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Post by Deleted on Oct 25, 2016 14:33:29 GMT -5
Finite impossibilites: I stare out of the window at the falling rain my hands are cold and still in mimicry of the movements of the dead I want to crash through the window on to the sodden grass I want to rip out my eyes to see more clearly I want to cut off my ears to hear more perfectly I want to rip out my tongue to speak more truly but all I find when I close my eyes is a penumbra mocking my quest for death perhaps I should go down to Beachy Head and jump Hi LadyLinda, I hope you are not feeling what is written. You do seem to be dwelling on the negative aspects of life, believe it or not, our thoughts are potent and affect people, besides our self. BRIGHTEN UP PLEASE.!!! it comes to mind the story of Jonah and Elijah....they both sought death but overcame the negative....life is not one big happy existance but mountain tops and valleys...we grow in the valleys
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Post by Scottish Lassie on Oct 25, 2016 16:57:08 GMT -5
Hi Chefmate51, Maybe so, but if a person really wants to be happy, then dwelling on the negative aspects of life is definitely not the way to go. It takes happy thoughts to experience happiness.
If you could see the aura of a person who dwells on negativity, you would see a murky cloud surroundind their head. When the person is thinking happy thoughts, that cloud has gone and is replaced by a nimbus of white, in other words, a 'halo'
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Post by Scottish Lassie on Oct 26, 2016 3:42:51 GMT -5
It's always easy for people who don't experience suffering to tell those who ARE going through to 'cheer up.' Smugness is one of the least pleasant characteristics of human beings IMO. For what it's worth it's taken me quite a while to persuade her to go online again. Those who have no concept of suffering but live in an air-conditioned bubble cannot possibly understand despair. The philosopher Descartes was experiencing what mystics call 'the dark night of the soul' following the death of his 5-year old daughter. He remarked that those people who tried to cheer him up depressed him even more while those who shared his grief and showed empathy helped him slowly to recover from it (though he admitted that he never fully recovered). Hi Mike Marshall, Platitudes are only stopgaps to the person who is suffering. It is definitely not the solution. Only the person themselves can snap out of the abyss of despair that they have allowed themselves to sllide into. I cannot understand how an intelligent person with apparently everything going for themselves, allow this to happen. It usually starts when a person starts feeling sorry for themselves because of a certain situation that they are going through that they don't altogether like. It is time for that person to analyse the situation and start to see it in a better light. I suffer from Altzeimers and I struggle all the time to find the proper word to get across what I want to say. Should I feel sorry for myself? Should I no longer make the effort to see life in a more positive light. I have been through the dark night of Soul. I have had four miscarriages, almost lost my life two or three times, have suffered poverty, so I know what that side of life entails. If a person can lift themselves up out of the conditions of their earlier life, I cannot understand what can be bothering them now that would depress them so much? They have a loving partner by their side caring about them so what is their beef? they ought to be glad that they have as much as they have, and count their lucky stars. It is definitely time to look at the bright side of life. PRONTO.!!!
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Post by mouse on Oct 26, 2016 6:20:27 GMT -5
SL wrote
""I suffer from Altzeimers and I struggle all the time to find the proper word to get across what I want to say. Should I feel sorry for myself?"""
no of course you shouldn't..you should make the most of every day and every hour and enjoy what you have for as long as possible..right to the bitter end like you I suffer memory loss and at time struggle to remember words and information [thankfully its not Altzeimers or dementia][both very cruel inflictions] and I rail like mad againt not being allowed to go out or travel any where alone...on the other hand for both of us it could be a great deal worse
on the other hand depreesion real depression is not some thing which can just be shaken off ..its as much an illness as mumps or measles ..if it were easy to contend with people would just be able to get a grip and come out of depression..its not a question of looking on the bright side I have never has depression but ive seen the devastation it can cause
Lin has my sympathy and best wishes that she comes out of her ""black dog""and returns to active life very soon...it must be hard going for Mike and the children too.... I wish them all well
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Post by Deleted on Oct 26, 2016 12:46:16 GMT -5
Thank you, Mouse. You and (almost) everyone have shown sympathy and I am greatly touched by all your kindness.
Unfortunately to those who live in a bubble where 'positive thinking' is presented as some kind of panacea for all the troubles of the world the idea of empathy, let alone grief or of being weighed down by life's troubles, must seem as utterly inconceivable as the idea that the Earth revolved around the Sun did to the Inquisition.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Oct 26, 2016 14:46:34 GMT -5
The End of the Affair:
The stars will never care once we are gone,
many of them long dead themselves already;
memories for a time remain before
sinking into the safe quicksand of history
whether we give birth
or murder
is unimportant
whether we live in palaces
or prison cells
makes no difference
you can kill or be killed,
live life on the edge of the razor,
play Russian roulette
nothing matters
I could paint graffiti in my blood
burn myself or drown myself
no one would come to rescue me
or care once I was gone
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Post by ladylinda on Oct 26, 2016 14:47:35 GMT -5
Stones and jewels and leaves and faded brightness:
stone, stone, is all I want to be,
flashed into flame as flint
dashed in the hand
the tinder of me
blazing brightly
stirring the embers
of my kith and kindling
fallen leaves are the dead jewels
that once adorned the throat of Mother Earth;
now they are fit only to be trampled underfoot,
or rained on relentlessly till turned to mush
in the background
a dim brilliance
lingers
a photograph only
a trapped memory
of a time that once was
and is now
vanished into the vacuum
of non-existence
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Oct 26, 2016 16:55:33 GMT -5
The Love of God:
Dear God, some see you as incarnate wrath,
Judging us sinners with a vengeful mien,
Doomed to damnation, torment; so obscene
To your pure gaze, we are some noxious weed,
Spewing our poison and our sin around,
Void of all virtue: hope for us is none,
Our striving vain, our every plan undone,
Our planted seeds falling on stony ground.
No, Lord, I trust in you: Your great love gave
Christ to our sinful world, through Him to save
Souls worthless as my own: His sacrifice
Is an eternal answer to all vice.
God shows us mercy, tenderness and love
On earth below, as in the heavens above
Author notes
I was raised as a Presyterian (Calvinist) before I came to see that God is Love and that a God of hate and vengeance could NEVER be a true God.
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Post by ladylinda on Nov 16, 2016 9:03:49 GMT -5
Cassandra
1) a tsunami of revolt throbs in its frantic crescendo, as everywhere the consensus shatters, a Kristallnacht, a bonfire of the sanities and a cleansing deeper than the Augean stables sluices away all accepted protocols
the voiceless and the eyeless shout and see, as if on Sinai's peak a new epiphany had come on earth, a revelation of a higher truth, a new commandment or a new Jerusalem shone distantly in their formerly clouded vision
of course it is only smoke and directionless flame covering the dying certainties with an ash-cloud deeper than Vesuvius choking and killing Pompeii and Herculaneum, nature red in tooth and claw rising up in a war of all against all
2) what is the star glistening in the West, shining its luminescence on branchless trees, withered so long, they cannot count the years since last they bloomed and shed their fragrance in generosity on an ungrateful world, that took, but gave them no respect?
the sudden glow of an abraded sun no longer peeps furtively across skies but yells its orange fervour to the world, and suddenly their dark and dismal lives are filled with an unexpected radiance, a longed for but never dreamed of, hope
we, restless souls ourselves, still wonder at the seismic quake spreading across the world, taking so many different forms - Corbyn, Sanders, Isis, Brexit, Syriza, Trump, Le Pen, all the complacency of those whose smug conception of their rulership, has shattered
3) yes, rough beasts are slouching towards an ungainly, imagined Bethlehem, seeking birth and though I am caught up in the excitement I tremble a little, even a restless child of change still hankering after the dirty bathwater a little, fearing the disposal of living babies
for too long now, the worst among us have been the only ones to show true passion: those who cling to liberal ideals have let the left and right play all the music, their staccato, falsetto, obligato mouth music of hate, the only sound in town
do we deserve this tumult, this mass pollarding of guiltless trees, the violation of the innocent to pay for the sins of the guilty? oh, the sins of politics, the politics of sin
4) a call to arms: the circus animals demand alliegance, obeisance even, while the tigers of wrath break their cages, devouring the horses of instruction
hatred flowers along the barrel of rifles, loaded with the ammunition of sophistry, special pleading, sighted along the line of a hall of mirrors, so, though you grasp the weapon firmly, you only shoot yourself
the prozac of media sensationalism, politics turned into a reality TV show, and whatever form your futile protest takes Big Brother and Big Sister always win, the weak are ground underneath the boot stamping forever on a human face to the cheers of millions of adoring fans imagining life is just another game show
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Post by beth on Nov 16, 2016 19:31:05 GMT -5
This is really nice, Lin. I kept looking for the author, then realized it's in "originals" so must be yours.
Well done.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Nov 17, 2016 19:06:44 GMT -5
Thanks, Beth. It's my take on the present trend towards revolt which has, sadly, IMO lost focus and become a revolt against whatever is, however good, and in favour of whatever alternative, however bad.
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Post by ladylinda on Nov 17, 2016 19:07:30 GMT -5
Borders
"Gypsies are the true Europeans. They know no borders." Günther Grass ------------ what do they say I am? shiftless, and shifty
watch out, there she goes, that dirty gypsy: hang on to your purse or wallet!
north and south, east and west, meet in me and mingle
my voice pierces the skies, skims across the ocean, burrows deep; inside the earth
the world I know is one where butterflies dance in my hair, where my arms are the branches of trees and my legs their roots
borders are just obstructions: yesterday I was in Paris, today Los Angeles, tomorrow Pretoria, and the day after that in Moscow
but I am besieged, assaulted on every side by the orderly bureaucrats of the world, loving only their papers, their records, so remote from the life of the world
I need to be on the move, to travel, but invisible chains corral me back' no escape from the ghetto, no parole date for us in our prison
so I wander within the confined space of my permitted limits, unable to remove my unseen tag
I want to storm every gate, tear down the walls and barriers of the world, flow with the freedom of rivers gushing through ground from source to estuary
they say "don't complain! things can always be worse," well, that's true of course, but they can always be better too
so, at the borders of the world when the customs officer asks me: 'anything to declare?' I make my answer
I offer him flowers, or perhaps a poem
he frowns a little, confiscates them both
once, like the wind shaking the trees with its caressing breath, we could move more freely
now, it isn't the same any more
I can write countless poems, hang my garland of flowers on every street, knowing in spite of the signs and prohibitions I have to go on, travel the lungo drom
so, though my tears scar my face with their boiling passion, my clothes are drenched in the sweat of fear, the desperation for freedom drives me on
there are borders everywhere, but I can't let them stop me
I have to go on, follow the lungo drom
Author notes
I'm a Romany gypsy and I wrote about our life and our need for travelling which is part of our very heart and soul. I used the Romany expression 'lungo drom' which means 'long road.' .
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Post by beth on Nov 17, 2016 19:16:07 GMT -5
Borders "Gypsies are the true Europeans. They know no borders." Günther Grass ------------ what do they say I am? shiftless, and shifty watch out, there she goes, that dirty gypsy: hang on to your purse or wallet! north and south, east and west, meet in me and mingle my voice pierces the skies, skims across the ocean, burrows deep; inside the earth the world I know is one where butterflies dance in my hair, where my arms are the branches of trees and my legs their roots borders are just obstructions: yesterday I was in Paris, today Los Angeles, tomorrow Pretoria, and the day after that in Moscow but I am besieged, assaulted on every side by the orderly bureaucrats of the world, loving only their papers, their records, so remote from the life of the world I need to be on the move, to travel, but invisible chains corral me back' no escape from the ghetto, no parole date for us in our prison so I wander within the confined space of my permitted limits, unable to remove my unseen tag I want to storm every gate, tear down the walls and barriers of the world, flow with the freedom of rivers gushing through ground from source to estuary they say "don't complain! things can always be worse," well, that's true of course, but they can always be better too so, at the borders of the world when the customs officer asks me: 'anything to declare?' I make my answer I offer him flowers, or perhaps a poem he frowns a little, confiscates them both once, like the wind shaking the trees with its caressing breath, we could move more freely now, it isn't the same any more I can write countless poems, hang my garland of flowers on every street, knowing in spite of the signs and prohibitions I have to go on, travel the lungo drom so, though my tears scar my face with their boiling passion, my clothes are drenched in the sweat of fear, the desperation for freedom drives me on there are borders everywhere, but I can't let them stop me I have to go on, follow the lungo drom Author notes I'm a Romany gypsy and I wrote about our life and our need for travelling which is part of our very heart and soul. I used the Romany expression 'lungo drom' which means 'long road.' . Well, this is lovely. If you haven't already, you should enter this in a contest.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Nov 18, 2016 12:02:47 GMT -5
Two minds:
when the mind is closed it becomes a dark attic, cluttered with useless lumber, covered in dust and cobwebs
an open mind is the fresh free wind on your face and the rays of open sunshine
which is the better mind?
Author notes
A subject dear to my heart - 'open' minds versus 'closed' ones
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Post by ladylinda on Nov 18, 2016 12:07:47 GMT -5
The cave
I am a cave, warmed at times with the flame of wood, within me, now and then, dwellers, human and animal, the humans wrapped in skins
on the roof and sides of me the humans create art, later generations will discourse in vast tomes of criticism about their meaning and their origin
my dwellers, when the day is hot, sweat as they hunt or gather, or, when the weather is cold,. hug each other tight as they shiver
I remember all the sights and sounds passing within my enforced residence here, thousands of years have passed yet little changes
humans still huddle against the cold or sweat in rasping heat, they still hunt and gather, even if no less often for the necessities of life, instead, greedily ferret out money
there were no crooks and con men in the days when I gave life and shelter, no prisons, armies, the good earth tilled and tended, not violated, built upon to create fripperies and vanities in unrelenting insanity
a woman enters me, a tourist I am guessing, a man walks at her side
sister, I will speak to you, just as you are washed each month with blood so too the blood of the living and dead who dwelt within me once, still haunts me
though I am old, I am no more eternal than you are, I have as little faith in the future as in the past I trusted
life and death both flourished, children were born and nourished within my sepulchre and temple
sister, my body is rock, there is no softness in my nature; you are born of gentle, yielding flesh, even your body partly a cave that love may enter
you endure the monthly bloody tied, the nine-month labour of your pregnancy, the pain as your cave opens upon the world with a cry of new birth
out of our different caves the world of my cold stiff endurance and your passionate embrace of life, even in spite of all its pain, the warm humanity of you salutes my aged soldier of rock, perched in magnificent indifferent solitude Author notes
I'm pregnant again - my third child will be due in June next year. Maybe it's made me more reflective but it's certainly lifted my spirits after a few months of gloom and despair.
The metaphor of the cave of course stands for the literal cave in which humans once dwelt, the female genitalia, the dark womb of society when it goes wrong and the matrix of the spirit and God's mysterious power that shines through the world's darkness and brings light and comfort to the troubled and despairing souls.
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