Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Orwell's 1984: His Sinister Vision is Almost Reality -- Signs of the Times News
Orwell's 1984: His Sinister Vision is Almost Reality -- Signs of the Times News: "http://www.sott.net/articles/show/186829-Orwell-s-1984-His-Sinister-Vision-is-Almost-Reality"
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Poems without names.
Poems without names.
lts not very often l wake feeling empty, but today l did.
l had two thoughts in my brain, and jotted them down...
these poems have no names.
..............................................
l have not found you yet
l use everything to take your place
l over indulge all things
where are you.
l have great passion
being wasted on superficial things and thoughts.
where are you.
...............................................................
can l stand alone with me...
do for myself?
while l know you are there
l need to be able to see if l can stand and be strong,
without my crutches in life.
as l turn u off and out for a moment
l sense a strength and freedom
l know you all are there
l need to be free.
l step out of the care bubble l have allowed myself to be in,
out of life security.
lts scary, and invigorating.
l dont mean to be mean
l dont feel meanness at all
l just want to be with me and my strengths
lf l find l cant
l know youre there.
lts not very often l wake feeling empty, but today l did.
l had two thoughts in my brain, and jotted them down...
these poems have no names.
..............................................
l have not found you yet
l use everything to take your place
l over indulge all things
where are you.
l have great passion
being wasted on superficial things and thoughts.
where are you.
...............................................................
can l stand alone with me...
do for myself?
while l know you are there
l need to be able to see if l can stand and be strong,
without my crutches in life.
as l turn u off and out for a moment
l sense a strength and freedom
l know you all are there
l need to be free.
l step out of the care bubble l have allowed myself to be in,
out of life security.
lts scary, and invigorating.
l dont mean to be mean
l dont feel meanness at all
l just want to be with me and my strengths
lf l find l cant
l know youre there.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Juana lnes de la Cruz
 | Juana Inés de la Cruz | for everyone |
| Category: | Other |
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sor_Juana
....
Sor Juana was born (November 12, 1658. Some biographers record her birth year as [1648,] – April 17, 1695).
She was known as Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, and also by her full name: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz de Asbaje (or Asuaje) y Ramírez de Santillana
Sor Juana was a self-taught Novohispana scholar, nun, poet, and a writer of the Baroque school. Though she lived in a post-conquest era when Mexico was colonized by Spain, she is considered a Mexican writer, and a precursor to later Mexican literature.
Life and Literary Production
During a time when bloodlines strictly dictated class and status, Juana de Asbaje y Ramirez Santillana began life as the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. Her mother came from the small village of San Miguel de Nepantla, near Amecameca (modern-day México State). Her grandfather had acquired property there, and so Juana was raised in village life.
She was a gifted child who hid in the hacienda chapel to read her grandfather's books from the adjoining library, something forbidden to girls. She taught herself Latin before she was ten years old- and would cut off a lock of hair each time she forgot something. By adolescence, she had mastered Greek logic, and at age thirteen she was teaching Latin to young children.
In 1664, at age sixteen, Juana was sent to live in Mexico City, and came under the tutelage of the Vicerreine Leonor Carreto, wife of Antonio Sebastian de Toledo, Marquis de Mancera.
In 1667, she entered the Convent of the Discalced Carmelites of St. Joseph, but only remained there briefly. In 1669, she entered the Convent of the Order of St. Jerome where she would remain until her death.[1]
There is ongoing debate by some moderns, questioning whether she had a personal romantic life, as love is often nuanced in her poems, and her language is often a sensory and sometimes seeming ecstatic one. Coming from poetic traditions in pre-conquest Mexico wherein poetry was high art --and relationship with the gods was often spoken about in terms of erotic lyricism-- and too, with the Spanish overlay of the great Catholic saints who portrayed themselves as "lovers with God" and "brides of Christ," etc., the debate continues about whether her writings are literal or allegorical.
In her time, the convent was the only refuge in which a female could properly attend to education of her mind, spirit, body and soul. In Sor Juana's era, educating girls was not only non-existent, but often considered by Spanish prelates to be the dark work of the Devil.
Nonetheless, Sor Juana wrote literature centered on freedom. In her poem "Redondillas" she defends a woman's right to be respected as a human being. In "Hombres necios" (Stubborn men), she criticizes the sexism of the society of her time, poking fun at and revealing the hypocrisy of men who publicly condemn prostitutes, yet privately pay women to perform on them what they have just said is an abomination to God.
Sor Juana's asks the sharp question in this ages old matter of the purity/whoredom split found in base male mentality: 'Who sins more, she who sins for pay? or he who pays for sin?'
Developing her themes further, she wrote a romantic comedy entitled Los empeños de una casa about a brother and a sister entangled in webs of love, elucidating the themes of love and jealousy. She did not moralize, but rather, in the spirit of her lifetime interests, inquired of how these deeply emotional matters shaped and carved a woman's pursuit of liberty, knowledge, education and freedom to live her life in self-sovereignty.
Her independent thinking alarmed and angered the oligarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, for it sawed away at the fundamental idea that women are to serve and not to think; they are to be unpaid or lowly adjuncts to princes of the Church and Spanish royalty. Her 'thinking out loud' was especially dangerous because the Counter Reformation was raging. Anyone who challenged societal values and ecclesiastical dogma could be marked by the Church as a heretic, and thereby harmed by the Church bearing false witness against the person; by the Church silencing them; forcing them into penitence, or else stripping them of property and assets, including those of one's family; they could be tortured, exiled, imprisoned or murdered.
Matters came to a head in 1690, when a letter was published attacking Sor Juana's focus on the sciences, and suggesting that she should devote her time to soft theology.
However, powerful representatives from the Spanish court were her mentors and she was widely read in Spain, being called "the Tenth Muse." She was lauded as the most prominent poet of the post-conquest American Continent. Her work was printed by the first printing press of the American Continent in Mexico City.
In response to clergy who sought to reprimand her, Sor Juana wrote a letter entitled Respuesta a Sor Filotea (Reply to Sister Filotea,) in which she defended women's right to any education they desired. The Catholic Church, via the Archbishop of Mexico joined other high-ranking officials in condemning Sor Juana's "waywardness."
By 1693, Sor Juana seemingly ceased writing rather than risk further Church censure. However, there is no undisputed evidence of her renouncing devotion to letters, though there are documents showing her agreeing to self-humiliation. Her name is affixed to such a document in 1694, but given her deep natural lyricism, the tone of these supposed hand-written penitentials is rhetorical and autocratic Church formulae- one signed, "Yo, la peor de todas" (I, the worst of all).
She is said to have sold all her books then, an extensive library of over 4,000 volumes... her musical and scientific instruments as well. According to some investigators, her books of her own works were burnt by the Inquisition as she was forced into silence by Church hierarchy.
Only a few writings remain which are known as the "Complete Works." According to Octavio Paz, Sor Juana's writings were saved by the Viceroy's wife. Some sources have speculated they were lovers. In April 1695, after ministering to the other sisters struck down by a rampant plague, she is said to have died at four in the morning on April 17.
...
l know we arent supposed to cut and paste from sites,
but l found this really intersting...
l adore reading about the first women to do things,
especially sticking it up males...lol...
so l hope u find it interesting as l did.
....
Sor Juana was born (November 12, 1658. Some biographers record her birth year as [1648,] – April 17, 1695).
She was known as Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, and also by her full name: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz de Asbaje (or Asuaje) y Ramírez de Santillana
Sor Juana was a self-taught Novohispana scholar, nun, poet, and a writer of the Baroque school. Though she lived in a post-conquest era when Mexico was colonized by Spain, she is considered a Mexican writer, and a precursor to later Mexican literature.
Life and Literary Production
During a time when bloodlines strictly dictated class and status, Juana de Asbaje y Ramirez Santillana began life as the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. Her mother came from the small village of San Miguel de Nepantla, near Amecameca (modern-day México State). Her grandfather had acquired property there, and so Juana was raised in village life.
She was a gifted child who hid in the hacienda chapel to read her grandfather's books from the adjoining library, something forbidden to girls. She taught herself Latin before she was ten years old- and would cut off a lock of hair each time she forgot something. By adolescence, she had mastered Greek logic, and at age thirteen she was teaching Latin to young children.
In 1664, at age sixteen, Juana was sent to live in Mexico City, and came under the tutelage of the Vicerreine Leonor Carreto, wife of Antonio Sebastian de Toledo, Marquis de Mancera.
In 1667, she entered the Convent of the Discalced Carmelites of St. Joseph, but only remained there briefly. In 1669, she entered the Convent of the Order of St. Jerome where she would remain until her death.[1]
There is ongoing debate by some moderns, questioning whether she had a personal romantic life, as love is often nuanced in her poems, and her language is often a sensory and sometimes seeming ecstatic one. Coming from poetic traditions in pre-conquest Mexico wherein poetry was high art --and relationship with the gods was often spoken about in terms of erotic lyricism-- and too, with the Spanish overlay of the great Catholic saints who portrayed themselves as "lovers with God" and "brides of Christ," etc., the debate continues about whether her writings are literal or allegorical.
In her time, the convent was the only refuge in which a female could properly attend to education of her mind, spirit, body and soul. In Sor Juana's era, educating girls was not only non-existent, but often considered by Spanish prelates to be the dark work of the Devil.
Nonetheless, Sor Juana wrote literature centered on freedom. In her poem "Redondillas" she defends a woman's right to be respected as a human being. In "Hombres necios" (Stubborn men), she criticizes the sexism of the society of her time, poking fun at and revealing the hypocrisy of men who publicly condemn prostitutes, yet privately pay women to perform on them what they have just said is an abomination to God.
Sor Juana's asks the sharp question in this ages old matter of the purity/whoredom split found in base male mentality: 'Who sins more, she who sins for pay? or he who pays for sin?'
Developing her themes further, she wrote a romantic comedy entitled Los empeños de una casa about a brother and a sister entangled in webs of love, elucidating the themes of love and jealousy. She did not moralize, but rather, in the spirit of her lifetime interests, inquired of how these deeply emotional matters shaped and carved a woman's pursuit of liberty, knowledge, education and freedom to live her life in self-sovereignty.
Her independent thinking alarmed and angered the oligarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, for it sawed away at the fundamental idea that women are to serve and not to think; they are to be unpaid or lowly adjuncts to princes of the Church and Spanish royalty. Her 'thinking out loud' was especially dangerous because the Counter Reformation was raging. Anyone who challenged societal values and ecclesiastical dogma could be marked by the Church as a heretic, and thereby harmed by the Church bearing false witness against the person; by the Church silencing them; forcing them into penitence, or else stripping them of property and assets, including those of one's family; they could be tortured, exiled, imprisoned or murdered.
Matters came to a head in 1690, when a letter was published attacking Sor Juana's focus on the sciences, and suggesting that she should devote her time to soft theology.
However, powerful representatives from the Spanish court were her mentors and she was widely read in Spain, being called "the Tenth Muse." She was lauded as the most prominent poet of the post-conquest American Continent. Her work was printed by the first printing press of the American Continent in Mexico City.
In response to clergy who sought to reprimand her, Sor Juana wrote a letter entitled Respuesta a Sor Filotea (Reply to Sister Filotea,) in which she defended women's right to any education they desired. The Catholic Church, via the Archbishop of Mexico joined other high-ranking officials in condemning Sor Juana's "waywardness."
By 1693, Sor Juana seemingly ceased writing rather than risk further Church censure. However, there is no undisputed evidence of her renouncing devotion to letters, though there are documents showing her agreeing to self-humiliation. Her name is affixed to such a document in 1694, but given her deep natural lyricism, the tone of these supposed hand-written penitentials is rhetorical and autocratic Church formulae- one signed, "Yo, la peor de todas" (I, the worst of all).
She is said to have sold all her books then, an extensive library of over 4,000 volumes... her musical and scientific instruments as well. According to some investigators, her books of her own works were burnt by the Inquisition as she was forced into silence by Church hierarchy.
Only a few writings remain which are known as the "Complete Works." According to Octavio Paz, Sor Juana's writings were saved by the Viceroy's wife. Some sources have speculated they were lovers. In April 1695, after ministering to the other sisters struck down by a rampant plague, she is said to have died at four in the morning on April 17.
...
l know we arent supposed to cut and paste from sites,
but l found this really intersting...
l adore reading about the first women to do things,
especially sticking it up males...lol...
so l hope u find it interesting as l did.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Monday Morning...
l was having a good unbroken sleep, until l heard a bee with a nasal problem at my window.
l knew what it was.
THE MONDAY MORNING GARDENER.
l rolled back over and went to sleep.
Next l know lm holding a damful of water l thought would overflow if l didnt get out of bed soon.
with eyes closed l did my best to get this semi elderly lady to at least sitting position, and able to hold the overflow.
my joints felt like a truck had hit them during the night, and slowly, ever so slowly talked them into working.
my face felt like grease proof paper, and had to be wiped or else my hand would have slid off it.
time to stand.
my feet cursed me.
my legs and hips ducked for verbal cover, each doing their best to stand on the complaining feet.
ln their delicate condition they made the unbalanced way to the bathroom.
eyes still closed, and feeling my way, l made it just before the flow had a mind of its own.
sat quickly, very quickly, and let the gush go free.
ahh..
now l opened my eyes...
someone had glued them shut...
l sat there until l focused.
stood up with aching truck hit back, balanced on old and tired feet,
l could feel all of my bones trying to adjust to standing position,
and made my way to the kitchen to make a brew of that black drink we call coffee.
while waiting l looked at the clock...half eleven am.
l had to be across the city before half three pm.
the coffee machine groaned and trickled and groaned some more.
my machine sounds constipated....groan,push,drips,groan....
eventually the black stuff was ready.
my hands not quite awake yet, had to concentrate on the pouring into the my cup.
made my way to the computer with cup in hand while concentrating on not dropping it with my hands that have trouble gripping now a days, and sat here and drank it...
GOOD MORNING....
l knew what it was.
THE MONDAY MORNING GARDENER.
l rolled back over and went to sleep.
Next l know lm holding a damful of water l thought would overflow if l didnt get out of bed soon.
with eyes closed l did my best to get this semi elderly lady to at least sitting position, and able to hold the overflow.
my joints felt like a truck had hit them during the night, and slowly, ever so slowly talked them into working.
my face felt like grease proof paper, and had to be wiped or else my hand would have slid off it.
time to stand.
my feet cursed me.
my legs and hips ducked for verbal cover, each doing their best to stand on the complaining feet.
ln their delicate condition they made the unbalanced way to the bathroom.
eyes still closed, and feeling my way, l made it just before the flow had a mind of its own.
sat quickly, very quickly, and let the gush go free.
ahh..
now l opened my eyes...
someone had glued them shut...
l sat there until l focused.
stood up with aching truck hit back, balanced on old and tired feet,
l could feel all of my bones trying to adjust to standing position,
and made my way to the kitchen to make a brew of that black drink we call coffee.
while waiting l looked at the clock...half eleven am.
l had to be across the city before half three pm.
the coffee machine groaned and trickled and groaned some more.
my machine sounds constipated....groan,push,drips,groan....
eventually the black stuff was ready.
my hands not quite awake yet, had to concentrate on the pouring into the my cup.
made my way to the computer with cup in hand while concentrating on not dropping it with my hands that have trouble gripping now a days, and sat here and drank it...
GOOD MORNING....
PAVED PARADISE.
Box Hill in Melbourne Australia,1957, was the year my family moved into the suburb.
We were the only house for a mile or so, and all around us was open land.
Our main road was one road. and gravel.
Our street was dirt, with pot holes.
The milkman and his horse would come past at 3am every morning, and you would hear the bottles rattling, and hooves of the horse.
There were so many gumtrees,you could hear them swaying in the wind, long grass also.
A creek not far away, we could hear the water trickling.
Horses in paddocks without a chain.
Yabbies in little natural pools.
Tadpoles, Frogs.
.......................
Now its all built up.
A concrete jungle.
We were the only house for a mile or so, and all around us was open land.
Our main road was one road. and gravel.
Our street was dirt, with pot holes.
The milkman and his horse would come past at 3am every morning, and you would hear the bottles rattling, and hooves of the horse.
There were so many gumtrees,you could hear them swaying in the wind, long grass also.
A creek not far away, we could hear the water trickling.
Horses in paddocks without a chain.
Yabbies in little natural pools.
Tadpoles, Frogs.
.......................
Now its all built up.
A concrete jungle.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
There Is A Way by Gary R. Ferris
There is a Way by Gary R. Ferris
There is a way,
Which seems right unto man;
But the end there of,
Will kill if it can.
*****
You seek and strive,
To realize your dreams;
Rising up early,
Will bring wealth it seems.
*****
The first one there,
And last to leave;
Hard work brings prosperity,
Is what you believe.
*****
You outshine them all,
As you climb to the top;
The late nights and dedication,
Never seem to stop.
*****
Cars, clothes, and goods,
And all you desire;
Keep filling your house,
As you begin to tire.
*****
All that you’ve gained,
Now controls you;
You can’t quit now,
Until you fill the shoe.
*****
People you loved,
Seem distant away;
Too blind to see,
By the game that you play.
*****
Those who helped you,
Get where you are;
You no longer notice,
The size of their scar.
*****
All in one day,
It seems to go away;
All that you loved,
When you started your way.
*****
Haven’t I done right,
By seeking my goals?
Why is all crumbling,
And my heart like coal.
*****
I sought things,
And pushed people aside;
Blind to their cares,
Of myself to abide.
*****
I feel betrayed,
By all that I’ve done;
By all the hard work,
Under the sun.
*****
How could I fail,
I thought I was right?
All of these things,
Keep me from sleep at night.
*****
There is a way,
Which seems right unto man;
But the end there of,
Will kill if it can.
*****
Written 01-17-04
There is a way,
Which seems right unto man;
But the end there of,
Will kill if it can.
*****
You seek and strive,
To realize your dreams;
Rising up early,
Will bring wealth it seems.
*****
The first one there,
And last to leave;
Hard work brings prosperity,
Is what you believe.
*****
You outshine them all,
As you climb to the top;
The late nights and dedication,
Never seem to stop.
*****
Cars, clothes, and goods,
And all you desire;
Keep filling your house,
As you begin to tire.
*****
All that you’ve gained,
Now controls you;
You can’t quit now,
Until you fill the shoe.
*****
People you loved,
Seem distant away;
Too blind to see,
By the game that you play.
*****
Those who helped you,
Get where you are;
You no longer notice,
The size of their scar.
*****
All in one day,
It seems to go away;
All that you loved,
When you started your way.
*****
Haven’t I done right,
By seeking my goals?
Why is all crumbling,
And my heart like coal.
*****
I sought things,
And pushed people aside;
Blind to their cares,
Of myself to abide.
*****
I feel betrayed,
By all that I’ve done;
By all the hard work,
Under the sun.
*****
How could I fail,
I thought I was right?
All of these things,
Keep me from sleep at night.
*****
There is a way,
Which seems right unto man;
But the end there of,
Will kill if it can.
*****
Written 01-17-04
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Melbourne Fires...
l have tried to imagine
How those poor people on the mountain feel.
l have never been caught is a fire situation before.
lve only had trouble with water.
but these poor people.
the fright, the fear.
thinking or knowing they were going to die.
the pain of the heat.
the fading in and out of life.
their lungs, the body functions.
the depression, the pain.
my heart cries for them.
others lives are and can be worse than mine.
l shall pray for them to have great strength.
How those poor people on the mountain feel.
l have never been caught is a fire situation before.
lve only had trouble with water.
but these poor people.
the fright, the fear.
thinking or knowing they were going to die.
the pain of the heat.
the fading in and out of life.
their lungs, the body functions.
the depression, the pain.
my heart cries for them.
others lives are and can be worse than mine.
l shall pray for them to have great strength.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The love of a good kind man...poem
The love of a good kind man.
There aint nothin more in the world that a woman needs more
than the love of a good kind man.
she can go on day after day trying her best
wearing herself out and down,
tired and wearing a frown.
A good man is so hard to find,
values of steel
bringing her mind in like a fishing reel.
He gives her strength
he gives her the power,
days become easier
hips become sleazier.
There aint nothin more in the world that a woman needs more
than the love of a good kind man.
she can go on day after day trying her best
wearing herself out and down,
tired and wearing a frown.
A good man is so hard to find,
values of steel
bringing her mind in like a fishing reel.
He gives her strength
he gives her the power,
days become easier
hips become sleazier.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Telephone - poem -
Deep, Deep, Sleep.
Ringing bells invade!
Comfort disturbed...
Blackness.
Now pictures!
Where is the noise!
Climbing,climbing,
Over the edge,
Down on the floor.
Cold against my ear.
A loving familiar voice.
Lay back and collapse.
Voice in ear, close the eyes,
Let it talk, try and concentrate.
The voice asks a question!
Eyes! Open! Think! Oh! Mm!
Oh! Youre awake!
Throw the doona off
Thats tied around you,
Now youre up!
Now the voice wants to go.
You look at the pillow,
Then the window,
Now the clock,
Deep breath,
Try to stand.
Walk to the bathroom.
Eyes sticky,
Throat dry,
Back stiff.
Sit and organize the day.
Hot coffee,
Hot shower,
Warm clothes.
Sunny day,
l smile at the mirror,
And thank god
For another day.
Ringing bells invade!
Comfort disturbed...
Blackness.
Now pictures!
Where is the noise!
Climbing,climbing,
Over the edge,
Down on the floor.
Cold against my ear.
A loving familiar voice.
Lay back and collapse.
Voice in ear, close the eyes,
Let it talk, try and concentrate.
The voice asks a question!
Eyes! Open! Think! Oh! Mm!
Oh! Youre awake!
Throw the doona off
Thats tied around you,
Now youre up!
Now the voice wants to go.
You look at the pillow,
Then the window,
Now the clock,
Deep breath,
Try to stand.
Walk to the bathroom.
Eyes sticky,
Throat dry,
Back stiff.
Sit and organize the day.
Hot coffee,
Hot shower,
Warm clothes.
Sunny day,
l smile at the mirror,
And thank god
For another day.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
A Poem. ( Death-Loss )
lt is so hard to lose someone.
the ache of wanting them back, and knowing its impossible.
to have found the right person, and situation, to have it taken.
afraid youll never find another like him.
to hold onto what sat right with you.
we can talk to them, in our quiet moments and dreams.
and feel them close, and feel like we are home.
we dont search for this sadness, this emptiness.
this ache.
tis hard to move on from a place we searched so hard to find.
yes, life does go on.
one day, you will be with him once again.
he would not want you to hurry through this lifetime, to do just that.
he wants you to love life, and love him.
he is there with you, and will do with you, whatever u choose to do with life.
the ache of wanting them back, and knowing its impossible.
to have found the right person, and situation, to have it taken.
afraid youll never find another like him.
to hold onto what sat right with you.
we can talk to them, in our quiet moments and dreams.
and feel them close, and feel like we are home.
we dont search for this sadness, this emptiness.
this ache.
tis hard to move on from a place we searched so hard to find.
yes, life does go on.
one day, you will be with him once again.
he would not want you to hurry through this lifetime, to do just that.
he wants you to love life, and love him.
he is there with you, and will do with you, whatever u choose to do with life.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Good Morning...
Slowly l stir
eyes still closed
l make a move to the side of my bed
sleep persperation on said t shirt
l remove it from my body
eyes still closed.
Still breathing the sleep breathe
l reach for a dry t shirt
eyes still closed
l feel my feet
try to straighten
and bones find a balance
l open my eyes.
l wish l could see
through a huge window
fields of green
l look at blank walls.
l try to stand
balance best l can
one foot forward
then the next
the light of day
coming thru the bathroom window
makes me cringe.
l sleep walk
to the kitchen
automatically find my cup
fill it with water
from the tap
fill coffee maker
my coffee jar
is almost empty
l reach for the new one
twas a larger packet
l bought on special
awkwardly l fill said jar
l try to be tidy
still half asleep
eyes are open
just.
the coffee is perking
the smell is great
looking forward
to the first cup.
back at the kitchen bench
l sleepily fill the coffee jar
from the family pack
l miss a few times
sigh...
just keep doing it lynn
youll get there.
coffee is perked
l pour the blackness
take a sniff...
sleepily back to the bench
time for the powdered milk
l spill that too.
takes a deep breath
looks at my mess
vows to clean up later.
with coffee in hand
l walk balance to my favourite chair
sit and enjoy.
Who am l ?
lve always done people jobs.
l was always good at my jobs.
l wasnt afraid of people.
l wasnt afraid of the boss.
l was afraid of losing my job,
which happened frequently,
cos l stood up to others.
And that means the boss too.
My parents were strict,
and yet loving.
l worked for bosses until l was around 22.
l had had enough, and truelly didnt
understand why l kept being sacked.
Well, u say, it was my attitude...
of course it was, but l didnt know why
l had that attitude.
- at the time -...
Finally, my mother and l decided l could do
a driving job.
this meant working for myself.
yes, lm capable.
l worked a courier van around Melbourne for 3 yrs.
then moved onto driving a taxi around melb.
l lasted in the taxi business about 17 yrs.
then into the job on the other side - despatcher-.
this radio job lasted about seven yrs,
then computers came in and l lost my job.
( l think l kept this job a long time, cos the job
consists of telling ppl where to go....lol.)
Now l was on the dole.
l had just bought a house.
l had no job, and only welfare to keep me.
l lost the house.
l decided there and then, l wasnt going to work again.
Some of the drivers l had gotten to know while driving,
are musicians,
l started going out with them at night.
There was one singer in particular l always wanted to meet.
one of those drivers knew that person.
He (lan ferguson ) took me to the Dutch Tilders gig...
l was out and about at night with musos.
As a child l was always singing.
yes u guessed it, it was the start of my musical era.
During this time, l was slowly wearing down.
On the dole, l didnt care, and neither did anyone else.
The dr in a few yrs to come, put my on an anti depressant,
and a muscle relaxent.
l did calm down, and found that l really couldnt work,
and being the kind of person who didnt admit freely to
failure, l asked the dr if l could go on a pension.
He could see that l was just tired,and couldnt deal with things.
He kindly did allow that.
To this day, lm still on those medications.
and the pension.
l guess l just got what l call, ' peopled out '.
l dont go amongst ppl now unless l have to.
Oh god, lve Raved again, and lm not even bent.
now what was the question...oh yes...
...
Sagittarius:
You have less fear of strangers than most people and today brings you even farther out into the world! It's a great day to strike up random conversations with strangers and see where they lead.
...
My fear of ppl...yes that was the point of this rave...
l guess lm lucky lve not had a fear of ppl.
lve always been able to look after myself.
l didnt have a fear, but l have come thru life with an irritation factor.
l dont fear, l get angry, or used to.
l wouldnt know now, cos lm not out there anymore...and glad lol.
Even driving the taxi at night,
l had no fear.
lf anything, l cared for the ppl in my taxi..
strange hey.
l had a following of ppl who only wanted me.
they said l was 'more human?'
Anyway, to this day, l dont have a fear of ppl.
l do have a fear of losing the roof over my head,
and my wheels is all...
l guess the moral of the story is ..
do not fear, get angry?
no?
yes?
well how about , dont get angry , get even.?
no yes.
none of the above...
l just plodded along being natural.
l was always good at my jobs.
l wasnt afraid of people.
l wasnt afraid of the boss.
l was afraid of losing my job,
which happened frequently,
cos l stood up to others.
And that means the boss too.
My parents were strict,
and yet loving.
l worked for bosses until l was around 22.
l had had enough, and truelly didnt
understand why l kept being sacked.
Well, u say, it was my attitude...
of course it was, but l didnt know why
l had that attitude.
- at the time -...
Finally, my mother and l decided l could do
a driving job.
this meant working for myself.
yes, lm capable.
l worked a courier van around Melbourne for 3 yrs.
then moved onto driving a taxi around melb.
l lasted in the taxi business about 17 yrs.
then into the job on the other side - despatcher-.
this radio job lasted about seven yrs,
then computers came in and l lost my job.
( l think l kept this job a long time, cos the job
consists of telling ppl where to go....lol.)
Now l was on the dole.
l had just bought a house.
l had no job, and only welfare to keep me.
l lost the house.
l decided there and then, l wasnt going to work again.
Some of the drivers l had gotten to know while driving,
are musicians,
l started going out with them at night.
There was one singer in particular l always wanted to meet.
one of those drivers knew that person.
He (lan ferguson ) took me to the Dutch Tilders gig...
l was out and about at night with musos.
As a child l was always singing.
yes u guessed it, it was the start of my musical era.
During this time, l was slowly wearing down.
On the dole, l didnt care, and neither did anyone else.
The dr in a few yrs to come, put my on an anti depressant,
and a muscle relaxent.
l did calm down, and found that l really couldnt work,
and being the kind of person who didnt admit freely to
failure, l asked the dr if l could go on a pension.
He could see that l was just tired,and couldnt deal with things.
He kindly did allow that.
To this day, lm still on those medications.
and the pension.
l guess l just got what l call, ' peopled out '.
l dont go amongst ppl now unless l have to.
Oh god, lve Raved again, and lm not even bent.
now what was the question...oh yes...
...
Sagittarius:
You have less fear of strangers than most people and today brings you even farther out into the world! It's a great day to strike up random conversations with strangers and see where they lead.
...
My fear of ppl...yes that was the point of this rave...
l guess lm lucky lve not had a fear of ppl.
lve always been able to look after myself.
l didnt have a fear, but l have come thru life with an irritation factor.
l dont fear, l get angry, or used to.
l wouldnt know now, cos lm not out there anymore...and glad lol.
Even driving the taxi at night,
l had no fear.
lf anything, l cared for the ppl in my taxi..
strange hey.
l had a following of ppl who only wanted me.
they said l was 'more human?'
Anyway, to this day, l dont have a fear of ppl.
l do have a fear of losing the roof over my head,
and my wheels is all...
l guess the moral of the story is ..
do not fear, get angry?
no?
yes?
well how about , dont get angry , get even.?
no yes.
none of the above...
l just plodded along being natural.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Crumbs in my Bellybutton.
l sit
crumbs in my bellybutton
has life come to this
sitting half naked in front of the screen
drink
l do not
smoke
l do not
messy l have become
shakes shirt to free a mess to the floor
coffee
out of the same mug
not a mug
a shaker
a shaker with a lost lid
not attractive
sits
heater blowing
listens to outside noise
a boy bouncing a ball
cars coming and going
birds flying past
yelling
listens to abc classic radio
wipes crumbs from face
they fall to the floor
the clock says four pm
the sun is behind me
l see the reflexion on the screen
l should be out there
lm not
lm sitting here
listening to opera singers
sound
the heater fan so loud
feet cold
need water over me
need clean clothes
need to start the day
yesterday
wore me out
l must push forward
l hurt
order order
l mentally slap
has it come to this
surrounded by dust
l crave a big garden just for me
a box is where l am
need to mentally expand
l should drive to the beach
there my mind can stretch
only to come back to the dusty box
l rock
in a fetal position
l hold my head
coffees almost done
stale bread
vegemite
heater fan sound too loud
earplugs day
turns up abc
to drown out noise
books stacked
must be read
dust dust dust
cold feet
water
silent scream
inside my box
red and green
green and red
hahahaha
christmas all year round
l lay back
rest my head
close my eyes
stretch my cold legs
darkness
sweet darkness
l dream
for just a minute
relief
a harp plays on abc
dark harp
so sweet
so soothing
l brush crumbs
to the floor
my order is different
where has the old order gone
set in my ways
crumbs are wrong
on the floor
there are no birds
to pick them up
a pressure
living in a box
so much to do
too close
closes eyes
sits in a field
breathes
tension releases
astral
l watch me
sitting
so much space
so quiet
no heater or cars
or children bouncing balls
the harp plays on
coffee has set in
lm awake
lm fed once again
will tomorrow be the same
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Astral.
l can rise from small places.
above and hover.
l can expand my mind into larger places.
l can fly over all.
l bless the place of sleep.
l can make contact better
when in bed under warm blankets
in darkness.
blessed is the food l eat.
for it's energy
helps me to be in contact with you.
above and hover.
l can expand my mind into larger places.
l can fly over all.
l bless the place of sleep.
l can make contact better
when in bed under warm blankets
in darkness.
blessed is the food l eat.
for it's energy
helps me to be in contact with you.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Old Age, I decided, is a gift
I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my parent!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.
I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?
I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ..... I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.
They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
So, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)
MAY OUR FRIENDSHIP NEVER COME APART ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S STRAIGHT FROM THE HEART! MAY YOU ALWAYS HAVE A RAINBOW OF SMILES ON YOUR FACE AND IN YOUR HEART FOREVER AND EVER!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
DARK HEART.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Dark Heart - A Poem about sexual child abuse, written by myself.
Current mood: sad
Category: Writing and Poetry
Dark Heart
Dark Heart,
ln this bright city tonight,
love on the doorstep,
things not so right,
they call it passion
they call it love
the power of this
ls just push and shove.
No more playing
No more fun
All her life is just riding on the gun.
Walking this sidewalk
As lonely as sin
Thinking 'bout the way
life might have been.
Taking the breath from one that trusted
Like farmyard tool lain waste and gone rusted.
No more playing
No more fun,
All her life is just riding on the gun.
She didnt look her profession
kept every stray cat guessin
fooled u in every avenue
she knew one day youd be in the que
No more playing
No more fun
All her life is just riding on the gun.
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Dark Heart - A Poem about sexual child abuse, written by myself.
Current mood: sad
Category: Writing and Poetry
Dark Heart
Dark Heart,
ln this bright city tonight,
love on the doorstep,
things not so right,
they call it passion
they call it love
the power of this
ls just push and shove.
No more playing
No more fun
All her life is just riding on the gun.
Walking this sidewalk
As lonely as sin
Thinking 'bout the way
life might have been.
Taking the breath from one that trusted
Like farmyard tool lain waste and gone rusted.
No more playing
No more fun,
All her life is just riding on the gun.
She didnt look her profession
kept every stray cat guessin
fooled u in every avenue
she knew one day youd be in the que
No more playing
No more fun
All her life is just riding on the gun.
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Thursday, July 24, 2008
A STORY ABOUT FRIENDS.
Luther had been home from the war nearly four months, now, and worked at
The Carnation Milk plant in Mt. Vernon where his wife, Jenny, worked.
This morning he was in the little Miller cafe next door to the post
Office waiting for the mail to be 'put up'. Sitting across from him in
The booth was his old friend, Fred Hill. They were discussing the war
Which was still going on in the Pacific Theatre. Recruitment posters
Still lined the walls of the little cafe.
Fred had not been in the service, because when the war started in 1941,
His parents had been in very poor health; his father with a bad heart,
And his mother with cancer. He was needed at home to care for them and
Operate the farm. His parents had since died, and the farm was now
His—his and Maggie's.
When Luther, Fred's best friend since childhood had flown over Miller in
The B-17, and when the bodies of the Hobbs boys and Billie Martin had
Been shipped home, and when Perry came home with hooks where his hands
Should have been, Fred felt guilty. He felt he had not done his part for
The war effort, and in his own eyes, he was diminished.
But today, it was Luther who seemed depressed. Fred asked him what was
Bothering him. 'You seem down in the dumps, today, Luther,' he said. 'I
Can't see what could be botherin' you. You came through the war without
A scratch, you got a beautiful wife and a baby on the way, you got a
Good job, what's the problem?'
'Jenny's mother is in bad shape,' said Luther, 'We're going to have to
Take her in, and with the baby coming we don't have the room.'
'Can't build a room on?' asked Fred.
'No lumber available,' said Luther. 'I've tried here, Mt. Vernon,
Springfield, Joplin, and there won't be any more shipments for the
Duration. Who knows how long that will be?'
'Tried Will's sawmill?'
'Yeah, but he just saws oak, and it's green. The baby'll be here in
August, and we can't wait for the lumber to dry. Besides, you can't
Build a whole room out of oak, anyway.'
'Wouldn't want to,' said Fred, 'Reckon the mail's up?'
'Probably.'
The two young men left the cafe and went into the post office next door.
Buford Patten, the postmaster, had raised the door to the service
Window, signaling that the mail was in the boxes. Luther and Fred
Retrieved their mail and left—Luther to work at Mt. Vernon, and Fred
Back to the farm.
That evening, Fred finished the milking and sat on the front porch with
Maggie. 'Days are getting longer,' he said, 'Man could get half a day's
Work done after five o'clock.'
'Better put your Pa's car up,' said Maggie, 'Radio says rain tonight.'
Fred's father had bought a new 1941 Ford just before his first heart
Attack, and the car was now Fred’s. He had built a new garage for it
Just before Christmas, and tonight he congratulated himself on getting
It built before the lumber ran out. He didn't even know it had, until
Luther told him this morning.
Fred drove the car into the new garage and latched the door. He walked
Back around the house to the front porch. Something was nagging at his
Mind, but he couldn't define it. He shook it off and sat on the porch
With Maggie until darkness fell. They could see heat lightning in the
West, and the wind started to rise. They went in the house to listen to
The news of the war on the radio, and shortly went to bed.
The next morning, Fred again drove his pickup into Miller for the mail.
The air was fresh and clear now, the rain having washed it clean. The
Sun was shining, and he felt good. When he reached the cafe, Luther was
There ahead of him.
'Still haven't found any lumber, I guess?'
'No, I asked everybody at work, and nobody knows of any. I don't know
What we'll do.'
Now the nagging in Fred's mind defined itself. 'I found the lumber for
You,' he said.
'You did? Where?' Luther was delighted.
'Fella I know. He'll let you have it free, you bein' a veteran and all.
He doesn't seem to want you to know who he is, so I'll have to haul it
In for you. It's good lumber, fir and pine, cut different lengths and
Got nails in it, but that's no problem. Tell you what, you get your
Foundation poured, and I'll bring you a pickup load everyday and help
You build it. We'll have it done before the baby gets here.'
'That's a friend for you,' Luther said to himself, as he drove to Mt.
Vernon. That evening he came home with sacks of cement in his pickup.
Luther dug and poured the foundation, and when it was ready for the
footings, he told Fred.
'Fine,' said Fred, 'I'll bring the first load over and be there when you
get home from work.'
Fred appeared every evening with a load of lumber, and the two men
worked until it was too dark to see. Sometimes Maggie came too, and the
women sat in the house listening to the radio or talking about babies or
Jenny's ailing mother, their sentences punctuated by the sound of the
hammers outside.
Over the next few weeks the new room took shape and was finished and
roofed. 'Where did you get the shingles?' asked Luther.
'Same fella,' answered Fred. 'He's got all kinds of stuff.'
Luther didn't push. Lots of older folks liked to help out the young
veterans anonymously. It was common.
It was done! The women fixed the room up inside, and moved Jenny's
mother in. The men went back about their business.
At supper one evening, Luther told Jenny he would like to do something
nice for Fred and Maggie, since they had been so helpful with the new
room. 'I know,' said Jenny, brightly, 'Maggie likes those big wooden
lawn chairs like Aunt Birdie has in her lawn. Why not get them a couple
of those?'
'Good idea,' agreed Luther, and the next Saturday he bought a couple at
Callison's hardware and loaded them into his pickup.
When he got out to Fred's farm, there was no one home, Fred and Maggie
having gone into Springfield, shopping. 'That's ok,' Luther thought,
'I'll just put them in the garage in case it rains.'
He drove around the house and into the driveway that led to Fred's new
garage.
The garage was gone. Only the foundation remained to show where it had been.
Luther put the chairs on the front porch and drove home, tears in his eyes.
The two men are now in their mid-seventies, and are still the best of
friends. They never spoke of the incident. How could they?
There was nothing to say.
The Carnation Milk plant in Mt. Vernon where his wife, Jenny, worked.
This morning he was in the little Miller cafe next door to the post
Office waiting for the mail to be 'put up'. Sitting across from him in
The booth was his old friend, Fred Hill. They were discussing the war
Which was still going on in the Pacific Theatre. Recruitment posters
Still lined the walls of the little cafe.
Fred had not been in the service, because when the war started in 1941,
His parents had been in very poor health; his father with a bad heart,
And his mother with cancer. He was needed at home to care for them and
Operate the farm. His parents had since died, and the farm was now
His—his and Maggie's.
When Luther, Fred's best friend since childhood had flown over Miller in
The B-17, and when the bodies of the Hobbs boys and Billie Martin had
Been shipped home, and when Perry came home with hooks where his hands
Should have been, Fred felt guilty. He felt he had not done his part for
The war effort, and in his own eyes, he was diminished.
But today, it was Luther who seemed depressed. Fred asked him what was
Bothering him. 'You seem down in the dumps, today, Luther,' he said. 'I
Can't see what could be botherin' you. You came through the war without
A scratch, you got a beautiful wife and a baby on the way, you got a
Good job, what's the problem?'
'Jenny's mother is in bad shape,' said Luther, 'We're going to have to
Take her in, and with the baby coming we don't have the room.'
'Can't build a room on?' asked Fred.
'No lumber available,' said Luther. 'I've tried here, Mt. Vernon,
Springfield, Joplin, and there won't be any more shipments for the
Duration. Who knows how long that will be?'
'Tried Will's sawmill?'
'Yeah, but he just saws oak, and it's green. The baby'll be here in
August, and we can't wait for the lumber to dry. Besides, you can't
Build a whole room out of oak, anyway.'
'Wouldn't want to,' said Fred, 'Reckon the mail's up?'
'Probably.'
The two young men left the cafe and went into the post office next door.
Buford Patten, the postmaster, had raised the door to the service
Window, signaling that the mail was in the boxes. Luther and Fred
Retrieved their mail and left—Luther to work at Mt. Vernon, and Fred
Back to the farm.
That evening, Fred finished the milking and sat on the front porch with
Maggie. 'Days are getting longer,' he said, 'Man could get half a day's
Work done after five o'clock.'
'Better put your Pa's car up,' said Maggie, 'Radio says rain tonight.'
Fred's father had bought a new 1941 Ford just before his first heart
Attack, and the car was now Fred’s. He had built a new garage for it
Just before Christmas, and tonight he congratulated himself on getting
It built before the lumber ran out. He didn't even know it had, until
Luther told him this morning.
Fred drove the car into the new garage and latched the door. He walked
Back around the house to the front porch. Something was nagging at his
Mind, but he couldn't define it. He shook it off and sat on the porch
With Maggie until darkness fell. They could see heat lightning in the
West, and the wind started to rise. They went in the house to listen to
The news of the war on the radio, and shortly went to bed.
The next morning, Fred again drove his pickup into Miller for the mail.
The air was fresh and clear now, the rain having washed it clean. The
Sun was shining, and he felt good. When he reached the cafe, Luther was
There ahead of him.
'Still haven't found any lumber, I guess?'
'No, I asked everybody at work, and nobody knows of any. I don't know
What we'll do.'
Now the nagging in Fred's mind defined itself. 'I found the lumber for
You,' he said.
'You did? Where?' Luther was delighted.
'Fella I know. He'll let you have it free, you bein' a veteran and all.
He doesn't seem to want you to know who he is, so I'll have to haul it
In for you. It's good lumber, fir and pine, cut different lengths and
Got nails in it, but that's no problem. Tell you what, you get your
Foundation poured, and I'll bring you a pickup load everyday and help
You build it. We'll have it done before the baby gets here.'
'That's a friend for you,' Luther said to himself, as he drove to Mt.
Vernon. That evening he came home with sacks of cement in his pickup.
Luther dug and poured the foundation, and when it was ready for the
footings, he told Fred.
'Fine,' said Fred, 'I'll bring the first load over and be there when you
get home from work.'
Fred appeared every evening with a load of lumber, and the two men
worked until it was too dark to see. Sometimes Maggie came too, and the
women sat in the house listening to the radio or talking about babies or
Jenny's ailing mother, their sentences punctuated by the sound of the
hammers outside.
Over the next few weeks the new room took shape and was finished and
roofed. 'Where did you get the shingles?' asked Luther.
'Same fella,' answered Fred. 'He's got all kinds of stuff.'
Luther didn't push. Lots of older folks liked to help out the young
veterans anonymously. It was common.
It was done! The women fixed the room up inside, and moved Jenny's
mother in. The men went back about their business.
At supper one evening, Luther told Jenny he would like to do something
nice for Fred and Maggie, since they had been so helpful with the new
room. 'I know,' said Jenny, brightly, 'Maggie likes those big wooden
lawn chairs like Aunt Birdie has in her lawn. Why not get them a couple
of those?'
'Good idea,' agreed Luther, and the next Saturday he bought a couple at
Callison's hardware and loaded them into his pickup.
When he got out to Fred's farm, there was no one home, Fred and Maggie
having gone into Springfield, shopping. 'That's ok,' Luther thought,
'I'll just put them in the garage in case it rains.'
He drove around the house and into the driveway that led to Fred's new
garage.
The garage was gone. Only the foundation remained to show where it had been.
Luther put the chairs on the front porch and drove home, tears in his eyes.
The two men are now in their mid-seventies, and are still the best of
friends. They never spoke of the incident. How could they?
There was nothing to say.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
CHOICES.
John is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, 'If I were any better, I would be twins!'
He was a natural motivator.
If an employee was having a bad day, John was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.
Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up and asked him, 'I don't get it!'
'You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?'
He replied, 'Each morning I wake up and say to myself, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or...you can choose to be in a bad mood.
I choose to be in a good mood.'
Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or...I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it.
Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or...I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.
'Yeah, right, it's not that easy,' I protested.
'Yes, it is,' he said. 'Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people affect your mood.
You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live your life.'
I reflected on what he said. Soon hereafter, I left the Tower Industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heard that he was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower.
After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, he was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.
I saw him about six months after the accident.
When I asked him how he was, he replied, 'If I were any better, I'd be twins...Wanna see my scars?'
I declined to see his wounds, but I did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.
'The first thing that went through my mind was the well-being of my soon-to-be born daughter,' he replied. 'Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or...I could choose to die. I chose to live.'
'Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?' I asked.
He continued, '...the paramedics were great.
They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man'. I knew I needed to take action.'
'What did you do?' I asked.
'Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me,' said John. 'She asked if I was allergic to anything 'Yes, I replied.' The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Gravity''
Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.'
He lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude...I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.
Attitude, after all, is everything.
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.'
After all today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.
You have two choices now:
01. Delete this
02. Forward it to the people you care about.
You know the choice I made.
He was a natural motivator.
If an employee was having a bad day, John was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.
Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up and asked him, 'I don't get it!'
'You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?'
He replied, 'Each morning I wake up and say to myself, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or...you can choose to be in a bad mood.
I choose to be in a good mood.'
Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or...I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it.
Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or...I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.
'Yeah, right, it's not that easy,' I protested.
'Yes, it is,' he said. 'Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people affect your mood.
You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live your life.'
I reflected on what he said. Soon hereafter, I left the Tower Industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heard that he was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower.
After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, he was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.
I saw him about six months after the accident.
When I asked him how he was, he replied, 'If I were any better, I'd be twins...Wanna see my scars?'
I declined to see his wounds, but I did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.
'The first thing that went through my mind was the well-being of my soon-to-be born daughter,' he replied. 'Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or...I could choose to die. I chose to live.'
'Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?' I asked.
He continued, '...the paramedics were great.
They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man'. I knew I needed to take action.'
'What did you do?' I asked.
'Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me,' said John. 'She asked if I was allergic to anything 'Yes, I replied.' The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Gravity''
Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.'
He lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude...I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.
Attitude, after all, is everything.
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.'
After all today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.
You have two choices now:
01. Delete this
02. Forward it to the people you care about.
You know the choice I made.
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