Thursday, November 4, 2010
Overkill
So the fact that almost all of the blogs that are suggested for me to follow are for mothers sending love to their children. I could puke. I see the need, but I don't want to see them!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Egotist? I Think So!
A friend of mine from St. Augustine made me realize today how much of an egotist I must be to assume that people care what I think... It's like performing one's life without the drama mess that others bring...
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
With every reflection, I like myself a little more...
The Alchemist; The Prologue
© Paulo Coelho
The Alchemist picked up a book that someone in
the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages,
he found a story about Narcissus.
The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth
who daily knelt beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty.
He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell
into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower
was born, which was called the narcissus.
But this was not how the author of the book ended the
story.
He said that when Narcissus died, the Goddesses of the
Forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh
water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.
"Why do you weep?" the Goddesses asked.
"I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied.
"Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus," they
said, "for though we always pursued him in the forest, you
alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand."
"But..... was Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked.
"Who better than you to know that?" the Goddesses said
in wonder, "After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each
day to contemplate himself!!"
The lake was silent for some time.
Finally it said:
"I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus
was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my
banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty
reflected."
"What a lovely story," the alchemist thought.
This is a lovely story. I just began to read The Alchemist, and even though I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around the symbolism, it touches the depths of my soul. It moves me to the point where I have sit down the book, take a 20 minute break, and come back to where I left off.
Any book that can make me question the very fiber of my being is marked as 'phenomenal' in my opinion.
© Paulo Coelho
The Alchemist picked up a book that someone in
the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages,
he found a story about Narcissus.
The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth
who daily knelt beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty.
He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell
into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower
was born, which was called the narcissus.
But this was not how the author of the book ended the
story.
He said that when Narcissus died, the Goddesses of the
Forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh
water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.
"Why do you weep?" the Goddesses asked.
"I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied.
"Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus," they
said, "for though we always pursued him in the forest, you
alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand."
"But..... was Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked.
"Who better than you to know that?" the Goddesses said
in wonder, "After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each
day to contemplate himself!!"
The lake was silent for some time.
Finally it said:
"I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus
was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my
banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty
reflected."
"What a lovely story," the alchemist thought.
This is a lovely story. I just began to read The Alchemist, and even though I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around the symbolism, it touches the depths of my soul. It moves me to the point where I have sit down the book, take a 20 minute break, and come back to where I left off.
Any book that can make me question the very fiber of my being is marked as 'phenomenal' in my opinion.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
I don't know just how, but it's not over 'til you've won
Martha is the best character from The Secret Garden. Hands down.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Wind Chimes and Fireflies
It's been almost two weeks since he left. As I try and work through the mundane work that my job requires, I find myself slipping into memories that aren't entirely mine....
It's my ten year high school reunion. As I enter our old gymnasium, I look around to find those familiar faces with whom I would cluster during grueling post-pubescent days. All these people, and not a single face offers solace in the gloom and "thumpa-thumpa" of the reunion's entertainment...
I'm standing in a field of low-growing lilies, surrounded on all sides by empty space. The Portuguese call this pre-dawn twilight, Madrugar. It's a time of magic and rebirth. I know that I have someone to find. Someone to protect. If only I could remember who...
I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry. I wish I could have told you how much you meant to me. I hope you knew that.
I can't place the details of your face. The profile is there, but the features aren't static.
We are standing on the edge of a cliff. The wind is clawing at our coats and scarves. I know you are trying to tell me something. The crashing crescendo of the waves far below obscure any discernible speech that we attempt.
Its 1969. The entire nation is looking to the stars. I'm not sure if they think space will alleviate the hate that's running rampant, but it doesn't sound like such a bad thing. If we can find another place and time to exist, maybe we wouldn't fight so much.
It's my ten year high school reunion. As I enter our old gymnasium, I look around to find those familiar faces with whom I would cluster during grueling post-pubescent days. All these people, and not a single face offers solace in the gloom and "thumpa-thumpa" of the reunion's entertainment...
I'm standing in a field of low-growing lilies, surrounded on all sides by empty space. The Portuguese call this pre-dawn twilight, Madrugar. It's a time of magic and rebirth. I know that I have someone to find. Someone to protect. If only I could remember who...
I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry. I wish I could have told you how much you meant to me. I hope you knew that.
I can't place the details of your face. The profile is there, but the features aren't static.
We are standing on the edge of a cliff. The wind is clawing at our coats and scarves. I know you are trying to tell me something. The crashing crescendo of the waves far below obscure any discernible speech that we attempt.
Its 1969. The entire nation is looking to the stars. I'm not sure if they think space will alleviate the hate that's running rampant, but it doesn't sound like such a bad thing. If we can find another place and time to exist, maybe we wouldn't fight so much.
Go Green
Idina Menzel was and is the ONLY Elphaba. Successors do a great job of emulating Miss M, but only she with forever be the personification of the Wicked Witch of the West.
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