I LOVE this video. Such great energy. Creation at it’s best.
Blogging and airing your thoughts when you know that people are reading is an incredible high. The reason most writer’s bare all is because of that high. To put your imaginations on paper and have someone critique them gives a feeling of vulnerableness to some, but for some of us, that’s exactly what makes it fun.
The greatest high is to expose the nerve of the masses. When you write aloud what others are afraid to say, it validates your life. The worst times leave you face down in the pigpen. Standing up, you spit and wipe the mud from your eyes. Ah! The pure joy of stench. Not all days are acclamation and pats on the back.
One of my favorite quotes is “Writer’s write.” What would you write? What would you expose? So, join me. Feel the high.
Last night, some friends and I walked in Light The Night supporting Leukemia and Lymphoma research. When I was talking about the walk on Friday, a coworker asked why I walk. Almost apologetically I said, mostly it is something to do with my friends.
We took a couple of evenings and bought T-shirts and while watching Grey’s Anatomy, we ironed on appliqués MAY-NIACS FOR THE CURE, named after May Novak, Nicole’s grandmother. So, do I walk for the T-shirts? Sometimes. For the KOMAN Race for the Cure we had “I LOVE BooOOooBIES” T-shirts. That made everyone smile.
Walking is a reason to get together. It’s like holidays. They remind us that we have family and friends. They build memories that mark our lives. Without these markers, whether they are scary or happy, our lives seem drab. So, if you’re feeling lonely or without a purpose, go walk for a cure. Any cure will do. Grab some coworkers and some walking shoes and walk.
We don’t earn thousands of dollars to cure cancer. Our names aren’t in any papers. No one but us will remember that we were there. But we know. Looking back on our lives, we will have markers that will let us know that we lived. We did something. We walked.
P.S. This walk was in memory of May Novak.
A young man called Sretaketu had studied the Vedas for twelve years and was rather full of himself. His father, Uddalaka, asked him a question which he was unable to answer, and then proceeded to teach him a lesson about the fundamental truth of which he was entirely ignorant. He told his son to put a piece of salt into water and report back to him the following morning When his father asked him to produce the salt, Sretaketu could not find it because it had completely dissolved. Uddalaka began to question him:
“Would you please sip it at this end? What is it like?” he said.
“Sip it in the middle. What is it like?”
“Sip it at the far end. What is it like?”
“Throw it away and then come to me.”
He did as he was told but [that did not stop the salt from] remaining the same.
[His father] said to him: “My dear child, it is true that you cannot perceive Being here, but it is equally true that it is here. This first essence–the whole universe has as its Self: That is the Real: That is the Self: that you are, Sretaketu!”
That story is included in a book called A HISTORY OF GOD.
Also as a side note check this out: http://recipes.howstuffworks.com/salt-pictures.htm
I remember a movie called “Conagher.” Katharine Ross plays a lonely widow on the prairie whose only form of expression is tying notes onto tumble weeds and watching the wind take them.
We as people have to express ourselves. Sometimes it’s in the way we dress or the color of our car, but in some way you have to tell your story. Whether anyone listens is irrelevant. Yes I know, it is nice when people agree, but we can’t be too affected by others agreements. Whether people listen or not, we must tell our story.
A word is dead
when it is said
I say it just
begins to live that day.
VI. A Word