Thu 16 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under dreams and dreamtime, illusion, quote of the day, what the living do
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Random quote of the day:
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“Think of this fleeting life…like a bubble rising in a stream, a falling star, a phantom, a dream.”
—The Diamond Sutra
Disclaimer:Â The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.
Wed 15 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under dreams and dreamtime, quote of the day
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Random quote of the day:
“The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up.”
—attributed to Paul Valéry
Disclaimer:Â The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.
Tue 14 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under my poetry, poetry, solitude, WIP
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Inspired by that Albert Einstein quote from the other day…
Solitude
is a beautiful thing.
Not loneliness, that bitter,
twisted root—but aloneness,
the chance to be filled with the silent
whispers of the world, to feel the golden sun
shining for you alone, to express the hope that
brushes loving fingers through the contemplative mind.
Solitude
is the best friend
you will ever have—the warm,
caressing friend allowing you space,
time and stillness, who comes whenever
you fight your way out of the crowd into silence,
into peace, oneness, and the deep, sustaining breath
of freedom.
Tue 14 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under drinking, proverb, quote of the day
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Random quote of the day:
Â
“If three people tell you you’re drunk, lie down.”
—Irish/Hungarian/Yiddish/American proverb
(Variously attributed to all these nationalities.)
Disclaimer:Â The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.
Mon 13 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under addiction, celebrity, death, music, recovery
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I won’t pretend that I was a big fan of Whitney Houston. I didn’t dislike her. I admired her incredible voice and that spark she had in her youth. It’s been tragic watching such a gifted woman take a long, painful slide to the bottom. She died way too young and I can’t help wishing that somebody, somewhere had been able to help her help herself. Because other people do not make you sober. That’s something that has to come from within.
Still, I shed tears for her this morning. It wasn’t the rehash of the Grammy tribute, her powerful version of I Will Always Love You, or any of her other hits. It was, of all things, hearing her sing the Star-Spangled Banner. That moment was such a triumph for her, coming at a time right after 911 when America was on the ground, desperately looking for a way to get back up and move forward. Whitney Houston’s simple but amazing rendition of the national anthem somehow encapsulated America’s yearning for a reason to keep going. She was truly and utterly ours in that moment, and she gave us the gift of hope and pride that helped us find our own way towards recovery.
But there was, apparently, no one who could give her the same gift. Maybe they tried, and she just couldn’t translate that help into something that worked for her. Even if it turns out that drugs and alcohol played no part in her death, they still had a hold on her, making her a mockery of her former glorious self. She hit the ground hard and never really got up, though she struggled on and off to get her feet back under her. For whatever reason, her inner demons were stronger than her wonderful gifts.
Mon 13 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under quote of the day, solitude
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Random quote of the day:
“I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity.”
—Albert Einstein, “Self-Portrait,†Out of My Later Years
Disclaimer:Â The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.
Fri 10 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under literature, plagiarism, quote of the day, writing
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Random quote of the day:
Â
“Great literature must spring from an upheaval in the author’s soul. If that upheaval is not present then it must come from the works of any other author which happens to be handy and easily adapted.”
—Robert Benchley, quoted in Bon Bons, Bourbon and Bon Mots: Stories from the Algonquin Round Table by Franklin Pierce Adams, Robert Benchley, and Heywood Broun
Disclaimer:Â The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.
Thu 9 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under beauty, illusion, quote of the day, truth
No Comments
I swear, this came up randomly.
Random quote of the day:
Â
“The truth when it is naked, stripped of illusion, is beautiful, and terrible, too terrible and beautiful to bear.
—Elizabeth Cunningham, The Passion of Mary Magdalen
Disclaimer:Â The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.
Wed 8 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under animism
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Part of me first remembers sun and wind and water. My body encased in green things, I had brethren all around me also encased in green with our mother’s roots reaching down into loamy soil. We were surrounded by mothers, each with their white-tufted children.
Then came a terrifying noise, an unspeakable wrenching away from all I knew…and drowning, stretching, pulling horrors I’d rather not remember.
Another part of me has vague memories of a short, brutal, lumbering life on the Mother Earth’s surface, soon ended and buried away beneath her skin; of sinking deep, deep beneath that surface, vast pressures turning me into something thick and liquid. I joined with others, becoming one as we welled in our safe rock home. For eons we dreamed each others’ varied lives above on Mother Earth and beneath in her cold stone skin.
Then another terrifying noise, being sucked unwilling from our bed, of being bathed in acid and alcohol, stretching thin and strong, blending with the other part of me that once grew in the sun, becoming a whole once more: a thing made into other smaller things. Oh, the cutting and sewing! Pressed by a hot machine, tumbled in water and soap, tumbled again in terrible heat to dry, then folded over myself to be encased in plastic.
I resided there some little while, though passed from hand to hand, boxed in the dark, brought back into the light, stacked with others like me. Handled by many creatures, not as lumbering as the life I once knew, but not as green as the mothers, either.
Finally, I was removed from the plastic and nestled against skin. It’s a homey feeling, and I don’t really mind the bodily fluids I absorb. They’re part of life, you know? I think, “This is not so bad, to end up here.” Even when I am removed from the flesh and tossed into a container with others who have worn the flesh and absorbed the fluids, it’s not so bad. Brethren, I think.
But the brethren whisper of what is to come. “You’re new here. You don’t know what comes next. You won’t like it.” I shiver. “What?” But they don’t answer.
Soon enough, I know. I thought I was done with it for good, but no: tumbled in water and soap! Tumbled in terrible heat to dry! The others are right. I don’t like it. At least this time when I am folded over myself I am not encased in plastic, just stuck in a dark place with others of my kind. Not stone this time, but wood. Perhaps this is another place of dreaming, I think. And I do dream there for awhile, sometimes of life in the sun, sometimes of the many lumbering lives in ancient times. Sometimes I have nightmares of stretching and tumbling and heat, but you can’t have everything.
I am not allowed to dream forever, however. One day I find myself encasing flesh once more and it is again a homey feeling—but I know it will not last. That homey feeling is poisoned by the knowledge that I will once again be tumbled and heated. The cycle repeats endlessly, it seems, as my structure breaks down slowly, slowly. Others of my kind, older than me, get so frayed and thinned that at some point they disappear from our wooden dreaming place all together. Sometimes, on dark and quiet nights, I think I hear them crying out somewhere beyond the wooden dreaming place, telling tales of being cut into smaller and smaller bits and used to absorb foul substances. Eventually, their voices fade altogether and I am left to wonder if I just imagined them…and how long it will be until I know the terrible truth…
And it was a terrible truth, but it concluded well enough. I ended in another vast pile, somewhat like the one that encompassed my lumbering body, but not made of the Mother’s rich earth. We reside here in a great pile of discarded things, layer upon layer of us. Perhaps some day the pile will grow so large we’ll be pressed once more into the earth. Perhaps we will turn liquid again and be allowed to dream in peace inside the Mother’s cold stone skin.
Wed 8 Feb 2012
Posted by PJ under marriage, quote of the day
No Comments
Random quote of the day:
“Being an old maid was a great deal like death by drowning—a really delightful sensation when you ceased struggling.”
—Edna Ferber, Dawn O’Hara: The Girl Who Laughed
Disclaimer:Â The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.
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