A question of choice

As we journey through this life, we are aided by a powerful tool, choice. The more we understand and utilize its strength, the stronger we become.

The Silent Eye

I have been thinking a lot lately…there is more than enough time for that at the moment. Not that a mind often stops. It sleeps occasionally, though even dreams may keep it busy. Sometimes it feels as if conscious thought goes into abeyance and I stand back and watch another me, one who knows something that I do not. A bigger me. Not, as my sons would gleefully tell you given my mere five foot that this is a difficult thing.

Many writers recount how their characters write the book and they, as authors, simply take down the words as dictation. I can verify this for I have felt it myself, learning to know and love my creations as they create themselves. All the writer does then, is set the scene and give them a form to inhabit. The characters seem to write the rest for themselves and the writer…

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il vit dans la lune / he lives in the moon

“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”                  –  Buddha

 

“There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.                       –  George Carlin

 

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”      –       Anton Chekhov

 

il vit dans la lune / he lives in the moon

a man in the moon?

or so they

tell us in

rhyme and

verse

*

so be it

i shall

go to him

in the dark

a pilgrimage

*

finding solace

in each of his forms

devotedly he returns

watching over me

in slumber

*

dreaming peacefully,

breath comes soft and easy

in benediction

he showers me

with stars

*

Bisous,

Léa

Birds of Prey – Saigon

This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
– Dalai Lama

birds of prey

the priest and huyen

sit across from the dying mother-in-law

tham, she is Buddhist

and afraid

they smell the rotting meat

of fear

tham is afraid to die

the priest –  eager to convert her

in her time of fear

they hover eagerly

will she take their bait?

a precaution added insurance for

her journey

leaving it behind

whatever use it might be

discarded in a heap with silken pajamas

left behind

as she crosses through the final exit

what remains of 53 years

of traditions

rituals handed down

from her ancestors

will they pick those

bones clean

they chant as they recite the beads

and count her among those caught

in their net

Bisous,

Léa