Until people are given something to replace their vision, the violence and the killing must continue. Selfishness is all they know, and all they’ve been taught. Until they’re shown how to see the beauty in those they would destroy, they’ll continue to only be able to see that which is ugly. In general, one must be made aware of beauty’s existence. You must be shown examples, and believe you’ll find it for yourself, before you’ll go searching for it. But Beauty is not something to be impressed with anyone’s wealth, or nationality. Beauty couldn’t care less what religion you believe, and is blind to your political beliefs. It simply is… Unless the people open their eyes and minds and hearts, we’re all lost.
It snowed here yesterday… It never used to snow around Palm Sunday when I was growing up. Of course, I’m no longer living in the place where I grew up. The place where I grew up has changed, and faded with time. It’s changed literally, as the old neighborhood just ain’t what it used to be. And figuratively, as memory sometimes tends to play fast and loose with reality. I’m currently residing some 1000 miles north of that almost mystical place-holder of childhood memories. Which, according to my Mother, might as well be somewhere in the astronomical neighborhood of Canis Minor, for all that I get home to visit her.
I told myself I wouldn’t do any more of these types of posts for a while. But then you see who it is whose birthday is celebrated today… and they’re just so gosh darn, dad gum fascinating writers, as well as interesting people, and you think to your self: “… okay… one more day… just one more… what can it hurt… besides… a lot of other bloggers seem to like these posts… blah, blah, blah…” And by the time you’ve finished thinking to yourself, the post has practically written itself. So. Here we go… (mumble grumble mumble) “People ask me why I don’t write about nature or the suburbs. If a writer could write the truth about one Chicago street, that would be a good life’s work.”
No birthdays to celebrate with this post… Not that there aren’t enough to go around. I just don’t feel the celebratory spirit moving me today… Not so much. The snow and ice, despite day after day of above freezing temperatures, and rain, doesn’t seem willing to let go just yet. It can’t seem to understand that it’s time has come and gone. And that if I don’t get some frickin’ Spring action kickin’ up it’s heels around here – pronto – there’s gonna be tàh-rubble… Image found here.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. Robert Frost – whose birthday we remember on this date. Image found here. If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more. Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads. Erica Jong – whose birthday we remember on this date. Image found here. The house of delusions is cheap to build but drafty to live in. Nature, not content with denying him the ability to think, has endowed him with the ability to write. A.E. Housman – whose birthday we remember on this date. Image found here. Why did I write? Because I found life unsatisfactory. When so many are lonely as seem to be lonely, it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone. There is a time for departure even when there’s …