Home » Posts tagged 'play'
In the presence of family,
be only with family.
Put aside the work and worry.
It’ll be there when you part.
And enjoy one another
as if each member of your family
were a dish at the dinner table.
Fill yourself with their essence.
Allow them like nutrients
to replenish your mind, body, and soul
so that when you leave one another
you’ll do so knowing
their presence is with you
for better or worse, forever and onward—
second star to the right and straight on till morning.
Love is a language
a well written play
worn like a curtain
pulled closed on a stage
the cheering erupts
thrown roses at bay
behind a closed curtain
life’s finest display.
What is it that makes you Tik? And I’ll tell you what makes me Tok.
(But for real! What makes you get up in the morning, drives you through the day, and helps guide you to sleep?)
I’m curious to know more about you.
I’m all ears…
After a good, long day of self reliance, sleep, and in depth personal analysis, I am left with this thought.
What you do from here on out is your own cross to bear.
Though like a broken record I’ve continued to circle in place.
But why?
Einstein said, “insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
Well, though I agree I’m no Einstein, I’m not insane, I’m just a bit of a slow learner.
See, the hardest pattern to break isn’t necessarily the pattern but the mission so to speak.
We’re all on our own personal mission, aren’t we?
And whether or not we choose to accept it, it exists.
It’s taken many years through trial and error, deliberation, and self reliance to understand.
Carole King said, “you’ve got to get up every morning with a smile on your face and show the world all the love in your heart…”
Carole also had two children by the time of her divorce and continued to create with love and compassion.
So what’s my personal mission? And what’s yours?
Will we rise tomorrow with faith and gratitude in our hearts or repeat the same patterns that no longer serve us?
Olmec said, “the choices are yours and yours alone.”
But of course we all need a few humorous anecdotes to help us get through.
And I will, as will you.
Tomorrow, reach a little further than you did today. Try something new and show the world the love in your heart. The choices are yours.
And I’ve built my cross, one which I’m willing to bear.
It’s a heavy son of a gun, but I assure you I’ll be walking, hand over foot—that which does not kill us, makes us stronger— like Nietzsche once said.
If I could go back, all those years, and stand next to twelve year old me, would I have the courage and strength to tell that nervous boy watching all the other children, swimming, laughing, and running—playing shirts v.s. skins—to quit worrying and join in, that it doesn’t matter how chubby you feel, or how different you look, that as long as you love and accept yourself, no words from another can harm you, or would I just sit back and watch, still the observer unable to join the party?
It’s funny how something so simple as taking your shirt off to swim can be so detrimental to a young child’s self esteem and yet as adults we often forget what that was like or rather what external forces beyond our control led us to believe ourselves unworthy of such a simple, yet harrowing task.
As in childhood, so as in adulthood, what we allow to harm us will.
Commercials show us long, slender, sleek models who seem to effortlessly fit in to their surroundings while being rewarded with warm smiles and admiration for seeming perfect.
Television shows and movies give us well manicured, quintessential versions of ourselves that often seem more like science fiction than what actually is.
Billboard ads and magazines are placed conveniently to fill all our psyche with blemish-less detail to promote this false sense of unattainable beauty that even when met, there’s ultimately an even whiter teeth formula, or wax to whisk away our imperfection.
It’s a cycle that even before the mind has time to develop, stunts it’s growth and like a cavity begins to decay all sense of self worth.
How often have you judged yourself by your looks rather than how you feel?
For this average white guy, countless.
But it’s taken all those countless times to figure out that it doesn’t matter in the slightest, especially as a child who’s developing.
So would I tell that twelve year old me to take his shirt off and go swimming with the rest of the lot?
I don’t think there is a clear answer other than that instead of telling him what he should or shouldn’t do like all the rest of the world, I’d allow him the opportunity to listen to my story and decide for himself.
But I would say this. Chances are that boy or girl over there thinks there nose is too big or there ears are too small. Chances are that kid who cringes to put on his glasses everyday feels just like you do now, wondering what others will think of what makes him human.
Perhaps I’d reassure him that everybody has stretch marks, even the biggest, strongest athletes. Even his mother, and what could be more beautiful than sacrificing your physical form to grant another life?
But we all figure it out in our own time.
I know he did.
Even those tiny violinist’s know when to stop playing
and when to start singing the bridge over Simon’s water.
I wonder, thought the boy
where the shadow once lay
If I were a scholar
what more could I say
Where angels now rise
the devil’s at play
Curious, thought the boy
where the shadow once lay
Make my bed
Spread the sheets
They are white
They are clean
There’s a nestle of bird
Who sing softly and sweet
There are bills
To be paid
Overdrafts
To be made
But I’m conscious today
Knowing that rot can wait
I have given enough love, I’ve wrestled with the thought
Spared quarters like rain to a cynical saint
I’ve got no time to spare
All this death in the air
Has me feeling quite good, transcendentally great
Forgive me but truth is
Artistic illusions
I’ve no cross to bear climbing trees and it’s clear
That I
start to see past
The sun and moon
The sky opens up
There’s nothing left to do
This closure’s my mantra to you.
Wash my face
Clean my teeth
Knock on wood
Once a week
There’s a pub inn Philly
Where I dug my own grave
Comb the depths
Of your hair
Try and act
Like you care
I’ve been watching your play
Mixing tonic with pain
You have given enough love, so much work to be done
Put your suitcases down, for a while and remain
Like a park bench in autumn
Or leaves that have fallen
I’ve got proof there’s a cure, you just gotta find yours
Forgive me but truth is
Artistic illusions
It’s a tale to be told, when you’re young and your bold
And now I’ve
Got to go back
To the way I was before
And now you’ve
Got to go back
To the way you were before
This closure’s my mantra to you.
There’s a black cloud hanging over
the boys playing in the park
While they argue who is correct
mothers watch them from afar
Now there’s Billy screaming loudly
clawing at this boy named Mark
Who his mother she is absent
somewhere screaming in the dark.
It’s a Sunday what a fun day
boy let’s pass the ball around
He’s a shy son name is Ricky
staring at his father now
He is pitching like a Yankee
throwing hard with all his might
All the while there is Ricky
scared to death screaming inside.
There are blue jays singing robins
bugs and inchworms puffy clouds
On the playground there are children
swinging madly laughing loud
Cause it’s Sunday what a fun day
to be playing in the park
Except for Ricky, Billy’s mother
and Mark crying in the dark.
Now the children they all line up
ice cream bells ring all around
He’s a kind man I mean probably
he just smiles at the crowd
Screw-ball sundaes chocolate cookies
candy gleaming in his hand
For the children ask no questions
they just stand and stand and stand.
Now the mothers call the boys in
from the awful looking cloud
Billy’s mother reprimands him
as Mark’s mother has a cow
Oh your father she is shouting
Ricky hears her from afar
As his father whips a fast one
knocking Ricky to the ground.
There are stars now spinning circles
sending shivers down Mark’s spine
While his father who is furious
warns him hell boy you’ll be fine
As Mark stands and sees the dark cloud
fill with light ready to burst
Cats and dogs rain down around him
he thinks what’s he who’s on first.
So the moral of this story
is not what keeps you in line
It’s the people in the park who
I do not wish to define
They are people who like people
look quite normal in the park
While the sad suburban father’s
dingle dangle in the dark.
There is no
If
And
Or
But
About it
My focus is a pinball
With
No
Credits
Left
To play.
