reflection

Treat me well and I will tell... Treat me bad and I feel sad. Treat me good, change my mood. Treat me sweet and call it quits!

Usually, when the distractions of daily life deplete our energy, the first thing we eliminate is the thing we eliminate is the thing we need the most: quiet, reflective time. Time to dream, time to contemplate what's working and what's not, so that we can make changes for the better. (January 17)

Real change will come when you focus on yourself - not on changing him, Real change comes when you are willing and able to state your claim on what you are and are not willing to live with. Just remember to let him in on it

I took the sleeper out of Glasgow, and as the smelly old train bumped out of Central Station and across the Jamaica Street Bridge, I stared out at the orange halogen streetlamps reflected in the black water of the river Clyde. I gazed at the crumbling Victorian buildings that would soon be sandblasted and renovated into yuppie hutches. I watched the revelers and rascals traverse the shiny wet streets. I thought of the thrill and danger of my youth and the fear and frustration of my adult life thus far. I thought of the failure of my marriage and my failures as a man. I saw all this through my reflection in the nighttime window. Down the tracks I went, hardly aware that I was going further south with every passing second.

Men's courage is reflected when he snaps at a women.

What is life? Life is living in this moment, experiencing and experimenting but experience isn__ life. Life is reflecting and meditating but reflection isn__ life. Life is helping and guiding but philanthropy isn__ life. Life is eating and drinking but food isn__ life. Life is reading and dancing but art isn__ life. Life is kissing and pleasuring but sex isn__ life. Life is winning and losing but competition isn__ life. Life is loving and caring but love isn__ life. Life is birthing and nurturing but children aren__ life. Life is letting go and surrendering but death isn__ life. Life is all these things but all these things aren__ life. Life is always more.

The house in the story is based on my friend Tori's house in Kinsale, Ireland, which is obviously not actually haunted, and the sound of people upstairs moving wardrobes around when you are downstairs there and alone is probably just something that old houses do when they think they are unobserved.

Let me say this: being an idiot is no box of chocolates. People laugh, lose patience, treat you shabby. Now they say folks supposed to be kind to the afflicted, but let me tell you this - it ain't always that way. Even so, I got no complaints, cause I reckon I done live a pretty interesting life, so to speak.

Maybe we're just falling stars, we once danced in the same skyline looking down at the world. And we've fallen like all others, from near and far, we've gathered together, but separated by time and space, keeping a part of that light that we've came with and spreading it in this dark world that we've chosen to live in, in order to shine some light and love around. Maybe we've chosen to believe one truth today, and find it to be false tomorrow. Maybe we're trying to not get attached to the idea that we now know it all. At night, we see the truth of where we've fallen from, gazing in that night sky full of distant stars, constellations, planets, the reflection of the sun on the moon, all with their own stories to tell. Sometimes we wonder why would we leave such a mysterious place, with an infinite amount of stories and wonders. Maybe it's because as stars we could've only seen each other's light from afar, but here we can listen more carefully to each other's story, embrace each other and kiss, discover more and more of what can be seen when infinite star dust potential is put into one body and given freedom to walk the Earth and wander, love and enjoy every moment until coming back. Maybe in the morning, we'll only see one star shining up there and forget the others. Maybe that is also how life and death is, and the beauty of the sunrise and sunset that come in between, our childhood years and old years, when we reflect on the stars that we once were and that we will once again be. Maybe, just maybe.

Writing, an expression of freedom, is an unobtrusive reflection of a contemplative soul.

Find a part of yourself hidden in the twilight.

Given enough time, you could convince yourself that loneliness was something better, that it was solitude, the ideal condition for reflection, even a kind of freedom.Once you were thus convinced, you were foolish to open the door and let anyone in, not all the way in. You risked the hard-won equilibrium, that tranquility that you called peace

Are you living your dreams?

The world of dreams is such a wonderful place! That is, if you have love in your heart. If you have madness in your heart, you will have mad dreams. If you have guilt in your heart, you will have dreams that make you feel more guilt. But me, I have love in my heart and room for nothing else. I love my dreams and they love me.

I've left behind so many unfinished quilts in my life, beautiful pieces of dreams and intentions never fully assembled.

Take time daily to reflect on how much you have. It may not be all that you want but remember someone somewhere is dreaming of what you own.

Your drive and energy towards a goal is in direct accordance with your enthusiasm and desire for the outcome. If you feel your energy waning, if you start making excuses to not complete your tasks, it may be time to reevaluate your goals. It really helps to review your goals daily. It also really helps to spend time envisioning the outcome. A vision board can be a very useful tool to remind you what you are working so hard towards. Don't be hard on yourself if you happen to change your mind about what you want. Remember, every day we are changing and evolving. Who we were yesterday may have wanted something different than the person we are today. This is not unusual. Go with the flow. Don't be afraid to follow your dreams.

Let him who thinks war is a glorious, golden thing, who loves to roll forth stirring words of exhortation, invoking honour and praise and valour and love of country _ Let him but look at a little pile of sodden grey rags that cover half a skull and a shin-bone and what might have been its ribs, or at this skeleton lying on its side, resting half crouching as it fell, perfect that it is headless, and with the tattered clothing still draped round it; and let him realize how grand and glorious a thing it is to have distilled all youth and joy and life into a fetid heap of hideous putrescence! Who is there who has known and seen who can say that victory is worth the death of even one of these?