Take a look at @aminimalistmind’s Tweet: https://twitter.com/aminimalistmind/status/894365592039284738?s=09
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.
William Blake. Auguries of Innocence.
Don’t you just love them? We all have them and many of us are overwhelmed by them on a daily basis. A few years ago I was given some tickets to the theatre. It was a play that I had wanted to see for some time, so I caught the train into town with great excitement. I had high expectations for the evening and was going to have a great time.
Unfortunately my expectations were rather rudely challenged. I found myself sitting behind one of the pillars that helped to hold up the balcony. My view of the stage was limited, and I started to fret even before the curtain went up. I nearly allowed myself to ruin my evening before it had begun.
Please enjoy this wonderful poem
Two years with no word.
The stick you planted
sprouted leaves last spring,
restoring hope. We had long
thought it dead. Two leaves
and a bud. A note
scrawled on a dollar bill,
unsigned and smuggled out
by some kindly stranger.
This is not much.
We can do little
but watch the tree grow
while you count steps
and deny the walls of a room
that light never touches.
Just to help give a sense of perspective here.;
So, let’s think about our children.
A responsibilty to raise them to be the best they can be.
Their best, their life not ours.
Square pegs do not fit into round holes, they need help to find their niche, not sent to a carpenter to be damaged to fit our world view.
I remember being pregnant with my children, feeling as their gentle flutters progressed into full belly flops on my bladder and painful karate kicks against the backs of my ribs. Back then I had no clue what my children would be like; they were more like ideas than real people. I’d sit in my rocking chair with my hands clasped gently over my stomach and wonder who they’d be. Dreaming of children who loved singing as much as me; envisioning singing rounds, our voices weaving together in harmony.
Then they were born. Short, chubby, bald people who looked a lot more like Winston Churchill than either their Dad or myself. People that screamed randomly, pooped on themselves, and considered “gah” to be an entire conversation. I still had no idea what they were like except loud, messy, and highly uncoordinated. They slowly evolved into their own people. Emma was colicky and had a desperate need to be…
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Why do elephants paint their toenails red?
So they can hide in cherry trees.
Have you ever seen an elephant in a cherry tree?
Just shows how effective it is.