richelle-goodrich

Happiness is a frame of mind. It is a state of thinking. It is an attitude, a headset, a mentality. Happiness is a disposition and demeanor. It is a mood and sensibility. It is a philosophy, a notion, a tone, an outlook and perspective. Happiness is all of these things, none of which exist separate from me. They cannot be extracted or stolen because they constitute my very being. Therefore, happiness must be the natural essence of me.

Ha ha ha ha! Tee-hee-hee!Mwa-ha mwa-ha!Kee kee kee!Ho ho ho ho! Haw-hee-haw! Heh heh heh heh!Gah guffaw! Hoo hoo hoo hoo!Hoi hoi-eee!Ba ha ha ha! Tsee tsee tsee!Giggle, titter,snicker, crow,laughter makesmy 'happy' grow!

The world seems to want us to be sad and angry because bad things frequently happen. But I say we should feel the opposite. We should be happy and cheerful because good things happen. We should be delighted to see the sun rise and stars glow and rainbows color stormy skies. We should savor every simple breath and eat each meal with gratitude. We should slumber in sweet dreams and relish moments of laughter and love. We should take more notice of the joys and kindnesses that do exist, still dictating the actions of millions of good people all over the world. Life is filled with pleasant moments, not just grief. We should be happy because this is true.

You cannot appreciate what you have never experienced. Sadly, full appreciation tends to come only after the experience is past.

You can teach a person all you know, but only experience will convince him that what you say is true.

We try so hard to instruct our children in all the right things__eaching good from bad, explaining choices and consequences__hen in reality most lessons are learned through observation and experience. Perhaps we'd be better off training our youth to be highly observant.

Determined, I riseand face the dawn with resolve.This time I will win.

The sweetest melody that playson starry nights and wintry days,most soothing to my listening earsand calming to beleaguering fears,I call a symphony on air__he song of sweet, still silence rare.

I scared a little porcupineand caught a quill in my behind.It hurt so badly in my tail,but tugging on it made me yell.The porcupine was still around,so I complained. He simply frownedand said, "Stop whining! Look and seehow many quills are stuck on me!

Sound.Noisethe air employs.Melodies sweet.Tweet, tweet, tweet.Soft. Loud.A roaring crowd.Cluck. Caw. Crow.Tet, tet. Tis, tis.Guttural growl.Harrowing howl.Drip, drip, drip.Tap, tap, tap.Moan and groan.Endless drone.Ding, dang, dong.A church bell song.Vibrations in my earto hear.Sound.

I slay dragons at night while you sleep. I see by the way your face contorts how they exist in your dreams. Willing a magic sword, I plunge into your deepest nightmares and swing at the beasts with all my might, dodging flames exhaled by monsters that would eat me alive to go on torturing the fair one I love. I see your face relax, eyes still drowsily closed, when the mighty dragon is slain. It may be that my fingers rub soft circles on your forehead as I imagine my brave fight as a knight reclaiming your dreams. You smile under the spell of my touch, and I am rewarded. And so, my love, as I await the dawn, I stand ready to slay dragons while you sleep.

What if dragons breathed bubbles and purred when they cuddled and giggled at chivalrous knights for their troubles?What if dragons felt soft, having scales made of cloth,and they moved rather slow like a brown-throated sloth?What if dragons were shyand did easily crywhen confronted by characters callous and sly?What if dragons did goodbut were misunderstoodso men mercilessly slew the beasts right where they stood?What if dragons aren__ missedbecause there is no listof extinct types of quarry that now don__ exist?

Death lurks in the shadows, just out of view. Now and then I see his reaching hand, uncertain of the blurry image that passes before my eyes, but conscious of the crippling influence of his touch. Some say Death rears an ugly head, so hideous a view the beholder can scarcely gasp their last breath. Others call him beautiful, a sweet relief to look upon. But these are rumors babbled by the unknowing. For Death is like the gorgon, Medusa, who when perceived, turns the body to stone. Those who know Death take the knowledge of his shadowed face with them to wherever it is he leads our dearly departed by the hand. All who are left behind must wait their turn to glance into the eyes of the one who will close our mouths forever.

A dragon grows in leaps and bounds,Like troubles mounting by the pound.Its stature heightens day to day,Imposing dread and deep dismay.A paralyzing roar it gainsWhile from its snout hot fire rains.It sees you shrink. Your fear it knows.And by the hour the nightmare grows.Unless you slay the dragon soon,Your troubles may become your doom.

Silly little monster_ all would say.They__ scratch its head and turn awayuntil it snatched their tiny noses.They couldn__ even smell the roses!Ever after, every childdreaded monsters, fierce or mild.

Sipping teawith gleebeneath a gooseberry tree.I wish Alice were here.Oh, my dear,do not fear,she will be.

You tell me that yes, I can do it. I know. And I may do it, if I so choose.You tell me that no, I cannot. I say, Oh? I shall do it, since you refuse!

Things always appear clear and simple from behind glass. It is in the thick of tribulations that blurring details arise, complicating my life. You can't rightly judge me, nor can you assist, from a shielded viewpoint.