Here we are for all to see,
I’m not you, and you’re not me.
We’re both a half of who we are.
Add us together, and both become a we.
Usually you’re black while I am white,
Both are equal though different as day and night.
A pattern emerges as we swirl and flow,
Though never mixing, makes a beautiful sight.
We’ve swirled and flowed since time began:
Over mountains, oceans, even desert sand.
We’ve been seen everywhere in all sorts of weather,
Twirling to unheard music, but never blending together.
We’re universal energy, equal yet opposite
For enlightened minds to behold and see
As we twirl to our music, carried on invisible wings
Toward our long sought out destiny.
The dark portion is Yin, wearing a spot of Yang,
While the light portion, Yang, wears a spot of Yin.
They are both quite stylish but simple in design,
Then too the Tao is different from mind to mind.
Negative or positive, male or female, you choose the word.
Your choice of either will simply remain unheard.
The Tao answer no questions and hearkens to no quiz:
Because the Tao is as was and yet still is!
Psalm 46:10 “Be still and know that I Am God.”
Do you know what silence sounds like?
Did you know that music is a series of sounds separated by silence?
In this busy world, it is almost impossible to hear the sound of silence.
However, I treasure it above all else.
Imagine a magical, serene time totally void of any sound on your ears.
One’s mind completely relaxes, and one can visualize waves breaking on a distant, sandy shore – without sound.
From deep within our mind, a new, pure thought emerges in this blessed silence.
It would have never arrived in its present form because of the noise, clutter, give and take of everyday life. Instead, it would have arrived all covered in bandages from injuries caused by the extraneous, outside world. It would be confused, lacking clarity, and without peace.
The idea is to intentionally become more aware of the Sound of Silence.
God bless your journey!
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Vows were broken, Love, by an unplanned death.
Promises that were spoken by the living breath.
Vows softly spoken in the listener’s ears
Linger on after death, bringing forth anguished tears.
Neither mountains high nor rivers wide
Can stop or contain them, and they still abide.
Later, you’ll bring them as you wing your way
And join my spirit, awaiting on the other side.
Marvel not then upon this small wonder,
For what God joins together, nothing puts asunder.
Though you live on if I pass first,
Find peace and joy, my love.
My spirit patiently awaits you
While angels sing above.
Our spirits will again reunite on that golden strand,
In that timeless Shangri-la, never to part again.
Think not that it’s over, that death brings the end,
For the spirit lives forever and ever, even then.
Finish your journey.
Walk your path, following destiny’s pull.
Shine your light on friend and foe.
Live life to the full.
I loved you then; I love you now
As when I gave the ring
To seal the vow made long ago.
Oh, Death, where is thy sting?
It is said that words written on desert sands can be seen on the morrow, borne on desert winds.
Words of secrecy should never be spoken in the night, for sounds travel easier in the dark than in the light.
Speak of no confessions by a pond or lakeside for words travel quickly over water, heard easily on the other side.
Keep well your promises for they have strings much stronger than steel, anchored to your conscience. Break one, and your conscience will be unbalanced and hurt all the days of your life.
To err is human, to forgive divine.
Having to do neither one ever is paradise.
Someone told a man with many woes and troubles that a wise man lived up on a certain mountain and might be able to help him.
So, the man hiked up the mountain and found the wise old man, who was sporting long white hair and a full white beard.
After telling the wise man his problems, the old man replied, “Do you see that huge boulder just down the mountain? Go down there and leave your problems at its base. But there is one requirement: You must pick up someone else’s problems and take them down the mountain with you. Choose carefully, my son.”
After four hours, the man came back up to the wise man.
He spoke: “You know, I couldn’t find any problems down there that were smaller than mine. So, if it’s all right with you, I’ll just keep my own problems, and take them back down the mountain with me.”
The old man smiled and replied, “Go in peace, my son.”
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Mighty symbol of our country,
Against clear-blue skies,
I looked and beheld
Tears in his eyes.
“How did this happen?”
Asked I in dismay —
For Old Glory still waves
From the flagstaff this day.
I struggled to look through
His lofty point of view,
To see what he saw
From his high realm of blue.
Huge tracts of farmland,
Deserted by man —
Farmers of the soil
Being pushed off their land.
All searching in vain,
Rich and the famous,
Fleeting moments of fame.
Eyes staring in defeat,
Ignored by society,
Sleeping in the street.
Pollution and turmoil,
Boundless in array,
People turning blind eyes,
Living for the day.
Boredom and despair,
Decaying old cities,
Streets needing repair.
A God-fearing people,
Many gone astray.
No longer hold sway.
Turning away in sorrow,
I shrugged, then sighed,
For it was so plain to see
Why our eagle had cried.