The environment that we surround ourselves in, if you live in the City or Suburbs, is all at once a dazzling, fast paced, unforgiving, and enchanting experience that requires either strength or the appearance of strength in small minded convictions. In each case the amount of energy we use to function leaves little else in our internal reservoirs for the subtle pleasures of self-exploration. The moments we do have free are used in pursuit of a leisure that itself is nothing more than distraction. Whether that distraction takes us to a moving picture or a group of friends with drinks makes little difference. The end result is to distract ourselves from ourselves. In movies, games, television and other similar forms of entertainment we are passively taken along. Even in such films that we deem "thought provoking" we are still little more than a vessel for the ideas and notions of a writer, director, and actor. During the film and after we are engaging in material that is secondary from ourselves. In the case of friends we find ourselves actively distracted. Whatever forms of conversation we employ, and there are degrees of depth to each conversation we maintain, we are merely using the forum of words to express and escape the issues that plague us. Perhaps we partake in gossip, using others follies & foibles to detract from our own. Perhaps we indulge in self-evaluation, expressing our inner selves to others as best we can. While it seems obvious that the first act is mere distracting filler, the second action seems noble, poetic, romantic, even self-aware. However the danger is in actually believing that when we give voice to our "inner selves" that we actually are. To truly honestly express oneself, without fancy words or impressive turns of phrases, is a difficult and laborious task. It requires an unflinchingly honest knowledge of our motives, desires, prejudices, and idiosyncrasies that can only be gained when we are given the time to sit silently with ourselves and examine closely our actions, words, ideas, and decisions with a mind willing to accept that : 1. "I" is not important, 2. It is more often "wrong" than "right", 3. It is more subtle, beautiful, and powerful than we believe it is.
To say that "I" is not important is extremely difficult. It requires the detached observation of our ego, taking us to a place in which we can recognize that all the unique characteristics that embody who we present to the world is not that important. Our ego fights this notion. It wants to be the center of our personal world view. It is devious and manipulative in pursuit of this goal, preying on our insecurities, exaggerating our personal accomplishments, and selling us illusions of grandiose. Falling into any of these feelings is very easy and very dangerous. To do so distorts the needs, the voices, the joy, and the pain of others. It allows us to hide behind a stunted perspective that fails to empathize with the world we inhabit. This is not to say we can banish or subjugate our ego in any way. We should not. Even if we could do this it would be dangerous. Our egos, which helps us seek a unique perspective or embody an original persona, help create the diverse beautiful world in which we operate. What is needed is to be aware of our ego, of the tricks it plays upon us, so that we can be open and free to experience the full scope those beautiful diverse people we love, hate, and are indifferent towards. We must live this "I", be aware of it, give it voice, but make sure that the voice it is given does not drown out the voices of "us"
It is a perplexing notion for our minds to admit that it is more often wrong than right. We are raised to be confident (As a society: i.e., America is great, buying is good, you should drink coffee...) to believe in the fine lines of right and wrong, to trust that we are "right" -- as individuals and as a collective social unit. Only in every instance we trust faulty perceptions, notions not our own, media constructions of beauty, strength, passion, and so on. This is important to recognize because we trust so blindly the structures of religion, nationalism, capitalism, and all other sorts of -isms and thought groups. Rarely do we, and even rarer are we needed to, stand alone. But as we come to stand alone, to consider the long progression of human thought, we can begin to see that often we are "wrong": as individuals and as a collective. As we begin to recognize, and then truly understand, that we as humans don't know nearly as much as we thought we can then even begin to let go of these notions of "right" and "wrong". Perhaps the only reason it is important to recognize that we are "wrong" is that the notion of being "right" is so ingrained into our cultural lifestyle that we must, to help us come back to balance, go in the opposite extreme. Doing so allows us, as an individual and with hope as a society, to no longer blindly accept the parameters of the world we can see, but allow for a greater more subtle more wild world than we know. By accepting that we are "wrong" we combat the doctrine of "right", and allow for the world to simply exist and we observe it as best we can without boundaries limiting what we can intake.
That our minds are more subtle and beautiful than we give them credit for is true when we allow ourselves to experience empathy. We have such a long cellular history, such a long collective memory that in narrowing ourselves to function in the world of modern marvels we leave behind the expansive richness that our mind is capable of calling forth. It is in empathy that we can begin to understand this. Empathy is our ability to truly understand, feel, and experience the world that another man or woman is living. By allowing our minds to open up and accept the troubles and joys of another we can see the shared desires and needs of our world. We can begin to understand the connection that we have with the entire living, breathing place we currently inhabit. As we do this we can feel our mind grow stronger, larger, and more powerful than if we were to close it off to the tribulations and successes of others. With empathy in our (metaphorical) hearts we can allow our minds to continue to grow and learn and discover in a way that would unavailable to us if we were only involved in our own successes and tribulations.
Nothing that is written here is a blueprint. Each one of us must be able to come into redefining our world in our own way. The three ideas or tasks are merely one way that this author has found to be successful in helping him expand his sense of empathy and continue to discover the pleasures of being alive. They may not work for you, they are suggestions. Nor could a methodology for how to accomplish those three things ever be created. We must seek and discover our own path, hoping always that it leads us to become better servants of this world we borrow time on, better communicators, better at understanding the beautiful people we share this wild teeming earth with. What is important though is that we never be discouraged by failing but encouraged by the attempt. That we continue to ask for, and give ourselves, forgiveness. That we love ourselves and others with a warm heart that is full of generosity. That we continue to share, discover, and laugh.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
A Wonder
What we have,
Until its gone:
A wonder that we never realize
until its gone.
The wonders of all we are.
We are wonders.
To be wondered about. To wonder ourselves.
As we wander about.
This way and That.
Here and back.
From New Delhi to New Amsterdam.
So consider it thus:
That we can consider at all
Whether to butter our toast or eat not at all…
Breakfast in bed, noon time lunch, a dinner with friends, a late night munch.
Such possibility in just how we eat.
And that we can even eat all.
On a grander scheme we can consider quite more,
than the individual meals of our own.
The amount of growth needed to maintain—
this balancing act we perform in the stars.
Of cycles of water, or cycles of soil,
Of cycles of rocks, cycles galore.
Or perhaps just a cyclist is all.
A lonely figure pedaling alone.
Striving, struggling, straining… to move along.
Can you picture that figure?
Chuggin’ along…
So so very alone?
Not anymore when you picture that figure and 6 billion more.
Mouths to feed, people to clothe, more more more.
Crying little ones coming all the time.
And they bring so much light from were it was they’ve come.
But they need so much life, just to survive at all.
To even think of love in this mess
is a wonder that can not be missed.
Try it with the doubt, you’ll see it doesn’t mix;
What one needs is faith, its opposite twin.
Of doubles we speak, then remember to meet:
With Triumph and Disaster.
And please,
treat both those impostors the same.
Hold your head high when you can walk on your own —
And never be ashamed to need help to walk at all.
Then let us wonder what these little lessons mean at all.
At the tiniest fraction?
Nothing at all.
At the largest part?
Nada, Nothing, Zilch. Z-ro.
It is somewhere in the middle that we can even begin to notice these moments at all.
Like a notice on some strangers door
Or a letter to love, thanking it for:
Existing at all.
And that is the wonder, the wonder of all:
That we exist to wonder at all.
Until its gone:
A wonder that we never realize
until its gone.
The wonders of all we are.
We are wonders.
To be wondered about. To wonder ourselves.
As we wander about.
This way and That.
Here and back.
From New Delhi to New Amsterdam.
So consider it thus:
That we can consider at all
Whether to butter our toast or eat not at all…
Breakfast in bed, noon time lunch, a dinner with friends, a late night munch.
Such possibility in just how we eat.
And that we can even eat all.
On a grander scheme we can consider quite more,
than the individual meals of our own.
The amount of growth needed to maintain—
this balancing act we perform in the stars.
Of cycles of water, or cycles of soil,
Of cycles of rocks, cycles galore.
Or perhaps just a cyclist is all.
A lonely figure pedaling alone.
Striving, struggling, straining… to move along.
Can you picture that figure?
Chuggin’ along…
So so very alone?
Not anymore when you picture that figure and 6 billion more.
Mouths to feed, people to clothe, more more more.
Crying little ones coming all the time.
And they bring so much light from were it was they’ve come.
But they need so much life, just to survive at all.
To even think of love in this mess
is a wonder that can not be missed.
Try it with the doubt, you’ll see it doesn’t mix;
What one needs is faith, its opposite twin.
Of doubles we speak, then remember to meet:
With Triumph and Disaster.
And please,
treat both those impostors the same.
Hold your head high when you can walk on your own —
And never be ashamed to need help to walk at all.
Then let us wonder what these little lessons mean at all.
At the tiniest fraction?
Nothing at all.
At the largest part?
Nada, Nothing, Zilch. Z-ro.
It is somewhere in the middle that we can even begin to notice these moments at all.
Like a notice on some strangers door
Or a letter to love, thanking it for:
Existing at all.
And that is the wonder, the wonder of all:
That we exist to wonder at all.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
And The Leaves That are Green...
Like a lightning flash it's gone
Never to return no more
Like your lover that’s left through that door.
As Dylan sings along
To the soundtrack of all that is going wrong.
So you think to yourself:
There are days, there are hours, when love leaves you
Without a word to bid you adieu.
Through the front door, into the cold.
Down the steps, you watch her go.
Fading into the night, like a poem you once meant to write...
Ho Ho.
Some days you’ll be happy. Others you’ll be saddened.
But as an equation, the summation is not that different
Than those days before she came.
Never to return no more
Like your lover that’s left through that door.
As Dylan sings along
To the soundtrack of all that is going wrong.
So you think to yourself:
There are days, there are hours, when love leaves you
Without a word to bid you adieu.
Through the front door, into the cold.
Down the steps, you watch her go.
Fading into the night, like a poem you once meant to write...
Ho Ho.
Some days you’ll be happy. Others you’ll be saddened.
But as an equation, the summation is not that different
Than those days before she came.
The Joy of Song (Or, Why we Sing)
Tumbling…
I’m tumbling upwards.
Into the arms
Of
Blackened Stars.
Chaos mounting
In the cool sliver
Of life’s empty embrace
Visions of passing worlds
Ice and Fire playing in a field of heather
Billions of Voices crying out:
Alone Alone Alone
Like the solitary figure of
The UN-breakable redwood
Breaking. Crashing. Tumbling
No more No more No more
And I am alone no more
Upon this residence of Earth
Connected by:
The bustling market place
The sounds and scents of the farmers work
Ripe bursting ovaries of the earth
The sweet juice of the strawberry
Trickling down a child’s face
Like a stream that rushes headlong to the sea
that vast endless ether
In which the whale sings
For no other reason than to sing.
I’m tumbling upwards.
Into the arms
Of
Blackened Stars.
Chaos mounting
In the cool sliver
Of life’s empty embrace
Visions of passing worlds
Ice and Fire playing in a field of heather
Billions of Voices crying out:
Alone Alone Alone
Like the solitary figure of
The UN-breakable redwood
Breaking. Crashing. Tumbling
No more No more No more
And I am alone no more
Upon this residence of Earth
Connected by:
The bustling market place
The sounds and scents of the farmers work
Ripe bursting ovaries of the earth
The sweet juice of the strawberry
Trickling down a child’s face
Like a stream that rushes headlong to the sea
that vast endless ether
In which the whale sings
For no other reason than to sing.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
A Mile in Death's Shoes
I asked you once what it is you saw.
The fields of war, empty rooms of a hospital floor
Perhaps the crumbled forms that are the victims of your work.
Did you attend the funerals of those you took?
Or perhaps you sent a messenger to overlook the last of your deed.
You responded to me that what you see is more than just these cursory scenes.
That I have failed to consider your vast and endless hospitality.
The souls you accept, the willingness of your mind to not be prejudiced.
You offered me the chance to see as you see, to be as you be, to live once as death so that life could be clear.
I accepted the offer, with more than a little hesitancy.
I arrived on the day we had pre-arranged.
I had no idea what I could expect.
I remember it all, so clear as today.
The hands of the sick, the laughter of the free.
The healthy ones, the crying ones, the lonely ones, the prideful ones, the smallest ones;
All freed by a touch, a last gasp, a dying wish that the earth may yet fulfill.
And I saw the world, just as you see:
The way it is, the way it ought to be, the cost of living, the debt we all come to pay.
And
Through the eyes of Death I have learned:
The glory of Living.
And, in Living I have learned:
To let things die
By letting that which must pass
Die
I have found the limitless of my Love
And, in Life, as in Death
I have learned that only in Love will we have no limits.
The fields of war, empty rooms of a hospital floor
Perhaps the crumbled forms that are the victims of your work.
Did you attend the funerals of those you took?
Or perhaps you sent a messenger to overlook the last of your deed.
You responded to me that what you see is more than just these cursory scenes.
That I have failed to consider your vast and endless hospitality.
The souls you accept, the willingness of your mind to not be prejudiced.
You offered me the chance to see as you see, to be as you be, to live once as death so that life could be clear.
I accepted the offer, with more than a little hesitancy.
I arrived on the day we had pre-arranged.
I had no idea what I could expect.
I remember it all, so clear as today.
The hands of the sick, the laughter of the free.
The healthy ones, the crying ones, the lonely ones, the prideful ones, the smallest ones;
All freed by a touch, a last gasp, a dying wish that the earth may yet fulfill.
And I saw the world, just as you see:
The way it is, the way it ought to be, the cost of living, the debt we all come to pay.
And
Through the eyes of Death I have learned:
The glory of Living.
And, in Living I have learned:
To let things die
By letting that which must pass
Die
I have found the limitless of my Love
And, in Life, as in Death
I have learned that only in Love will we have no limits.
The Birthday Gift
When the package came you seemed so bright.
A birthday gift for you tonight.
You tore the wrapper from the box at once.
You couldn’t wait to see what it was.
You hoped for a toy, perhaps a new game, a ticket to a show, a CD, anything…
What you got surprised both you and me.
A set of wings, as beautiful as any I ever did see.
The colors were bright and the fit, so right.
And you tried them, with a smile so large
I couldn’t believe how happy you seemed.
I encouraged you to try and take flight.
You were tentative at first, not sure how to get it just right.
I offered instructions, when you needed them most,
And in no time, Time, you were swaying the breeze, floating high above the trees,
Flapping once, flapping twice, singing to the sky
And then you were gone and I was left behind.
Through it all I never realized how heavy I had gotten, how tired I was.
In the mirror I saw me, older than I once believed.
And I smiled at your memories that you left for me.
Ah, time old friend, you flew away from me, though you left me with quite a smile.
To think, Time, that you even gave me of your time was simply enough for me.
And this time I will remember to breathe and appreciate what you do for me.
A birthday gift for you tonight.
You tore the wrapper from the box at once.
You couldn’t wait to see what it was.
You hoped for a toy, perhaps a new game, a ticket to a show, a CD, anything…
What you got surprised both you and me.
A set of wings, as beautiful as any I ever did see.
The colors were bright and the fit, so right.
And you tried them, with a smile so large
I couldn’t believe how happy you seemed.
I encouraged you to try and take flight.
You were tentative at first, not sure how to get it just right.
I offered instructions, when you needed them most,
And in no time, Time, you were swaying the breeze, floating high above the trees,
Flapping once, flapping twice, singing to the sky
And then you were gone and I was left behind.
Through it all I never realized how heavy I had gotten, how tired I was.
In the mirror I saw me, older than I once believed.
And I smiled at your memories that you left for me.
Ah, time old friend, you flew away from me, though you left me with quite a smile.
To think, Time, that you even gave me of your time was simply enough for me.
And this time I will remember to breathe and appreciate what you do for me.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Fear
I am a creature full of fears. Often they lay dormant, waiting for a moment to pounce. This fear has many faces, many ways of extracting their desires upon me. They assert themselves upon every moment of doubt, every moment of lost focus, every moment of compromise with myself. These fears can blind me. They can fill me with a selfishness, a sensation of distrust for even myself. It is easy to feel that these fears are something we face alone, that no one can understand our fears. But the heart of fear has no center, instead it diffuses itself into the world, into every creature, every moment, every chance we have. Fear can become our action, our method of thought. Fear, when it is so encompassing, is unhealthy. It clouds our ability to see the situations we are faced with, to understand what it is in front of us. Fear should not be discarded though, it does have a place in lives. It must be recognized and used to fuel us to become better. We must face our fears head on, with the courage of a clear-mind, the strength of self-understanding, and the dedication to ourselves and our fellow people. We can not run from fear – we can mask it – we can not conquer it. We can recognize it, accept it, and move forward with the best interest of ourselves and our fellows despite it.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The Search
Our conscience mind is a curse.
Spurred forth by senses that deceive.
No agent can stay the suffering.
No remedy can kill the pain.
Injustice wears the crown of Kings,
And the streets respect only brutality.
People are enamored with cruelties.
And the good deeds of many are lost to the sea.
There is no way to disturb the gears.
For centuries, across empires, the richest hopes of song;
Die as they were birthed, beneath the ground of the earth.
And
All that remains is the elephant graveyard
A cold wind that howls, wordlessly, through the mammoth skeletal remains
The mighty towers of steel and intellect have crumbled into the sea
The dreams of men only the whispers of rain
But Love exists.
Not as an escape but as a chance to be Free
It requires more of us than us of it
It demands our pain to return it again,
More alive, more complete.
But it hands us the power to rewrite our fates,
And it guides our Self through the infernos of hell.
Accept Love. Devour of its feast. Provide it freely the joy it will eventually take.
And
Learn from love what it brings.
…Relax.
Dream.
&
Play.
Yes, child, Play.
Spurred forth by senses that deceive.
No agent can stay the suffering.
No remedy can kill the pain.
Injustice wears the crown of Kings,
And the streets respect only brutality.
People are enamored with cruelties.
And the good deeds of many are lost to the sea.
There is no way to disturb the gears.
For centuries, across empires, the richest hopes of song;
Die as they were birthed, beneath the ground of the earth.
And
All that remains is the elephant graveyard
A cold wind that howls, wordlessly, through the mammoth skeletal remains
The mighty towers of steel and intellect have crumbled into the sea
The dreams of men only the whispers of rain
But Love exists.
Not as an escape but as a chance to be Free
It requires more of us than us of it
It demands our pain to return it again,
More alive, more complete.
But it hands us the power to rewrite our fates,
And it guides our Self through the infernos of hell.
Accept Love. Devour of its feast. Provide it freely the joy it will eventually take.
And
Learn from love what it brings.
…Relax.
Dream.
&
Play.
Yes, child, Play.
From the Begining
In the end, from creation, comes destruction. As such, this will be destroyed. Forever more. To return to the soul. The soul is another realm. Of questions, unanswered, desired, sought, given a category to be found. And in creation I am found. Of course, there may be a God. And if I create that God will God be more powerful than that I? But what power holds the I? That of sight. And sound. I has sight and sound. To see a bounding doe. To hear the rustling leaves. Is that the scene? Stop with the questions. It is obscene. To ask too much of the God. I can make more Gods if the one is not enough. It is enough. Perhaps too much. Power is a dangerous thing. I envy the weak in this. There are those of weak wills and those of weak knees. Never trust those of weak links. There is a link to this. Some undercurrent you must divine. And it may rest in the divine. Or it may have nothing to do with such notions of… can we name the notions of that which has no name? We can. Though then it will gain a name. And a name is all for naught. It brings nothing but grief. To I. Again. Always returning. Through time, past lives I lead. Not a chance for God in this mess of I. No God can give I a chance. Do away with it. The God and the I. We will lose the ability to see. There was never much need to see what the I could see. As far as it could see. And in the dark it can be quite lonely. With the lilies. In the field of dreams. This must be just a dream. And when you awake you will again begin to see. You not I. We are free. From the infernal I. The all seeing. But it never leaves. I keep returning to this scene. It’s a crime. As if the entire dream was how to kill this thing. This thing… it feeds. On the dark matter. On the destruction we needed to create. But it is our means of creating new creations. Stagnation is a terrible thing. Full of disease. But the diseases must recreate. To delete. It wouldn’t be hard. Just a simple solution to the dilemma here. One stroke can destroy creation. One creation is meant to be destroyed. It all must be destroyed. But first it must be created. A finished production, a long-standing action. Life after this. Will never change. Nor ever be the same. Except that life must change, which never changes a thing. Change can never change. It’s too fluid to be done. Try and transform what is always on the run. I could never. Though the I is limited in every case. Subject to change, that unchanging beast. Not I! Came a shout. In empty space. So it filled the space. And so returns the I we so desperately tried to leave behind. It brings God with it. Gods this time. There are now multiple solutions to a problem we never had. Which solutions works best? Try out each one. Though each solution is an all consuming one. Now we are consumed by the solution, a problem we never had. That means it is new. Creation strikes again. We can destroy this before the end. At least at the end, well, it will be the end. Though there may be no end. So it goes to follow there was never a start. And it is not often that the start will follow the end. That is why order is of importance. In the courts. Of opinion. I has opinions. So do we. And so do the Gods we have invited to the scene. It is becoming crowded and each crowd has an idea of the order of things. At the start of it all… we have yet to figure it out. I, though, has an idea. I have no idea what idea I could have. Quite a trap. Though it is not like there is anything to trap. Nothing. We will trap nothing. But I will trap we. In chess it is check. In check it means look. Only I can look when I can see. And I can see. That’s it. I can see. The scene. Again. Naturally. How natural it feels. It must be of nature, this being. Though there is no being that is free. It is always confined to the prison it needs; Of needs. I need. To eat, sleep, and shit. That makes three needs. The rest are created, just as the first three. And with each creation we lead another to destruction. There is a total balance, though you can never see the balance sheet. Some Gods claim to give you a peek. Those Gods are plenty. Very few claim to give you nothing. Each one fills a need. Each need is a balance to something. Each balance may just be a dream. And this dream is creating disarray in the scene. Every time we must return. To where? Ask a God. You’ll soon learn we return to the place where I began, before I was named. There is no I in such a place. In such a state. Of being. Being Begin.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Only 2 years of our Time
I saw the bags
strewn across the floor
I could feel your excitement grow
Don't worry you'll be fine
What if no one listens to me?
What if?
And the bags remain
Another reminder
of time passing, moving, wasting
waiting
for the day
It'll be ok. You'll find someone new.
What about you? Be safe... I'll visit.
Will you want me too? Of course.
Things change
we will... I might... you might
Who knows? Time...
Moves forward
the bags eagerly wait
Tag them, first
under & over
And my floor is clean
And you're not here
And I want you:
to Learn
to Grow
to Love
to Love me
strewn across the floor
I could feel your excitement grow
Don't worry you'll be fine
What if no one listens to me?
What if?
And the bags remain
Another reminder
of time passing, moving, wasting
waiting
for the day
It'll be ok. You'll find someone new.
What about you? Be safe... I'll visit.
Will you want me too? Of course.
Things change
we will... I might... you might
Who knows? Time...
Moves forward
the bags eagerly wait
Tag them, first
under & over
And my floor is clean
And you're not here
And I want you:
to Learn
to Grow
to Love
to Love me
Ceasing to be
I Seek:
A field of blue flame
Over a cool black pool
And inside the waters
I can rest with no name
A field of blue flame
Over a cool black pool
And inside the waters
I can rest with no name
One Fine Day
One fine day, while walking to school
I lost ALL of my marbles
It is tragic, but true.
Now, of course, you can imagine the trouble it caused.
I had just gotten the set and they were finest in stock.
I couldn’t stay to look I was running late for school.
I simply gathered my books and ran right on through
hoping I’d to find them on the way home.
In class I began to feel rather funny,
Something was off,
Something was loony.
I didn’t know exactly what:
It could have been breakfast
(Oats are like gruel, real cruel)
Or yesterday’s lunch
(Ugh, Cafeteria food)
When the teacher asked for the capital of Peru she called on me,
expecting an answer somewhat close to the truth.
I knew it was Lima (At least I think that’s the one.)
But all I could answer was:
How do you do the things you do as you do the do you do?
The kids all laughed
And I looked like a fool.
And Teacher was mad, Oh, she was a piping hot stew!
“To the Principals Office!” She shouted at me. And I left the classroom wondering: What was becoming of me?
I waited in the waiting room, staring at the clock. It was a quarter past nine said the hands on the clock. Next they were swaying, singing and saying: 1,2,3,4 I declare a thumb war! The big hand was winning, the little one was not, and it is safe to say I was in shock.
The sight gave me a fright and I must have given a shout because Ms. Figgerty behind the desk yelled:
Quiet down! Quiet now!
The Principals door opened and he gave a severe look, “Come in.” He said like a rather deep brook. I marched, head down, into his office of fear and sat upon a sad, lonely, old chair.
“What’s this I hear of you acting up! There are rules you must follow, there even written in a book.” His hands fell on his desk with a loud cracking thump. It was so loud I even gave a little jump.
He held up a book, it was simply called: RULES
And he went on to lecture about numbers one through two hundred and two.
As he spoke a strange thing started to occur – bats crawled out of his earhair – Well, you can imagine my fright (I hated bats, pudding, and night.)
I couldn’t take it any longer. I needed to act. So I smacked the two bats with my book bag. It was wrong, I know it, but the bats were really a bad scare.
The principal turned red, he gave out a shout. “I’m calling your mother and kicking you out!”
When she arrived she looked ready to cry as she heard the long list of my crimes. (Oh, they were really not mine… Just a misunderstanding that made me feel like slime.)
She drove me home in silence as I wondered what she would do. But my attention was diverted because the world was acting, well, a little … weird.
The colors were off, the order was wrong. I saw a dog walking a man and a stroller doing a dance. I saw a flying car and a purple Giraffe in pants. Such wonders and strangeties I really did see.
My eyes were deceiving me. My nose must have been too. Everything smelled of eucalypti, sage, and dew.
This was really quite bothersome. I was unsure of what to do. And when mother asked, between her sobs, “What’s wrong with you?” All I could answer was “Fiddldee diddldee poo I miss my marbles as much as you.”
At home was no different. The bread tasted like licorice and the cheese went “Moooo!” And Terry the cat was acting a bit scary too. He wouldn’t meow anymore and he was wearing a top hat. He looked at me and smiled then he said: “It’s tea-time you know. We must brew up a batch.
Please come and help me old chap.”
I gave out a yelp and left the kitchen then and there. But I could hear him from the next room chatting up a chair. “See how rude some children can be!” This was something I couldn’t believe.
I was quite flustered, tired of bats, cats and other such prat. I needed a nap! My dreams were no better… they were wild and unruly. When I awoke I was scared:
I didn’t know what was happening to me…
Then father came home and he talked up a storm. When I tried to explain he said: “Now is not the time for your jokes! Bats don’t live inside of earhair and no cat in a hat asks for tea with a chair.”
I was really quite ashamed and I tried to tell him so, but all I could say was:
“Wink, whack, what is that? I like stinkies, dinkies, and stacks!”
“Go to your room!” He shouted at me.
I went with three tears coming down the side of my cheek.
That night for dinner I could hardly eat. The macaroni was dancing with the cheese while the broccoli wouldn’t stop talking about physics and math. The plate, meanwhile, was whispering plans to the spoon and the bread was acting like a fool.
I went to bed hungry (Could you eat with all that?) hoping tomorrow would change this entire upside down day.
Now, the years went on by and the world stayed this way. I’ve learned to adjust, though sometimes I may act a little strange. It’s only a new way of looking at things: A new way to see ever since I lost my marbles that bright blue school day.
So if you encounter a new view, a perspective lets say, think on my story and how fast things can change. Don’t judge every action the same for we all act a little insane!
I lost ALL of my marbles
It is tragic, but true.
Now, of course, you can imagine the trouble it caused.
I had just gotten the set and they were finest in stock.
I couldn’t stay to look I was running late for school.
I simply gathered my books and ran right on through
hoping I’d to find them on the way home.
In class I began to feel rather funny,
Something was off,
Something was loony.
I didn’t know exactly what:
It could have been breakfast
(Oats are like gruel, real cruel)
Or yesterday’s lunch
(Ugh, Cafeteria food)
When the teacher asked for the capital of Peru she called on me,
expecting an answer somewhat close to the truth.
I knew it was Lima (At least I think that’s the one.)
But all I could answer was:
How do you do the things you do as you do the do you do?
The kids all laughed
And I looked like a fool.
And Teacher was mad, Oh, she was a piping hot stew!
“To the Principals Office!” She shouted at me. And I left the classroom wondering: What was becoming of me?
I waited in the waiting room, staring at the clock. It was a quarter past nine said the hands on the clock. Next they were swaying, singing and saying: 1,2,3,4 I declare a thumb war! The big hand was winning, the little one was not, and it is safe to say I was in shock.
The sight gave me a fright and I must have given a shout because Ms. Figgerty behind the desk yelled:
Quiet down! Quiet now!
The Principals door opened and he gave a severe look, “Come in.” He said like a rather deep brook. I marched, head down, into his office of fear and sat upon a sad, lonely, old chair.
“What’s this I hear of you acting up! There are rules you must follow, there even written in a book.” His hands fell on his desk with a loud cracking thump. It was so loud I even gave a little jump.
He held up a book, it was simply called: RULES
And he went on to lecture about numbers one through two hundred and two.
As he spoke a strange thing started to occur – bats crawled out of his earhair – Well, you can imagine my fright (I hated bats, pudding, and night.)
I couldn’t take it any longer. I needed to act. So I smacked the two bats with my book bag. It was wrong, I know it, but the bats were really a bad scare.
The principal turned red, he gave out a shout. “I’m calling your mother and kicking you out!”
When she arrived she looked ready to cry as she heard the long list of my crimes. (Oh, they were really not mine… Just a misunderstanding that made me feel like slime.)
She drove me home in silence as I wondered what she would do. But my attention was diverted because the world was acting, well, a little … weird.
The colors were off, the order was wrong. I saw a dog walking a man and a stroller doing a dance. I saw a flying car and a purple Giraffe in pants. Such wonders and strangeties I really did see.
My eyes were deceiving me. My nose must have been too. Everything smelled of eucalypti, sage, and dew.
This was really quite bothersome. I was unsure of what to do. And when mother asked, between her sobs, “What’s wrong with you?” All I could answer was “Fiddldee diddldee poo I miss my marbles as much as you.”
At home was no different. The bread tasted like licorice and the cheese went “Moooo!” And Terry the cat was acting a bit scary too. He wouldn’t meow anymore and he was wearing a top hat. He looked at me and smiled then he said: “It’s tea-time you know. We must brew up a batch.
Please come and help me old chap.”
I gave out a yelp and left the kitchen then and there. But I could hear him from the next room chatting up a chair. “See how rude some children can be!” This was something I couldn’t believe.
I was quite flustered, tired of bats, cats and other such prat. I needed a nap! My dreams were no better… they were wild and unruly. When I awoke I was scared:
I didn’t know what was happening to me…
Then father came home and he talked up a storm. When I tried to explain he said: “Now is not the time for your jokes! Bats don’t live inside of earhair and no cat in a hat asks for tea with a chair.”
I was really quite ashamed and I tried to tell him so, but all I could say was:
“Wink, whack, what is that? I like stinkies, dinkies, and stacks!”
“Go to your room!” He shouted at me.
I went with three tears coming down the side of my cheek.
That night for dinner I could hardly eat. The macaroni was dancing with the cheese while the broccoli wouldn’t stop talking about physics and math. The plate, meanwhile, was whispering plans to the spoon and the bread was acting like a fool.
I went to bed hungry (Could you eat with all that?) hoping tomorrow would change this entire upside down day.
Now, the years went on by and the world stayed this way. I’ve learned to adjust, though sometimes I may act a little strange. It’s only a new way of looking at things: A new way to see ever since I lost my marbles that bright blue school day.
So if you encounter a new view, a perspective lets say, think on my story and how fast things can change. Don’t judge every action the same for we all act a little insane!
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