Our words are threads.
With truth. The thread runs freely. It passes through the needle’s eye.
With lies. The thread knots. It gets stuck at the needle’s eye.
And the only way to free the thread is to cut the knot.
‘Ring!’ goes the alarm. The morning wake up call. To another day.
Of drudgery, toil and dreariness. A Nine to Five ordeal.
Eating away at you, day by day by day.
That’s dying. Don’t die.
———————-
‘Ring!’ goes the alarm. The morning wake up call. To a new day.
Of giving, inspiring and aspiring. A daylong enlivenment.
Feeding your soul, day by day by day.
That’s living. Do live.
When you grasp the box in your hands. And you tear its wrapping paper – patterned and colored. And you untie the ribbon – satin to one side and velvet to the other.
Your heart skips, your eyes twinkle, your fingers wiggle. Not knowing what’s inside.
It could be chocolate. It could be a book. It could be a sweater. Whatever it is.
It is simply exciting. To be lovingly gifted.
So give.
Yet again, we cross a bridge from one passing week to the next. And yet again, we find ourselves tempted to rush to the end of a bridge. But why the hurry?
How about we stroll across the bridge. And watch the sun rise and set. And see the moon appear and disappear. And witness light melt into darkness, and darkness overcome by light – and back again.
How about we go by the gentle pace of nature – just for today and tomorrow.
Have an easy weekend.
In a neighborhood of some twenty houses lays a street. And the street bore some twenty years of stepping feet and rolling wheels.
Until its once shiny black skin gave way to a dull grey. And its once firm bones gave way to loose stones and sand.
The street was weary. The men and women of the neighborhood took pity.
When night fell, the men and women worked under the moonlight. Until the first light broke out.
The next day the street woke up to a new shiny black skin.
Our minds are closets with many little compartments. In each compartment we stash away a memory, an emotion or experience. Some compartments we open and close. Some we leave ajar. Some we keep shut.
From time to time, we need to empty the closet. And separate things between ‘keep’ and ‘forgo’.
For a thorough spring cleaning of the mind.
The bell rings. The classroom door swings open. The children run out to the playground.
Amongst them is the leader. He leads the children. The children follow his every move, his every word, his every command.
While at the far end of the playground stands a timid boy, an onlooker, unwelcomed by the leader, unwelcomed by his followers. He stands alone.
Twenty years onward. The timid boy creates something amazing for the people. The people follow his every move, his every word, his every inspiration.
While at the far end of the world stands the once glorious leader, with no one to lead.
You walked the tightrope.
One step. Juggling function.
Two step. Juggling function and family.
Three step. Juggling function, family and friends.
Four step. Juggling function, family, friends and fitness.
Five step. Juggling function, family, friends, fitness and fun.
You reached the end of the tightrope. Free your tired hands and let the balls drop and roll – except for two. One in your right hand, one in your left. For that is all your two hands should hold at the end of the rope.
Embrace them and have a balanced weekend.
One coin in the wallet. Lingers inside the dark pocket. Rolls to one side and back to the other. And stays inside, idle.
One coin dropped into the piggy bank. Clinks and chinks against others. Travels miles, travels a mile. Crosses borders, crosses the street.
To save a man. To save an animal. To save a tree.
Don’t save the coin.
Lower your voice and deliver.
For words without deeds fall as distant muffled sounds amongst the unheeding crowd.
Life Demiraged 