mistakes galore

Mistakes. What can be said about them that hasn’t been said a dozen times over. We make them, we make them again, we don’t learn from them, we learn from them, we move on and make many more mistakes. It’s all a part of life.

I’ve made many mistakes in life. There is no single lesson that has made me a better person or taught me a great lesson. All my mistakes, collectively, have contributed to the person I am today and have given me invaluable lessons that will forever be a part of my growth and unforgettable memories.

Over the years, I’ve intentionally and unintentionally said things that hurt someone. Who hasn’t? I’ve befriended those who were not worthy of my friendship. I’ve copulated with men who should have never seen the color of my underwear. I’ve married. I’ve divorced. I’ve dated for far too long someone who was unable to love me because he didn’t know how to love himself. I’ve been in accidents. I’ve said and done many stupid things. I’ve judged wrongly. I’ve spoken when silence was in order. I’ve stayed silent when my words were necessary. I’ve walked when I should have run and run when I should have walked. I’ve disrespected my body temple. I’ve cursed. I’ve screamed. I’ve been less than lady like. I could go on. But in the end, mistakes are a part of life and we’ll continue to make them until the day we die. What makes us better than we were yesterday is ensuring we don’t make the same mistakes twice. I try not to be a repeat offender. My mistakes have taken me this far, to this place where I am able to look at myself honestly and realize that I am not perfect, and that’s fine with me. I’ve learned many things along this mistake laden journey. I’ve learned to love more fiercely and speak more passionately. I’ve learned that my truth doesn’t need to be anyone else’s truth. But no matter what I believe, I should be humble and realize that there may come a day when I discover I am wrong. And that lesson should keep me humble and ever learning new things and new ways of seeing the world around me. I’ve learned that everything we think we know is fluid and ever changing—mistakes allow us to see the truth of this. My mistakes are my stepping stones. I won’t try to hide them away from others. They are a part of me.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/favorite-mistake/

feeling henna

Was in a strange mood a couple of days ago and decided to get a henna design in the palm of my hand. It was fun. I’ve never done anything to the palm of my hand before. This was a very interesting experience. There is a tendency to keep looking at my hand and examine the design. I might do the other hand.

The henna used is original organic chemical free henna.

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the wandering list

There are so many places on earth I would love to visit. The planet is amazingly beautiful and filled with adventure. Ultimately I’d love to visit every single inch of this place we call home. Until that can be achieved, the first five places I’d love to go are:

Africa: It’s exciting to imagine exploring the entire continent to feel what it’s like to walk upon the soil of a land that is believed to be the cradle of all civilizations and the beginning of mankind. There is an incredible spirituality that blankets Africa. I want to feel that energy.

Bangkok: There is something about the notion of Bangkok that intrigues me. It seems ripe for exploring. The photos I’ve seen show so much beauty and history.

Ecuador: I’ve read a lot of great things about Ecuador. There has been some recent issues because, once again, foreigners are now going in to disrupt the indigenous people. This sort of thing never seems to end. Companies want to set up shop to charge the locals for water. Outside of this recent disgusting development, Ecuador is one of the countries with the most centenarians on the planet. It has extremely clean air and species of trees with a high oxygen level. The town, Vilcabamba, is an ideal spot in Ecuador and a place I would love to live.

Australia: What better place to visit than down under? Australia seems like such a beautiful place. I would love to explore the land and meet the indigenous Koori.

Jamaica: It is my birth home. However, I have never spent any of my adult years living there. I’d love to spend at least a couple of years of my adult life in Jamaica to rekindle childhood memories and create adult memories of my beautiful island home.

Based on the Daily Prompt: the wanderer

balancing conflict

Conflict typically arises because of two reasons. One, there is something we do not know about the object of our conflict. Or two, there is something we do not know about ourselves. We often think we have all the information we need and can ascertain the source of the conflict and without question deal with the issue. Sadly, the reason for the conflict can be something we are unprepared to face. At other times, the reason can be as simple as our unwillingness to compromise.

There is no single way to handle conflict that is more effective than another in most cases. It all depends on the situation. In some cases, boldly and directly is the necessary course. At other times, a subtle approach is far more effective. In the end, conflict can only be resolved if both parties are willing to listen without an inflated ego and without selfish intent. Combative personalities tend to block the path to conflict resolution. Introverts hinder effective communication that would lead to conflict resolution. There are many variables that can hinder or help the process toward conflict resolution.

I abhor conflict, but it is sometimes a necessary part of growth. We learn much about ourselves during those times, and about the person or persons we are in conflict with. My hope is that at the other side of the conflict I will always surface with a renewed understanding of who we are as humans and learn how to avoid future conflict, or, at the very least, learn how to manage any new issues that may arise.

Daily Prompt: Showdown at Big Sky

missing with action

Feels like I’ve been away for far too long. I’ve been busy with many things. One of which is my education. I’m working on my MFA in Creative Writing at Goddard College. Finishing up my last packet for class was somewhat intense. It kept me pretty busy. The program is rigorous, but what makes it somewhat fun is the epistolary format used for communication. Everything is by mail, so it is like corresponding with a pen pal of sorts, or an old friend. The work is more personal. I’ve just completed my first semester and I love it so far.

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I’m excited about the next semester of residency which begins in June. Vermont is beautiful in the summer. The campus is quaint with trees throughout. A private enclosure with a shallow area containing water in the center is a wonderful area to sit and read or write–it’s one of my favorite spots. There are many such areas on the campus. Overall, it’s an amazing experience. Spending a week in quiet contemplation over the program, which students create for themselves each semester, is enriching. Various workshops, poetry, prose and guest readings fill the residency with plenty to do and learn. Ultimately, we decide where we want to go with the program. We pick the books we will read and annotate, and with our instructor’s guidance, we develop our fiction, non-fiction and/or poetry work through editing, revisions and rewrites. There is nothing like being fully immersed in the process of creating your curriculum. The other amazing thing about Goddard is it is not grade driven. Students are simply required to complete their work to satisfaction, no grades. This is attractive to me because I’ve always felt that grades are a divisive method of education that lowers the self esteem of those who are forced into the construct of competition with others. The only person I compete with is who I was yesterday. Goddard is an excellent fit for me.

June is fast approaching. I’m already preparing for my trip to Vermont. I’m excited. The only draw back is getting there. It is one of the worst areas to travel to. Whether by plane, car or train, the journey to Plainfield is a headache. Small price to pay for such an amazing low residency program.

a moment in time

Last spring I almost died. That day not long ago was ordinary and nothing special was intended. My friend and I spent most of our spring days together being silly. We’d virtually lived outside, running, jumping, skating, skipping and darting in and out of half built houses. When the sun went down, we’d sit under the awning and watch the stars slowly brighten as the sky darkened. This was how we spent most days. When the night was no longer interesting we’d go inside, flick on the television and settle in for a round of Twilight Zone, The Odd Couple and Honeymooners, among others. Those were not the shows we wanted to watch, albeit entertaining. We waited through them for the real fun, Thriller. We’d hide behind large blankets, enjoying being scared as the hand came up through the soil and sand, reaching to the sky, then the undead entity would utter the words we spent three hours waiting for, “Thriller”, in a chilling, eerie voice. We laughed at our silliness but enjoyed the fright that came next–half an hour of chills. It was always fun at nights.

When it was over, we began to jump on the bed.

It’s surprising that I remember what happened prior to my near death experience. One would think all memories before that moment would be gone. But the memories stay with me, as though to remember what happened before is a reminder that those would have been my last memories had I died that day.

We jumped high and laughed loud. My mother was at work–she worked nights in those days–so it was just us and my little sister who was asleep in her room. We jumped until boredom led us to explore acrobatics. We climbed on the dresser, which was not much more than a foot from the bed and performed forward flips onto the bed, landing on our backs. We went around and around, faster and faster, forward flipping in our best form. Then, at my next flip, I was too eager. I didn’t put enough strength into my flip. I was laughing too much. I felt myself moving in slow motion, realizing too late that I was about to fall on my head, which I did. I felt my neck twist violently under the weight of my body. I couldn’t move. The room went dim and everything began to spin. I knew I was going to die because I had broken my neck, or so I thought. An inch one way or another and it would have broken. Or a heavier fall and I wouldn’t be writing this today. What if I had jumped higher, thereby falling faster and harder? I did in fact strain my neck severely. But I was lucky. I slowly started to move and realized that I would be ok. I prayed, fearing death could still claim me in my sleep.

I’m twelve now. I almost didn’t make it. That is what I remember today; the past and what could have been. I am grateful that I lived to see another birthday. I am happy that I lived to have a memory of what could have been my last day on earth and can now look back on it with amusement at my childish antics. Today I will have fun and enjoy turning twelve. I’ll laugh with my friends, eat cake and dance to music. Today I will also make a wish. That wish is that I will make it to thirteen–safely–and beyond, building more memories and one day discovering what it’s like to be an adult. I’m in no hurry though. For now, I just want to have fun and laugh so hard soda blows through my nose.

Daily Prompt: Shake it Up

fun…our fountain of youth

It’s 5am. I wake up to the sun peeking over the horizon. Nothing stands between me and the day; not work, not time, not money. A set of roller skates sit in the attic filled with dust. They still fit and roll well. Only a dabble of oil on each wheel is required to silence the squeak. At least an hour of roller skating up and down hills and around blocks would be my exercise for the morning.

Some people say that certain activities are only for children. I say, why should that be? We’ve compartmentalized our way of viewing social activity, allocating only that which we deem appropriate for adults. But when was the last time you enjoyed a round of double dutch? Or red light green light? What about dodge ball or handball? Hopscotch or tag? Softball? When was the last time you played hide and seek or blind man’s bluff? Do you remember what it was like to hang on the monkey bars or fly high on a swing?

With a day to myself, I’d partake in as many fun youthful activities as possible. Then I’d take a walk through a forest with a book and bag of fruit. I’d find a warm rock, inhale the fresh forest air, face the sun, munch some fruit and read until I fell asleep. I’d later go to the beach, sit on the sand and watch the sun go down.

One day is not enough to do what we ought to do. Relaxation and fun time are not luxuries, they are our right as human beings. We should partake as often as possible. It would help to relax not only our mind, but our soul and invigorate our body. In the end, it could be our fountain of youth, slowing our aging so we may enjoy many more days of fun for fun’s sake.

Daily Prompt: Nothin’ But A Good Time

to vice or not to vice? that is the question

Everyone has a vice. Most people have several under their belt. Doesn’t matter if everyone you’ve ever met says they love you to pieces. You best believe there is at least one or two things about you that they simply cannot stand. But they overlook it because you’re simply as cute as a button and twice as nice.

I most certainly have a laundry list of vices. Some that I’m fully aware of and trying to remedy. Some that I’m aware of but have yet to find the will power to stop. Some that I’m unaware of and that probably drives others bonkers. They subtly try to tell me, but I’m too dense to understand. Maybe I’m being willfully ignorant or maybe I really don’t see it as a vice. Maybe what I’m doing is, to me, as normal as peeing.

No one is perfect and ever will be. We all decide what we are willing to deal with and what we are not. In the end, someone has had to deal with us and our vices, whether temporary or long term. Judging the vices of others should be done with restraint given our own infractions.

That written, a vice that gets me all the time. Can someone PLEASE tell me why I must be forced to deal with folks eating with their mouth open? I mean, really? I do NOT need to see their food being masticated (as though it were cud) in their saliva as they chomp like a cow. Even worse, some of the mouth-open-eaters cannot seem to keep the food in that hole in their face. WHY? And do they notice it? It would seem they do not, because the napkin seems to never leave their laps as they continue to chew as debris sits on the side of their face, staring at me as though it being there were MY fault. Because you tend to expect better from these “adults”, you think, they must feel that. After all, I feel even the slightest thing that touches my face. Don’t they feel it? Apparently not, because they continue to chew, and talk, and chew and talk, as though nothing particularly odd is going on. The food in their mouth stares at me, because of course they are talking to me–still–while eating, mouth agape. The food that leaves their mouth while talking misses my poor plate by only inches. If my food could talk it would curse me out for subjecting it to such slackness. Meanwhile, I am forced to turn away, and further forced to make the grueling decision as to whether I should tell them what I believe to be the obvious. Did I ask if they can feel it? Just making sure. So, I try to do the proper thing and tell them there is something on their face. They put down their fork–finally–then proceed to clean their face with the napkin. Much to my dismay, they have simply shifted the debris from one place on their face to another. Sigh. Food still in mouth, they say thank you. A piece of debris from their un-swallowed food lands on my knife. I can’t.

Daily Prompt: Never Gonna Give You Up

what i leave behind

Reading has always been a part of my life. I can’t remember ever feeling as though I disliked it. Words leave lasting impressions on us, depending on the mood we are in, our outlook on the world and our personal experiences. Everything influences how we will view the next book we read. This is why I love to read. It as an adventure to delve into a book, not knowing how I will be affected by it.

I will leave my words, my legacy, for the world to hopefully enjoy. So that someone, anyone, will be affected in a powerful way. My writing is my greatest legacy and the one thing that leaves a piece of me behind. Readers will have the opportunity to discover who I am through my work. My daughters will have their mother’s words of wisdom always within reach. While the books below are not my novels, they are works that are a part of my personal library, a library that also represents an important part of my legacy. I also leave for those I love, knowledge. For me, there is no greater gift and show of love than to freely give knowledge to the future generations. Books are an ocean of knowledge.

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Daily Prompt: Don’t You Forget About Me

what i do for love

The island of Jamaica is small. When I was a little girl, however, it seemed large and imposing, a big place filled with adventure–it was the world to me. I was less than five years old, but I remember the feel of the small rocks beneath my toes as I walked barefoot down the long hot country road. Now, to walk barefoot on stones leaves me wincing in pain. I’ve become soft. But I remember what it was like to feel skin to ground, comfortably warmed stones, and freedom. The freedom stays with me.

Some say memory is fleeting under five years old, yet, I remember even a time of darkness; before the face of my mother, grandfather and favorite uncle; before Jamaica. To be aware of darkness and my existence within that darkness has always been a strange thing for me to carry. It sits inside me, like another life lived somewhere in a place I can’t remember clearly. But I remember a drive-in movie, a memory that stayed with me so deeply and so persistently, that after finding no clues to lead me back to the origins of the memory, I began to think that maybe it was my imagination and not a memory. I wanted to open a drive-in theater, dreamed of the day that I could bring my experience to others, so they could feel the joy I felt on that day long ago. It was like a relentless dream that would never leave me in peace. Forty years later I would mention this memory to my father. With wide eyes, he told me that he was the one who took me to the drive-in movie in Jamaica. He still wonders how I remembered that. I was not yet four years old.

My grandfather built the house we lived in. He was a beekeeper, farmer and a fierce protector of his family. He’d watch as I sat on the hillside playing with tiny red flowers, the name of which I cannot recall, and string them together to make necklaces and bracelets. They were the most unique and interesting flowers I’d ever seen. I don’t remember who taught me about their interesting qualities. But to be able to string the stem of small flowers together with the tops of the flower itself, connecting one to another, is something I have never seen again. They were beautiful and I would spend hours adorning my tiny body with them. I would never see those flowers again.

Shortly after, my mother migrated to America. She carried with her an education, a nurse’s license and two daughters, one who could read at four years old. While other children were dragging blankets or dolls through the house, gripping them for dear life, I would have a book in tow. Many doubted I could read. But after reading through a few books, those who couldn’t believe it quickly discovered that I was in fact reading, and reading well.

Writing followed close behind. While I would take short breaks from writing during my years in primary school, it never left me. By the time I entered Junior High School, I was infatuated with poetry. One day, a few years later, I would accept my destiny and step into writing as a career. I realized I was passionate about storytelling and sharing my ideas about the world. I wanted to bring readers into my mind, my experiences and my way of seeing our existence. I wanted to become a griot, but knew I couldn’t reach as many in that role. In lieu of becoming a true griot, I decided that ink and paper would be my voice box, my oral tradition to spread far and wide. I would pass my words down to my children and grandchildren and help them to imagine us sitting around a fire as I fastidiously recounted stories until sunrise. The written word would be my sound and echo, vibrating on the hearts of those who read my creations.

Writing has for many years now become a dear friend to me, a warm cup of tea, a walk on the beach, a talented lover, a heartfelt laugh, a sunny day, an intellectual debate, an unfolding of memory, thought and the unfailing wisdom of imagination. It is my passion, my first love. When you love something, it needs nurturing and requires us to give our time to it, generously and without complaint. We do it unconditionally. We do it because it is all we desire to do. Anything else would be a source of discontent. We hone our love, making it better and stronger each day. We recognize our shortcomings and work to improve with each word.

I believe that when you’ve found a thing you love, it should be less a dream come true and more a life you’ve decided to nurture through doing something that is, and has always been, your passion. When you are passionate about a thing, you have no need to dream. Your passion will be all you know and will ever want to know, and never something you wasted time dreaming about. I’ve never had to dream of becoming a writer. It has been my whole life, leaving no time to dream, only time to be.

Daily Prompt: Money for Nothing

Trackbacks & Pingbacks

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  9. Writing in PostMortem | 365 days of defiance
  10. Chasing The Dream Job: A Haiku; Saturday, February 15, 2014 | LisaRosier.com
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what goes around…really goes around

The are few things I believe in unwaveringly. I leave myself open to all the possibilities in the universe we can imagine. Karma is one of those things that I don’t believe as a definitive truth of existence, but as a very real possibility that should give us pause and be taken seriously.

Imagine the implications of karma? Don’t simply fall back to memories of what you once thought about it. Really dissect what this potential might mean to you, the people you know, the planet, the universe, the multiverse, the omnivores, and all the other spaces in which we cannot even begin to conceive of. What does or will it mean if karma truly exists? Particularly if it exists based on the idea of an ascending soul that moves higher on the spiritual evolutionary chain, eventually no longer incarnating in human form.

As humans, we have lived through thousands of years of experiences, some good, some bad, some seemingly repetitive and mundane. What if karma is the reason for why, as a species, the violence we see on the planet cannot disappear? What if our behavior or potentially incorrect way of seeing our existence and the existence of others (including other species on the planet), is the reason we live in what feels like a vicious unproductive cycle? What if? What if what we perceive as “advancement” is in fact a devolution away from real soul advancement/growth, which might be the only true marker of a great species?

If karma is a real possibility, then the game is afoot. We would need to deeply examine the things we believe, especially those things that disenfranchise other humans, animals and even plants on this planet. How does xenophobia, bias, prejudice, racism, violence and apathy affect our karma and our ability to ascend to a better existence? What if there is one simple rule to karma, and that rule is the only thing that stands in our way, keeping us from ascending? What if all we need to remember is, do no harm? Again, what if? Consider the possibility that our simple inability to ask the question, what if, is the primary reason why we are incapable of imagining that what we do could affect not only our future on this planet and after this world, but it also affects other souls we live with here and in the possible hereafter. Our karma could cause chain reactions or ripples that change the karma of others in ways that cannot be conceptualized. The negative we do that brings harm, the negative we think that leaves a residue of our ill thought on the cosmic record, could be one in many millions of things floating about us that keep the Earth as a whole from collectively ascending.

Because I have always been open to the question of what if, nothing much would change in the way I currently think and behave–except, of course, recognizing that what I think and believe must be fluid and not ridged. While I don’t know if karma really exists, I live as though it does. I believe that we should endeavor to do no harm to other humans and species on this planet. Defend our life, yes, because it is the only one we know of at this time, but never initiate violence against anyone.

No harm is done in living as though karma exists. In the end, it can only help. Because it holds us accountable for our behavior to believe that what we do will affect how we live in a possible hereafter, or in a possible return to Earth. Or, dare I say, even while we are here. We can see the evidence, on Earth, of how our actions affect others. Isn’t this really a sort of earthbound karma at play? We call it chain reaction, cause and effect, or other terms that attempt to move from the realm of the metaphysical into the realm of the concrete. But in the end, if I make a wrong turn in my car and an accident occurs because of it, no matter what name we try to give it, the principle of karma could very well be how we define what unfolds. The words don’t really matter. Karma is just a word that we’ve given meaning to. The meaning, as many perceive it, is cause and effect.

In the end, I have always lived with the assumption that what I do affects my future and the future of others. So nothing really changes for me. If anything, my understanding is renewed. And this thing called Karma simply remains on my long list of universal possibilities. Real or not, nothing is lost.

Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon

Trackbacks & Pingbacks on Karma

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  8. DP Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | Sabethville
  9. The Circle of Time – Daily Prompt | alienorajt
  10. Circle | Mara Eastern
  11. Karma | Stephanie auf Reisen
  12. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice
  13. Karma for the Introvert | 61 Musings
  14. Daily Prompt: Will you become a Karma Chameleon? | seikaiha’s blah-blah-blah
  15. cyclical not seasonal | peacefulblessedstar
  16. Wow, sorry, hit my own nerve there. | thoughtsofrkh
  17. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | The Wandering Poet
  18. slightly less | yi-ching lin photography
  19. there is room to do | y
  20. Who Watches The Watchmen? | The Dragon Weyr
  21. karma and unsought gifts | gaikokumaniakku
  22. Daily Post : Karma Chamleon | NRI-scopic777
  23. Wednesday Words | Tommia’s Tablet
  24. Karma… We Need to Talk | Under the Monkey Tree
  25. DP: Fluffy Karma | Scorched Ice
  26. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon « Mama Bear Musings
  27. That Bitch!!! | Unlocking The Inner Creative
  28. Vengeance | A mom’s blog
  29. In a Circle | Ana Linden
  30. Circle | Sounds of Time
  31. Karma has been “scientifically” proven! | The Joy of Health Nutrition and Beauty
  32. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
  33. DP: Circles | As I See It
  34. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | Reunitems Journal
  35. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | For the Archives
  36. breaking news | The Matticus Kingdom
  37. Phoneography: Capturing The Rain | Light Words
  38. Daily Post: Karma Chameleon | Destino
  39. No changes | Life is great
  40. PERFECT CIRCLE – TEEPEE IN ITS SEASONS | SERENDIPITY
  41. What Comes Around Goes Around | Lisa’s Kansa Muse
  42. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | medicinalmeadows
  43. Karma – Lets Screw It | Views Splash!
  44. The Truth Shall Set Me Free | Buzzy Beez
  45. Thoughts From the Circus Part 3: Finish Well | The Photo Faith Challenge
  46. When Karma Meets Christ | meanderedwanderings
  47. A Life Undeserved | snapshotsofawanderingheart
  48. How To Create Good Karma For Yourself – Sort Of | The Political and Social Chaos Blog
  49. what goes around…really goes around | In The Moment
  50. Why Karma Doesn’t Matter | The Femindiary
  51. I am a mental patient. Hear me whimper?
  52. Circle | The Land Slide Photography
  53. I Won’t Get My Happiness From Someone Else’s Pain | The Uncustomary Housewife
  54. What Makes You Laugh Determines How Smart You Are. | The Uncustomary Housewife
  55. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | birgerbird
  56. Karma | Knowledge Addiction
  57. Karma Chameleon | The Nameless One
  58. What do we know about this crazy thing we call “karma”? | Rob’s Surf Report
  59. Butterfly Journal: Patience (Entry #2) | Through the Peacock’s Eyes
  60. Daily Prompt: Circle | Foto Challenge
  61. Religion, the good and the bad | Emotional Fitness
  62. The Curious Case Of Miss Revengeratress | Girl And Her Blue Blog
  63. This Project is Complete, On to the Next One | Photography Journal Blog
  64. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | Occasional Stuff
  65. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | Adventures with the Clawsons
  66. The Karma Chameleon | Lead us from the Unreal to the Real
  67. Karma, The Law of Return, And The Three-fold Law « Shrine of Hecate – Ramblings of a New Age Witch
  68. Reflections: Karma Is A Teacher Not A Bitch | Mirth and Motivation
  69. Daily Post: Karma – A Trailer Tale | Cancer Isn’t Pink
  70. Circles of Life | Cee’s Photography
  71. The Golden Rule | A.C. Melody
  72. That Bitch Called Karma | Losing It
  73. Daily Prompt: Being Influential! | All Things Cute and Beautiful
  74. Mythical bitch | fifty5words
  75. Coming Full Circle: On Karma | theauthorwhoknows
  76. The Importance Of Karma | Polymathically
  77. Karma Chameleon (HA), a rage haiku | I Had a Pearl
  78. Does life need to change? | 2 times pink
  79. Full Circle – Daily Prompt, photo | alienorajt
  80. What goes around, comes back around baby | Life Of A Cosmetologist!
  81. untitled 001 | My Play Nook
  82. Daily Prompt: Circle | That Montreal Girl
  83. On Karma | Thinking Diagonally
  84. Big News: Karma is Real! | 365 Days of Thank You
  85. Daily prompt: More questions than answers | helen meikle’s scribblefest
  86. Dust | field of thorns
  87. Going For Gold | Wiley’s Wisdom
  88. Dust | field of thorns
  89. Karma Chameleon – Ramblings from the Swamp
  90. Karmic wine glass | U Be Cute – Follow the child inside of you…
  91. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | Nola Roots, Texas Heart
  92. Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon | (A Day in the Life) Un Giorno Nella Vita
  93. Instant Karma’s Gonna Get You | Odyssey of a Novice Writer

after here

What if when we die, we do not go to a single place where all people ascend to, but to whatever place we believe we will go? What if we create our own individual afterlife, and no two afterlives will be the same? If you believe you will go to a heaven, that is where you go. If you believe you will reach Nirvana, that is what you will realize. If you believe you will become unconscious and vanish into nothingness, that is what happens to you. If you believe you will meet a god, you will. If you believe you will meet a satan, you will. If you believe you will meld into oneness with the universe, you will. If you believe you will become a conscious being of light, you will. What if? There is so much we don’t know. But we might consider the possibility that what we believe will become our reality in the hereafter and seeing those we love again depends solely on our mutual belief in what happens to us when we leave here. We just might be powerful enough to be the creators of what happens to us. What if?

the uprooted tree

The well worn road was paved black. We’d decided to take a mile walk just because. The gentle sun didn’t blaze hot that day. It was warm and comfortable, not intrusive. The tree lined road ahead seemed long. The light wind swayed leaves. We talked and laughed and shared ideas, laughing at the ones that were ridiculous but fun to entertain. We gazed at houses, pointing at the ones we thought were worthy to live in. No turtles or cats crossed the road. Only us and the leaves crossed. They blew across as though looking both ways before moving. Maybe they looked for us as well.

Image

The uprooted tree was unexpected. Its soul lay bare for anyone intuitive enough to feel its pain. It no longer had a place in the soil. It was cut and ripped from its home, left on the side of the road, exposed. I wondered what life it had lived and how many decades it had seen. Was it around for a war? Did it see settlers to the town? Was it the home of birds, squirrels, bugs and other life that needed a place to settle down for the night? Did it bear offspring from its many seeds that scattered at its base or floated through the wind, seeking a place to land? Where did the wind carry its lineage? To the other side of the forest? To distant shores? Did it cry out in pain, across time and space, when the saw that tore through its flesh ended its decades of life with a loud thud upon the soil? Its memories were fresh, its pain palpable. We were kindred in that moment of passing, connected by memories and a deep sense of knowing. We both remembered.

I too was uprooted from a past that was rich with history and life. My roots were torn from the earth and tossed aside as though insignificant and irrelevant, a history to be forgotten. I lay on the edge of time, cut down, hoping that I could someday be replanted, regrown. But the wounds are too deep. Very little grows from such deep rooted destruction. All that grows is the longing for what was lost. We long together for what we are able to remember; our roots. We reach for the sun across the sky, for the stars, for a past that will never return.