We are souls, eternal and perfect, captains of our mystic ships: gods and goddesses of our universe. We are beautiful, we pearls of grit. We, the ember of everything. Our uniqueness IS what makes us special, and the expression of it is our gift to the rest of us. In order to feel happy and fulfilled, we must honour our own personal brand of creativity... let it out into the world... BE who we came here to BE.
Mary._ Turning at the soft sound of her name, she glanced behind herself. Then frowned. __assiter?_ ____ over here._ __here?_ She looked all around. __hy is your voice echoing?_ __himney._ __hat?_ ____ stuck in the fucking chimney._ She raced over to the fireplace and got on her hands and knees. Looking up into the dark flue, she shook her head. __ass? What the hell are you doing up there?_ His voice emanated from somewhere above her. __on__ tell anyone, okay?_ __hat are you__ An arm came down. A very sooty arm that was encased in a red sleeve that had white trim. Or what had been white trim and which was now smudged with ash. __ou__e stuck!_ she exclaimed. __nd thank God no one lit this fire!_ __ou__e telling me,_ he muttered in his disembodied voice. __ had to blow out Fritz__ match like a hundred times before he gave up. Fuck, that sounds dirty. Anyway, just remind me never to try to be Santa for your kid, okay? I__ not doing this again, even for her._ Mary stretched a little farther in, but the logs on the hearth stopped her. __assiter. Why can__ you free yourself by dematerializing__ ____ impaled on a hook that__ iron. I can__ go ghost. And will you just take this?_ __ha
Blood Vow
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Mary._ Turning at the soft sound of her name, she glanced behind herself. Then frowned. __assiter?_ ____ over here._ __here?_ She looked all around. __hy is your voice echoing?_ __himney._ __hat?_ ____ stuck in the fucking chimney._ She raced over to the fireplace and got on her hands and knees. Looking up into the dark flue, she shook her head. __ass? What the hell are you doing up there?_ His voice emanated from somewhere above her. __on__ tell anyone, okay?_ __hat are you__ An arm came down. A very sooty arm that was encased in a red sleeve that had white trim. Or what had been white trim and which was now smudged with ash. __ou__e stuck!_ she exclaimed. __nd thank God no one lit this fire!_ __ou__e telling me,_ he muttered in his disembodied voice. __ had to blow out Fritz__ match like a hundred times before he gave up. Fuck, that sounds dirty. Anyway, just remind me never to try to be Santa for your kid, okay? I__ not doing this again, even for her._ Mary stretched a little farther in, but the logs on the hearth stopped her. __assiter. Why can__ you free yourself by dematerializing__ ____ impaled on a hook that__ iron. I can__ go ghost. And will you just take this?_ __ha
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The greatest gift you can ever give another person is your own happiness
The inmost significance of the exaggerated value which is set upon hard work appears to be this: man seems to mistrust everything that is effortless; he can only enjoy, with a good conscience, what he has acquired with toil and trouble; he refused to have anything as a gift.
Gratitude goes beyond the 'mine' and 'thine' and claims the truth that all of life is a pure gift. In the past I always thought of gratitude as a spontaneous response to the awareness of gifts received, but now I realize that gratitude can also be lived as a discipline. The discipline of gratitude is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.
I was thinking how most people don't make you feel much of anything at all. Don't make you feel like time spent with them has grace, like every moment in their company is a gift. But Finn did. Finn, my midsummer night's dream.