Writing

The Twilight Muse

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 Unbound, the Muse joyfully dances and frolics in the sleeping mind of the dreamer, casting aside all thoughts of fear and doubt, she puts forth the glorious possibilities of human existence, painting their dreams with a colorful palette of emotion and light.

Emerging at twilight, she adores the night’s skies as the waxing moon releases her from earthly bonds and with chains cast aside, she is free to explore, to create, to wander the resting minds of all she encounters.

While the Artist paints, the dreamer dreams, who, while lost in the warmth of her inspiration and feeling of absolute joy, still catches a glimpse of life’s infinite potential in each delicate stroke of the master’s brush.

Her canvas complete, she tries in vain to gently awaken from slumber all who desire to remember her canvas before the darkness yields to the chaos of the morning’s light.

For the Muse knows that all dreams do flee as the rising Sun, ever so jealous, chases them away from the depths of the dreamer; Their intimate encounter lost to the stars, forever.

Again, she whispers to the dreamer, pleading that he arise as she is anxious to peer deep into his eyes, hoping he remembers with lasting joy, all that She has shared.

Sadly, the dreamer resists, wanting only to delay the morning’s looming chaos, seeking refuge beneath the warmth and comfort of the sheets, which protect the dreamer from reality as a warrior’s shield protects the warrior from harm. Her memory fades, the painting is lost; all that remains, hidden deep within the cluttered human mind, now lost to consciousness.

The waning Moon watches the folly unfold and like a shepherd tending his flock, summons home the Muse as the Moon must now yield the night’s slumber to the rising sun. The Muse now weary, lays down her palette, envious of all who dream; a desired gift denied, as a Muse can have no Muse. The Moon, in love, watches her from afar and with gentle voice begs she seek solace and allow her weary soul the respite so earned.

As she closes her eyes, wrapped is a blanket of stars, the Moon whispers in her ear, “O’ sweet Muse, joyous peace has eluded your soul for far too long.” The waning Moon smiles as she finally sleeps,  and with the tenderest of love, sends a Muse to joyfully dance and frolic within her dreams.

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Writing

A Man Falls Into a Hole…

“This guy’s walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can’t get out.
“A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, ‘Hey you. Can you help me out?’ The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on.
“Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, ‘Father, I’m down in this hole can you help me out?’ The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on
“Then a friend walks by, ‘Hey, Joe, it’s me can you help me out?’ And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, ‘Are you stupid? Now we’re both down here.’ The friend says, ‘Yeah, but I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.'”

Aaron Sorkin

Writing

Words to live by

The next time you’re facing a question of value; should I buy the quality shoes or spend the extra money for the better “this or that?” Remember this: If you have a $10 head, buy a $10 helmet. Translation; You’re worth it!

poetry, Writing

Even The Soul Needs Sunshine 🌞

The soul of a man awoke in a rage, so angry at the clouds and the way they behaved.

They refused to yield warmth or share any light, and would steal slowly from this Muse, many joys of this life.

His human charge toiled, from morning to night, completely unaware of this internal fight. Born to this land, he knew of no other and held no grudges for the behavior of the weather.

The soul then prayed, to Zeus on high, for permission to leave and escape from this life, to again feel the sun and basque in its rays, to be free of this cold and earthly place.

Zeus pondered the query, quite sadly surprised. Your question unkind and I hope you’re not proud, for without you he’d perish and be buried deep in the ground; all this because you don’t like the way, that the clouds block the sun, many times each day.

Then leave him behind, with spite the soul cried out, as the man could care less if we ever see light.

I’m bored with this charge, please find a new muse, perhaps one who’s more patient in this cloud filled world. I could then be free of this earthly bond, and live here on Olympus of which I’m quite fond.

In fury Zeus rose, for he was not amused. You two are as one, so this man, you won’t lose! And to the awful question that you foolishly pose; Without hesitation, my answer is no!

A respite you want, maybe the sea you would choose, but life is not easy for a heavenly muse. He is your charge and that’s what’s to be, you will not come to Olympus and you will not live near me!

Zeus stormed away, his lightning in hand. Who is this soul who would make such a demand! He paused for a moment, as his anger abates and returns to the soul, who kneeling, still waits. He whispers the following and then walks away, for his patience is waning and he has many to see, later today.

The soul, now ashamed, repeats what he’s heard, “Do council him wisely and teach him what’s right, for only together will you find the true path to light.” The soul then returns to suffer his fate, finding his charge, fast asleep on a cold cloudy night.

 

Opinions, Writing

The sun, Only Fools Believe…

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We once believed in the sun, believed it to be devine. A god, if you will. But it was foolish to believe in the sun, to worship the sun.

Though it’s ancient presence brings comfort and peace to those who seek the warmth of its glow.

To our world, it brings life.

Hope seems to live within its light, reminding us that each morning begins a new day.

It’s glorious rise bringing illumination to our path, as evil withdraws to the shadows, hiding until darkness returns.

And those without vision can easily feel it’s presence. Those who believe in nothing, need only step outside.

On cloudy days, we long for it’s return. Our soul withers without it’s fiery glow.

To believe in the sun’s rise, requires very little faith. The sun asks us for nothing, requires nothing and desires nothing. It is beyond mans’ control, influence and will. It does not bargain, forgive and cannot be bought; it simply exists; simply.

But we do not “believe” in the sun. We “believe” in what we cannot see, touch or physically feel. We believe in the words and writings of man. We believe in faith, in God, The Son, and a promise that if we continue to believe and if we obey, we will go the heaven and look down upon the sun.

We once believed in the sun. But that was too simple.