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Archive for the ‘15. Miscellaneous Writing’ Category

Intro: Another writing exercise- write for 20 minutes, or 400 words based on a quote.

“The Power of Words”
Written by:
Wendi Friend

“For me, words are a form of action, capable of influencing change.” ~Ingrid Bengis~

I never understood that words are a form of action. In fact, I’ve often heard it said that words are cheap. I knew my words could influence the thoughts, emotions, or reactions of others; but I don’t think I truly realized how my words impacted me – except that I knew writing contained some kind of inexplicable form of healing.

When I take a problem out of my worried head and put it on paper, I’m able to view it from a different perspective. I found a neat little pattern in my journal. Sifting through my journal entries one day, I recognized that the beginning of my writings were often disorganized, chaotic and clustered with surface emotion. However, about half way through, I’d begin writing past the raw feeling of reaction and merge into an analytical frame of mind, trying to find a cause for my condition. By the time my hand began to cramp, I had written the answer to my own problem. Never was writing the solutions my intent. My intent was to find a place for my voice and thoughts. I needed to speak without anybody listening. I needed to have a hissy fit, temper tantrum, pity party. I wrote not to gain an answer, but to rid myself of negativity. Inevitably, when the negativity had been cleared away, truth, beauty, understanding, and peace of mind all surfaced. This is the first real awareness that I had of the power in words and the writing of them.

Later, in an exercise for a spiritually exploitative writing workshop, I was taught about another aspect of the power of words. I was asked to write on paper those things that I thought would bring me closer to or set me farther away from that elusive thing called happiness. I thought I’d be able to whip out that assignment in a flash. I thought I knew exactly what would make me happy or prevent me from becoming happy. I was so wrong. Once I explored the reasons and consequences of my dreams and wants, I realized that I wasn’t striving towards my goals for the right reasons. I wasn’t happy in my life because I couldn’t identify what it was that I wanted, or why. Finally, I put pen to paper with the intent of self discovery. I’m not sure if the reaction happened because I finally identified it, or because writing the thoughts substantiated them, or if having brought them to my attention made me want to work harder to achieve them. Regardless of why, a reaction happened creating positive consequence when I put pen to paper.

Words, whether spoken, written, or sang out in song have a powerful energy in them. Our words hurt people, or comfort them. Our words encourage people, or discourage them. Our words have an impact on how we think, feel and react.

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Intro:  Looking back on this one, I don’t think it was as much a writing exercise as it was just a personal reflection, written in the fashion I had learned through the writing exercises.  I no longer live in the house I lived in when I wrote this — no longer have that garden, and I miss it.  I’m planning on moving soon and I do believe a new garden will be in order…

“Out Door Gardens and Inner Peace”
Written by:
Wendi Friend
2000

“Working in the garden…gives me a profound feeling of inner peace.” -Ruth Stout-

Surprise was not amongst my feelings when I found myself in my garden with trimmers. This is where I often land at the end of a spiritual whirlwind……. clipping the excess growth off of life.

Once a week I feed the garden, twice a day I water it. Six times a day or more I visit the garden, memorizing the face of each new sprout. I name them, but not earthly names to be spoken through human lips. Never mind that.

Clip, clip. Pieces fall, some with blooms still on them. Jagged, crooked branches fall beside my bare, wet, grass covered toes. Snip. Snip.

The sun begins to set behind the wall and stars began winking at me from above. Bugs with wings, feet, webs and antennas creep, crawl and fly from their hiding places. My mind opens to allow it’s dried leaves to fall, too.

I clip the pieces which grew so large that they fell clumsily over the red Windsor walls. I crumble the dried leaves and shriveled petals. My mind opens to allow old thoughts to fall with the clippings around my bare, wet, grass covered toes.

I swept up the mess

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Intro: This was a writing exercise. The directions: choose a quote and write either 400 words, or for 20 minutes as a way to get the creative juices flowing.

“The Perfect Mental Storm”
(A Writing Exercise)
Written by:
Wendi Friend
1999

“The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.” -Dolly Parton-

The Perfect Mental Storm

Clouds roll, one over the other – tauntingly, hypnotically, completely absorbing the sky with their dominating nature. Growing, spreading, threatening clouds greet me this morning.

I can’t say I’m surprised. The mental weather report indicated possible showers. Tornado warnings have been issued and hurricanes have been reeking havoc in areas once peaceful. I ignored the warnings.

No, that’s not true. I didn’t ignore them. I taped my mental windows and stored cans of proverbial soul food where I could. I warned everyone that the storm was coming, but as they did with Noah when he built his ark, as that story is told, I was dismissed as being silly.

At present, I’m in my safe place, my mental basement. Sure, there are some cobwebs and rats to deal with. I seem to have plenty to occupy myself in this solitary self protection. I’m hanging out with, of course, the tunes and energy of Alanis Morissette. She hears me without me having to exert myself or open my mouth. She allows me to cry, knowing that I’m accepting not denying. Some people see me cry and they think it means I hurt too much to progress so I’d rather wallow. Alanis knows that while I’m crying, I’m growing.

No, Alanis doesn’t know that. Alanis provides the space in which I can discover that I know that.

Mental circles. Round and round the wind blows. My foundations are rocked to the core. I can see through the tiny window in my mental basement that there is mass destruction all around me. I am pained watching lives destroyed, homes tousled – my home is tousled, like my hair was this morning when I awoke to greet the gray clouds.

I cling to what I think is right, but every time I think something’s right, its wrong and I’m blamed, chastised, punished, accused, outcast.

Not from the basement I’m not. No. Here, I’m going to color and sing and read and write and play and sleep until the storm, all its wickedness, the harsh hand of destruction has created for me a purpose. There is a purpose. There is a reason I’ve subjected myself to such a solitary position. What is it?

Somewhere is a rainbow. Somewhere is a blue sky that will let me appreciate its beauty without condemning me for being to “deep.” Somewhere there is a bird who will love to sing with me even if it doesn’t know the words. Somewhere, there is a soft, gentle breeze that will comb my hair for me, dry my tears and present me with flowers.

Somewhere there are colors holding hands in the sky to prove to me that unity is not just the dream of a half sane, lost little girl trapped in a grown up’s body. Somewhere lives hope, and it thanks me for not forgetting its name and purpose. Somewhere out there, just beyond this dark and dreary day, the air will be crisp, clean, polished and free of decay.

Maybe tomorrow I will see those colors. For today, I’m locked securely in my basement and choose not to look out the tiny window.

I close my eyes, I close my human heart. I opened my mind and my all that I am, so that the universe can cradle me in the hammock of life…….

Today I rest. I feel. I think. I exist for no purpose other than to discover the purpose of this disastrous, frightening, abundant, powerful, beautiful, creative, necessary, productive, insightful, perfect mental storm; for the only way to see the rainbow is to get through the rain.

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Intro: This was a writing exercise.  The idea was to pick a random quote and write 400 words, or for 20 minutes as a way to exercise the muse. This is the quote I chose, and these are my thoughts…

“Creativity can solve almost any problem. The creative act, the defeat of habit by originality, overcomes everything.” – George Lois-

“Solving Problems with Creativity”
(A Writing Exercise)
Written by:

Wendi Friend
1999

Whether or not humanity was brought to existence through evolution or creation is a question which has plagued mankind since its beginning. Regardless of whether or not humanity spontaneously happened through natural phenomena or was created by the hands of a higher power, one thing is certain: we have evolved since then.

Long ago in the first days of man, when all the cave men and cave women were standing in the rain, somebody allowed their creative side to come through and led all the wet folks into a cave where they’d be dry. When they found themselves dry but cold, someone else’s creativity found the idea of body heat. When the cave people realized that they couldn’t move about comfortably in a huddle, someone’s creativity discovered fur, blankets and wraps to provide warmth. Creativity added variety to the necessity of food by giving us different flavors, textures and types of food, and spices with which to season the food. Creativity allowed room for someone to discover fire on which to cook the food, keep warm, and provide light. Without creativity, we’d still all be cave men (and women) standing in the rain.

Over the next several life spans, Creativity would decorate our environment. As creative people, we made buildings in which to conduct a variety of creative business plans. We created roads on which to drive in the cars that we created. We created clothing, creativity created fashion and style. Through that creative fashion and style, we make ourselves known.

Through our dress, mannerisms, lifestyle, choice of words, friends and occupation we are being creative. Creativity separates each one of us from the next. Creativity allows us to progress with new and interesting thought. Creativity is the voice of the spirit. She uses bright colors, mesmerizing sounds, flexibility and gracefulness, soft touches, rugged textures, careful words and rhythm to express herself.

All too often, people suffer from severe depression, loneliness and lack of acceptance. Perhaps this is just what the voice of creativity screams when she’s being ignored. Creativity opens doors, spreads wings, makes possibilities. When we turn off our creativity, we are closing those doors, clipping those wings and insuring that nothing becomes possible other than lack of growth and lack of happiness.

Whether or not humanity spontaneously happened through natural phenomena or was created by the hands of a higher power, one thing is certain: we have evolved since then, and we’ve done it with creativity.

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Intro: Back in 1998-2001, I engaged in specific writing exercises.  The idea was to write either 400 words or 20 minutes each morning – just as a way to get the pen moving, sink into deeper thinking, and trigger inspiration in order to focus on the “real” writing projects.  Consider it a creative “stretch” prior to a work out.  The idea was to choose a quote, any random quote, and write either 400 words, or keep the pen moving for 20 minutes.  Yes, the writing was done by hand… with reason.  Not all of the writing exercises came out as “worthy” writing, meaning it wasn’t all wonderful or designed for publication, but it served its purpose and spawned some interesting thoughts.

“Power consists in one’s capacity to link his will with the purpose of others, to lead by reason and a gift of cooperation.”
~Woodrow Wilson (1856 – 1924), letter to Mary A. Hulbert, September 21, 1913 ~

“Rose Colored Pupils”
(A Writing Exercise)
Written by:
Wendi Friend
1999

I was born with rose colored pupils. I thought they were glasses and tried to take them off, then I realized what a gift was given to me. I see the innocence that causes mistakes, the motive not the crime, the cause not the affect. This has ups and downs for me, positive and negatives. At times, it makes me vulnerable to much pain because when I see the pain of others, I feel it. When I feel it, I fix it because now it’s my pain and I don’t want to hurt either. But, when I fix it, there is lack of appreciation, gratitude, acknowledgment – whatever it was I thought I deserved for being such an insightful, helpful person.

Such is not the way with life.

In life, there are two sides to every coin and what goes up must come down. There are those who lead, and those who follow. Those leading often condemn the followers for not knowing the way; not realizing that without those followers, they’d have no one to lead.

The followers often resent the leader for being a know it all or show off, and become jealous that they’re not as advanced. What they fail to realize is that by following that leader, then they, too will know the way. If they so desire, they can go back and lead their own group…… be their own leader. But, most people don’t see it that way.

Some people in life only feel validated when they need people.” If you love me enough to help me through this, bail me out, give me a hand, pick me up……. then I know I’ll be okay. But if no one helps me, it’s cause no one loves me, therefore, I’m unwanted.”

Some People only feel validated when they are needed. “If I’m helpful, then I’m worthy. If no one needs me, I’m unwanted.”

And yet, the needy blame the helpful and the helpful look down on the needy and conflict replaces the ability to join jagged edges becoming more than the sum of our parts.

Life is a puzzle. Each piece is unique. We need to learn to appreciate the uniqueness of each piece and start exploring how they may fit together to create a more beautiful and complete picture.

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Written by:
Wendi Friend

The topic of conversation was relationships, and Celso had a firm grasp (so he thought) on why relationships have the potential to turn into awful, ugly, dreadful, heart-wrenching battles. His philosophy in life was if something adds more pleasure than pain, you should fight with everything you are and have to hold on to it; but if something adds more pain than pleasure, you need to let go. Most people, according to Celso, didn’t know when to say when. When a relationship begins to go sour, there’s a certain amount of effort one can put forth to try to reign in what’s salvageable. Once you’ve put forth all your effort and nothing changes, then ties need to be cut. In theory, his concepts sounded wonderful. In fact, during the two years I was with him, I learned many things. Unfortunately for us, one of those things was when to say when.

I’ve never been one to let go of things too easily. I may fight to hold on because I feel there’s hope left. More often than not, I’m holding on for falsified reasons such as control, fear of failure, or the ability to remain in a comfort zone. Such was my way in relationships past, which left me exhausted emotionally and spiritually.

In past relationships, when a “loud discussion” would break loose, I didn’t debate issues to find a common ground. I debated with the intent to win the argument. I wanted to be right — and that was that. But with Celso, that habit changed. I’m not sure what it was about him that helped me evolve as a person, but being right became less important than keeping the peace or finding compromise. We were able to negotiate rather than argue. We truly communicated instead of having “loud discussions.” Celso had a way about him, through intellect, reason and compassion – a way that taught me what was acceptable and what was not acceptable when it came to dealing with others. He’d feed me quotes, read poetry, and play music to reach me on various levels. He was good for me. He was pure pleasure.

The course of time played a negative role in my relationship with Celso. Through drugs, alcohol, and other addictions, Celso began to lose himself. Believe me when I tell you I tried to reach him. I used his tactics — quotes, poetry, and music to try to hold on to him. I used my own tactics of writing letters or having late night chats under full moon skies. I was patient. I tried everything I knew; everything within my power — but nothing penetrated his shields to ward off his downward spiral. I couldn’t make him quit drinking. I couldn’t help him let go of drugs. I couldn’t help him repair the relationships he had with ex-wives, ex-girlfriends or his lost children. I couldn’t be his Angel. Before long, I saw my own life beginning to deteriorate. That’s when I realized I had two choices. I could either save myself, or go down with Celso’s ship.

It was June 13th, 1996. Following a horrific event between us at a concert, I knew the scales were tipped. After the show, we drove to an isolated area where I’d repeat words to him that he taught me. “I’m sorry, Celso, but being with you is adding more pain than pleasure to my life. I’ve fought to hold on, but now I know it’s time to let go.”

Nothing ever happened in our two years together to make me stop loving Celso. I didn’t hate him, although I would have if I’d stayed with him any longer than I did. I just knew we were no longer productive as a couple — and he knew I was right. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t argue with his own logic.

The fact that I didn’t stop loving him is the same fact that keeps most people together longer than what is healthy. You can love someone with all your heart and soul, but it doesn’t mean you’ll be able to maintain a healthy relationship. To hold on after things have become so negative that everyone involved is miserable, in my opinion, is to hold on for one of three reasons: control, fear of failure, or desire to remain in a comfort zone.

Loving someone isn’t a solid enough reason to stay together when being together is hurting everyone involved. Separating from someone doesn’t mean you have to stop loving him or her. Hearts will feel what they will, regardless of what our minds tell them. But it is important to recognize the point where you’ve put forth every effort in your power and yet you still can’t generate change. You can’t force another person to grow with you or evolve with you. When the bow of the relation-ship begins to sink, you have to make a choice: sink or swim.

How do you recognize when it’s time to say when? Easy — if something adds more pain than pleasure, despite your efforts to salvage what’s left, it’s time to let go. Celso’s downward spiral never improved. In fact, it escalated to the point that he became so absorbed in alcohol and drugs that he got himself in trouble with the law in the worst kind of way. Rather than pay the consequences of going to prison, he took his own life on October 6, 1996. That’s when I realized that I did the right thing by knowing when to say when, even though doing it hurt. Leaving him hurt me, but staying with him would have hurt me more.

I never stopped loving him. May he rest in peace.

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Written by:
Wendi Friend

I never thought about going to the old folks home. Mom said that the Lord had called her and she didn’t want to go by herself. Grateful that she wanted to share the experience with me, I agreed to go.

I didn’t much care for the funky smell of medicine, cafeteria food, and fowled up undergarments. It was difficult to let the elderly get close to me, close enough that I could see the bits of food that didn’t quite make it out in the denture soak, and smell the breath of a mouth no longer kissed by anyone.

Sadness in abundance, taking second to loneliness, I walked through the halls listening to the clapping of my shoes against the soiled floor, watching the heads turn one by one. Those who were coherent enough to recognize this stranger, didn’t seem to care for the intrusion.

Mom and I would go to the convalescent center and over time, I sifted through the bitter faces til at last I found the ones I knew I could laugh with. First, there was Les. He was in is seventies and had suffered a stroke. Les could no longer use his left side and his speech was all but gone. Two words remained in his tattered memory and they were “Oh, Boy!” He said them often, he said them loudly, smiling all the while. Mom said it wasn’t really a smile, but a consequence of the stroke. I was only ten but I sure knew a smile when I saw one.

Mom found John, who was eighty-three and incredibly alone. Like Les, John was confined to a wheelchair. Unlike Les, John never smiled. It was when John died that Mom told the Lord that she had answered his call and paid the debt in full. She couldn’t handle the death part. I experienced the loss of several friends I’d acquired while volunteering at the convalescent center. Death came in the form of strokes, heart attacks and comas. Death came in peaceful ways and in painful ways. Death came. It bothered me some, but not so much. Its what we do. We all take a turn and as far as I could see it, these people were lucky that they got to wait so long, really having time to explore the “What If’s” that happen in the pages between the covers of birth and death.

Elizabeth was from Latvia. That place doesn’t exist anymore and she couldn’t figure out why they wouldn’t let her go home. I think Elizabeth must have been a wonderful mother. On the days she remembered me, she always touched me as much as she could – on my eyes, my nose. I even let her kiss me on the mouth because her energy was so warm and I knew that if I was her daughter, she would have been beautiful every time she knelt down to kiss me. This time, it was I who knelt for her.

People who have aged are often cast aside into a collective category of no longer useful. Wisdom is tucked not so comfortably away in the nooks and crannies of what we’ve learned to call “Old Folk’s Homes”. Great stories live there. Great benefits come from the experience of taking the time to sit down and listen to things that took place before you were even born. Something happens when we take the time to compassionately read the words from a book that aged eyes can no longer read for themselves. Great benefit is created from giving a smile to a heart who hasn’t received one since the mind can remember.

My debt to humanity will never be paid in full. My respect of the elderly will forever be young. My appreciation of people will never grow old.

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Written by:
Wendi Friend

“A woman can’t be, until a girl dies… I mean the sprites that girls are, so different from us, all their fancies, their illusions, their flower world, the dreams they live in.” ~Christina Stead~

My little girl was so sweet. She was innocent, pure, hopeful, loving, compassionate, humanistic, and radiant with life’s light. She sat on mountain tops talking to the heavens. She walked through the forests talking to the animals. She released her voice in song as though she were an angel. Pursuing her dreams, she had talent and determination, ambition, and tenacity. My little girl liked to touch. My little girl liked hugs. My little girl wasn’t afraid of eye contact. My little girl held her head high. So high. My little girl was honest and full of warm heart.. Then she grew up and I stopped loving her. I just quit. When she had lost her innocence, I had lost my faith. When she lost her purity, I lost my interest. When she lost hope, I became hopeless. When she was scorned, I stopped loving. When she closed the door to compassion, I became hard. When she lost her humanitarian nature, I became selfish. When she became bruised and scarred, I was no longer captivated by her beauty. When life’s light no longer shone through her, I could no longer see her. Out of sight, out of mind. I stopped loving my little girl.

We used to play dress up together. It used to be so fun wearing huge hats and high heels. We’d wear lipstick and funny wigs, pearl necklaces and clip on earrings. We’d sneak into Mamma’s “Tabu” perfume so we could smell and look like and be beautiful women. Did we know what it meant to be little girls? Not until we’d become women and lost that mystic fairy dust of feminine youth. Did we appreciate our silky skin and small form? Not until they became distorted, scarred, and used. When they had lost their worth, we look back at our own inner children and we cry because we realize we are no longer innocent little girls filled with wonder and awe; but grew into women laced with cynicism and anger, who look back with nothing more than an acidic sense of “its too late, now.”

I stopped loving my little girl. When? Why? How? Where? What happened to make her worthless to me? Was it that she wasn’t strong enough to prevent being touched in the wrong ways? Was it because I witnessed the abuse that made me lose respect for her? Did I think she was weak? Maybe it was because I saw everyone else take advantage of her and disrespect her that I thought I should too. Maybe I was just mad as hell that she had to go on and grow up and prove herself wrong when she grew up to become me. Yes, I didn’t just stop loving myself. I downright hated myself. I did. I was so disappointed in what I turned out to be. I was so saddened by the many flaws that found their way into my fairy tale future. Fortunately, salvation came.

One day, I had a daughter. My daughter looks just like me, just like I did when I was a little girl. Her eyes are filled with such innocence, purity, hopefulness, love, compassion, and radiance. Together, we dream, we play dress up, we put on perfume, and we talk about how special it is that we were able to be born as girls. Sometimes, I watch her. I just watch. I’m watching myself in so many ways, in her expressions, in her singing, in her openness, in her tears. The first time I did that where it really hit me hard in the heart, she wasn’t even two, yet. She was in her baby crib, standing up, chewing on the side rail. Hoping she’d stay there, I went to my room, dug in the closet, and found the photo I’d been looking for. I was two, in that photo, standing in my crib and chewing on the side rail.

This felt like some sort of mystic time warp, some sentimental sting, and I stood there crying, crying, crying like a little girl. In that moment, I found my inner child. I starred through the crack in the door as my daughter’s delightful laughter sounded through her room. I loved her so much. I loved her so much I almost couldn’t stand it. She was my medicine. As she grew, she opted to share her insights with me, her feelings, her thoughts, her opinions, her dreams…. and she’s more like I was than I ever could have imagined. When I think of her growing into a woman, I think of her holding on to herself, being proud of herself. Never would I want her to think less of herself for having to endure life’s hardships. Never would I want her to lose faith in herself. Never would I want her to hurt just because she stopped loving herself.

Seeing the world through her eyes, I realize now that I didn’t stop being beautiful because I grew up. Rather, when I grew up, I stopped seeing beauty. I didn’t stop being magic or mystic when I grew up, I just stopped believing. I didn’t stop dreaming when I grew up. I just stopped reaching.

My daughter is not me. She has her own identity and her own personality, for which I’m extremely grateful. However, having her in my life, bringing so many reminders of who I once was, has helped me realize that it is okay for me to remember to love my own inner little girl. She didn’t die. She didn’t ditch. She didn’t disappear. She just closed her eyes, heart, and self when life made her get tall and broken. Now I heal. Now, I celebrate being a woman. Just because I live in a grown up’s body and world doesn’t mean I can’t have the heart, vision, and dreams of a precious little girl.

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Written by:
Wendi Friend

Choices are to be made; there are options. Weigh the information. Clean the spectacles of the mind so vision is clear. Consider the risks. Imagine the possibilities. Ignore the boundaries while respecting morals and karma and good intentions. Forks are always in the road, unless one suffers from tunnel vision. Test your limits. Find the secrets. Reach. Stretch. Obey the laws of nature and question those of man. Encompass everything and be encompassed by nothing. Follow the compass of the heart. Celebrate everything; attach to nothing. See the true potential in all things; trust nothing completely.

Life is a chariot, driven by horses and forces unseen in directions unknown. Ride the ride, but how you ride will in fact decide the course of future events.

If blame must be placed, place it inward, but do so responsibly, without self abuse. Step up to the plate, do the work required. There is no easy way, and yet, nothing requires struggle or effort. We only think it does. Answer to no one but your own true spirit, but consider the effects of everything you do on every one and every thing around you. You are accountable for everything.

Even the wind blows on purpose.

Everything is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Opportunity is forever knocking on the door – sadly, we’re rarely home – and if we are, we barely notice. Often, if we do notice, we either ignore it or attack it for fear of leaving the comfort zone.

If it is fact that all things must end, all life must die, then how can infinity be justified?

Why is it wrong for children to have invisible friends while grown ups can talk with God and walk with God, but never ever see God?

Why is it okay to believe in Heaven or Hell or God or the Devil or the Apocalypse, but it’s not okay to believe in faeries or otherworlds?

Why do we teach our children not to hit by hitting them? Why do we yell at them in attempts to teach them respect?

How can we produce multi-million dollar, multi-media public saturation of sex and violence, and then wonder why there seems to be an increase of sex and violence in our children?

How can we know for a fact that the actions we’re taking are causing the destruction of our planet – and potentially wipe out all life, including the entire human race, and yet not change our behaviors?

Everything is beautiful and everything is a sin.

Hitler was the Anti-Christ
Jack the Ripper was the Anti-Christ
Ronald Reagan was the Anti-Christ
Elvis was the Anti-Christ
Suddam was the Anti-Christ
Osama is the Anti-Christ
Religion is the Anti-Christ
June Cleaver was the Anti-Christ
The Easter Bunny is the Anti-Christ
Humanity is the Anti-Christ

Nothing will ever make sense to everyone all at once. We’ll never all agree on any one given thing – there will forever and always be differences of opinion. How we handle those differences of opinion determines the fate of life as we know it – on individual and global proportions.

You will always be loved by someone, hated by someone else, and judged by everyone who crosses your path, directly or indirectly.

We tell our children to stay off drugs, and then we run to the drug store to fill our prescriptions for anti-depressants and tranquilizers.

Controlling population would solve many problems.

Common sense is the greatest commodity one could hope to possess.

The outcome can always be altered.

There is good and bad in everything, positive and negative, action and reaction, masculine and feminine, dark and light, hope and fear, faith and worry.

All things are nothing more than a matter of our perception of them.

Nothing exists that doesn’t require awareness, planning, action, and follow through. Everything is a process.

How can it make sense at all to anyone, anywhere that one should protect lives by taking or sacrificing lives? How is that logical?

Would logic exist without humans?

Would humans exist without logic?

There is duality in everything, yet we are all one.

How are you navigating?

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