Who are you hiding ?

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(A thought for the new year)

I’d so often tried to be
The sort “they” thought I ought to be.
To wear the clothes, the face, the fit
To wow the crowds, to be a hit.
Yet hidden deep beneath it all
My hidden self began to call

“Now let me out, don’t be a fake!
Just let me fully life partake!
Open the window of your soul
For good or ill ‘twill make you whole”.

Hand shook and thumbled with the catch,
My inner being to unlatch.
Flung wide the door to let them see
That thing that was the inner me.

To my surprise and not alarm
They looked within serene and calm,
Embraced the inner me with love
Became connected far above
Those former shallow futile links
I’d made with “friends” all full of kinks.

The sun comes down upon me now
The art of living? I’ve learnt how.
The precious you that dwells within
Just set it free real joy to win.

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The Palau de la Musica Barcelona.

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Like a spot of Heaven! Built by Goudi’s teacher on behalf of the local choir. Still hosts musical events from around the world. Breathtaking! Note the nature theme of roses. It was far lighter than my limited photography skills can portray (there were no dark areas, it glows with light!)

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How I met the most incredible human being.

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My faith in humanity got a recent boost when one of my daughters asked to add her partner’s sister to our pub steak night, explaining.
“She’s really nice. You’ll like her.”
Like her we certainly did!
First there was her appearance. the dramatic black topped dress blossoming into a bright gold and black bell shape worthy of a stage production, set off by long waist length plaits and minimal make up.
Her answers to the “usual questions” were far from usual. She lived in a converted warehouse, home to many artists, musicians and travelers, (and those just seeking a cheap place to live in London). An aspiring artist herself (waitressing to pay the bills)she showed me some of her work. I was impressed by the vivid, exuberant colour (beginning to feel already an affinity due to my former art studies etc.)
She understood, to become a success in the sordid world of art there had to be compromises, major compromises! (I recall my same realization.) Not prepared to do that, she planned to study physiotherapy in her mother’s native Finland. An enterprise I encouraged her in as a worthwhile and rewarding profession.
She spoke of the social community in which she lived, the fun they had, blossoming against all odds in London’s cosmopolitan hierarchy.
She was free! She reminded me of myself long, long ago and hope blossomed. There were still people like that around, whole communities of them that saw through the fabricated rat race of society, that wanted no part of it. My heart blossomed with joy for this wild flower growing amid the city streets.

Chains of life.

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dna

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.”

Where did the fun go?

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child meds

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”.

Dream Magic.

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(From September 2014)

Song Bird Songs

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Do we all dream alike? I’m often amazed at dream concepts related or portrayed in paintings and movies so vastly different to my own. I wonder at the diverse worlds we enter when sleeping.
Personally my dreams generally come in two varieties, what I term “frustration dreams” (often after a stressful day) where I’m trying to find something (a place, person, or item of clothing – even the bathroom!) but just can’t find it.

The other more usual dreams are practical or inspirational. In these dreams I discover solutions to problems, new creative ideas and of course my best stories! I often take it for granted that if I “sleep on it” the answer will probably be right there in my head when I wake up. I’ve discovered though many folks find this unusual. Do my fellow writers also glean words and stories in that wonderful stage between sleep and…

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