The magic moment

The magic moment.

Computer Finally Died

I really cherish the multitude of exposure to new perceptions in the literary and visual loot that I stumble upon during my trek at WordPress. But, for now, my computer has died and I will not be able to post and to visit, in the way that I have done for quite a while. When the computer is broken, I typically feel angst, as it is my social connection with other people AND stimulation and organization for a mind that, to be well organized, requires vast amounts of input.

I have tried to get myself to a computer at other times when it has been simply ill, and I tend to get upset and have a resentment over the process. My photographs and writing are all, often stored on my hard-drive. If I have a creative spurt while on a gratefully computer, I have no place to place it. This is viewed and felt as restrictive to me and can change my entire outlook.

Of late, real life here, around the creative has feel stifled and awful. Some days the physical body agrees with that assessment, which was even more ew. I am glad to be released from a hovering maybe about the when the computer would die, something on the motherboard was leaking and fans were broken and even the switch wished to rest.

Instead of focusing upon sorrow or stifle, I’d rather continue to work on clearing out my own person clutter, material, metaphysical, and otherwise. The lose of the computer has somehow aided this. I have no excuse that I MUST simply sit down and check or engage or create. Parts of me cannot use this positive conversion of what might not be going well in life in order to get rid of nor to hide bad feelings. To hide that I have a life on life’s terms, no matter how far I’ve come in my thinking, and how far I have yet to go. What happens when being spiritual means a self imposed ideal that involves perfection? What happens when a bad thing occurs and I want to cry or to rage, to act out on a defect of my character, instead of working out the next right thing to do when all around seem not to notice nor to care for their own side of the street? I feel like I’m rationalizing being abused. I KNOW, that I’m only cleaning and changing what I can, but the result can be that I appear like a doormat. When I expand to allow and to encompass other’s being just where they are…well that can just become clutter and be bad for me. So, I’ll be working on that. Again!

This starting point, ending point sort of thinking does help one to amass what is required to get to a destination, but more always comes after. Perhaps the job is done when we die…and even more fun, I think it continues after we die!

So, happy travels, I haven’t forgotten any of you, that I know of, and if I do, I do my best to make up for it, even if I do not tell you so. I’ll be back if God sees fit to decide to provide me another computer, when He is finished with the current items He’s offered to me.

Angels in the Wilderness

Lifesong: A Gift that I Offer Back in Gratitude and Joy

Crash Into Me

Magic Wave Kinetic Sculpture and Sharing from Writing Without Paper

I have been thinking and thinking of this blog post “called Wednesday Wonder: Sculptor Reuben Margolin from Maureen E. Doallas, over at Writing Without Paper.(click and visit, it’s a link!) I like both the movement and the sound. To get more information about the artist and more examples of the works please visit her blog. She contributes vast amounts or knowledge and food for the mind and the senses every day. I think that while people do post and comment there, she really has no idea the impact that she can have on the individual visiting. Thank you for all that you do Maureen!

Morning Trip (81)

“I am dust particles in sunlight.
I am the round sun.

To the bits of dust I say, Stay.
To the sun, Keep moving.

I am morning mist,
and the breathing of evening.

I am wind in the top of a grove,
and surf on the cliff.

Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel,
I am also the coral reef they founder on.

I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.
Silence, thought, and voice.

The musical air coming through a flute,
a spark of a stone, a flickering

in metal. Both candle,
and the moth crazy around it.

Rose, and the nightingale
lost in the fragrance.

I am all orders of being, the circling galaxy,
the evolutionary intelligence, the lift,

and the falling away. What is,
and what isn’t. You who know

Jelaluddin, You the one
in all, say who

I am. Say I
am You.”
–Rumi