Category Archives: Words For The Weekends

Words For The Weekend (Dear Sobriety…), Volume 39

This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 6/15/13 (Volume 39). I hope you enjoy them too.

I’m currently on a “summer / marathon training” schedule, so Words For The Weekend may not be posted on an as-regular basis. Feel free to visit the Weekend Words’ Archive during the interim if you need a music, quote or poetry fix. Have a wonderful weekend! 

~~~

“My hands are shaking
But I can still pour the mistake that I’m making
And I’ll pour one more
It runs in my family, it runs in my blood
And just like my daddy, I can’t get enough
Every last drop I say is the last
Then I drive to the store and I fill up my glass

Dear Sobriety
Please come back to me…
I need you desperately
Dear Sobriety”

~ “Dear Sobriety” performed by Pistol Annies. Available on “Annie Up.”  Video HERE

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Alternate song: “Beautiful World” performed by Colin Hay on album “Going Somewhere,” video link HERE. (Originally shared in: “Perhaps This As Good As It Gets“)

“And still this emptiness persists
Perhaps this is as good as it gets
When you’ve given up the drink and those nasty cigarettes
Now I leave the party early at least with no regrets
I watch the sun as it comes up I watch it as it sets
Yeah this is as good as it gets”
 

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“There’a a phrase, “the elephant in the living room”, which purports to describe what it’s like to live with a drug addict, an alcoholic, an abuser. People outside such relationships will sometimes ask, “How could you let such a business go on for so many years? Didn’t you see the elephant in the living room?” And it’s so hard for anyone living in a more normal situation to understand the answer that comes closest to the truth; “I’m sorry, but it was there when I moved in. I didn’t know it was an elephant; I thought it was part of the furniture.” There comes an aha-moment for some folks – the lucky ones – when they suddenly recognize the difference.” ― Stephen King

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“Alcohol ruined me financially and morally, broke my heart and the hearts of too many others. Even though it did this to me and it almost killed me and I haven’t touched a drop of it in seventeen years, sometimes I wonder if I could get away with drinking some now. I totally subscribe to the notion that alcoholism is a mental illness because thinking like that is clearly insane.” ― Craig Ferguson, American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot

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“I think the warning labels on alcoholic beverages are too bland. They should be more vivid. Here is one I would suggest: “Alcohol will turn you into the same asshole your father was.” ― George Carlin, When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?

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“It’s like when my doctor told me the story of these two brothers whose dad was a bad alcoholic. One brother grew up to be a successful carpenter and never drank. The other brother ended up being a drinker as bad as his dad was. When they asked the first brother why he didn’t drink, he said that after he saw what it did to his father, he could never bring himself to even try it. When they asked the other brother, he said that he guessed he learned how to drink on his father’s knee. So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.” ― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

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“There’s not alcoholic in the world who wants to be told what to do. Alcoholics are sometimes described as egomaniacs with inferiority complexes. Or, to be cruder, a piece of shit that the universe revolves around …

There’s a peculiar thing that happens every time you get clean. You go through this sensation of rebirth. There’s something intoxicating about the process of the comeback, and that becomes an element in the whole cycle of addiction. Once you’ve beaten yourself down with cocaine and heroin, and you manage to stop and walk out of the muck you begin to get your mind and body strong and reconnect with your spirit. The oppressive feeling of being a slave to the drugs is still in your mind, so by comparison, you feel phenomenal. You’re happy to be alive, smelling the air and seeing the beauty around you…You have a choice of what to do. So you experience this jolt of joy that you’re not where you came from and that in and of itself is a tricky thing to stop doing. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that every time you get clean, you’ll have this great new feeling.

Cut to: a year later, when you’ve forgotten how bad it was and you don’t have that pink-cloud sensation of being newly sober. When I look back, I see why these vicious cycles can develop in someone who’s been sober for a long time and then relapses and doesn’t want to stay out there using, doesn’t want to die, but isn’t taking the full measure to get well again. There’s a concept in recovery that says ‘Half-measures avail us nothing.’ When you have a disease, you can’t take half the process of getting well and think you’re going to get half well; you do half the process of getting well, you’re not going to get well at all, and you’ll go back to where you came from. Without a thorough transformation, you’re the same guy, and the same guy does the same shit. I kept half-measuring it, thinking I was going to at least get something out of this deal, and I kept getting nothing out of it …

The good news is that by the second year, those cravings were about as half as frequent, and by the third year, half as much again. I’m still a little bent, a little crooked, but all things crooked, I can’t complain. After all those years of all kinds of abuse and crashing into trees at eighty miles an hour and jumping off buildings and living through overdoses and liver disease, I feel better now than I did ten years ago. I might have some scar tissue, but that’s alright, I’m still making progress. ” ― Anthony Kiedis, Scar Tissue

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“I sit there and think how it isn’t fair that I can’t drink at all, even a little. I realize I have crammed an entire lifetime of moderate drinking into a decade of hard-core drinking and that is why. I blew my wad.” ― Augusten Burroughs, Dry

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“Hitch: making rules about drinking can be the sign of an alcoholic,’ as Martin Amis once teasingly said to me. (Adorno would have savored that, as well.) Of course, watching the clock for the start-time is probably a bad sign, but here are some simple pieces of advice for the young. Don’t drink on an empty stomach: the main point of the refreshment is the enhancement of food. Don’t drink if you have the blues: it’s a junk cure. Drink when you are in a good mood. Cheap booze is a false economy. It’s not true that you shouldn’t drink alone: these can be the happiest glasses you ever drain. Hangovers are another bad sign, and you should not expect to be believed if you take refuge in saying you can’t properly remember last night. (If you really don’t remember, that’s an even worse sign.) Avoid all narcotics: these make you more boring rather than less and are not designed—as are the grape and the grain—to enliven company. Be careful about up-grading too far to single malt Scotch: when you are voyaging in rough countries it won’t be easily available. Never even think about driving a car if you have taken a drop. It’s much worse to see a woman drunk than a man: I don’t know quite why this is true but it just is. Don’t ever be responsible for it.” ― Christopher Hitchens, Hitch-22: A Memoir

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“I felt empty and sad for years, and for a long, long time, alcohol worked. I’d drink, and all the sadness would go away. Not only did the sadness go away, but I was fantastic. I was beautiful, funny, I had a great figure, and I could do math. But at some point, the booze stopped working. That’s when drinking started sucking. Every time I drank, I could feel pieces of me leaving. I continued to drink until there was nothing left. Just emptiness.” ― Dina Kucera, Everything I Never Wanted to Be

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“We’re all searching for something to fill up what I like to call that big, God-shaped hole in our souls. Some people use alcohol, or sex, or their children, or food, or money, or music, or heroin. A lot of people even use the concept of God itself. I could go on and on. I used to know a girl who used shoes. She had over two-hundred pairs. But it’s all the same thing, really. People, for some stupid reason, think they can escape their sorrows.” ― Tiffanie DeBartolo, God-Shaped Hole

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“A lot of people feel like they’re victims in life, and they’ll often point to past events, perhaps growing up with an abusive parent or in a dysfunctional family. Most psychologists believe that about 85 percent of families are dysfunctional, so all of a sudden you’re not so unique. My parents were alcoholics. My dad abused me. My mother divorced him when I was six… I mean, that’s almost everybody’s story in some form or not. The real question is,what are you going to do now? What do you choose now? Because you can either keep focusing on that, or you can focus on what you want. And when people start focusing on what they want, what they don’t want falls away, and what they want expands, and the other part disappears. (Jack Canfield)” ― Rhonda Byrne, The Secret

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Club Soda Nights — by Clinton B. Campbell

It’s usually at a party
when I’m holding a watered
down club soda, someone will
politely ask, “How you doin?”
or “What’s up?” The smell
of his gin is a bad memory,
tinkling ice cubes cut
into my spine and I blurt out,
“I’ve been sober 14 years.”

It stops meaningful conversation,
the party goers sail
a wide berth around me.
They hide their doubles
in plant stands, get nervous
as if I said I was contagious
and could infect their children.

They look at me as the kind
who drive old cars pasted
with new bumper stickers,
the slick cliché’s boasting,
“One day at a time”
or “Easy does it.”

My wife sees this,
makes a gesture to leave.
She starts with her best friend
tell her, tomorrow is an early day,
promises the hostess she will
call soon, chat, but she won’t.

We drive away in silence.
It’s times like these
I miss the old days, I want to
put the lamp shade back on my head,
do the bump and grind with
the blonde from the steno pool
and call in tomorrow, sick for a week.

She takes my hand, asks if I’m OK,
and we take the long way home.

 “Club Soda Nights” by Clinton B. Campbell, from After Shocks, The Poetry of Recovery

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Bonus song: “One Day at a Time” by Joe Walsh, from album “Analog ManVIDEO. (Lyrics)

Via Joe’s YouTube Channel: “This song is about my path out of the darkness of drug addiction and alcoholism. The message is that there is a way out and a new life waiting in recovery that is good. The first step is to ask for help… I’m doing this because if it helps 1 person – it was worth it. It’s by giving back that we receive and I am eternally grateful for my sobriety and my life today.” ~ Joe Walsh

~~~

Words For The Weekend (The Poetry Edition. Plus Gus, Johnny, Shel and Nina), Volume 38

This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 6/8/13 (Volume 38). I hope you enjoy them too. Feel free to share your favorite quotes, poems or videos in the comments.

This week is a selection of poetry (musical and written) that I’ve been wanting to share for a while. A tad lengthy, but I’m making up for the last two reposts.

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A special mention first — Gus Sanchez blogs at OutWhereTheBusesDon’tRun, and he has been a long-time supporter of RunningOnSober. Well, Gus recently published his first book Out Where the Buses Don’t Run: Seven Years of Rants, Raves, Dirty Jokes, and Bad Ideas From a Small But Loud Corner of the Blogospherea collection of work from his many years blogging. Gus is a fellow music lover and runner, he has a wicked sense of humor, he’s a talented writer and cheerleader for aspiring wordsmiths, and the word “sober” doesn’t send him screaming and running for the hills. (Though, don’t mention Ayn Rand or James Patterson to him without expecting a rant.)

Gus is offering a free .pdf file or electronic version of his book, for a limited time, in exchange for an honest review on either Amazon or Goodreads — it doesn’t even have to be a positive review, just honest. Click HERE for Gus’s contact e-mail and details on how to obtain your free copy of his book. You can also click HERE to purchase directly from Amazon. Check him out, he’s a good guy, and I know he’ll appreciate your support.

~~~

“My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn’t leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don’t blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me Sue…”

“A Boy Named Sue” written by Shel Silverstein and performed by Johnny Cash, available on album The Essential Johnny Cash (video)

Shel and Johnny perform a snippet of this song on The Johnny Cash Show (video). You know I’m a huge Shel fan (here and here), I’ve even spotlighted him once (here.) BUT, I HAD NEVER HEARD HIM SING. You’re in for a special treat! He reminds me of a combo of Louis Armstrong, Bobcat Goldthwait and Crazy Harry–the muppet who was always blowing stuff up (see HERE for a fun video of Crazy Harry and the fabulous and recently departed Jean Stapleton performing together on The Muppet Show)

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Alternate song: “Wild Is The Wind” performed by Nina Simone on album “Wild Is The Wind,” video link HERE. (This song is absolute poetry set to music. The power of Nina’s emoting, the longing, the building tension… sigh. It’s the ultimate love poem to me.)

“Love me love me love me
Say you do
Let me fly away
With you
For my love is like
The wind
And wild is the wind…

You
Touch me
I hear the sound
Of mandolins…”

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The Guest House — by Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

– Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks, The Essential Rumi

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505 I would not paint — a picture – by Emily Dickinson

I would not paint—a picture —
I’d rather be the One
It’s bright impossibility
To dwell— delicious — on—
And wonder how the fingers feel
Whose rare — celestial — stir —
Evokes so sweet a Torment—
Such sumptuous—Despair —

I would not talk, like Cornets —
I’d rather be the One
Raised softly to the Ceilings —
And out, and easy on—
Through Villages of Ether —
Myself endued Balloon
By but a lip of Metal —
The pier to my Pontoon —

Nor would I be a Poet—
It’s finer own the Ear—
Enamored — impotent — content—
The License to revere,
A privilege so awful
What would the Dower be,
Had I the Art to stun myself
With Bolts of Melody!

“#505″ by Emily Dickinson. The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

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Iowa City to Boulder – by William Matthews

I take most of the drive by night.
It’s cool and in the dark my lapsed
inspection can’t be seen.
I sing and make myself promises.

By dawn on the high plains
I’m driving tired and cagey.
Red-winged blackbirds
on the mileposts, like candle flames,
flare their wings for balance
in the blasts of truck wakes.

The dust of not sleeping
drifts in my mouth, and five or six
miles slur by uncounted.
I say I hate long-distance

drives but I love them.
The flat light stains the foothills
pale and I speed up the canyon
to sleep until the little lull
the insects take at dusk before
they say their names all night in the loud field.

“Iowa City to Boulder” by William Matthews, from Search Party. © Houghton Mifflin, 2004.

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Advice to Myself — by Louise Erdrich

Leave the dishes. Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don’t patch the cup.
Don’t patch anything. Don’t mend. Buy safety pins.
Don’t even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
Don’t keep all the pieces of the puzzles
or the doll’s tiny shoes in pairs, don’t worry
who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
matches, at all.
Except one word to another. Or a thought.
Pursue the authentic—decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.
Your heart, that place
you don’t even think of cleaning out.
That closet stuffed with savage mementos.
Don’t sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we’re all eating cereal for dinner
again. Don’t answer the telephone, ever,
or weep over anything at all that breaks.
Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life
and talk to the dead
who drift in through the screened windows, who collect
patiently on the tops of food jars and books.
Recycle the mail, don’t read it, don’t read anything
except what destroys
the insulation between yourself and your experience
or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters
this ruse you call necessity.

“Advice to Myself” by Louise Erdrich from Original Fire. © Harper Collins Publishers, 2003.

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Good People — by W.S. Merwin

From the kindness of my parents
I suppose it was that I held
that belief about suffering

imagining that if only
it could come to the attention
of any person with normal
feelings certainly anyone
literate who might have gone

to college they would comprehend
pain when it went on before them
and would do something about it
whenever they saw it happen
in the time of pain the present
they would try to stop the bleeding
for example with their own hands

but it escapes their attention
or there may be reasons for it
the victims under the blankets
the meat counters the maimed children
the animals the animals
staring from the end of the world

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The Genius Of The Crowd — by Charles Bukowski

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach love do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their concepts
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

From 70 Minutes In Hell, (video of Buk’s reading)

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Hard Music – by Tom Chandler

The hammers of the builders
of the house across the street

sometimes fall by accident inside
the same beat, as if the rhythm

of our separate work can
melt without our knowing

into something far sleeker
than our laboring lives

and I wonder if the carpenters
are happy in themselves when

they realize how they improvise,
how the nails bite the wood

to such natural jazz, the house
rising tall in grace because of hard

music, lifting up its chimneyed head
and shoulders to the sky.

“Hard Music” by Tom Chandler, from Toy Firing Squad. © Wind Publications, 2008.

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Clay: 37 — by Yannis Ritsos

Metal on metal
hammer on anvil
wheel on rail.
In between each clang
is a bird
not yet killed
coming from the other side.

~ Yiannis Ritsos — Poems

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Bluebird — by Charles Bukowski

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

~ Charles Buskowski, The Last Night of the Earth Poems

(Thanks to Lynne at FreePennyPress who recently reminded me of this beautiful piece HERE.)

From Brainpickings: “This mesmerizingly beautiful animated adaptation of the poem by Cambridge School of Art student Monika Umba is the perfect piece of visual whimsy to bring to life Bukowski’s magic.” (video)

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Words For The Weekend (aching for the gentle light), Volume 19r (repost)

Hi everyone! I’m in the midst of a short break doing some traveling and enjoying the sunny skies, so I’m reposting another of my favorite weekend posts from last November (original post HERE). Enjoy and I’ll catch up with you all soon! Love, Christy

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This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 11/24/12 (Volume 19). I hope you enjoy them too.

~~~

“I wish we could open our eyes
To see in all directions at the same time
Oh what a beautiful view
If you were never aware of what was around you
And it is true what you said
That I live like a hermit in my own head
But when the sun shines again
I’ll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in.”

~ Death Cab for Cutie, “Marching Bands of Manhattan”, on album “Plans“, video link HERE.

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Alternate Song: “Shimmer” by Shawn Mullins, on album “Essential Shawn Mullins“, video link HERE.

“I want to shimmer
And want to shine
I want to radiate
I want to live
I want to love
I want to try and learn now not to hate…”

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“Just as a painter needs light in order to put the finishing touches to his picture, so I need an inner light, which I feel I never have enough of in the autumn.” ~ Leo Tolstoy

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“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” ~ Plato

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“I’m sorry, Gemma. But we can’t live in the light all of the time. You have to take whatever light you can hold into the dark with you.” ~ Libba Bray, A Great and Terrible Beauty

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“All right I think we’ve been down here in the dark long enough. There’s a whole other world upstairs. Take my hand Constant Reader and I’ll be happy to lead you back into the sunshine. I’m happy to go there because I believe most people are essentially good. I know that I am. It’s you I’m not entirely sure of.” ~ Stephen King, Full Dark, No Stars

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“It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it.” ~ Arthur Conan Doyle

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“In a futile attempt to erase our past, we deprive the community of our healing gift. If we conceal our wounds out of fear and shame, our inner darkness can neither be illuminated nor become a light for others.” ~ Brennan Manning, Abba’s Child: The Cry of the Heart for Intimate Belonging

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“Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Tell Gregory a story. Make some light.” ~ Kate DiCamillo, The Tale of Despereaux

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“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy- the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.” ~ Brené Brown (this quote was the very first quote I shared in what was to become our “Words for the Weekend” series. In the same post (Volume I HERE), I also shared the next quote–one of my all time favorites.)

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“You can accept or reject the way you are treated by other people, but until you heal the wounds of your past, you will continue to bleed. You can bandage the bleeding with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work, with cigarettes, with sex, but eventually, it will all ooze through and stain your life. You must find the strength to open the wounds, stick your hands inside, pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past, the memories, and make peace with them.” ~ Iyanla Vanzant

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A Vote For the Gentle Light – Charles Bukowski

a vote for the gentle light
burned senseless by other people’s constant
depression,
I pull the curtains apart,
aching for the gentle light.
it’s there, it’s there
somewhere,
I’m sure.

oh, the faces of depression, expressions
pulled down into the gluey dark.
the bitter small sour mouths,
the self-pity, the self-justification is
too much, all too much.
the faces in shadow,
deep creases of gloom.

there’s no courage there, just the desire to
possess something––admiration, fame, lovers,
money, any damn thing
so long as it comes easy.
so long as they don’t have to do
what’s necessary.
and when they don’t succeed they
become embittered,
ugly,
they imagine that they have
been slighted, cheated,
demeaned.

then they concentrate upon their
unhappiness, their last
refuge.
and they’re good at that,
they are very good at that.
they have so much unhappiness
they insist upon your sharing it
too.

they bathe and splash in their
unhappiness,
they splash it upon you.

it’s all they have.
it’s all they want.
it’s all they can be.

you must refuse to join them.
you must remain yourself.
you must open the curtains
or the blinds
or the windows
to the gentle light.
to joy.
it’s there in life
and even in death
it can be
there.

“A Vote For the Gentle Light” by Charles Bukowski from What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire (Available on Amazon HERE) published by Black Sparrow Press.

~~~

Words For The Weekend (Breathe, Anne Lamott and The Vigil) Volume XIIIr (repost)

Hi everyone! I’m taking a short break to do some traveling and enjoy the sunny skies, so I’m reposting one of my favorite weekend posts from last October (original post HERE). Enjoy and I’ll catch up with you all soon! Love, Christy

***

This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 10/13/12 (Volume XIII). I hope you enjoy them too.

* For a little twist this week, all quotes are from Anne Lamott. Her quotes inspired the selection of this week’s song and poem as well. Anne’s work is available on Amazon HERE.

~~~

Cause you can’t jump the track
We’re like cars on a cable
And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table,
No one can find the rewind button boys so cradle your head in your hands
And breathe, just breathe, whoa breathe just breathe

2Am and I’m still awake writing this song
If I get it all down on paper it’s no longer inside of me threaten’ the life it belongs to.
And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary screamin’ out aloud
And I know that you’ll use them however you want to…

~ Anna Nalick, “Breathe (2AM)” (lyrics), from album “Wreck of the Day

Alternate Song: “Breathe In Breathe Out” by Mat Kearney:

“Breathe in, breathe out, Move on and break down, If everyone goes away I will stay. We push and pull, And I fall down sometimes, I’m not letting go, You hold the other line. Cause there is a light in your eyes, in your eyes…”

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“Left foot, right foot, left foot, breathe,” he said. “Right foot, left foot, right foot, breathe.” ~ Anne Lamott in Salon, April 25, 2003

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Source: Pinterest.com

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Clutter and mess show us that life is being lived…Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation… Perfectionism is a mean, frozen form of idealism, while messes are the artist’s true friend. What people somehow forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here. ~ Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

*

Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it. ~ Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

*

Your problem is how you are going to spend this one and precious life you have been issued. Whether you’re going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are. ~ Anne Lamott

*

Source: Pinterest.com

*

Joy is the best make-up. ~ Anne Lamott

*

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don’t give up… Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns. ~ Anne Lamott

*

Here are the two best prayers I know: Help me, help me, help me and Thank you, thank you, thank you. ~ Anne Lamott

*

Source: Oprah.com

*

Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship. ~ Anne Lamott

*

If you are writing the clearest, truest words you can find and doing the best you can to understand and communicate, this will shine on paper like its own little lighthouse. Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining. ~ Anne Lamott

*

VIGIL by Dennis O’Driscoll

Life is too short to sleep through.
Stay up late, wait until the sea of traffic ebbs,
until noise has drained from the world
like blood from the cheeks of the full moon.
Everyone else around you has succumbed:
they lie like tranquillised pets on a vet’s table;
they languish on hospital trolleys and friends’ couches,
on iron beds in hostels for the homeless,
under feather duvets at tourist B&Bs.
The radio, devoid of listeners to confide in,
turns repetitious. You are your own voice-over.
You are alone in the bone-weary tower
of your bleary-eyed, blinking lighthouse,
watching the spillage of tide on the shingle inlet.
You are the single-minded one who hears
time shaking from the clock’s fingertips
like drops, who watches its hands
chop years into diced seconds,
who knows that when the church bell
tolls at 2 or 3 it tolls unmistakably for you.
You are the sole hand on deck when
temperatures plummet and the hull
of an iceberg is jostling for prominence.
Your confidential number is the life-line
where the sedated long-distance voices
of despair hold out muzzily for an answer.
You are the emergency services’ driver
ready to dive into action at the first
warning signs of birth or death.
You spot the crack in night’s façade
even before the red-eyed businessman
on look-out from his transatlantic seat.
You are the only reliable witness to when
the light is separated from the darkness,
who has learned to see the dark in its true
colours, who has not squandered your life.

“Vigil” by Dennis O’Driscoll, from “New and Selected Poems” © Anvil Press Poetry (Visit Poetry Daily for the well-written essay “The Future of Irish Poetry?” which includes more of O’Driscoll’s work and thoughtful analysis on current Irish poets.)
~~~

Source: pinterest.com

Words For The Weekend (all flowers in time bend toward the sun), Volume 37

This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 5/18/13 (Volume 37). I hope you enjoy them too. Feel free to share your favorite quotes, poems or videos in the comments.

This set on “May Flowers” includes a few special treats: Extra music selections, a video of Mary Oliver reading her poem The Sunflowers, and a selection of tulip garden photographs taken by fellow blogger Mariner2Mother who graciously allowed me to share them with you all (Thank you M2M!) You may view more of her spring tulip photos HERE and HERE.

* Edited to add: UPDATE: Last night, May 20th, the body of Nichole Kristine Cable was found just miles from her home. An arrest has been made.

HAVE YOU SEEN NICHOLE? She’s missing and was last seen May 12 in Glenburn, Maine. Please visit MSFowle for more info or to reblog, or simply click on the photo below:

via: http://msfowle.wordpress.com/2013/05/15/please-help-find-nichole/

via: MSFowle

 

~~~

“The flowers you gave me are rotting
And still I refuse to throw them away
Some of the bulbs never opened quite fully
They might so I’m waiting and staying awake…
Things I have loved I’m allowed to keep
I’ll never know if I go to sleep…”

~ “The Flowers” performed by Regina Spektor, available on “Soviet Kitsch” Video HERE (I really love the Russian-esque ending to her song! To get a feel for what a sweetheart Regina is, view this live performance HERE)

*

Alternate song: “Wildflowers” performed by Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris and Linda Ronstadt on album “Trio,” video link HERE. (For a live set of songs from Trio album, Video HERE)

“I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right
In a garden so different from me
I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone
So the garden, one day, set me free

Hitched a ride with the wind and since he was my friend
I just let him decide where we’d go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers don’t care where they grow”

*

*

“The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two, a pool that nobody’s fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind.”
~ Katherine Mansfield

*

“These flowers will be rotten in a couple hours. Birds will crap on them. The smoke here will make them stink, and tomorrow a bulldozer will probably run over them, but for right now they are so beautiful.”
~ Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor

*

“Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be…”
~ William Wordsworth

*

*

“I prefer by far the warmth and softness to mere brilliancy and coldness. Some people remind me of sharp dazzling diamonds. Valuable but lifeless and loveless. Others, of the simplest field flowers, with hearts full of dew and with all the tints of celestial beauty reflected in their modest petals.”
~ Anaïs Nin, The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 2: 1920-1923

*

“Still I can’t get it out of my mind what a discrepancy there is between ideas and living. A permanent dislocation, though we try to cover the two with a bright awning. And it won’t go. Ideas have to be wedded to action; if there is no sex, no vitality in them, there is no action. Ideas cannot exist alone in the vacuum of the mind. Ideas are related to living: liver ideas, kidney ideas, interstitial ideas, etc. If it were only for the sake of an idea Copernicus would have smashed the existent macrocosm and Columbus would have foundered in the Sargasso Sea. The aesthetics of the idea breeds flowerpots and flowerpots you put on the window sill. But if there be no rain or sun of what use putting flowerpots outside the window?
~ Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

*

*

“Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”
~ Rumi

*

“All flowers in time bend towards the sun
I know you say that there’s no-one for you
but here is one, here is one… here is one…

aah, ooh…
one that can never be known
either all drunk with the world at her feet
or sober with no place to go…

it’s ok to be angry
but not to hurt me…”

Jeff Buckley and Elizabeth Fraser, “All Flowers in Time Bend Toward the Sun”, video HERE. (While the duet is wistfully passionate, Jeff also did a heart-wrenching solo version of this song. I debated back and forth which one to share, so I share them both. Which one do you prefer? Solo video HERE.)

*

*

“I hated roses. I hated them for being so trite, so clichéd, a default, all-purpose flower that said I love you, I’m sorry, and get well soon. Give me peonies and tulips, orchids or gardenia. Those were flowers with character.”
~ Justina Chen, North of Beautiful

*

“She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her… I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her…”
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

*

“Made up my mind to make a new start
Going to California with an aching in my heart.
Someone told me there’s a girl out there
With love in her eyes and flowers in her hair…
To find a queen without a king;
They say she plays guitar and cries and sings.
La la la la…
Side a white mare in the footsteps of dawn
Tryin’ to find a woman who’s never, never, never been born.
Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,
Telling myself it’s not as hard, hard, hard as it seems”

~ Led Zeppelin’s “Going to California”, video HERE, available HERE

*

“If I had my life to live over, I would start
bare-footed earlier in the spring and stay
that way later in the fall.
I would play hookey more.
I wouldn’t make such good grades except by
accident.
I would ride on more merry-go-rounds.
I’d pick more daisies.”

~ Nadine Stair, 87 (Full poem found HERE)

*

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.

It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”
~ Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

*

*

I HAPPENED TO BE STANDING — by Mary Oliver

I don’t know where prayers go,
or what they do.
Do cats pray, while they sleep
half-asleep in the sun?
Does the opossum pray as it
crosses the street?
The sunflowers? The old black oak
growing older every year?
I know I can walk through the world,
along the shore or under the trees,
with my mind filled with things
of little importance, in full
self-attendance. A condition I can’t really
call being alive.
Is a prayer a gift, or a petition,
or does it matter?
The sunflowers blaze, maybe that’s their way.
Maybe the cats are sound asleep. Maybe not.

While I was thinking this I happened to be standing
just outside my door, with my notebook open,
which is the way I begin every morning.
Then a wren in the privet began to sing.
He was positively drenched in enthusiasm,
I don’t know why. And yet, why not.
I wouldn’t pursuade you from whatever you believe
or whatever you don’t. That’s your business.
But I thought, of the wren’s singing, what could this be
if it isn’t a prayer?
So I just listened, my pen in the air.

From Oliver’s newest collection of poems A Thousand Mornings available via Amazon HERE. (For an interview NPR conducted with Oliver including three new poems, an interview sound recording of the interview with interview transcript, visit HERE.)

*

The Sunflowers — by Mary Oliver

Come with me
into the field of sunflowers.
Their faces are burnished disks,
their dry spines

creak like ship masts,
their green leaves,
so heavy and many,
fill all day with the sticky

sugars of the sun.
Come with me
to visit the sunflowers,
they are shy

but want to be friends;
they have wonderful stories
of when they were young -
the important weather,

the wandering crows.
Don’t be afraid
to ask them questions!
Their bright faces,

which follow the sun,
will listen, and all
those rows of seeds -
each one a new life!

hope for a deeper acquaintance;
each of them, though it stands
in a crowd of many,
like a separate universe,

is lonely, the long work
of turning their lives
into a celebration
is not easy. Come

and let us talk with those modest faces,
the simple garments of leaves,
the coarse roots in the earth
so uprightly burning.

From New and Selected Poems, Available via Amazon HERE
*

Mary Oliver reads her above poem “The Sunflowers” HERE:

~~~

Words For The Weekend (My mother is a poem), Volume 36

This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 5/11/13 (Volume 36). I hope you enjoy them too.

In honor of Mother’s Day on May 12:

~~~

“She is not the picture on the magazine
She’s the woman just behind you at the checkout stand
She may appear to be common but she mystifies
In all the ways the wisest men and children understand
‘Cause she has eyes that sparkle with her love
And she has a smile that’s as gentle as a dove
And no woman from a movie or an ad could ever hope to be
As beautiful as she

She is not a highly honored diplomat
Held responsible to lead the world to peace
But what she does is every bit as serious
Amidst the turmoil everywhere that will never cease
‘Cause she has hands that wipe the tears away
And she has a voice that makes everything O.K.
And no woman from the papers or T.V. could ever hope to be
As indispensable as she

And it breaks my heart every time I see her wonder
If she means anything in this world that pulls her under
And she doesn’t always see the way that Heaven smiles above her
That’s the reason I try to always tell her that I love her

‘Cause she may not be known for giving millions
To the charities and auctions on the news
But I believe she’s given more than anyone
In all the times she’s ever had to choose
To give up sleep to rock her children every night
And give her heart to always hold their dreams so tight
And the best that you or I could ever hope to be
Is as wonderful as she
And the best that you or I could ever hope to be
Is as wonderful as she”

~ “She” performed by Cherie Call (her website and lyrics HERE). Available on “Beneath These Stars”  Video HERE

*

Alternate song: “Child of Mine” performed by Carole King on album “Carole King The Carnegie Hall Concert June 18, 1971,” video link HERE.

“You don’t need direction, you know which way to go
And I don’t want to hold you back, I just want to watch you grow
You’re the one who taught me you don’t have to look behind
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine

Child of mine, child of mine
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine

Nobody’s gonna kill your dreams
Or tell you how to live your life
There’ll always be people to make it hard for a while
But you’ll change their heads when they see you smile

The times you were born in may not have been the best
But you can make the times to come better than the rest
I know you will be honest if you can’t always be kind
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine”

*

What I Learned From My Mother

BY JULIA KASDORF

I learned from my mother how to love

the living, to have plenty of vases on hand

in case you have to rush to the hospital

with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants

still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars

large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole

grieving household, to cube home-canned pears

and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins

and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.

I learned to attend viewings even if I didn’t know

the deceased, to press the moist hands

of the living, to look in their eyes and offer

sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.

I learned that whatever we say means nothing,

what anyone will remember is that we came.

I learned to believe I had the power to ease

awful pains materially like an angel.

Like a doctor, I learned to create

from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once

you know how to do this, you can never refuse.

To every house you enter, you must offer

healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,

the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.

From Sleeping Preacher, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1992. Copyright © 1992 by Julia Kasdorf. Via PoetryFoundation.Org

*

~ Abe Lincoln Image via Tumblr

~ Abe Lincoln
Image via Tumblr

*

“My mother is a poem
I’ll never be able to write,
though everything I write
is a poem to my mother.”
Sharon Doubiago

~~~

Words For The Weekend (Bones in your closet, Into the clear-headed day), Volume 35

This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 5/4/13 (Volume 35). I hope you enjoy them too.

This is a continuation of last week’s ”demons” theme. I promise something cheerier next time; if you have a theme idea or request, let me know in the comments. 

Happy two years of sobriety, today May 4, to Paul at Message in a Bottle! Paul is beloved by so many of us “sober bloggers”, and I’m excited to share one of his posts on Monday.

Good luck to Nicole Marie at runbartenderRUN (and Words and Other Things) who runs her first marathon tomorrow, May 5! Run Nicole, run! <3

~~~

“You’ve got bones in your closet
You’ve got ghosts in your town
Ain’t no doubt, yeah, they’re gonna come out
They’re waiting for the sun to go down
You can’t hide from your demons
Feel ‘em all lurkin’ around
You’re runnin’ scared ’cause you know they’re out there
They’re waiting for the sun to go down”

~ “Bones” performed by Little Big Town. Available on “The Road to Here”  Video HERE

*

Alternate song: “Demons” performed by The National on upcoming album “Trouble Will Find Me,” video link HERE. New album releases May 21.

“Passing buzzards in the sky,
Alligators in the sewers.
I don’t even wonder why,
Hide among the under views.
Huddle with them all night long,
The worried talk to god goes on.
I sincerely tried to love it,
Wish that I could rise above it.
But I stay down,
With my demons.
I stay down,
With my demons.”

*

“Be careful when you cast out your demons that you don’t throw away the best of yourself.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

 *

*

 “I suddenly realized. The zebra. It is not something outside of us. The zebra is something inside of us. Our fears. Our own self-destructive nature. The zebra is the worst part of us when we are face-to-face with our worst times. The demon is us!” ~ Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain

 *

“But there’s nothing to be done about it. All I can do is put in time waiting for the inevitable, observing as the ghosts of my past rattle around my vacuous present. They crash and bang and make themselves at home, mostly because there’s no competition. I’ve stopped fighting them. They’re crashing and banging around in there now. Make yourselves at home, boys. Stay awhile. Oh, sorry—I see you already have. Damn ghosts.” ~ Sara Gruen, Water For Elephants

*

“Ghosts don’t haunt us. That’s not how it works. They’re present among us because we won’t let go of them.” ~ Sue Grafton, M Is for Malice

*

“But she had known, better than anyone else, what demons he had faced, had known how hard he had fought to free himself from them. That he had lost the fight in the end made the struggle no less honorable.” ~ Donna Woolfolk Cross, Pope Joan

*

“He therefore turned to mankind only with regret. His cathedral was enough for him. It was peopled with marble figures of kings, saints and bishops who at least did not laugh in his face and looked at him with only tranquillity and benevolence. The other statues, those of monsters and demons, had no hatred for him – he resembled them too closely for that. It was rather the rest of mankind that they jeered at. The saints were his friends and blessed him; the monsters were his friends and kept watch over him. He would sometimes spend whole hours crouched before one of the statues in solitary conversation with it. If anyone came upon him then he would run away like a lover surprised during a serenade.” ~ Victor HugoThe Hunchback of Notre-Dame

*

“But if you can confront your inner demons—”

“I did confront my inner demon. I punched him in the face and he exploded.”

Valkyrie had to laugh. “But now he’s back.”

“Of course he’s back. He’s resourceful. He is my inner demon, after all.”
Derek Landy, Death Bringer (Skulduggery Pleasant, #6)

*

“There was once a lady who was arrogant and proud. Determined to attain enlightenment, she asked all the authorities how to go about it. She was told, “Well, if you climb to the top of this very high mountain, you’ll find a cave there. Sitting inside that cave is a wise old woman. She will tell you.” Having endured great hardships, the lady finally found this cave. Sure enough, sitting there was a gentle spiritual-looking old woman in white clothing, who smiled beatifically. Overcome with awe and respect, the lady prostrated at the feet of this woman and said, “I want to attain enlightenment. Show me how.” This wise woman looked at her and asked sweetly, “Are you sure you want to attain enlightenment?” And the woman said, “Of course I’m sure.” Whereupon the smiling woman turned into a demon, stood up brandishing a great big stick, and started chasing her, saying, “Now! Now! Now!” For the rest of her life, that lady could never get away from the demon who was always saying, Now! Now–that’s the key. Mindfulness trains us to be awake and alive, fully curious, about now.” ~ Pema ChödrönComfortable with Uncertainty: 108 Teachings on Cultivating Fearlessness and Compassion

 *

“But you can’t get to any of these truths by sitting in a field smiling beatifically, avoiding your anger and damage and grief. Your anger and damage and grief are the way to the truth. We don’t have much truth to express unless we have gone into those rooms and closets and woods and abysses that we were told not go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in – then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment. And that moment is home.”  ~ Anne Lamott

*

The Straight and Narrow by Iain Haley Pollock

Near the house that spills banjo music,
the one guarded by a porch stacked

with encyclopedias, ripped out car seats
and outmoded computer screens,

a smell like death stops me. A smell
of slow rot. Across the street, an old man

is mowing his lawn for the last time
before winter, but it isn’t the mix

of gasoline and cut grass I smell.
Searching the road for a mashed squirrel

or a drain seeping sewage onto the asphalt,
I find nothing. Nothing at the shotgun house

next door, where the former plot of sickly cabbage
has been uprooted and the soil turned over.

As church bells begin to call out the hour,
competing witht the mower’s whine, a man–

tattooed face and knit cap worn in all weather–
appears on the porce, wringing the neck of a Miller Lite

in the young morning. I pretend to watch
a stray cat lick a length of calico fur along its spine,

envying the man his public display of freedom, of pain.
A flurry of leaves flies off the overarching maples,

and he tips his bottle at me, then takes a short, sharp swig.
It would be easy to climb the steps and join him,

to spend the day there, trading trips to the fridge
and meandering stories, and some roseate part

of my mind urges my body toward this. That piece of me
remembers rollicking nights in open fields, slurred vows

of happiness, stumbling promises of love,
and cannot understand why we have cast off

such things. That piece–I have to remind it
of the rooms with no windows, of waking

in pools of my own anger and remorse.
I nod back at the man, and head for the corner,

arriving as the bus stops and exhales. My token
chimes into the collection box, and when I find a seat

next to a boy–crowned with headphones
and bopping to a faintly audible beat–the bus

banks away from the curb and into the clear-headed day.

“The Straight and Narrow” by Iain Haley Pollock, from After Shocks, The Poetry of Recovery

~~~

Words For The Weekend (Monsters and Demons and Yoda, Oh My!), Volume 34

This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 4/27/13 (Volume 34). I hope you enjoy them too.

This collection takes a step off the beaten path and features, primarily, the work of other bloggers I respect and enjoy. It seems we all have our demons. So much so, I’ll be carrying the theme into next weekend. Thanks to bloggers: Kozo, Jaded, SageDoyleRisingWoman, and ByeByeBeer for allowing me to share their work. If you like what you see, please visit their blogs or leave ‘em some love in the comments. Have a great week everyone!

~~~

“Sometimes they’re in a bottle,
Sometimes a pair of high-heel shoes,
Some come rolled in paper
Some have six strings and only play the blues
Once you’ve met the devil
There ain’t no way he’ll let you be
When I’m not chasing demons,
There’s demons chasing me

Skeletons in closets
Ghosts underneath the bed
They hide out in pictures
And words better left unsaid
They hang around like perfume
And haunt me like an ancient melody
When I’m not chasing demons,
There’s demons chasing me…”

~ “Demons” performed by Kenny Chesney. Available on “Just Who I Am: Poets & Pirates” Video HERE.

*

Alternate song: “Diamonds” performed by Ben Howard with India Bourne from “Every Kingdom,” video link HERE. ((This live performance is BRILLIANT!))

“All I am is the bones you made for me
So garishly clean
White as the horses, they carry me away
No my demons, you said, come and go with a haze
Minds will too play
Grow old in my ways
Oh, just like you do.”

*

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

*

… though I think I prefer Yoda’s quote, discovered via Kozo at Everyday Gurus in “Good Guys and Bad Guys–Teaching My Children About Peace” :

“When you look at the dark side, careful you must be… for the dark side looks back.” ~ Yoda, Dark Rendezvous

*

via Tumblr

~ Stephen King; image via Tumblr

*

Sinking Deeper by Jaded

This first time
You beckon me with your open arm
You beckon me with your cunning charm
I see
I believe
I embrace you and succumb to your warmth
I float this first time.

This second time
You beckon me with your open arm
You beckon me with your cunning charm
I see
I believe
I embrace you and succumb to what I believe will be your warmth
Instead replaced by your icy grip
Against my will this time I sink
This second time.

This third time
You beckon be with your open arm
You beckon me with your cunning charm
I see
I want to believe
I tentatively embrace you
I once again succumb to your icy grip
Sink deeper yet again
This third time.

All other times
You beckon me with your open arm
You beckon me with your cunning charm
I no longer want to see
I no longer believe
Yet I still embrace you
I still succumb to your icy grip
I sink deeper and deeper.

~ “Sinking Deeper” by Jaded. Jaded blogs at Stuphblog as 1Jaded1.

*

“It is the voices now that keep him company, realizing he is needing a presence, another body, an energy other than his own being.  His loneliness becomes an emotional cyclone sometimes, as if it is the loneliness accumulated throughout his lifetime he felt in one single moment.  The cyclone becomes a device the voices use, telling him to do unnatural things or dictating deeper scenarios than what are evident, yet he ignores them, the best he can.  He is able to pretend that they are demons in his castle, the evil spirits who try to destroy the sorcerer, and his magic is too powerful to be disturbed by this opposition.  He must conquer these demons, after all, the fate of the entire kingdom is in his hands.” ~ from SageDoyle’s post “Inner Demons” via his blog SageDoyle. (Thank you Sage for sharing your novel excerpt expressly for this post!)

*

“It means that I have thrown the window wide open, and let the sunlight in to the deepest, dankest, darkest corner of my life. I now know that the expression, ‘Demons turn to stone when exposed to the light’ is true. I have really and truly killed my demon; I dragged him kicking and screaming in to the light, and he is gone. For the first time in 15 years, I am free.” ~ from Michelle’s at Rising Woman post “Dragging the demons in to the light(Michelle recounts her story of sexual assault in her new short story “This One Guy.” Says Michelle, “All royalties earned on this short story will be donated to organisations that work to raise awareness of sexual assault and/or support victims of rape, incest, and assault.”)

*

“My husband jokes that I’m running from my demons. This is funny because it’s dead true. Before I started running, I tried to sedate my demons with massive doses of sugar and caffeine. Not surprisingly, this did not work. Running is supposed to tire my demons out, but instead I feel like a parent who dozes off while reading a bedtime story to a toddler who silently continues to bounce through the night …

I gotta have something to look forward to that’s fun (mostly) and rewarding and takes me out of my own head for a bit. For awhile, meetings helped me feel that way. Then I discovered candy, then exercise. Maybe one of these days they’ll all work in harmony and lull my little demons to sleep. That sounds nice.”

~ from ByeByeBeer’s post “Exercising Demons” via her blog ByeByeBeer.

exercise demons

Tired demons are happy demons.
Image credited to Bobby Chiu; via ByeByeBeer

*

“My favorite book from childhood was about a little girl who wakes up one night to the sounds of scratching from underneath her bed. It turns out to be a mischievous demon only she can see. He kicks her out of her own bed, eats all her sugar cookies and slurps all her milk, and gets her in trouble by hanging a turkey from the dining room chandelier. The story was great, but the illustrations were really what got me.

He was so darn cute that I very much wanted my own demon or at least a cat or dog that looked like a demon. In the story, the demon gets attached to an oddly shaped glass bottle, a rubber snake, and those sugar cookies. Eventually the girl comes to love the demon, which is his cue to split, so he climbs into the night sky with all his favorites except for the oddly shaped bottle because it’s too cumbersome to carry.

“These demons, that’s how they are,” soothes the girl’s grandmother. “They come and go, come and go.” The girl is so heartbroken, she cries herself to sleep.

I liked to think the demon might come back to her one day, if only for more milk and cookies. From what I know about demons now, they don’t ever really leave us.”

 ~ from ByeByeBeer’s post “These demons, they come and go” via her blog ByeByeBeer

*

image via Tumblr

image via Tumblr

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My Head is a Hotel by RunningOnSober

My demons they come, my demons they go
Though mainly at night, when I’m feeling most low

The sign says “no vacancy, go elsewhere to feed”
But signs don’t mean much, if your demons can’t read

“Wake up wake up, it’s time to go play!”
“Not right now, I need sleep, just please go away!”

“But I am so strong, and you are so weak,
Especially at night when it’s sleep you most seek.”

“But I don’t want to talk, and I don’t want to play
And I don’t feel like wrestling–at least not today.”

“Then make room in your head, we’ll just cuddle all night.”
“Please, no!, little demon, leave me!, alright?”

“No talking, no battles, we’ll just spoon until day.”
Well I do like to snuggle…
“Come curl up little demon, I guess that’s okay.”

*

image via Tumblr

image via Tumblr

~~~

Words (and Photos) For The Weekend (CAPTURED!!!: There Goes My Hero, He’s Ordinary), Volume 33

This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 4/20/13 (Volume 33). I hope you enjoy them too.

* This is a very special edition of Words for the Weekend. It is dedicated to the heroes of Boston. They’ve shown “we can be heroes, just for one day” and that ordinary heroes can save lives, impact the world, and do good, not just for one day, but on any and every day. This one’s for Boston–for those wounded, for those lost, and for those ordinary heroes who shine in extraordinary times. Happier days to all, may we all continue moving forward, may we all heal, may we all remember. Stay strong Boston, stay wicked strong. For some excellent pieces from the week visit The Week’s article: 10 Smart Reads on the Boston Marathon bombing.

Stay tuned for next weekend’s post on fighting inner-demons, featuring special selections from two of my favorite bloggers: Byebyebeer and SageDoyle (Sage happens to hail from Boston–he wrote a touching piece about this week’s events titled “Boston.”)

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BPD tweet

BPD2 tweet

BPD 5 Mayor tweet

*

“There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes
There goes my hero
He’s ordinary…”
-

~ “My Hero” performed by Foo Fighters. Available on “Colour & the Shape.” Video HERE.

*

BPD3 tweet

Boston Victims

Please visit The New York Time’s article “The Boston Victims” to learn more about the lives of Krystle Campbell, Martin Richard, Lu Lingzi, and Sean Collier.

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* The following two videos of heroism (via ABC News and The Daily Beast) may contain graphic and sensitive imagery 

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Tweet_NYY_Redsox

(Video HERE)

Neil-Diamond tweet

*

*

BPD 6 America tweet

BPD

*

Though nothing
Will keep us together
We could steal time
Just for one day
We can be Heroes
For ever and ever
What d’you say

I
I wish you could swim
Like the dolphins
Like dolphins can swim
Though nothing
Will keep us together
We can beat them
For ever and ever
Oh we can be Heroes
Just for one day

I
I will be king
And you
You will be queen
Though nothing
Will drive them away
We can be Heroes
Just for one day
We can be us
Just for one day

David Bowie “Heroes” available on “Heroes.” video HERE

*

peace

Above photo of Martin Richard brings to mind Sade’s song “Why Can’t We Live Together” video HERE, “No more war, no more war, no more war, Just a little peace, No more war, no more war, all we want, Is some peace in this world…”

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Words For The Weekend (Love Possesses Not: Beeswing, Morrison and the Big O), Volume 32

This is the latest installment of quotes and words that move me for the weekend of 4/13/13 (Volume 32). I hope you enjoy them too.

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“Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said ‘As long as there’s no price on love, I’ll stay.
And you wouldn’t want me any other way.’”

~ “Beeswing” performed by Richard Thompson. Available on “Mirror Blue.” Video HERE.

*

Alternate song: “The Chokin’ Kind” performed by Joss Stone from “Soul Sessions,” video link HERE. (Joe Simon’s original HERE.)

“I only meant to love you
(Didn’t you know it babe
Didn’t you know it)
Why couldn’t you be content
With the love I gave, oh yeah
I gave you my heart
But you wanted my mind, oh yeah
Your love scares me to death, boy
Oh it’s the chokin’ kind”

*

“If our love is only a will to possess, it is not love.” ~ Thich Nhat HanhPeace Is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life

 *

“For God’s sake, let’s take the word ‘possess’ and put a brick round its neck and drown it … We can’t possess one another. We can only give and hazard all we have.” ~ Dorothy L. Sayers, Busman’s Honeymoon

 *

“Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself, love possesses not nor would it be possessed: For love is sufficient unto love.” ~ Kahlil GibranThe Prophet

*

“Jealousy is a disease, love is a healthy condition. The immature mind often mistakes one for the other, or assumes that the greater the love, the greater the jealousy – in fact, they are almost incompatible; one emotion hardly leaves room for the other.” ~ Robert A. HeinleinStranger in a Strange Land

*

“That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is. Most people love you for who you pretend to be. To keep their love, you keep pretending – performing. You get to love your pretence. It’s true, we’re locked in an image, an act – and the sad thing is, people get so used to their image, they grow attached to their masks. They love their chains. They forget all about who they really are. And if you try to remind them, they hate you for it, they feel like you’re trying to steal their most precious possession.” ~ Jim Morrison

*

“The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

*

The Missing Piece Meets the Big O by Shel Silverstein

The missing piece sat alone…
waiting for someone
to come along
and take it somewhere.

Some fit…
but could not roll
Others could roll
but did not fit.
One didn’t know a thing about fitting.
And another didn’t know a thing about anything.
One was too delicate.
One put it on a pedestal…
and left it there.
Some had too many pieces missing.
Some had too many pieces, period.
It learned to hide from the hungry ones.
More came.
Some looked too closely.

Others rolled right by without noticing.
It tried to make itself more attractive…
It didn’t help.
It tried being flashy.
but that just frightened away the shy ones.

At last one came along that fit just right.
But all of a sudden…
the missing piece began to grow!
And grow!
‘I didn’t know you were going to grow.’
‘I didn’t know it either,’ said the missing piece.

‘I’m lookin’ for my missin’ piece, one that won’t increase….’

One came along who looked different.
‘What do you want of me?’ asked the missing piece.
‘Nothing .’
‘What do you need from me?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Who are you?’ asked the missing piece.
‘I am the Big O,’ said the Big O.
‘I think you are the one I have been waiting for,’ said the missing piece. ‘Maybe I am your missing piece.’
‘But I am not missing a piece,’ said the Big O.
‘There is no place you would fit.’
‘That is too bad,’ said the missing piece.
‘I was hoping that perhaps I could roll with you….’
‘You cannot roll with me,’ said the Big O,
‘but perhaps you can roll by yourself.’
‘By myself? A missing piece cannot roll by itself.’
‘Have you ever tried?’ asked the Big O.
‘But I have sharp corners,’ said the missing piece.
‘I am not shaped for rolling.’
‘Corners wear off,’ said the Big O, ‘and shapes change.
Anyhow, I must say good-bye..
Perhaps we will meet again….’
And away it rolled.
The missing piece was alone again.

For a long time it just sat there.
Then… slowly… it lifted itself up on one end…and flopped over.
Then lift…pull…flop…
it began to move forward….
And soon its edges began to wear off…

liftpullflopliftpullflop…

and its shape began to change…
and then it was bumping instead of flopping…
and then it was bouncing instead of bumping…
and then it was rolling instead of bouncing….

And it didn’t know where, and it didn’t care.

It was rolling!

“The Missing Piece Meets the Big O” by Shel Silverstein, from The Missing Piece Meets the Big O  (To view with original graphics, watch HERE or see below video.)

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