spot

He tried to measure his day by tallying the hours on his wrist.I wiped it off and called him a prisoner.He placed the hours on a scalewith hours from former days to compare.I took a hammer and broke it all.He bent down and picked up the shards of minutes firstthen swept the seconds.I told him he__ missed a spot;there were some sparkling specks left.'What are they?' he asked.'Those are moments,' I said.'What are they made of?' he asked.They are times, I thought, when you win a raceor win a heart.They are times when you give birth or lay something, someone to rest.When you wake up in the morning with a smile because anything is possible.When someone compliments the thing you hate most about yourself.Times when you are embarrassed.Times when you are hurtful.Times when you relish in a hearty meal.Times when you service others and are content with a well-spent day.'What are they made of?' he asked again.'They are made up of times when we are fully present.'I picked up one of the specks with the tipof my finger.'Do you remember this?' I asked.'Of course,' he said, 'I was whistling in the kitchen that morning.''Why?' I asked.'Because of the knowledge that I was loved.

Never stand on one spot, always be doing something in line with your calling

This is an ode to life.The anthem of the world.For as there are billionsof different stars thatmake up the skyso, too, are there billions of different humans thatmake up the Earth.Some shine brighter but all are made ofthe same cosmic dust.O the joy of beingin life with all these people!I speak of differencesbecause they are there.Like the different organsthat make up our bodies.Earth, itself, is one large body.Listen to how it howlswhen one human isin misery.When one kills another, the Earth feels the pang in itschest. When one orgasms, the Earth craves a cigarette.Look carefully,these animals are beauty spots that make the Earth__ face lovelier and more loveable.These oceans are the Earth__ limpid eyes. These trees, its hair.This is an ode to life.The anthem of the world.I will no longer speak of differences, for the similaritiesare larger. Look even closer. There may bedistances between our limbs butthere are no spaces betweenour hearts. We long to be one.We long to be in nature andto run wild with its wildlife.Let us celebrate life and living, for it is sacrilegious to be ungrateful.Let us play and be playful, for it is sacrilegiousto be serious.Let us celebrate imperfectionsand make existenceproud of us, for tomorrow isdeath, and this is an ode to life. The anthem of the world.

The motive behind criticism often determines its validity. Those who care criticize where necessary. Those who envy criticize the moment they think that they have found a weak spot.

Some painters transform the sun into a yellow spot, others transform a yellow spot into the sun.

It's a bit of a sore spot, the Thanksgiving in Indian country.

I poured spot remover on my dog. Now he's gone.

Every man has a sane spot somewhere.

Your defeat begins of the exact spot, which you had felt secure.

The guy next to you, is probably saying some kind a truth behind everything or just a peace of it. Nobody knows!...Now your hands bloody, new mysteries new secrets found and some people don't want you to know them. So they kill the person to which you get in contact.... (Blindspot Series!)

Kiss your scars. Fall in love with them. They ought to serve as life-affirming reminders__ lingering trace of hope. The only reason we have these scars is because we survived and are still here.

Each one of us has a unique spot in this harmonious and self-sustaining universe. If our desire is to succeed and enjoy life to the full both personally, professionally, and business wise, we should spot our unique place in the universe.