Day by Day

The Years

Every day has its dawn,
Its soft and silent eve,
Its noontide hours of bliss and bale; —
Why should we grieve?

Why do we heap huge mounds of years
Before us and behind,
And scorn the little days that pass
Like angels on the wind?

Each, turning round a small, sweet face
As beautiful as near,
Because it is so small a face
We will not see it clear.

We will not clasp it as it flies,
And kiss its lips and brow:
We will not bathe our wearied souls
In its delicious Now.

And so it turns from us, and goes
Away in sad disdain;
Though we could give our lives for it,
It never comes again.

Yet, every day has its dawn,
It’s noontide and its eve:
Live while we live, giving God thanks—
He will not let us grieve.

 

anchor into me

Beverly-Hills-CA-Virtual-Tour-Photographer-Architectural-Photography-Company-Beverly-Hills-Real-Estate-Photography-Services-Aerial-Drone-Photography-Beverly-Hills-Los-Angeles-CA.jpg

Thursday morning
Writing from the car
Sun is shining the weather is sweet (queue music)
I am parked among the wealthy, the exuberant, the luxurious.
New
Flashy
Shiny
Other.

Why does this always feel so foreign to me?
Oh, that’s a bigger question for another cocktail.
I have a few minutes, and the only thing I want to do is – touch
Hand to heart
Close my eyes, and
Remember me.

Anchor into me.

Can materialistic overwhelm disconnect you from you?
They say it’s true.
I say that it does.
I find myself unchained and segregated, searching for my anchor.

New
Flashy
Shiny
Other.
Physical proof of value and entitlement
The statues, the sprawling greenery, the dream of…

The world loves this shit and I am torn and yet curious by it
Why isn’t it easy?
I look at my basic car
My simple keyboard that connects to my, yes, luxurious phone
I look at my leather bag, authentic jewelry, Nike shoes, American citizenship, and on.

When you look at me, my life is not far off from that.
The abundance I take for granted
I forget
I toss to the side as I look for the next
New
Flashy
Shiny
Other.

singing bowl of rage

singing bowl of rage  roman games

I’m furious
I feel like I can run 10 miles
And then eat a cake, straight out of the singing bowl of Rage
Blood pulsing
Mind spouting obscenities

How did it come to this?
Why am I shooting off the mouth like a loose canon
spiraling through the atmosphere?
Where’s grace, goddamnit?

It’s about not being listened to
It’s about not being taken into account
It’s about blame
Doing it wrong
You’re bad,
Back off.

Get off –
No
No
No.

Continue reading “singing bowl of rage”

The Real Me

The Real Me

1. I believe in Evolution, the process of upleveling.

2. I love to laugh and see, by first account, how humor unites us.

3. Yoga / meditation / a healthy lifestyle are my jams.

4. If it’s not a “Hell Yes!” I’m not doing it.

5. I want to cry when I start to sing.

6. I believe empathy is the secret sauce to healing and change.

7. Curiosity and Beginner’s Mind are the most frequented tools in my tool box.

8. “I Have Time” is my new religion.

9. My father’s death taught me how fleeting this life is.

10. Love is Love is Love is Love is Love.

Liza Fernandez

when do I come first?

when do I come first?

When do I come first?

No, that’s a real question.

Is it after peeing and before taking my probiotics?

Is it after my tea brews and before I check email?

Is it once Jackie is walked, pissed, pooed and fed?

When do I show up for me?

After cleaning up the kitchen and before the clock hits 10am?

After taking out the trash and before the rest of my to-do list comes a-knockin’?

Am I worth the investment?

Time for me hits home the hardest when I see someone else doing it.

A “Wow”, a respect, an inspiration; sometimes an anger, a jealousy, an envy – all of those feelings come flying out of —

My heart? My soul? The little voice within?

I struggle with balance everyday. I know you do too.

Call mum (it’s been a while), connect with best friend, look boyfriend in the eyeballs when he shares a story, hold off the worry/panic/stress/concern/time racing. Leave that at the door. For now. This here. A moment.

You can start now.

create from the hurty poos

the hurty poos

“What are we trying to heal, anyway?

The athlete knows the day will never come when he wakes up pain-free. He has to play hurt.

Remember, the part of us that we imagine needs healing is not the part we create from; that part is far deeper and stronger.

The part we create from can’t be touched by anything our parents did, or society did. That part is unsullied, uncorrupted; soundproof, waterproof, and bulletproof.

In fact, the more troubles we’ve got, the better and richer that part becomes.”

― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

good deeds

good deeds

A remote tribe in the southern part of Africa was discovered to employ a unique tactic for righting a wrong:

When a person acts irresponsibly or unjustly, he is placed in the center of the village, alone and unfettered. All work ceases, while every man, woman, and child in the village gathers in a large circle around the accused individual.

Then, one at a time, each person in the tribe steps in front of the accused and recalls a positive deed the person in the circle has done in his lifetime. All of his positive attributes, good deeds, strengths, and kindnesses are recited carefully and at length. This ceremony can last for several days.

At the end, the circle is broken, a joyous celebration takes place, and the person is welcomed back into the good graces of the tribe.

___
Light