What of my soul? What does my soul live for? Why would anyone care? I can live without it. Many do. I can run from one thing to another in a never-ending attempt of validation. Many have. I can curse my existence and snuff out those who have found their souls. Many will.

What of my soul? What purpose should it have? Who should give it to me? What do I do if I choose the wrong? How shall I heal it if injured? How shall I grow it, for it to gain strength?

Stand with me on this warm summer night, as i gaze up at the stars and sky. Leave me not alone to ponder this quest on my own. I cannot love man for man does not love me. I cannot be affectionate with Earth because Earth precedes me. I cannot be comfort to the creatures of the wild. For they are not of my kind. I can not love me for I am man.

Sit with me as I gaze of the Stars. The birthplace for which I yearn to return. Speak for me on my behalf to all the creators. Besiege on my behalf, “Hear him for he has pondered long.” Creators! Cosmic occurrence! Singularity! Give to me the answer that I watch for. Or give to me proper question to ask. For a thing as small as mercy, surely do not leave me here alone with my question.

Travel with me part ways on my Odyssey. Only the final Journey should be journeyed alone. Break bread with me, make every morsel meaningful. Witness the scent with me, enhance my senses. And in the end comfort me and be an anchor from this world to the next.

What of my soul? What is enough? What must I do. On this warm summer night gazing the stars and moon. Sing me a song of few words. Hum me a melody of few notes. Give me a friendship of love, more than I deserve.

For the love of a tree for the love of me. For as far as I can see. For as much as I can be. Sit with me on warm grass, twinkling sky, half shone Moon, on warm summer’s night. And tell me what of my soul.


Header Photo credit:  “Starry Night Scene Looking West” by Russ Seidel via Flickr [CC BY-NC-ND 2.0]

Cool, James….

And you:  thanks for your visit.  I’d appreciate it if you would drop a note or comment below and tell me your thoughts.

(And if you would like to share a poem of your making that has meaning and mana for you, please go to the “Guest Poet Portal” in the header menu and submit it.  We will all be happy you did.)

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THE BEAUTY REBELLION (Guerilla Gardening)

THE BEAUTY REBELLION (Guerilla Gardening)

It is heartening for me to see the world-wide burgeoning of another sort of rebellion against the very real effects of the post-modern aftermath of our narcissistic phase of dominion and domination over nature, where we humans felt entitled to willy-nilly pave over the world and dump our stuff all over the place to make yet another ugly.

They call it “guerilla gardening” and it continues to expand all over the globe.

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MISSING FEATHERS

MISSING FEATHERS

James Ray is a Google+ poet buddy who came looking for me.  It was grand getting connected with him again.  The demise of Google+ was a sad day for the poets who were having fun playing around with each other in it.

I asked James to share a poem with us.  He sent this heartful free-form poem as well as the back story.

James says, “I have written my whole life, but never as much and never as public. Yet I am still mostly unread. LOL

He invites everyone to check out his poetry blog.  Click on the button below and it’ll take you there.

click-here

 


I was told not long after I was born that upon my first crawling I made my way to my father’s chamber. I stole from his ceremonial headdress six feathers. So that is what they named me Six feathers.

Decades later I grew strong with the other warriors of the tribe. Upon a successful raid of our neighbors one of the captured women was found to be unstable. They treated her badly even among the other survivors of her village. They called her Missing feathers.

Warring between the tribes was natural, it was the way. But I had no will to be cruel. I protected Missing feathers for that is my way. From that day on she seemed to be more focused when ever we we’re together. In time my village took to calling me her missing feathers.

How long has it been now? How many sunsets have we shared together? She sleeps now and even now I can tell the trouble of her mind. I know her. I know her mind. Through the many years now accepted by The village, my mate, my Missing feathers.

She will wake any minute now, as she has done many times before. And the unrest behind her eyes will fade to the background as it always does upon seeing me. And I will once again be for her the feathers that make her whole.

The joke unknown by the villagers is that I didn’t take enough feathers from my father’s headdress years ago. She was the feathers that I needed. The wisdom that I did not have. The strength to unite all the neighboring tribes. To end the ceaseless raiding and taking of prisoners. Now our children boys and girls grow strong in the united tribes! And none know but me to give thanks to my Missing feathers.

But uncertain is our time together. For I have noticed some of the spirits that plague her lead her out away from me. How much longer do we have? How much longer before she wakes without it being her behind her eyes? What will I do then when I am truly missing my feathers?

The Medicine Woman and the Elders of the village make no promises to me. They can do nothing to exercise her demons. They say it is only I who have held them at bay all these years. The great spirits have gifted me. But our time together. I do not seek to waste any moments that I have left.

I am transfixed by her sleeping beauty. I am broken-hearted by her restless slumber. I am guardian to the feathers which I cannot keep. She stirs. So slowly her eyes open. Who shall greet me this day?

Husband? Why do you greet me this way every morning? Why do you look so troubled? Have I done something?

No, my beloved feathers. I just worried that I would have to start my day without you. I have but only the six feathers, I need you for the rest.

Such silliness from one who is Chief. But yes, if you give me your six I will give you all that you are missing.

I hug her and in our embrace I thank the great spirit for giving me one more day with my Missing feathers…
~~~~~

I may never get to tell the story behind this story. Because I know I’ll never finish it. I seem to be missing my feathers….


Despite the final lines of the poem, James did share the back-story for this poem.  He says, “I came across a letter to her brother that my ex-wife had shared with me some time ago. In it she told him of what finding me did for her life, the meaning and sanity it gave her.  As I did then, I told her it meant as much to me.

“Sadly the day came where she did not wake to return to me and the one who woke took her from me.  Now I’m left with only the six feathers….


Header photo credit:  “Feathered Fury” by GollyGForce via Flickr.  [CC BY 2.0]

Beautiful, James!  Thank you.

Thanks for your visit.  I’d appreciate it if you would drop a note or comment below and tell me your thoughts.

(And if you would like to share a poem of your making that has meaning and mana for you, please go to the “Guest Poet Portal” in the header menu and submit it.  We will all be happy you did.)

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MULTIPLY THE FUN (An Un-Seeing Exercise)

MULTIPLY THE FUN (An Un-Seeing Exercise)

Consistently over the years, assorted research has shown that job dissatisfaction is a problem for about two-thirds of the people in America.

This “disengagement” has wide-ranging effects.  Gallup tells us that this job irritant issue has cost as much as $350 billion a year in “lost productivity.”

(It can also suck a soul dry, and turn your life into a desert, but nobody scientific ever mentions that.)

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ISLAND-STYLE VIRUS FIGHTING

ISLAND-STYLE VIRUS FIGHTING

We are walking through interesting times, we humans.  The world is going through a time of rapid change on a scope that is a mind-boggle.

It’s all coming at us at a furious pace as we try to get some kind of handle on it.

When our only effective weapons of defense are washing our hands with soap and water, avoiding sneezing and coughing at each other, and stepping far away from one another as the complex constructs we’ve built for ourselves come to a screeching halt and our dreams evaporate, we do get the idea that it’s gotten all whack-a-doodle.

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BEYOND STUFF-LOVE (Part 2): Material Mind

BEYOND STUFF-LOVE (Part 2): Material Mind

Probably since the beginning of time the love of stuff has ruled the world.  And as long as there has been stuff-love, there probably also have been those who growl about all this rampant “stuff-ism.”

According to those grouses, making and getting and keeping and trading and maintaining and so on and so forth goes against “right” thinking and the proper order of something or other.

Stuff-ism is going to destroy the world as we know it, they say, or at least put a heavy dent in it.

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