What would I say to me when I was 15?

Life is...
Beautiful
MAGICAL
fun 
full of adventure 
There are...
Hills to climb Oceans to cross Rivers to ford   

and thinking great thoughts 
Those are the first things 
I would tell a fifteen-year-old me
that I was..
funny-likable-caring-talented-intelligent
full of love
give in to passion, to love
Passion is a tyrant of the heart 
but don't be afraid
You might make mistakes...
IT'S OKAY!
That's how you learn
Unless you refuse to learn what life has to teach you
There will be difficult times ahead
You might lose your way
But you can reclaim yourself by knowing 
WHO YOU ARE
holding tight to who you are and not believing 
THE LIES
that the outside wants to tell you about yourself
that you need to be
goldenblonde-modelthin-cheerleadyhappy-PERFECT
if you can hold on to the child, 
the child who loves sunshine 
singing 
dancing in the rain 
and laughing 
and reading all night 
and writing... 
if you can keep that joy,
 that love of life... 
then you will meet what comes 
with everything 
that you will need to have a good life, my darling. 

On the mountaintop...

Come sit with me, my friend
with pen and paper we shall sit
and from such views we shall write
wondrous tales of
Crossing the harsh Rocky Mountains in the dead of winter,
     skeletons along the way their stories untold

A quiet week

I've not done much blogging this week and if I hadn't signed up for the 'Favorite Picture Book Blogfest', I might not have done any at all. Part of the reason is that this is my busy week- getting my son back and forth to school means leaving the house at 7 and not getting home until 6:30 or later leaves me with little energy to write anything, even a blog entry. The other reason is that I also spent some time updating my resume as a new position opened up at work and I had to have it all polished up and sent in by Friday. It was done Thursday afternoon but it always takes time to get that sort of stuff done. But even today I find little interest in writing with all of the tragic news coming from Japan, the ongoing rallies in Wisconsin and the rest of the country which seem to have little or no effect in slowing down the corporate takeover of the government run agencies (and they should be government run!) and on a more personal level, the loss of work for teachers and support staff in my son's school district as well as a four day school week which is simply stunning, to say the least. We've also experienced job loss in our home as result of budget cuts on the part of Denver Public Schools and as Denver looks at balancing it's budget for next year, my position may not be cut but we will be under increasing pressure as the library will not be able to replace workers who transfer positions, retire or quit and of course we will still have at least five unpaid days off next year, and of course there will probably be increase in cost of our benefits (again) *sigh* And with the last remnants of the winter blues still clinging to my sleeves I am just too worn out to write anything beyond an explanation of why I am not writing anything. So, perhaps what I need, perhaps what we all need is poetry and the peace that comes with a new day:

Sea of the Morning

Here let me stand, that, for a while, I too

may gaze on nature. Marvellous blue tints

of a morning sea and an unclouded sky

contrasting with an amber-coloured shore, —

all luminously beautiful and grand...

Here let me stand and think I see these things  

(I really did see them for a moment,

soon after I had stopped) —

and not, here also,

my fantasies, my reminiscences,

the incomparable idols of delight.

~~C.P. Cavafy, translator

The lie I told...

SPOILER ALERT: If you are here to read the challenge, I mistakenly linked to my blog in my haste to figure out what I was going to write and missed Rachael's directions to link the post so click here  to get to CHALLENGE #1!.

___________________________________________________

OUT MY WINDOW

A flutter of paper-white wafer
quietly filtering onto the ground
the single flake quietly
evanescing into earth 
to be quickly followed
by another and another
until the air is aswarm with alabaster crystals
Quietly they find their way 
down 
to where the earth cradles the white flakes 
producing a dappled landscape 
until the browns of winter are asphyxiated, 

leaving behind a stifling blanket of white. 

The hold of darkness is released and the earth glows, 

producing an ethereal beauty that can be felt 

in the silence of the soul. 

Artists and poets attempt to capture the somber beauty 

but their efforts fall short 

resulting in a copy of very poor relief.

With the ascending sun 

the broadcast of school closings! 

the Silence is broken. 

A collective shout for joy is heard 

among the children of the community 

as they anticipate a day full of adventure... 


But to my older, weatherworn frame
with the snow 

comes temperatures that benumb the bones

and freeze the toes

days are short 

and the SAD days of the past are fought off with an effort

The roads are afright 

and the traffic's a terrible plight
in spite of the beauty  

or the poetic nature of the fluffy whiteness that bedecks the

trees outside my window 
I will tell you

I HATE SNOW! 

Lisa Potts did indeed get it correct! As did Anonymous who shall remain anonymous... 


P.S. to all those who guessed Einstein... Einstein's name was used for creative license only so you weren't wrong obviously I could not literally argue with Einstein as he is a dead man unless I am a medium and channel him (which I am not and do not!). But I do have an annoying habit that if I feel that I am right about something, I will not let it go, I will argue about it (and I will research it to find out if I am right to make sure- if I am wrong, however, I generally admit to my incorrectitude).

P.S.S. to any who guessed stage fright-- you are right, I do not. I was not describing stage fright but rather a quirk that I have- I am a singer and I visualize the sheet music in my head as I sing. However if I lose my place while I am singing I am doomed! I have to start over or stand there completely speechless-- which has happened a few times to my embarrassment!!!

P.S.S.Yes, I do go a little blotto over an unfinished puzzle. I enjoy doing them so much that we have to make rules in the house to leave it alone or I'd sit and finish a puzzle in no time. I guess that's a sort of secret. I haven't ever told anyone that before although it's known in our household. My darling Mo makes me promise not to finish the puzzles while he's out if I'm home alone.   

Dancing with a snow man

The snow swirls around us

dancing, careening, cavorting

tickling our noses 

and teasing our toeses 

We join in the whirling dirvishes 

 swirling whirls

whorling swirls

  whirs twirling

slowly turning 

to find 

a giant of snow 

Standing before us 

a grin of toothiness 

spread over his features 

We spread out our arms 

to ask for waltzes 

and the jolly coal eyes 

sparkled down at the lark

and then as we stand in the silence of the dark

a call comes from the lighted warmth

we hug him tightly

and whisper lightly  

"Goodnight"

and slip off

to leave him in the 

swirling 

whirling

twirling

whorling night

Ithaka

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

~~C.P. Cavafy

Regiment of the Senses

Speak not of guilt, speak not of responsibility. When the Regiment of the Senses parades by, with music, and with banners; when the senses shiver and shudder, it is only a fool and and an irreverent person that will keep his distance, who will not embrace the good cause, marching towards the conquest of pleasures and passions.

All of morality’s laws – poorly understood and applied – are nil and cannot stand even for a moment, when the Regiment of the Senses parades by, with music, and with banners.

Do not permit any shadowy virtue to hold you back. Do not believe that any obligation binds you. Your duty is to give in, to always give in to Desires, these most perfect creatures of the perfect gods. Your duty is to enlist as a faithful footman, with simplicity of heart, when the Regiment of the Senses parades by, with music, and with banners.

Do not confine yourself at home, misleading yourself with theories of justice, with the preconceptions of reward, held by an imperfect society. Do not say, Such is my toil’s worth and such is my due to savor. Just as life is an inheritance, and you did nothing to earn it as a recompense, so should Sensual Pleasure be. Do not shut yourself at home; but keep the windows open, open wide, so as to hear the first sound of the passing of the soldiers, when the Regiment of the Senses arrives, with music, and with banners.

Do not be deceived by the blasphemers who tell you that the service is dangerous and laborious. The service of sensual pleasure is a constant joy. It does exhaust you, but it exhausts you with inebriations sublime. And finally, when you collapse in the street, even then your fortune is enviable. When your funeral will pass by, the Forms to which your desires gave shape will shower lilacs and white roses upon your coffin, young Olympian Gods will bear you on their shoulders, and you will be buried in the Cemetery of the Ideal, where the mausoleums of poetry gleam conspicuously white.

~~ C.P Cavafy