tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73934904399758940872024-02-19T08:31:02.500-08:00of all possible worlds(scroll down...)Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.comBlogger222125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-66346489004042697202021-02-18T11:42:00.001-08:002021-02-18T11:42:56.993-08:00<p> <span style="font-family: "Calibri Light"; font-size: 28pt; letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">Inhaling the sun</span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="font-family: "Calibri Light"; font-size: 28pt; letter-spacing: -0.5pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Garamond;">I live next-door to </span></i><i><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: Garamond;">a </span></i><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Garamond;">yellow dwarf star<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> with the official designation: “<b>GV</b>.” </span></span></i><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Garamond;">Stars in this classification have a surface temperature between 5,300 and 6,000 Kelvin, and fuse hydrogen into helium to generate their light. They live around 10 billion years.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Molecules collide in a welter as<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">a wild star’s whirling exhalations caress <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">my home, this tiny planet.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Particles of light and heat <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">stream into elision with my own warm body,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">for I am a child of that star.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Stellar wind has traveled into others before me, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">finding secret doors and carrying life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">It will travel ahead into lives I will never see<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">and thus are we all bound, past and future.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">We are golden vessels of the sun’s wise love.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Light overtakes us, re-creates and <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">renews deep places in each beating heart—<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">we who are the remains of stars ourselves. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Sun’s breath reminds us of living and then <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">with each word, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">each prayer, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">each sigh,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">leaves us to bless other lives. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKC8W34gaibVNT2umJ8Nxhc_HWxeeK_XG0S8gsYiUrmaFOXKqE-6h_xl3ZveCIABJ_i5hu_nRwGTTBb5h6jTm66LeECaOEFYWBjztMXUfS2xlr-wXX7vd5AjGvCRw_2YkeGVR4V9KDw4UT/s286/images-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="176" data-original-width="286" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKC8W34gaibVNT2umJ8Nxhc_HWxeeK_XG0S8gsYiUrmaFOXKqE-6h_xl3ZveCIABJ_i5hu_nRwGTTBb5h6jTm66LeECaOEFYWBjztMXUfS2xlr-wXX7vd5AjGvCRw_2YkeGVR4V9KDw4UT/w439-h270/images-4.jpeg" width="439" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-83751710388511430292021-02-14T07:03:00.001-08:002021-02-14T07:03:26.513-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43mTKiCXtNw3FGKsf06ZNo_ahWI09VRdkDOkRuiPnH0Aj5UuY0yP73R8xio6AvHsO74en_KzFPfI6gCRJl1N8NBZPiG-Vh-jWVXEblnlDYvoZ7zFUluXi5MS4I8HIErbeVRnB8N_Y2PtH/s900/dried-blood-streaks-on-the-walls-beth-wald.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43mTKiCXtNw3FGKsf06ZNo_ahWI09VRdkDOkRuiPnH0Aj5UuY0yP73R8xio6AvHsO74en_KzFPfI6gCRJl1N8NBZPiG-Vh-jWVXEblnlDYvoZ7zFUluXi5MS4I8HIErbeVRnB8N_Y2PtH/s320/dried-blood-streaks-on-the-walls-beth-wald.jpg" /></a></div> <b style="caret-color: rgb(29, 34, 40); color: #1d2228; font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">Cutting Off My Arm</span></b><p></p><div style="caret-color: rgb(29, 34, 40); color: #1d2228; font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 13px;"><p align="center" class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">a white person confronts her racism</span></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></i></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #202122;">On April 26, 2003, Aron Ralston was canyoneering alone through </span></i><i>Bluejohn Canyon </i><i><span style="color: #202122;">in Utah. Somehow a boulder became dislodged while he was climbing down from it, crushing his right hand against the canyon wall.</span></i></span></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">I grew up in a white world. I was white. I didn’t know that Whiteness had me plucked and skewered to a marble wall. </span></span></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #202122;">After days of being trapped, the </span></i><i>dehydrated </i><i><span style="color: #202122;">and delirious Ralston decided to amputate his arm in order to escape. After experimenting with </span></i><i>tourniquets</i><i><span style="color: #202122;"> and exploratory cuts to his forearm, he realized that to free himself he would have to cut through the bones.</span></i></span></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">If asked of my life I would have said, “really peachy!” Peachy was finding a job, birthing a family, buying a house. Peachy was claiming creature comforts for my own and searching for an American Peachy dream. Peachy was reaching toward a meringue covered pie in the sky future built on the smooth lie of whiteness. </span></span></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><i><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">Ralston carved his name, date of birth and presumed date of death into the sandstone canyon wall. In a hallucination, he saw himself playing with a future child while missing part of his right arm and some part of him believed he might live.</span></span></i></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">Too slowly I found that there had always been a different world where white was only emptiness. Here mahogany, ebon<br />y, cinnamon and chocolate are warm earth and heart’s ease. I wake to find love slapping the scales from my eyes and Rumi yelling in my face to not go back to sleep. In this world light teaches me the long history of betrayal, slavery, genocide, murder. I fight to stay awake. No peaches—only reality with a strange part of me trapped and growing uglier by the minute.</span></span></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">After waking at dawn the following day Ralston discovered that his arm had begun to decompose. With surprising strength, he torqued his arm against the rock to break both bones. He then amputated his forearm with a dull two-inch knife and pliers for the tougher tendons. He took care to leave major arteries until last.</span></span></i></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></i></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">Each moment I stand in a red pill world holding my dull two inch knife out in front of me. My whiteness has the sweet smell of gangrene and I know there is no future in holding onto this rock. </span></span></p><p class="yiv4603751014ydp5ac91683MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><i><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">After freeing himself, Ralston climbed out of the slot canyon in which he had been trapped, rappelled down a 65-foot sheer wall, then hiked out of the canyon, all one-handed. He was rescued approximately four hours after amputating his arm.</span></span></i></p><div><span style="color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif; font-size: large;">Lord let me be as strong as Aron Ralston.</span></span></div></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(29, 34, 40); color: #1d2228; font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-83884076943015241122020-11-20T06:26:00.000-08:002020-11-20T06:26:45.493-08:00Trees and Death<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiUjmiG9PwwCe8n4NDQoY2XWp9_kS3GmbykV4hs0W_Gx9w7qS3QH2G1KaX5z_roJpFlqs2rJQpAoBTmtcbct73KAcnN8HSZB1TJXQ5Zsbc5QoWkfHNfd4dI6MNDw71K4hg1ZurLUje4pvL/s2048/IMG_3195.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiUjmiG9PwwCe8n4NDQoY2XWp9_kS3GmbykV4hs0W_Gx9w7qS3QH2G1KaX5z_roJpFlqs2rJQpAoBTmtcbct73KAcnN8HSZB1TJXQ5Zsbc5QoWkfHNfd4dI6MNDw71K4hg1ZurLUje4pvL/s320/IMG_3195.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">I want to talk about trees.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Recently there have been a number of botanists who have discovered a remarkable network of communications existing between trees. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 18pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">The trees use a fungal, underground network to discuss diseases, carbon loads, insect infestations, and water resources. There is usually one larger, older tree in each grove or forest that coordinates the information and sends out calls for assistance. With their deep roots </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">they draw up water and make it available to shallow-rooted seedlings. They help neighboring trees by sending them nutrients, and when the neighbors are struggling, mother trees detect their distress signals and increase the flow of nutrients accordingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 18pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">These trees have their roots fixed very firmly in service to the forest. They spend their lives in this invisible communications about the minute to minute needs of those around them. They network. They assist saplings. And when they die they dump their entire store of carbon into the soil for others to use.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">But there is another side of the tree, is there not?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Each leaf of each tree is facing the sun, absorbing its rays, transforming light into nutrition. While the constant communications and struggle to survive is happening below ground, the trees are turned to the sun, taking in the rays and converting them to sap. The leaves absorb the rays of the sun, winding light and heat into their very being. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">And when a tree does die, and that light and heat unwind back into the world it’s life doesn’t end there. Millions of insects and bacteria and fungi use every last scrap of that tree as home or nutrition. WE use that tree to build our own homes. Other trees are able to utilize the space and the old root systems. The life of each tree continues on into other kingdoms: the animal and the human. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">We contain oxygen produced by trees. We have been nourished by fruits and nuts from trees. We have enjoyed the shade of trees as they turned sunlight into fruits and nuts and oxygen. We write our poetry and songs on the corpses of trees. They warm us in winter. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Trees don’t die. They were custodians of the light while they were alive and they helped each other during their lives. They live on in other kingdoms of God after they die. In that way, each molecule of a tree moves on into more light, more service.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">What can we learn from trees about dying?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Here is part of a quote from Abdu’l-Baha—<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Therefore total annihilation is an impossibility, and existence can never become non-existence. This would be equivalent to saying that light can become darkness, which is manifestly untrue and impossible. As existence can never become non-existence, there is no death for man; nay, rather, man is everlasting and ever-living.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">In this same quote, he says, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">The conception of annihilation is a factor in human degradation, a cause of human debasement and lowliness, a source of human fear and abjection. It has been conducive to the dispersion and weakening of human thought whereas the realization of existence and continuity has upraised man to sublimity of ideals, established the foundations of human progress and stimulated the development of heavenly virtues; therefore it behoves man to abandon thoughts of non-existence and death which are absolutely imaginary and see himself ever living, everlasting in the divine purpose of his creation. He must turn away from ideas which degrade the human soul, so that day by day and hour by hour he may advance upward and higher to spiritual perception of the continuity of the human reality. If he dwells upon the thought of non-existence he will become utterly incompetent; with weakened will-power his ambition for progress will be lessened and the acquisition of human virtues will cease. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Perhaps we would do well to be like the trees. The trees never stop their work, not for a minute. They send those roots out looking for water, they communicate through the fungal networks, they cooperate with other trees to manage nutrients. And what do they all do, all the time? They turn toward the sun. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">There are four things that Baha’is are asked to do, and they all help us get ready for what is called death. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">We are asked: <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">To PRAY.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">To Meditate everyday<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">To Study God’s word<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">And finally to Put into Action what we have learned through prayer, meditation and study so we can be of service to the world of humanity.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">“the realization of existence and continuity has upraised man to sublimity of ideals, established the foundations of human progress and stimulated the development of heavenly virtues;”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">If we think about the tree metaphor, we are here to support and nurture each other. Abdu’l Baha said, “<b>What are the fruits of the human world? They are the spiritual attributes which appear in man. If man is bereft of those attributes, he is like a fruitless tree”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">But we have to keep that turning up toward the light. WE have to be custodians of the light. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Each molecule in existence moves through all of the kingdoms of existence at one time or another. Mineral, vegetable, animal, human. But this world is just a matrix, or womb, for our souls, which continue to progress beyond this physical plane of existence. Here we learn how to turn to the light. Everything is here to teach us perfectly. Abdu’l-Baha calls it <b>our pilgrimage through the human world. </b> The whole of creation is a school for our education. The manifestations of God and all of the religions of God are here to teach us how to turn to the light, how to serve our fellow humans, how to get ready for the life to come.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">“One whose aspiration is lofty and who has developed self-reliance will not be content with a mere animal existence. He will seek the divine Kingdom; he will long to be in heaven although he still walks the earth in his material body, and though his outer visage be physical, his face of inner reflection will become spiritual and heavenly.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Another thing Baha’is are asked to do is to bring ourselves to account each day. Were we faithful to our prayers? Were we of service to the world of humanity? Did we gossip a little and not realize it? Were we unkind to the shop person who was not knowledgeable about our needs? We reflect on our life each day, pray about these things and ask for help in doing better. We figure out ways to curb bad habits and instill new, better habits. Just like looking at our bank account we look at our souls and see how we can make tomorrow better than today. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">It is very hard to get to the end of your life and THEN wonder what it was all about. At the end of life most people are really tired. They sleep a lot. I need to say here that dying is work, just like being born is work. Letting go of things you’ve been doing for your whole life is hard. How do I stop breathing? How does my heart stop? These things happen automatically but the process isn’t easy. And during this time people really don’t want to interact much with other people. They are reflecting on their lives and trying to make sense of it but if they don’t have the habit of reflection it can be very disturbing and even painful. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">If we have been reflecting on our lives for our whole life then this process comes more easily. There is more trust in the process. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">How do we bring ourselves to account? Here are some practical actions.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> <b>Have a will</b>. Baha’is are told that we must have a Will and testament, but it’s a hard thing to get started. “I don’t have anything to pass on” is the most frequent thing I hear, but really, there may be an item or two, and your bank account will need sorting, and you want someone to take charge of your wishes after death. And in your Testament you can tell people what kept you going through your own life, giving your loved ones a final lesson. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">2.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> <b>Have an advance directive</b>. (not an advanced directive.) Who do you want making medical decisions for you if you are unconscious and can’t talk? What instructions to you have for that person? Do you want a feeding tube if you can’t eat? Do you want CPR if your heart stops or a ventilator if you can’t breathe? Medicine is much more complicated than it used to be and it is worthwhile spending a little time thinking about the kinds of diseases you might have as you get older, and what your wishes might be. Appoint a Medical Power of Attorney. This person can make medical decisions for you IF YOU ARE UNABLE TO MAKE THOSE DECISIONS. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">3.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Appoint a Durable Power of Attorney</span></b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> to take care of business matters and sign checks when you are unable.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">4.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Put your papers in order</span></b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> and put them in a safe place so that someone can find them and make sense of them. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">5.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Think about funeral plans</span></b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">. Children will want to follow their parent’s wishes but they need to know what those wishes are. Baha’is have very specific burial requirements and can have their shroud and ring ready. Anyone can plan their best party and leave behind thoughts about a memorial service. What music? What readings? You can choose and make things easier for those left behind. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">6.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">For Baha’is we can think about Huquq’u’llah</span></b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">. This is a practical way to plan ahead that will attract blessings to us and our families.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 18pt;">Above and beyond all of these things, things which are like the roots of trees taking care of business, always have your heart turned upward toward the light. Pray, in whatever way you know how. Sit calmly with your love and your questions as you meditate. Study the Word of God each day. <b><u>And then act:</u></b> <o:p></o:p></span></p>Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-56208972815703702622019-04-11T06:43:00.000-07:002019-04-11T06:43:50.830-07:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
Mother’s day, 2018<o:p></o:p></div>
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To my siblings,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dear loved ones,<o:p></o:p></div>
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A week before Dad died, he called me into his room.<span> </span>He was having a hard time getting words out, but I could tell there was something he needed to say to me.<span> </span>I knelt down on the shag carpet in that little yellow room, next to his narrow bed and held his hand.<span> </span>He was crying.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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With a lot of false starts and repeated words, he told me that when I was very little he had done some very bad things to me.<span> </span>“Messed with you” were his words.<span> </span>He was sorry.<span> </span>So sorry.<span> </span>Would I forgive him?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Yes Dad</i>, I said.<span> </span><i>I forgive you</i>.<span> </span>there was little more conversation after that.<span> </span>I kissed his forehead, he patted my hand and went to sleep for a while, exhausted from this difficult work that not many have the strength to undertake.<span> He died just days later. </span>Years later I’m still processing that conversation.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Here are the lessons I’ve taken so far.<span> </span>I’m sure I’ll be learning from it for the rest of my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Forgiveness is a mysterious process and this moment really seared it into my consciousness.<span> </span>He asked for my forgiveness.<span> </span>I gave it.<span> </span>It took two of us.<span> </span>He wasn’t asking for absolution of sin (that belongs to God alone) but for the bond between the two of us to remain strong even in the face of hurt.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I didn’t remember the incident.<span> </span>I actually remember (have always remembered) a conversation with Mom about it—I had to have been 3-4 years old because I remember where I was and how small I was.<span> </span>Even so, there are things in my adult life that are probably a result of that incident, up to and possibly including my divorce.<span> </span>Pebbles in the water creating ripples and all that.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->It’s crucial that I forgive when asked.<span> </span>Now, when I have hurt someone’s feelings, or have done something in an unfeeling/unthinking way I always specifically ask for forgiveness.<span> </span>I don’t say “Sorry” anymore.<span> </span>I want the process to be a two-way street.<span> </span>Not that they have to grant forgiveness—but I always have to ask for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->There is never a time when my being “right” trumps someone else’s heart.<span> </span>When I’m dead and thrown into my hole in the ground, my being “right” won’t amount to a hill of beans.<span> </span>I would have been “right” to march out of the house and never gone back when Dad told me his story.<span> </span>Sometimes we hurt hearts and justify it by saying, “We were right.”<span> </span>It is never right to hurt a heart.<span> </span>We make mistakes, we admit our mistakes, we live with the consequences.<span> </span>We are human.<span> </span>Asking for forgiveness says, “I hurt you.<span> </span>Are we still connected?” Forgiveness says, “You hurt me <b>AND </b>our hearts are always connected with love.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s my story to this point.<span> </span>As we do, I learn more with reflection and hope to grow wiser with each passing day.<span> </span>I am bound to each one of you with indissoluble bonds that the changes and chances of the world cannot break.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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loving you a bushel and a peck and more. <o:p></o:p></div>
Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-91746860830847262712019-04-01T08:17:00.000-07:002019-04-01T08:17:04.186-07:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 22pt;">Mothers of Mercy<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 22pt;">kecharitomene</span></i><span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">Carven, gilded, broken, winsome,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;"> sinless, frowning, tearful, smiling,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">Held by angels, glued to dashboards,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">lissome, frozen—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">plastic, stone—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;"> flesh or gold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">Many mothers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">We walk in museums of mothers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;"> We live through millennia of mothers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">all holding this one child,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;"> this every child,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">this child of a million mothers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">These mothers transubstantiating one cell <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;"> into someone ready to redeem the manifest—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;"> into something ready to reclaim the hidden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">Sweet babe aborning with hosannas,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">and stars and rosy light and hope,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;"> torn from its tomb,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">landing in this hellish, muck-filled stable of a world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">This amazing image:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">Mary—all of us—man and woman alike—all of history,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;"> laboring to birth one child.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">Transforming almost nothing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond Premier Pro Display"; font-size: 14pt;">into Salvation. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVu9fRSSDGlUzzqiXnK4BOCfhgGF4XISo2TJScSJWkQJE_1K5Df3ZtORjr1XCF22ad5QOlzw134AZEjH-nJwdXW_c_3fUoaZ0SGAeAEOQl-qNOe64CDqPwlKF85EoyJhnZvM7mqblZbkrR/s1600/IMG_3763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVu9fRSSDGlUzzqiXnK4BOCfhgGF4XISo2TJScSJWkQJE_1K5Df3ZtORjr1XCF22ad5QOlzw134AZEjH-nJwdXW_c_3fUoaZ0SGAeAEOQl-qNOe64CDqPwlKF85EoyJhnZvM7mqblZbkrR/s320/IMG_3763.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p>Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-49635271668013178952017-02-17T17:36:00.000-08:002019-08-08T11:52:12.755-07:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">She woke one day to the realization </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">that everything had been stolen for her </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">from other people.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">This worried her greatly. </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">“It’s just the way of it,” said her parents. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">“Someone stole from us, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">we stole all of this, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">and it will be stolen again in the future.”</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">"I don't believe it," she said.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">“Oh yes,” said her many elders. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">“We were enslaved, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">we enslaved others, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in; text-align: start; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">and someday we shall be slaves again.”</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">They spoke with the conviction of history and sorrow, </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">but in her body she heard something else:</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">She heard singing in a language she struggled to understand.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">She woke one day to the realization <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">that she had always heard the song</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">It told her that the air pouring into her </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">and flowing out from her </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">had been in the hearts and minds of another people; </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">a people who sang with this very air in their lungs.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">She heard that the food she ate had grown in an earth </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">holding the sacred remains of another people, </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">and they were still singing.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">“<i>It is all sacred</i>,” said the song.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">“<i>We are related to all things</i>,” said the song.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">She woke again, and made haste to leave so much behind</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">—so much of it unnecessary</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"> —so much of it drowning out the song.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">She hastened to let go—</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"> To cleanse—</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"> To quiet—</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">To stand with both feet<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in; text-align: start; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">on the sacred, singing soil,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;">Adding her own breath to the song.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-37819442116769304842015-02-23T17:21:00.001-08:002015-02-23T17:21:44.617-08:00Cave Sedem!!!!!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTU8PRO2Glc0r3qwqakH1hLGWo1igO31O897yiiro5If5fxB3FTZ_wshc60TqMZ3b2Erjcg5rfn44FFmxmUMoeaiYQzFBcXK-IRy65E8IYRumgYc5D-1qU255tr1bPSaNcy0XR9QlaZlN1/s1600/medium_11treasure.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTU8PRO2Glc0r3qwqakH1hLGWo1igO31O897yiiro5If5fxB3FTZ_wshc60TqMZ3b2Erjcg5rfn44FFmxmUMoeaiYQzFBcXK-IRy65E8IYRumgYc5D-1qU255tr1bPSaNcy0XR9QlaZlN1/s1600/medium_11treasure.JPG" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Cave Sedem!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Beware the deadly Sitting habit,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Or, if you sit, be like the rabbit,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Who keepeth ever on the jump</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
By springs concealed beneath his rump.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A little ginger ‘neath the tail</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Will oft for lack of brains avail;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Eschew the dull and slothful seat,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And move about with willing feet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Man was not made to sit a-trance</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And press, and press, and press his pants;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
But rather, with an open mind,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
To circulate among his kind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And so my child, avoid the snare</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Which lurks within a cushioned chair;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
To run like hell, it has been found,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Both feet must be upon ground.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Theodore F. McManus (1800 something until he died. )</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(probably of too much exercise.)</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-66895883044814889562015-02-18T16:29:00.003-08:002015-02-18T16:31:25.690-08:00To Sleep, Perchance<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20tUfAKuwqTBp1omKsvj3mXtzfaSdYy-3z7rA1gaCT93G3CThY31E6RfYx_OktgHPhlb9p11S6Vu05z8yq2-gFvQKT6T7CAVu6YNx0xsGPCzHQdAol5utDVFQ_8KElq-t0-uz3ivoLAQs/s1600/rysselberghe019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20tUfAKuwqTBp1omKsvj3mXtzfaSdYy-3z7rA1gaCT93G3CThY31E6RfYx_OktgHPhlb9p11S6Vu05z8yq2-gFvQKT6T7CAVu6YNx0xsGPCzHQdAol5utDVFQ_8KElq-t0-uz3ivoLAQs/s1600/rysselberghe019.jpg" height="232" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif;"><strong style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Sleeping Woman</strong>, 1890</span><br />
<h3 style="color: #006699; display: inline; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif;">
Artist:</span></h3>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif;">
<a href="http://www.topofart.com/artists/Rysselberghe/" style="color: #a03a79; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Theo van Rysselberghe (1862-1926)</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">To
Sleep, Perchance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">When I rouse
at night—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">Mired in
bedclothes,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">Twisted in
pajamas,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">Wrestling
every wrinkle—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">Then I
understand better<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">How it
is to tire of the body—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">To think
it might be time to wake up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">To wake
up and finally<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16.0pt;">Get out
of bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rhonda
Palmer<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-868857446471100122012-09-09T11:50:00.001-07:002012-11-15T19:07:19.410-08:00The Sweet Smell of Success: an improbable tale of alien invasions and local heroes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKA4jtsqLEmry1Wqsyw8MHEc_bumze1Zs73ui1PeiO1wS4MAgP8Bv3PQ9DDiJgLfy04-EFY5ZQ8njy6m3SIIfYLbirFUN9SMPDOM5E13ebbiC6WpxHZTYClBZHeAMs9dawxCzn1np9wU2/s1600/VERNORS-GINGER-ALE-DETROIT-MICH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKA4jtsqLEmry1Wqsyw8MHEc_bumze1Zs73ui1PeiO1wS4MAgP8Bv3PQ9DDiJgLfy04-EFY5ZQ8njy6m3SIIfYLbirFUN9SMPDOM5E13ebbiC6WpxHZTYClBZHeAMs9dawxCzn1np9wU2/s320/VERNORS-GINGER-ALE-DETROIT-MICH.jpg" width="304" /></a></div>
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<h1 align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
Sweet Smell of Success<o:p></o:p></span></h1>
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By Rhonda Palmer<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Dedicated to the
memory of Carl Sagan<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>“Our loyalties are
to the species and the planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
speak for Earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Our obligation to
survive is owed not just to ourselves <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>but also to that
Cosmos, ancient and vast, from which we spring.” </i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Carl Sagan—“Cosmos”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Night lay over the trailer park like a slightly damp wool
blanket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moonlight and one dim
street lamp gave faint outline to two rows of aging trailers and an
accompanying herd of pickup trucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The silence of the sleeping trailer park was broken only by the
occasional shuffling of a scavenging armadillo.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Into this moist stillness there suddenly came a laser beam
of stench moving rapidly back and forth over the miles from the river to the
faint glow of town several miles away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One by one the dogs sat up quietly, expectantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They sniffed each molecule of stink as
it spoke to them directly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(<i>Attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Attention, please.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prepare for invasion</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Bubba Henderson’s 14-foot trailer sat crookedly on its
15-foot lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grey-eyed Bubba was
sleeping in the recliner in the kitchen, dining room, living room and bedroom.
The recliner only reclined these days and Bubba was only truly comfortable in
that brown corduroy space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
thirty-two his life was perfect and surrounded him like an ocean: empty chip
bags, heaps of crumpled soda cans, chocolate chip cookie boxes (chunky),
fast-food bags, stacks of comic books and pulp Science Fiction novels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a ponderous man, a man with
substance, a man with an abdomen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He wore a tremendous pair of Marvin the Martian Boxer Shorts and a
T-shirt that did not cover his girth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His belly glistened in the moonlight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humphrey the dog lay contentedly at his feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humphrey was, like Bubba, of
undetermined origins, but in him could be detected hints of bloodhound and
bird-dog and a bit of standard poodle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was not beautiful to look at but he had Talents and knew his master
well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Humphrey was very interested in these molecules floating
through the screen door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
thought an invasion might prove uncomfortable to Bubba and himself and in a
vague way he knew Bubba would be mightily interested in this information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But how to awaken his sleeping
Buddha?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Barking would never work,
as Bubba was deaf in one ear and had the other plugged into a dusty TV
console.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bubba liked sleeping to
the susurration of a 24-hour Science-Fiction channel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And so Humphrey concentrated and released his own concoction
of doggy methane, aimed to reach Bubba about nose-high.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Bubba’s eyes flew up and his nostrils flared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gagged.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Doggone gas bag!” he yelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ve been eating chicken skins again!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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He threw a full can of Vernor’s ginger ale at the dog, who
avoided the attack and continued to stare intently at the man.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Bubba stared back and breathed heavily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sudden awakenings did his delicate
constitution no good, and he was always hours recovering his poise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This labored breathing was not helping
the process though, as it was filled with something heavy and moist and
foul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reached for the RC Cola
at his side and took a sip, tasting it thoughtfully; letting his prodigious
mental powers have free play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
spoke to Humphrey. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Not chicken skins entirely, old boy, so sorry.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humphrey’s tail thumped twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not the dump, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The carbon content isn’t high
enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nor the pig farm over by
Mechanicsburg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This has a
distinctly metallic bouquet, with traces of sulphur and something new. . .
.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His voice trailed off as he
sipped the warm cola.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humphrey
could hear the faint meshing of gears and the whirr of Bubba’s finely tuned
mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Slowly the sky began to glow in the north.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>They had traveled far across the empty spaces, guided by
nothing but the faint photon emissions of a distant gas ball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The small spaceships held them and kept
their speech safe from the vacuum without.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loose speech was filtered from nutritional air on a regular
basis but it did become noisy in that place all the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>The captain of the mighty crew was tired of being with
his mates and podlings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was
tired of hints of the hints of treachery he could detect, and he was tired of
the same speeches over and over.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“We’re doomed!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“We shouldn’t have come!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Are we almost there?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>He would never have come himself except for the commands
of the Head Dreamer, the Grand Poobah of Home World and Keeper of the Sacred
Yeast Culture.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>“I have found the planet waiting for your arrival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have sensed the distant scent of its
beauty and now command you to go there, claim it as our own and begin its
redemption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Duty rests upon your
nostrils!”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Now he was here with ignorant youngsters and a small ship
full of noisome noise but he had his orders and would carry them out or die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This planet would be won for his
people!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Already hints of methane
and heavy metals were being detected by his ship’s delicate sensors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately there was no hint of
intelligence in the reports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
had sent out discrete packets of sulphur in a pattern that would certainly be
picked up and understood by any intelligent creature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon they would start a sequence of prime numbers, but he
held out no hope of response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
had not received a response on any of the other 326 planets they had claimed as
their own and had sadly concluded that the universe had conspired to produce
only one intelligent species.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“We land after dinner!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The communication went out to all on-board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ship’s filtering system was
stressed by the amount of exuberance released by the crew as they began
preparation for the takeover of this small planet; the third from its sun.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubba had come to a decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He needed to go outside and confer with the Herb Woman in
the trailer next door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was
wise, and while she did not have his vast intelligence, she often knew
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However visiting her was
not a decision arrived at lightly, as he would first need to stand up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ate a box of Ding-Dongs to
fortify himself and then threw his head forward, then his arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The recliner groaned and the trailer
shuddered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His abdomen rolled onto
his knees, his knees put forth a mighty effort and straightened only
milliseconds before his head hit the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rose, arms in the air in a sign of victory and he smiled
as Humphrey barked congratulations.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Humphrey, your Bubba-man is out to save the world!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bubba began the back and forth motion which
ended in his legs moving forward, taking him out the front door and down the
steps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He moved gracefully and did
not spill a drop of the RC Cola in his left hand. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The Herb Woman had anticipated him by at least an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had been sitting at the picnic
table dividing their two lots and she watched as he disembarked his trailer.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Bubba, you stink so bad I can smell you way over here,” she
said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her pink flowered housedress
fluttered around her bony knees and she reached down to pull up a drooping
stocking.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Mrs. Herb Woman, it isn’t me you smell tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a different smell
tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has danger in it and a
heady sense of importance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
smell may well portend a vast change in our view of the cosmos.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I don’t know about no changes but this smell is bad and
don’t mean no good to no one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Humphrey here is pretty worried, I can tell you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she pointed to the dog, who faced
the glow in the north, nose and hackles up.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Bubba respected Humphrey’s opinion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He respected the Herb Woman’s opinion
on occasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had been known to
achieve a high intensity Gestalt when under pressure and Bubba had seen enough alien invasions on Channel 27 to convince him that this was the time
to listen to his friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
could be witnessing a fire in the Ford factory north of town, but he didn’t
think so, especially when he saw the ovals of light zipping about overhead.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“What do you think of those?” he asked his neighbor.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I don’t think they’s no fireworks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think they’s up to no good and that
we better get some kind of plan worked up and real soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gu’ment sure cant’ help us out,
they ain’t enough time,” she said quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We gots to be helping the gu’ment, this time.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Chief
Commander of the Flying Nose began the long preparation for invasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost as an afterthought he pressed
the button that began transmission of prime numbers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a waste of good information, he though, but what a mess
to clean up with the Grand Poobah if he didn’t follow protocol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hated bureaucracy.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Humphrey stood up stiffly, hairs along his back
bristling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His lips curled and one
sharp yip came out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he sat down,
almost in relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly the
scene repeated itself, but he barked twice this time, sharp staccato noises
that were repeated by dogs around the trailer park.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This is information,” said Bubba.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Again the dogs in the area could be heard barking, a triplet
of barks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humphrey was looking
very anxious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sat down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stood up and barked, five
times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sat down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like a puppet he kept getting pulled
up, forced into barking and then released.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s prime numbers,” said Bubba.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They’re sending the prime numbers through the dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But how are they communicating?”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Herb Woman wrinkled her nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you didn’t stink so bad yourself you’d get the picture
pretty quick, I’d say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a
smell of some kind, and a demon one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The dogs get it pretty clear.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubba lifted his face into the breeze coming from the
north.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s sulfur, and coming in rhythmic
waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked at Humphrey, exhaustedly
standing and barking out prime numbers up to one hundred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After 15 minutes the dog collapsed onto
his side, tongue out and sides heaving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bubba poured some RC Cola into a hubcap and pushed it toward the dog.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They stink for all the world like any goat,” quoted Bubba,
“So hot and rammish does that odor float, that though a man be a mile away, the
smell will taint him, trust ye what I say…..”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked at the Herb Woman expectantly.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’s crazy,” she said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s Chaucer, woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Haven’t you heard of Chaucer?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Chaucer, Schmaucer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I know if we don’t do something might quick, there here space things is
gwine to give us some real taint.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She pulled tiny spectacles out of the pocket of her housedress and
placed them carefully on her nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“These here specs belonged to my dead husband, Herb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I allus wears ‘em when I got to think
real hard, cause I can’t see when I got ‘em on.” </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So the three of them sat for long moments, watching the
flying saucers zipping around overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Herb Woman was rocking back and forth, humming and chewing a wad of
tobacco.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bubba kept sipping on his
RC Cola and munching on the piece of beef jerky he kept in his shirt pocket for
emergencies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humphrey was lying on
the ground, eyes open, tongue out.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Maybe we can beat ‘em at their own game,” said the Herb
Woman.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubba nodded thoughtfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Their own game,” he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The three of them—Bubba, the Herb Woman and the exhausted
Humphrey, continued staring at the odd shapes flitting overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humphrey passed a large amount of gas
and then closed his eyes contentedly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>In the only quiet space he could find, the Chief
Commander began the immense mental preparations necessary for invasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He went through lists of protocol
stored in his large memory bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He reviewed the last fifteen invasions and the necessary destruction of
lower, worthless life forms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such
destruction had at one time been a source of discomfort to him, but the Grand
Poobah had wafted to him a new fragrance, one of the prime directive for
spreading intelligence throughout the known universe.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“There will come a time with intelligence and true
understanding will fill the worlds even as the sweetness of spring fills our
hearts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be firm, and waft your
firmness to those who serve you so willingly.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>This sweetness filled him completely, as he sat alone in
the airtight seal of his locker.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubba looked at the Herb Woman then back at the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took a sip of his RC Cola and then
ate a bag of Doritos, slowly, one by one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He belched a long, loud, steady belch.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Eructation,” he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Watch your language, young man,” said the Herb Woman.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Eructation means belching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what I was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Belching.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, if you don’t stop belching, and that dog don’t stop
it’s everlasting passing of nasty gas, we’ll never get any thinking done round
here,” said the Herb Woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This pronouncement caused Bubba’s hand to pause halfway
between the Doritos bag and his mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He closed his eyes and replayed scenes from the movies he had seen on the
Sci-Fi channel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A chemical
equation balanced itself on the inside of his eyelids.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes,” he said quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The snake bites its tail.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Eureka,” he said with more force, opening his eyes and
looking at Humphrey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dog sat
up expectantly and gazed steadily at his master.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubba gazed into the vast sky, where small lights moved
briskly overhead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now set the teeth,” he said as he began standing up from
the picnic table, “and stretch the nostril wide…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What you got planned, fat boy?” asked the Herb Woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Got anything to do with … stink?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I knew you would understand immediately,” said Bubba.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now Madam, if you would please fix me
a pot of your famous beans, I must away to stock the armory, as it were.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he began the slow rolling motion
that brought him to the door of his trailer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was with a sense of gratitude that he began the rummaging
of his trailer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was grateful
for his immense brain, and quick wit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was grateful for Humphrey’s nose and presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was grateful for the Herb Woman’s
wisdom and beans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly he was
grateful for the store that delivered groceries to his door, and for the small
but generous allowance from a distant relative that allowed him this life of
meditative pleasure. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Sardines, a jar of sauerkraut, two cans of ravioli, three bags of those
extra hot cheesy things, some cold hot dogs, chips, salsa. . .” The list
continued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He placed all the items
in a lidless cooler and worked his way slowly back out to the picnic
talbe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Herb woman was waiting
patiently with the beans and a six-pack of cheap beer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t drink beer,” Bubba said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Tonight, you drink all the beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll need it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m the Herb Woman and I say so.” said the Herb Woman.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I bow to your greater wisdom and beauty,” he said, after a
moment of reflection.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lights in the sky had begun descending toward a low hill
outside the trailer court.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The time has come, the time is now…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bubba recited solemnly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He began to eat: slowly, deliberately, but with a grim
determination born of the great responsibility now thrust upon him by an
uncaring but needy humanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
every five bites he took, he gave Humphrey a share, particularly from the box
of fried chicken skins he had been keeping in the refrigerator for
emergencies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Bubba and
Humphrey were now aware that this was the moment for which they had been
unwittingly preparing for years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They saw the movement of bright objects on a dark
horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still they ate, now
gulping down hot dogs with only the briefest of chews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Herb Woman dished out beans from
the greasy skillet where they had been fermenting for several days.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>The Chief Commander sent out the redolence of heroism,
the sweet smell of success, the mighty winds of obedience and sacrifice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His troops were now full of the memories
their past successes, and with carapaces held high they moved into the field of
battle, ready to bring another planet into the perfumed joys of reunion with
their own greatness.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubba watched the glittering things as they moved toward the
trailer park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were swarms of
them, coming rank upon rank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
were led by the largest of the creatures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bubba waited patiently, he and Humphrey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t fire till you see their nose-hairs, Humphrey,” Bubba
whispered between gulps of bad beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Humphrey whined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the
creatures were 30 feet from the trailer park, the battle began.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Honestly, Grand Poobah, I don’t understand how it
happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were only on the
planet for minutes when we were attacked by monsters the like of which you have
never smelled!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were giants,
ogres, insane creatures with screams of rage and hatred that killed thousands
of my best soldiers before they had time to react!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called for retreat as quickly as I could, but my calls
were overwhelmed by the waves of violence and anger coming from these hydras,
these chimera, these, these…..Earthlings!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was only by the Grace of the Pure Yeast Culture that I
was able to save anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have
returned to you, Oh Gentle One, to ask for your healing sweetness, and to warn
all future expeditions to never to go to that place again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Death and destruction live there and
the stench of it will remain in my nostrils forever!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubba woke with sunshine on his face and a clean breeze
blowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humphrey was snuggled up
to his leg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were both on the
ground and the Herb Woman was sitting in a lawn chair next to them with an old
red bandanna over her nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
pulled it down with a tentative sniff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then she smiled broadly, her toothless gums glowing pink in the morning
light.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You did it, big boy,” she said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not so big anymore, I think,” he said, as he gingerly
rubbed his abdomen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“the
Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara said, ‘Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am now empty and my great life work
is done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it is time for me
to evolve.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Boy, get your big behind up off the dirt get over to my
trailer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got some good iscuits
and gravy and buttermilk ready for your breakfast.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was quite a sight, Bubba getting to his feet with the
Herb Woman and Humphrey pushing and rolling and pulling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally it was accomplished and they
went to the Herb Woman’s trailer and had the victor’s breakfast, although Bubba
declined the buttermilk and opted for a can of warm Vernor’s Ginger Ale.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Thus are heroes born, thus do they live; unsung,
unknown to those whose lives are dependant upon their quiet actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let us praise them with great praise!”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“We are like the inhabitants of an isolated valley in New
Guinea who communicate with societies in neighboring valleys (quite different
societies, I might add) by runner and by drum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When asked how a very advanced society will communicate,
they might guess by an extremely rapid runner or by an improbably large
drum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They might not guess a
technology beyond their ken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
yet, all the while, a vast international cable and radio traffic passes over
them, around them, and through them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We will listen for the interstellar drums, but we will miss the
interstellar cables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are likely
to receive our first messages from the drummers of the neighboring galactic
valleys—from civilizations only somewhat in our future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The civilizations vastly more
advanced than we, will be, for a long time, remote both in distance and in
accessibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At a future time of
vigorous interstellar radio traffic, the very advanced civilizations may be,
for us, still insubstantial legends.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Carl Sagan –<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>The
Cosmic Connection</u>.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-13891056150601938912012-09-01T00:20:00.000-07:002012-09-01T00:20:08.450-07:00Our Valley by Philip Levine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhctI2PTncxacd9cBHbprkVGtWDSE7B7nZ46ErhJ-TqvbrMuFjRBe1W_gvCIW-HX2fEmogoiXsAfi3jtObBHBPlV8kwSwytMGIrWmUrVeslo-vhfq0dCGLAEe0FqSysjJlTX9dKQjhnGShu/s1600/52646686.0wwlrkMc.IMG_4938%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhctI2PTncxacd9cBHbprkVGtWDSE7B7nZ46ErhJ-TqvbrMuFjRBe1W_gvCIW-HX2fEmogoiXsAfi3jtObBHBPlV8kwSwytMGIrWmUrVeslo-vhfq0dCGLAEe0FqSysjJlTX9dKQjhnGShu/s640/52646686.0wwlrkMc.IMG_4938%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%px;">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td valign="top" width="80%">
<h1 class="TITLE">
</h1>
</td>
<td align="right" colspan="2" nowrap="" valign="top"> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"></td></tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><br /></td></tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2" valign="top"><pre>We don't see the ocean, not ever, but in July and August
when the worst heat seems to rise from the hard clay
of this valley, you could be walking through a fig orchard
when suddenly the wind cools and for a moment
you get a whiff of salt, and in that moment you can almost
believe something is waiting beyond the Pacheco Pass,
something massive, irrational, and so powerful even
the mountains that rise east of here have no word for it.
You probably think I'm nuts saying the mountains
have no word for ocean, but if you live here
you begin to believe they know everything.
They maintain that huge silence we think of as divine,
a silence that grows in autumn when snow falls
slowly between the pines and the wind dies
to less than a whisper and you can barely catch
your breath because you're thrilled and terrified.
You have to remember this isn't your land.
It belongs to no one, like the sea you once lived beside
and thought was yours. Remember the small boats
that bobbed out as the waves rode in, and the men
who carved a living from it only to find themselves
carved down to nothing. Now you say this is home,
so go ahead, worship the mountains as they dissolve in dust,
wait on the wind, catch a scent of salt, call it our life.</pre>
</td></tr>
</tbody>
</table>
Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-24298555609288928032012-08-28T18:27:00.000-07:002012-08-28T18:27:09.300-07:00The Visitor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcrmQkQ5K3xe2HHhzp4B3iQ3VFf-fNJWwgUCCxdFfkkqadccGlVbYF9rN7Qi3utzKRGpsV-Yg-UeZ_Pu_f3GTnyWXqe47lLw3FgaheAIR_pUkuBdixrXpUK1MQQzdqWTu88Y9uf0cldyb/s1600/Beautiful+Sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcrmQkQ5K3xe2HHhzp4B3iQ3VFf-fNJWwgUCCxdFfkkqadccGlVbYF9rN7Qi3utzKRGpsV-Yg-UeZ_Pu_f3GTnyWXqe47lLw3FgaheAIR_pUkuBdixrXpUK1MQQzdqWTu88Y9uf0cldyb/s320/Beautiful+Sunrise.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The old rebbe lay dying in his narrow bed,<br />
face toward the sky.<br />
High clouds became letters of light,<br />
and thunder sounded on a distant hill.<br />
The family changed his name then,<br />
hoping to fool Death into looking elsewhere,<br />
but the old man traced invisible letters with his breath.<br />
<br />
Death came to him then,<br />
not fooled by the name,<br />
not concerned with tears.<br />
Death came to see what the old man<br />
had written in the air. <br />
When he presented himself before the old man,<br />
Death bowed low and respectfully. <br />
"I saw your name in the sky,"<br />
said Death, "and came calling on you,<br />
as anyone would."Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-44769927830736284452012-08-14T18:35:00.002-07:002012-08-14T18:35:52.461-07:00Flight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-IziStQnx6HK827P0uEHfPhhmdfD5TuSDtVmpaw9dhdahfAb6OExW672ntiS1gpriwkyZPuVXHl-YMSs0MRx8pkSANjBL3jilaZI4wzClq0V13Vao56fV49pKGXn_xeXclZQ7nBxi7Tg/s1600/butterlfy-print.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-IziStQnx6HK827P0uEHfPhhmdfD5TuSDtVmpaw9dhdahfAb6OExW672ntiS1gpriwkyZPuVXHl-YMSs0MRx8pkSANjBL3jilaZI4wzClq0V13Vao56fV49pKGXn_xeXclZQ7nBxi7Tg/s400/butterlfy-print.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It never occurred to me that<br />
getting rid of the cocoon meant<br />
getting rid of both form AND substance.<br />
It wasn't so bad losing my spleen, (who needs a spleen?)<br />
or the extra kidney (key word: extra.)<br />
But when I lost control,<br />
and righteous indignation,<br />
my certainty,<br />
my youth---<br />
I wondered if the losses were really necessary.<br />
I wondered---<br />
just how badly did I want those wings?Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-58299394126056420412012-08-12T19:36:00.001-07:002012-08-12T19:37:13.542-07:00The crack in everything<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCEdX8GRFcJlCWEZbAHy9Svc6On2dOxIrwtmlqrbfrB-gi_Nw6V7EthFCQoVPEV8i_vQ-JB_DyZ2fvRInIqNNQ70GhOwj1OCQujFyQVypUtWvnpYxhv3Fdn7qMgMc0rjpTB0JKej6tLxO1/s1600/dolphins-at-sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCEdX8GRFcJlCWEZbAHy9Svc6On2dOxIrwtmlqrbfrB-gi_Nw6V7EthFCQoVPEV8i_vQ-JB_DyZ2fvRInIqNNQ70GhOwj1OCQujFyQVypUtWvnpYxhv3Fdn7qMgMc0rjpTB0JKej6tLxO1/s320/dolphins-at-sunrise.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
How many dawns have I seen?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was one in Tennessee over a bridge and a lake, seen
from a canoe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another from a fishing pier in the Yucatan:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
so many dawns with water, and scattered sunshine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some with dolphins.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One spring, Don and I spent a night behind the union hall</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
talking about the world and our hearts </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(mine wayward, his congenitally large)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and Oceans we might see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sun rose that morning with no thunder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn't kiss him and there was no movement of earth or
sky, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
only clouds of exhaust from a nearby highway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And when he died not long after (oh yes—death and the
sunrise)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
that morning became the essence of all mornings in this
world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mornings we sleep through. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Missed moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People we ignore on the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Poems we forget to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So when I stop my car on a busy interstate to watch an
eastern light,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You may shake your fists or honk as you will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am learning to pay attention to this very dawn.</div>Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-1600370151766579482012-08-08T19:35:00.000-07:002012-08-08T19:35:38.449-07:00The Gift<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mOr2hLijozDUhYgbUBAvFkyYArXhTM8w2SMDyKpFehyphenhypheng42y4hlAm5Aem4hZumXXW65WgpgjZjUjSRJDIXtBAd65KZVgPbUmEfdMUxTRDzWChd1x9zYJ_GaayZP56zT25azV5Lx3vNRSD/s1600/Newborn-010-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mOr2hLijozDUhYgbUBAvFkyYArXhTM8w2SMDyKpFehyphenhypheng42y4hlAm5Aem4hZumXXW65WgpgjZjUjSRJDIXtBAd65KZVgPbUmEfdMUxTRDzWChd1x9zYJ_GaayZP56zT25azV5Lx3vNRSD/s320/Newborn-010-.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<br />
Every child slides wet from the womb with a hidden gift,<br />
this sweetling handing you<br />
the dearest of little somethings they bring<br />
for the new parents---<br />
A birthday gift of sorts.<br />
<br />
They hold out their need.<br />
<br />
They give you their ravenous,<br />
never-ending<br />
howling<br />
need for everything.<br />
<br />
Food, love, warmth, information, toenail clippers,<br />
hair-ribbons, shoe-laces, car insurance--<br />
They need it now.<br />
They need it from you.<br />
<br />
This gift is not given lightly.<br />
Do not despise what they give you--<br />
with their untouched fingers,<br />
their curled up arms,<br />
new from a nine-month stint in the cave.<br />
They hold out your salvation.<br />
<br />
They hold out to you the only thing<br />
your Lord every really asked you<br />
to give to Him.<br />
<br />
--------------------------------------RhondaRhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-38994563957995524362012-07-25T20:44:00.001-07:002012-07-25T20:44:56.639-07:00The Art of Showing Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGD2yp13OGUV6LVmQrEFLvlJbRTgcNf90VB4qNTbcmZDYfKTZwVVdGujVklu09e5bzsdSFoV4PyvHqwWxDp3YVkD6BsYNvqVORpunS5HEkpqfImnQgSGsZjYGMiKyndEsLvUWtod2xOSJw/s1600/specimen4060_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGD2yp13OGUV6LVmQrEFLvlJbRTgcNf90VB4qNTbcmZDYfKTZwVVdGujVklu09e5bzsdSFoV4PyvHqwWxDp3YVkD6BsYNvqVORpunS5HEkpqfImnQgSGsZjYGMiKyndEsLvUWtod2xOSJw/s1600/specimen4060_1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Prayer and I have an on again, off again relationship—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are days or weeks in which the praying </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the thanking and the obligating become perfunctory. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Up and down I go mouthing meaningless sounds </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
only to finish in the wrong position</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
or find myself at the end of a sentence </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
with no idea of the road ahead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just as it seems to be a profound waste of time</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
there comes a day of light in darkness—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
a day of lifting up, a day of slamming down. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A day when the words speak me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Poetry is like that.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Days of “interesting” poems, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
days of revision, with no new words worth working with. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Weeks of waiting, with wheels whining in little circles, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
going nowhere. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then comes a day when something </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
drops out of my hand like a jewel</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and I turn it over and over searching for any flaw.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, my Dad said, the most important work</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
is just showing up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
----------------------------------------rhonda</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-66236136805951310182012-07-22T19:41:00.000-07:002012-07-22T19:44:48.221-07:00Man's reality is his thought...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwsglczS-s8RQc8unoO_U_6_ADixJ5OZWUZaSQsIgSkE8QQKmWxHUxTSaHKf3MLv_9z8hgOWdlMaildfxFYyHHwELv_bNSbB7VclfCjFi7QFVtzhAeP4vSR1lB_3QiPMXy6ZbjpWbEOW6/s1600/250px-Mo%CC%88bius_strip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwsglczS-s8RQc8unoO_U_6_ADixJ5OZWUZaSQsIgSkE8QQKmWxHUxTSaHKf3MLv_9z8hgOWdlMaildfxFYyHHwELv_bNSbB7VclfCjFi7QFVtzhAeP4vSR1lB_3QiPMXy6ZbjpWbEOW6/s400/250px-Mo%CC%88bius_strip.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s pretend that we live in two worlds at the same time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A simultaneous life—we’re just pretending, you see.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In one world is a lot of smog, dirty water and bad breath.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the other simultaneous world </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
love lasts forever, and we all have good skin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Singing happens as often as eating in this place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One world: sadness.
One world: joy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m told they exist together in this poem and wind around,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
fold through each other like a moebius strip.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What tips the balance? How do we hold the </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
two worlds in one hand? I’m thinking</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
of a fast train moving in two directions </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and here’s a golden ticket in my hand. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The promised land is under my feet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I go to meet my expectations </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
who live in a vast and heavily</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
forested region of Brazil, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
where the air is sweet, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and no chain saw has ever been seen. </div>Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-84016753117139818832012-07-19T19:03:00.001-07:002012-07-19T19:03:48.713-07:00The New Name<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeSSQ7aOr4CONFnFNdTTf6Z5YVYCl70e0pduEnBIlSl2C0N2I36FXCb1Xss7V2WCziUr2QPMhmI4KRjLhyphenhyphenr8e4KnywxY33xxmYmQII8ZaMPqzARZF7jEG1938Z613o8u1aAanKXrRWzQXv/s1600/chechnyachild2edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeSSQ7aOr4CONFnFNdTTf6Z5YVYCl70e0pduEnBIlSl2C0N2I36FXCb1Xss7V2WCziUr2QPMhmI4KRjLhyphenhyphenr8e4KnywxY33xxmYmQII8ZaMPqzARZF7jEG1938Z613o8u1aAanKXrRWzQXv/s1600/chechnyachild2edit.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
The boy shivered, listening to a distant mortar fire.<br />
Around him other children cried softly,<br />
drowsing only in the lightest dreams,<br />
avoiding the deep pools of sleep.<br />
The boy fingered dog-tags under his shirt,<br />
feeling the rough letters and whispering the new name.<br />
This was his nightly prayer,<br />
his rosary, his Greatest Name.<br />
His own small name had lately become<br />
too familiar to the angel of death and so he let it go,<br />
letter by letter,<br />
sound by sound,<br />
along with the memory of his mother's face,<br />
his father's voice,<br />
his right leg.<br />
The man who had worn the name no longer needed it,<br />
indeed, had held it in outstretched hand as he lay<br />
eyes and heart open to the sun, wind, moon and stars.<br />
The boy had taken it gently from his hand,<br />
had traded names with the open man,<br />
had gone back to wait with the other children--<br />
telling them stories of his new name<br />
and the trick he would play on everyone,<br />
on the world,<br />
on death.Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-15096561677524889772012-07-17T17:10:00.001-07:002012-07-17T17:10:51.232-07:00The wisdom of light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGR_PCOj2nLRyxrn33t3IOjpFgzaAQ1mwnn37piT9A46rjSsbw2raanKSQm5x0-7oRAhY_mEAfKmErWWQhfzqSVxNIqhZgL-0Meuc40spE1dY6nQXUTNejA17g5cEq9QhncEwj-iuV9No6/s1600/img_3071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGR_PCOj2nLRyxrn33t3IOjpFgzaAQ1mwnn37piT9A46rjSsbw2raanKSQm5x0-7oRAhY_mEAfKmErWWQhfzqSVxNIqhZgL-0Meuc40spE1dY6nQXUTNejA17g5cEq9QhncEwj-iuV9No6/s320/img_3071.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Without a doubt, she said, I’ve been true.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
True to the night, true to all wild things—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
true to my beliefs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
South of here, in another city, a city </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
that knows how to keep its secrets,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
she might not speak such blatant nonsense.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She would carry wisdom in her belly</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
like an unborn child and never, never</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
pretend to be other than a beacon of light.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-23641711116889518572012-07-15T19:35:00.000-07:002012-07-15T19:35:14.958-07:00Surface Tension<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKvyI7_cBYDIr86PxxZDPGnny4hPg43RSyYwvy4T7M475UJMM86OOABHt8YY7dYlsBQA5Qp7DGjIBfLKoUuLR0uS9dKaNfkJwQ2cvHsI-rj57H4DpsEGFacmmTm8Tst4yb9SlhdxGywLB/s1600/man-walks-on-water11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKvyI7_cBYDIr86PxxZDPGnny4hPg43RSyYwvy4T7M475UJMM86OOABHt8YY7dYlsBQA5Qp7DGjIBfLKoUuLR0uS9dKaNfkJwQ2cvHsI-rj57H4DpsEGFacmmTm8Tst4yb9SlhdxGywLB/s320/man-walks-on-water11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Molecules of water are slippery.<br />
They ripple out of my way too quickly to get any foothold and so<br />
I step into the puddle, rather than onto it,<br />
thus muddying shoes and woolen stockings which will need serious drying time.<br />
But I can imagine walking onto the sea,<br />
reaching out to hold hands with Someone<br />
who holds me carefully in His mind and heart. <br />
Someone Who teaches the art of surface tension<br />
and bodies in motion. <br />
I can feel the rubbery give of the water<br />
as we step between waves,<br />
avoiding dolphins rising before us<br />
and ignoring salt spray in our eyes.<br />
Can we do this forever? I ask, heart full of tremulous joy.<br />
Can we live out here on the waves forever?<br />
Storm clouds appear on a distant horizon.<br />
The hard part isn't walking on water, He says.<br />
The hard part is living on land. <br />
We move toward the beach, and the city and the crowds.<br />
Just don't let go of My hand, He says.<br />
But His voice is already sounding faint and thin.<br />
When I look back He is gone.<br />
Salt spray dries on my skin. My socks are wet.<br />
The storm comes ashore to fill the hollows with more water.<br />
<br />
--------------------------------------------rhondaRhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-91544730313473266332012-07-14T06:24:00.000-07:002012-07-14T06:24:00.852-07:00What would we do without this metaphor, earth?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVETqsT01GkH3ng8Ov0ICVNiBX8fmYyPjPXlt9eno17r1b4KIS4YDtaqkhEDHAlEtU9B7v1kTZg9r4YVC7E9qkLkINmS9Yzf8uBMBTjRGDxMph902Mj6SvF6WjbefTpseOHnFxCeCn6Wsy/s1600/earth-globe-space.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVETqsT01GkH3ng8Ov0ICVNiBX8fmYyPjPXlt9eno17r1b4KIS4YDtaqkhEDHAlEtU9B7v1kTZg9r4YVC7E9qkLkINmS9Yzf8uBMBTjRGDxMph902Mj6SvF6WjbefTpseOHnFxCeCn6Wsy/s320/earth-globe-space.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
There would be nothing to compare ourselves to,<br />
and we would disappear into a black and starry sky<br />
with no eyes,<br />
with nothing at all to witness our arrival,<br />
our departure.<br />
<br />
We know we exist because of this ripe and wet metaphor<br />
holding our fetal selves,<br />
telling us we are more than vague traces<br />
of wandering dust and empty space.<br />
<br />
We've ignored it in the past,<br />
pretending we were sun, moon and stars.<br />
Time to take our place with the<br />
mountains, motes, ants and beauty<br />
to the right of us,<br />
Beauty to the left of us,<br />
<br />
Beauty behind us,<br />
<br />
Beauty before us.<br />
<br />
Beauty around us.Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-19080515247005878582012-07-06T17:51:00.003-07:002012-07-06T17:51:34.514-07:00After the War<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Jdh82qQ777jbZynHa0m155E5ab4yx4_Snpc2OYTUw5LKe7OarGoSM3IGNeyoui_nqBICMEO7EZisZwUJTTLlAHeYZ-JLF1wxFvJGoqFxhz4Dj7llgMe4NcbRpCvdfgOrKP0wwvPL4jwQ/s1600/africa07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #999999; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Jdh82qQ777jbZynHa0m155E5ab4yx4_Snpc2OYTUw5LKe7OarGoSM3IGNeyoui_nqBICMEO7EZisZwUJTTLlAHeYZ-JLF1wxFvJGoqFxhz4Dj7llgMe4NcbRpCvdfgOrKP0wwvPL4jwQ/s320/africa07.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
All around lie hosts of the dead, mumbling in their dark beds<br />
about missed opportunities and endless meetings.<br />
They gripe with closed eyes and complain<br />
about misunderstandings,<br />
late appointments,<br />
rude taxi drivers.<br />
Their cold, dead fingers grip guns, pens, I-Pads.<br />
Toys lie around them in serried rank.<br />
I pick through these piles for anything<br />
that might be put in my pocket for later investigation.<br />
<br />
A cell phone wakes at my feet with the blare of trumpets.<br />
<br />
---------------------------------------rhondaRhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-38844731458582243912012-07-03T20:44:00.000-07:002012-07-03T20:44:17.594-07:00My Rumi<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCYRkpugqZpJ9OJTeEuwemGsxKf2BiZt6z8-WnnqBtJhz-jbQ9iC9CxBySYBGWFklUYWKbw5MEjne1neMXTOnTcDFlRTiPTJCgzpiISFJHa0abA1aJxNkDcspmL0QaTwJ2XFcqQWUWzUv/s1600/art45a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCYRkpugqZpJ9OJTeEuwemGsxKf2BiZt6z8-WnnqBtJhz-jbQ9iC9CxBySYBGWFklUYWKbw5MEjne1neMXTOnTcDFlRTiPTJCgzpiISFJHa0abA1aJxNkDcspmL0QaTwJ2XFcqQWUWzUv/s320/art45a.jpg" width="254" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Icaros by P. Picasso<br /><br /><br />In the haphazard way of true anarchists<br />Rumi travels from heart to heart<br />without apparent map,<br />without explainable schema.<br />Engineers shudder when they hear his name.<br />He sings law beyond law.<br />His music lies beyond the ease of breath.<br /><br />In the comfortably obscure way of true poets<br />Rumi encourages us to leap<br />into a stratospheric understanding of flight.<br />Shams, he said, will teach us about wings.<br />From him we will learn re-entry and flames.<br />From him we will learn the delectable arc<br />of longing,<br />and return.<br /><br /> -------------------rhonda</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-56516274309874190802012-07-02T19:59:00.000-07:002012-07-02T20:05:12.266-07:00For Immigrant Mothers Everywhere<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ViZDSUOoJedx2pRdU5f4Bw3YTrx6rJjJk_W_s7VIFXRMtMMbPS2ZWCMEAELq-I5rm8Nyan4jOHwQnnzQNnCimnwrcAON4AR5SIHFaLcXdlIL44DCBT7Fs1-aET_laaxqE4ykUGBeO91w/s1600/immigrant.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ViZDSUOoJedx2pRdU5f4Bw3YTrx6rJjJk_W_s7VIFXRMtMMbPS2ZWCMEAELq-I5rm8Nyan4jOHwQnnzQNnCimnwrcAON4AR5SIHFaLcXdlIL44DCBT7Fs1-aET_laaxqE4ykUGBeO91w/s320/immigrant.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
For Immigrant Mothers Everywhere</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
War-tossed and famine blown</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
they built the nest where we were grown</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and sang us songs of far-off home.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Rhonda PalmerRhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-52398065560475991012012-04-03T16:42:00.000-07:002012-04-03T16:42:03.070-07:00April 4, 1968<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b>April 4, 1968</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><i>“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. </i><i>Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.” </i>Martin Luther King Jr.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Since that date,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">a number of people have urged others</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">to change, to move mountains,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">to grow large eyes in a small world.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">These prophetic people</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">live high above clamor, carnage and strife</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">yet they claim our pain.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">They give instruction on life</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">and offer words. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">They twitter recycled thoughts into hungry space</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">and sing old songs</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">to jolt our fibrillating hearts.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">These fading words</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">are only the event horizon</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">moving away from a pure center—</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">a center that knew walking,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">waking and evident truth</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">in a strangely disordered world. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">I feel heaven circle round a Memphis balcony,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">waiting for one more angel,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">waiting for us to send up one more angel. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"> R. Palmer</div><div><br />
</div>Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7393490439975894087.post-91568956951508033822012-02-29T19:40:00.001-08:002012-03-01T14:23:47.497-08:00all manner of things shall be well--<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8iyOe_fRqDbv-A8KNMVX21ufkCCp0cn-FGGWKQ-LTveqPvqvnoRQ5UEmUt4UVOFXdeKr8QmEhtD2ZO4ZyvzFZFQ03uSsJq9UIVgFMnzmL722z1MO-gz99LCOfm_By29v2igKw2O9Wai6/s1600/v107111b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8iyOe_fRqDbv-A8KNMVX21ufkCCp0cn-FGGWKQ-LTveqPvqvnoRQ5UEmUt4UVOFXdeKr8QmEhtD2ZO4ZyvzFZFQ03uSsJq9UIVgFMnzmL722z1MO-gz99LCOfm_By29v2igKw2O9Wai6/s400/v107111b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The anchoress looks</div><div>into high rafters for one bold mouse,</div><div>scurrying over the quiet cell</div><div>then smiles,</div><div>settling into her ceaseless</div><div>life of thanksgiving.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Townspeople bring old bread,</div><div>moldy cheese, rancid wine. </div><div>With these she makes a daily meal </div><div>but remembers always to leave a crumb </div><div>for the small life overhead.</div><div><br />
</div><div>As a child she ran loose-limbed,</div><div>wild with sunshine.</div><div>That warmth still encircles, enfolds. </div><div>Now she looks up to see neither mouse</div><div>nor rafters but instead golden beings</div><div>singing, chanting, shouting praises to an Almighty God.</div><div><br />
</div><div>With a quick pen she writes</div><div>all she hears. All she sees.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Soon, exhausted by seeing, purged by writing,</div><div>she collapses on her pile of straw.</div><div>Mouse finds its way to her pillow</div><div>and together they sleep 'midst the ruins of heaven.</div>Rhonda Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11033363383959099266noreply@blogger.com0