Every life is a fresh thought from God to the world.
He dipped his pen into the inkpot, drawing, designing. Like an artist, every curve, color and hue, every movement, synchronization, function carefully planned. He set down the pen and a bright insect flew from the page. I sprang back in amazement.
Looking up, he smiled. “Do you like it?”
“Oh yes! That’s incredible! How did you do it?”
“Come, there’s more to see.”
He took me to a vast screen reminiscent of the matrix’s jumbled number texts. Shining, yellow gold spirals gleamed, separate, yet joined by some invisible threads, surging in vital energy to form glistening chains of moving, glowing light rushing through the darkness as if eager to reach some far off point. Thousands of DNA chromosomes to be passed from generation to generation were intertwining, chains upon chains of life reeling through eternity.
He waved his hand across the screen and a vast support system materialized, air, oceans, sun, moon, plants, trees, even flowers all dependent on each other, woven into an incredibly complex web, a vast mass of intersecting golden chains of life. My heart pounded with elation at this melding of art, design, science and creativity. He seemed happy for my delight.
“You could not begin to understand the complexity, or the joy I experienced when the last chain was forged and leapt into being, intermingled, teeming with life,” He confided.
His eyes looked tired. I turned to go. I had remembered, “On the seventh day God rested.”
Learn the songs and wisdom of the waters. Did you know waters “sing”? Picture the pounding of ocean waves, a rippling stream, the soft flow of the river, even the rhythmic drip of a leaky tap.
Water sings in its yieldedness, rejoices in its path, not fearful, for it cannot be destroyed only transformed. Sometimes solid and still, binding time in its grasp. Sometimes transformed to mist it vanishes, to journey on the breath of the wind. Becoming as nothing it takes wings.
Flowing on its journey it takes all contours and dimensions, the round, rocky pool, the turbulent river, the gushing falls. It does not change its essence, rather the obstacles through which it passes change, are transformed by its presence.
Enjoy water as it cleanses and invigorates. See yourself like a rippling brook, not big enough to drown in, but pleasant to the eye and ear, refreshing to the skin. Flow on the paths set before you seeking the lowliest ground, for there you’ll progress the fastest. Things around may be stagnant, unmovable (save for our presence) but our spirits, like water, can flow freely into any mould or shape.
Hot, controversial topic!
Having once more seen my mercurial grandson finally manage to fix his boisterous (note the “boy” part!) personality into his official school slot, (as happens every new school year), this caught my eye.
Perhaps I shouldn’t talk about it lest I rant. lol! Being an ex private tutor, homeschooler and even helping start a successful school, I tend to have a lot to say.
Like doctors and vaccines, I made sure my own kids never darkened the halls of a conventional school room. I believe in helping each child find and reach their true potential, that education is for the child not vice verse.
Anyone who feels it’s normal for an active 6-7 year old boy to sit still at a desk for hours evidently never had a 6-7 year old boy! Yet small children love to learn. A fussing baby will frequently stop crying to pay attention when you point and say the name of things. Toddlers will annoyingly ask to watch the same show again and again till they’ve assimilated every word and we all know all about the “why” syndrome. Learning is natural, and kids love it, but school is not (at least not the way it is generally organised).
Perhaps the basic problem stems from the fact that most schools are large institutions run by governments having an agenda to produce a large number of suitably qualified fodder that will fit nicely into the established status quo either as elite (private school fodder) or unknowing servant of the elite (the rest of us).
Of course some unique souls manage to survive the “one size fits all” school factory packaging, becoming artists, inventors, movie stars etc. but they are few and far between. In most, sadly, the flame dies and learning loses its joy.
I speak of course in generalities. My time today is limited by the need to pick up the aforementioned grandson, from the aforementioned institution, and hopefully inspire him to complete his homework so he can successfully jump his SAT hurdles lol! This is a huge subject though. Perhaps you’d like to add your “ten cents”.
The man who feels the joy of the Lord will not covet worldly joy. He will not be tempted to make a God of his possessions or of his talents, or of anything else. He will say, “I have joy in God. These things I am very thankful for, but they are not my joy.”
How transitory the joys of earth
They come, they go, with hidden mirth.
Better far the joy within,
That surges out to make us sing!
That brightens up the darkest day,
And sheds the light across our way.
That sets us free from greed and hate,
With untold joy we gladly wait.
flash fiction from 2014
Drowning in words she headed toward the cafeteria.
“Kate, I heard what happened, I…” Kate waved the comment away. She couldn’t handle any more. Changing course she stormed through the fire exit.
Fingers fumbling she lit a cigarette glaring defiantly at the office windows. They meant well but…
A chill wind stirred the leaves amid the vacant cars, a comforting emptiness surrounded her. Trapped in her brain words kept pounding, trying to get out, a surging tide they engulfed her entwined together by the statement “It’s malignant.”
“It’s not fair…” she muttered to the leaves. The tiny words, finding a crack, forced outward like water breaching a dam.
“It’s not fair! I don’t want to die!” she yelled, the wind scattering words like leaves about the plot. She glimpsed anxious faces pressed at the windows. Sinking to her knees she covered her face as shameful, angry tears enveloped her.
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