It's All About the Journey

Today is your future. Live in the moment!


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Stuck in the 60s Tonight

I got stuck in the 60s tonight. I watched one of my favorites: The Newlywed Game. All of them. On YouTube. I admired the bride’s hair: the big beehive ‘do. The mascara and eye shadow. The California lifestyle.

Do you remember that game? We would play it by the hour. You’d draw a chart, naming your choices of places to live, boys’ names (to marry), a car to drive and a career. I cannot remember the counting formula, perhaps one of my readers can. Anyway, count away and you’d find your destiny.

I think I always had choices of California, Florida, or … I don’t remember having any other! Maybe I chose Hawaii. But certainly not my home town.

I’m not sure of his profession, but it was the man’s profession, for sure.

I do not remember the rest. I’m sure a color and a car were significant.

I will always remember how I thought the best place in the world had to be California. I was definitely a California girl. In my dreams.

I’m 61. My dreams have changed. Oh sure, I have visited California. A Californian friend even stated that there is no other place in the world to live! But I do admit, i love my small village I returned to, I love my farm and I love (even more) my farmer, who makes life worthwhile and every day a priceless treasure! (Thank you, Ross).

Still, there is a little girl…and her little girl dreams….

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Traveling On Our Inward Journey

I have been enjoying this series by Michael Lai, with his visit to this monastery.  I can hear the bells calling and the peace.  Thank you, Michael Lai!

I have been showing a series of the Tsz Shan Monastery – the environs, the big Guanyin statue, the water lilies, the places of meditation etc. I will continue to show some of the architecture of the temples which are of timber construction. The architecture is based on the style of the Tang Dynasty. The […]

via TszShan Monastery, Hong Kong – General Background — retireediary


De-Tangle!

It’s been a very long week.  Two weeks.  I tend to become jumbled.  My solution?  I tend to turn to Emerson.  He uses nature as his medium, the following is from his essay “Nature:”

…as objects of science…no man touches these divine natures without becoming, in some degree, himself divine.  Like a new soul, they renew the body…life is no longer irksome…for the first time, we exist.  We become immortal, for we learn that time and space are reflections of matter…they have no affinity…

And then as we look ahead, we need to remember and personalize:

Fear always springs from ignorance…see it to be a lie andyou have already dealt it its mortal blow.

Go inward, to come out on with the breath of God upon your face.  Onward and upward, let us become fellow Americans once more.  Helping each other, aiding each other, depending on one another, bearing even weight to make our burden lighter.


A Morning Walk

I decided to rise from my slumbering mode this morning to enjoy the morning air!  My morning writing, consisting of a handwritten letter to my daughter, needed posting, and I decided to walk it over.  I could have waited, yes, but I’m glad I didn’t.

I don’t know what I like more, the beauty of nature or her sounds.  I’m grateful I can take advantage of both!  

 The perfect fence adornment!

  Living the life in June, the peony and Queen Anne’s lace share  

  

 I sit this morning on my porch, the Robin sings (he’s the only one I really can remember, and the only one brave enough to hop across my lawn)–oh wait! I just heard the cardinal (but he eludes my vision).

It’s like eating breakfast with Ralph Waldo!  

The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right.

 


The Fiction Writer

i cannot write fiction well.  I am a person of experience.  The books that flow through my mind go past my fingers and float back around my head, due to my own inopportunity to finding the facts, and the stories I need.  So, I have to stick to that which I know.  And the books continue to spin over my head like bees over honey.

Every now and then, I get suggestions of topics to address, from those with passions over particular issues or experiences.  I cannot comment (much) on another’s experience, I am on the outside looking in, only an observer.  

A writer needs inspiration, and the stories will flow, and flow nicely, rapidly, like the stream glancing over the rocks and moss, seeking its way to the larger water.  

So, while I have a glass jar of topics to write, until I have the information that I need, or the inspiration to flow through my fingers, the topic remains inside the jar.  

While I don’t need my dear friend, Emerson, to back me up, his Spiritual Laws has its place here.

Each man has his own vocation. The talent is the call. There is one direction in which all space is open to him. He has faculties silently inviting him thither to endless exertion. He is like a ship in a river; he runs against obstructions on every side but one; on that side all obstruction is taken away, and he sweeps serenely over a deepening channel into an infinite sea. This talent and this call depend on his organization, or the mode in which the general soul incarnates itself in him. He inclines to do something which is easy to him, and good when it is done, but which no other man can do. He has no rival. For the more truly he consults his own powers, the more difference will his work exhibit from the work of any other. His ambition is exactly proportioned to his powers. The height of the pinnacle is determined by the breadth of the base. Every man has this call of the power to do somewhat unique, and no man has any other call. The pretence that he has another call, a summons by name and personal election and outward “signs that mark him extraordinary, and not in the roll of common men,” is fanaticism, and betrays obtuseness to perceive that there is one mind in all the individuals, and no respect of persons therein.