In My Own Dignified Time

Yesterday, in a restaurant, I was talking calmly about spirituality, to someone who had engaged me in conversation. After a
while, a third person, at another table, joined in, and soon, I became an observer of the other two as they spoke. It didn't
take long before I started to notice, what I call "ego surges" from the self invited newcomer to the discussion, with the other man involved, being forced into a defensive position...made me wonder how "spiritual" this approach was to the topic of
spirituality. I've noticed this agressive tendency, I was witnessing, before. It has even become enshrined in debating societies
of various kinds. It seems to be an effort to seek domination over another, by force of argument or personality. My own
preference about learning from others, is not to do so, when they've placed a boot firmly on my throat, and are trying to make me submit to their "superior" intellect or power. It is, instead, to process what someone has said, in my own dignified time, and then accept or reject it, as I see fit. For this reason, yesterday, I quickly became a non-participant in what I saw beginning to unfold. Within minutes, I got up, turned to the two getting involved with each other, and said, with a smile and with my arms outstretched, "Blessings"...then went on my way...leaving what seemed to me to be...one more piece of ego play...behind me. Quester.

Poem: My Walking Stick

Under grey skies I move through pink petals...
walking stick in hand...twirling the morning away...
Strangers have often said to me, "Nice cane"...
breaking the northern rule not to talk to strangers...
to which I have replied...making a conscious effort
to dull my tendencies towards self righteousness...
"It's not a cane...it's a walking stick...you know...
the opposite concept...not a crutch but something
to celebrate your walks with...something to hold
in your right hand that gives you that purposeful feeling...!"
They often at this point give me a dubious look
as if the thought of a stick in hand for purposes other than
support or weaponry...is not really a starter in the "real world"...
Young women on crowded buses have often given me their seats
from either fear or guilt...as I suddenly appear stick in hand before them...
To think you are being perceived by the opposite sex
as either frightening or infirm is not a thought that sends
the ego cartwheeling...and you find yourself through clenched teeth
declining the kind offer...As you persist...stick in hand being misunderstood...
you sometimes long for someone you run into to get what it is you're doing...
with no explanations necessary...This morning...as I walk I look up
along the wet bepetalled sidewalk...to see a pretty young woman in black...
approaching me from the opposite direction...with a staff in her hand...
the size of the one Friar Tuck used to carry...As she comes abreast of me...
she smiles at me in a knowing way as she takes in that I too am carrying
something in my right hand other than groceries or an overnight bag...
Our eyes meet...and amazed at my brazeness I hear myself saying: "Wanna fence?"...
resisting at the last millisecond the temptation to start click-clacking on her stave
with my walking stick..."Right on!" she says with a conspiratorial smile...
Any decision to be made about stopping to get further acquainted...
is made redundant by our mutual momentums carrying us in opposite directions...
I have no regrets though as I walk on...with a sudden spring in my step...
and giving my stick an extra twirl or two...I see this not as a missed opportunity...
but as a meeting..brief though it was...with someone who finally understands...
that what I carry in my hand...is not a cane to prop me up as I go...
but plainly and simply...the thing they used to call in more enlightened times...
a "walking stick"........

A Natural Sweetness

I have never been impressed by those who thump holy books and spout chapter and verse, but under what they say I hear
a message of fear and exclusion, contradicting the message of love their path is supposed to be about. I have been
impressed, instead, by what I sometimes call, a "natural sweetness", in some people I meet, who make me feel that whatever path it is, they might say they follow, I can see it is working for them. To me the ability to make self righteous quotes, or
"bear witness" in verbal ways, pales before this "sweetness" I speak of. In my neighbourhood market, over many months, I've
noticed this very sweetness in one of the cashiers working there. She is an oriental looking woman, with an open smile, and
with a way of speaking, that is not like the "have a nice day" saccharine that oils the wheels of commerce, we usually encounter. This morning, she was the person at the cash register, as I came through. Noticing her exchanges with a previous
customer, I said: "You're in good form today!"..."I'm always in good form!" she replied..."I've noticed that before" I said, "What
is your secret?"..."My secret?" she said, pausing..."My secret is, I have Jesus in my life!"..."Your path is working", I said, "That
is what I go by, not what people say about their paths...and I salute you!"..."Thank you!" she said, giggling. "Come back here
any time!". We parted. I was glad I'd had the opportunity to ask her what her secret was, and that she was willing to answer in such a fortright way. It all reminded me of some words I'd learnt as a child, that still have meaning for me, in a world where
people say, they follow this or that path. It was the simple sentence: "By their fruits you shall know them!". Quester.

Playing with Pixels

Resumed my making of digital pictures today, reminding me what a gift to my life, "playing with pixels" has been. When I
first acquired my current computer, I noticed that a painting program had been included, in its "bundle of possibilities". The
seeming impossibility of making lines and shapes, with a mouse, caused me to hold back for about four months, before I
took the plunge. Getting the hand to mouse to screen thing fluid, wasn't easy at first, but it didn't actually take too long
before I was experimenting with gradients and "S" tools. The picture maker in me, often calls to me, to be exercised, and
doing "digital aerobics" on my computer, answers this call...without having to set out paints and canvas, or engage in the very slow and messy unfolding involved, in putting paint to canvas. As an "organic picture maker", I can test my picture
making ideas out, in rapid succession, not having to wait a week, for my canvas to tell me if my most recent idea, is working
or not. This opens the way for me to engage in my other creative idioms, song making, and poetry and prose writing. I am
a believer in the value of creating, to human growth and development, beyond whatever its material pay offs may be...also...
making digital pictures pleases me, and keeps the picture maker in me from going to sleep...and...I've actually taught myself,
based on my making of digital pictures...to create covers for my cd's, and posters, with other possibilities beckoning. I'll
never turn my back, on putting paint to canvas. At times, I miss the substantial presence of the results it offers, and its
pleasing tactile aspect, that can lead to relaxation. However...it's been an empowering and sometimes joyful thing, being able
to go "off line", when I need to, so I can "go play with the pixels". Quester.

Poem: Outlooks

As I sit with my nose pressed
to my front window...I look down
at the untidy tops of trolley buses...
flowers put out on the sidewalk...
and roofs of houses stretching down to the inlet...
When I sit lower on my couch...
all of that disappears...
and it's only white headed mountains
light grey clouds and blue sky I see...
So much of life has to do with outlook...
So much of outlook has to do
with where you are standing or sitting at the time
and how much gets blocked out of your view...
or is included...
If you want to change the picture of life you are seeing...
all you have to do is change the position you are looking at it from...
there are any number of those available...at any given time...
including the one you get standing in someone else's shoes...

As You Probably Already Know

In a recent posting I mentioned how "Email Time" can be a "laceration free zone". For years I've known how human beings can
benefit each other as they interact, but, sometimes, create a "laceration dense zone", with the tactless and unempathetic
things they say to each other, that can stop a fruitful meeting from happening. One of the ways this disruption of good
communication happens, is the way some people, sometimes, do not actknowledge, what the person they're talking to has
said, but, ego to the fore, dismiss or even try to "trump" it. A friend of mine, in Paisley, Scotland, once taught me, without
trying to be a teacher, an optimum way of actknowledging, someone you're trying to communicate with. After I had said
something, he'd say, "Well D, as you probably already know"...and then state his opinion. This simple preface to what he was
about to say, made me feel he was recognising, that I had some ideas of my own, before he told me some of his, and made
me want to listen to what he had to offer. When I can remember to, I have practised this lesson in good communication, and
it always seems to help my inter-faces with others. This approach does work...as you probably already know!. Quester.

Creativity Rules

First posted April 14th, now typo free, and with some changes: i've sung in schools a lot and sometimes given workshops
to students. In a work shop encouraging creativity, there was a slot alloted, for sharing poems, or anything else that was created. I noticed how when a participant was brave enough to get up and share a creation, how some others would start heckling that person. This was not the climate of encouragement I had hoped to create among the children present. It didn't
take me long to find a response to this behaviour. When a heckler was identified, I would tell that person: "O.K....You're up
next to share something you've created!". This worked like a charm snuffing out the carping in these sessions. I guess what happened was that when a student knew that he or she would be up next, it forced that person to face the fear of making a fool of him or herself, and to realize that it was wise not to put down anyone who was brave enough to do it. That
experience underlined for me something that I already knew. It was that whatever place criticism may have in our lives, I
will always put creativity ahead of it...knowing that criticism is always reactive, needing to ride on the back of those who
generate something new into this world, rather than stand on its own two feet...and that I would always feel empathy for, and
want to encourage, those who are brave enough to create something, imperfect as it may be, in a world dominated by
consumerism and criticism. Quester.

The Eleventh Commandment

Before I start: learnt yesterday my blog is now listed with: www.blogwise.com Posting: A couple years ago I designed a
poster, with the outline of a "heavenly personage" proclaiming in the caption below: "and the Eleventh Commandment is:
THOU SHALL NOT BE BORING". This notion, came out of years of hearing people wail, "I'm bored!", and always resisting the
temptation to say, "maybe that's because you're a boring person". So far, I don't know of any scientific studies that link
"being bored" with "being boring", but there have been times when I've suspected that there was a connection. I venture to
say this because I am a believer that we all carry in us, the potential to "un-bore" ourselves...but maybe we just haven't been
taught about that in our schools, or arrived at a way of utilising this potential. Sometimes when we say we are bored with
something we are being exposed to, it could simply be that we are prejudiced against it, and are simply not open to what is
interesting about it. The good news in all this is, that as human beings we have been endowed with minds, a sense of wonder, imagination, and the potential to create things...the latter being, a place I've gone to many times when "Bores-ville"
threatened to engulf me. I think our society has trained us to be ace consumers, rather than creators, and from early in our
lives we have been taught, "having a job" is the thing, never mind going with our fertile imaginations, or wondering about
puzzles we encounter in life, or in Creation. It is true that we often find ourselves, in life, in situations loaded with drabness
or predictability, that make us squirm with restlessness. I've often tried to harness such times, as grist for my creative mill, or
make it a time to see the sillyness in the situation I'm in, or of myself, or anyone else putting up with it. So...there's hope
after all, that "un-boring" ourselves is indeed possible. May all who see this posting, be freed of "boring" situations, and, if
not, keep finding ways not to break the Eleventh Commandment...great though the temptation may be. Quester.

Flies around the honey pot

Today...I read an article in the Globe and Mail with the bold headline: "Paint Brawl"...about squabbling between vying interests
hoping to protect their turf...in order to make money from the paintings of Norval Morisseau, Ojibwa artist. Norval, in the
meantime...his health failing...is in an extended care facility in Nanaimo, British Columbia...with his fragile state upping the
value of his pictures...as the vultures circle. Norval's powerful, mysterious, and other worldly pictures, once inspired me to
write a song about him called: "Copper Thunderbird". Once, at a Native gathering in Vancouver, when his life was at a low ebb, I told him about the song as I shook his hand, to let him know, that in his life he had inspired people. He didn't comment about that...guess he already knew that, and had been a magnet for people seeking him out, for a long time.
For me, the artist and his work will always come first, never to be confused by what the manipulators of market value make
of it. I don't think I'll ever be impressed by how much a painting sold for...I know that that is not about artist's work, but
is usually about the sordid manipulations of grasping Middle Men, and the possessive inclinations of collectors, rather
than the intrinsic beauty of a picture. So...I will continue to let Norval's images speak to me...the way they always have...free
from what the critics might have to say about them...or the bickerings and machinations of non-generators of art...the ones
I sometimes call: "flies around the honey pot". Quester.

Email Time

Recently, when my computer was down for three weeks, I realized moreso than ever, how easy and convenient it has been,
to communicate with "the world" via email, from my own home. I look forward to "email time", especially since I was driven
a while ago to call my internet service provider, and ask them to throttle spam intended for me, so it never gets through to
me, and they've done that, although some keeps slipping through. Anyway...I like email...it has boosted my communications
with people many times over...since the long hand letter writing days. It offers a pretty "laceration free" zone, in a way
person to person meetings and phone calls might not...given the way people can trigger each other as they converse...into
saying things they hadn't intended to say. As you compose an email, you have time to consult your "inner lawyer", if need be,
decide if this or that is what you really want to say, before you say it. I remember many times in the past being ambushed, when I picked up the phone, by someone I wasn't ready for then, or, any time. Emailing by-passes the ambush
factor, and you reply to an email, when you're ready for it, and only if you want to. Even as I sing the praises, however, I see
the danger of email becoming a place where people choose to hide away, from real contact with each other, and choose a
life of "virtual reality", instead. There always was, and there still is, a place in our human lives, for meeting eye ball to eye ball, or at least, being able to hear each other's voices on a phone line. In embracing the digital age, we want to make sure,
we still keep in our lives, times for "live interaction". whether it comes with lacerations sometimes, or not. Whatever we do, I don't think we want to become virtual reality phantoms, floating across the cool expanses of cyber space...never allowing ourselves to be exposed to the tear or the twinkle in each others eyes or voices, or, on-goingly repressing our ancient human need, at least some of the time, to be within touching distance of each other. Quester.

Working With What You've Got

Someone, who has asked me in the past to comment on her writing, has not responded to my email introducing my blog...
interesing...people not being prepared, to give, what they want to receive...happens all the time in our world. Sometimes...
when there has been one more let down from one of the flock...I almost give up hope about such an undependable lot...
then I remember...that I can't decide...right...I've had enough...so I'm going to spend some time with the liberated beings
of Mars or Pluto...I remember that...reliable or not...this is who I've got to work with...and there are really no options...
unless you go the cat or dog route for reliable companionship...but knowing that really doesn't work for me. I also realize...
that I too have done my share of let downs...so...looks like forgiving myself...and forgiving everyone else...for sins committed
or still to be delivered on...is the only way to go. Life...when all is said and done...is about working with what you've got...
rather than waiting...for yourself or anyone else...to arrive at perfection...before you start living...or loving...Quester.

English Bay

Written yesterday by English Bay: This afternoon, the sun and almost cloudless sky has brought me to English Bay...wish this
place still had its aboriginal name...it must have had one. Ever since I moved to this west coast city, I have come to this bay,
and to Stanley Park on its shores, on windy, wet, grey or sunny days, through all seasons. For me it is the heart of my city. it is the place I come to when I am jangled, or need to clear my mind, from the dissonances of the inner city. The finger of the Pacific, that reaches in, close to my feet, the misted mountain ranges that rise across the water, and the straight, tall, and ancient trees close by, tell me, "never mind...there is still hope..."when my light burns low. I've noticed for a long time, how a sunny day, brings other lemmings like myself, down, to throng the sea wall path, and create a festive air, at ocean's edge. Right now, a slightly cool breeze blows into my face, as the waves roll in, below my feet as I write. In this place, I have seen,
eagles circling high or swooping low... harbour seals peeking at the land lubbers gawking at them...otters slicing the water
as they head unwaveringly home...black and white ducks rising off the waves and filling the air with a whistling sound...
herons like statues with their feet in the water...teaching whoever would learn...about harvesting the fruits of calmness and
patience...and, of course, humanoids, of all description, offering a people watching feast, or sometimes open enough to
engage in pleasant conversation. My walks along the sea wall path have nourished body, spirit, and imagination, and have
been central in making me a walker for life. Today...once again...something tells me that one of the smartest things I ever
did, was to leave my rambling behind, and become a citizen, of this generous place...Vancouver...by the calming Pacific...
and the always beckoning Coast Mountains. Quester.

Time of Petals

Today, the sun is shining out of a sky, its blue undisturbed by even a single cloud...I move along side walks, strewn with
pink and white petals, and under branches that can no longer contain their bounty...above me...swaying softly to a slight
breeze. From time to time, petals sift lazily down, like messages from the sky, some caressing my face, or lighting on my blue cap and spring jacket...It is the Time of Petals, in my city, on the west coast of Canada...a time for those who walk some
of its tree lined streets to be greeted, for a day or two, like emperors or holy men, as they go their anonymous ways...It is
a time when...briefly...Creation "gets into your face", as if to say..."So...you haven't been noticing the mist on the mountains,
or the light on the rippling ocean, or the low lying flowers of spring...well...here is something you can't miss...petals...in
your face and at your feet...wake up...and see Creation dance...while you still breathe...and know that whatever your doubts
may have been...you are blessed...as you and all walk...inside of your Garden in the Sky"...............Quester

Poem: Sirens on Hastings

Sirens on Hastings slice into my after brunch drowsiness...
trouble is happening for someone other than me somewhere along the corridor...
this afternoon...like every other afternoon...every other midnight...
I'm lucky I know...only having to stare at a blank piece of paper...
hoping to fill its white expanses soon...rather than be lying on my back..
on some cold and wind blown side walk staring up at some vague patch of sky
and wondering if the ambulance man will reach me in time...
In the close enough to feel distance Mount Seymour is grizzle headed...
and merging into a grey swirl of clouds...Grouse Mountain and the Two Sisters...
known by the Johnny Come Latelys as the Lions Heads...are lost in the vapours of spring...
interfering with my view of the world from my window today...
Like a surgeon at his operating table I tug and slice at the low cloud cover inside of me...
calling me to fall asleep at the life wheel and let another afternoon slip by...
like a mummy in his bandages...too frozen to do anything about it...
Today...I do not reach for lightening bolts of illumination or the shaman's rattle
and incantations to change the energy inside and outside of me...but rub pen against paper
in a small act of defiance against the valium of inertia and thank the siren's wail
at my window...for giving me my afternoon wake up call...............

Violets by Mossy Stones

One of the good things I remember about my schooling in a British colony...[perhaps in another posting I'll deal with some
of the idiocies in my colonial brain washing]...was some of the poems learnt and sometimes recited. Although I've forgotten
just about everything else about the poem in question, I remember Wordsworth in it, describing a woman of great
quality, but who was likely to live her life, unknown...as a "violet by a mossy stone". I hope, I never make the mistake of
confusing the quality of a person, with his or her notoriety...and so, that phrase describes beautifully, most of the people who have impressed or inspired me, in my life...people who bloom beautifully, whatever their lot in life may be, without
being warped by "letting ambition turn them ugly"...[a phrase from an unfinished poem of mine]. I've never had an "idol" in
my life,or been impressed by celebrity. I suppose that is because I've observed for too long, the compromises and the
ruthless moves, usually involved in finding fame, or acquiring empires...as I live in a world where celebrity and those who
have "made it", dominate our newspapers and television screens. Apart from a handful of "well knowns" like Ghandi and
Mandela, the people who impress me have qualities, such as: a natural sweetness, an irrepressible sense of humour, a
graceful bravery, through many hardships, and much evidence of living from their authentic, rather than false selves...
So...here's to my "violets by mossy stones"...may they continue...to bloom long and beautifully! Quester.

Darkness and Light: Simultaneously Available

Some time ago, I wrote a song called, "This Crazy World", which, in each of its verses, expressed something I found ugly, and
something I found beautiful in this world. The song came after the realization that, since we human beings have been on this
earth, we have generated much pain, suffering, and just plain ugliness. We only have to tune into the evening news or read
the morning newspapers, to see that we have a way of keeping on this unpleasant trail. There have been times in my life
when I encountered so much of this, that it was hard for me to see anything more encouraging about us. That was, before it
came to me that, simultaneously available, to us, with all this, was much evidence of beauty and light:...the brilliant visual
opulence of spring time...the mysterious beauty of the mountains...the soothing qualities of the sound of the ocean, and a
myriad other gifts of an abundant Creation...the fineness in people, manifesting in genuine acts of kindness, far away from
witnesses, cameras, or applauding audiences...the sweetness, some people emanate, every time you meet them, soothing
you, and telling you, all is not lost...the crazy and inspiring things we create, that proclaim that there is much about us that
is worthwhile and uplifting. I could go on...but at the core of my realization, that there are these two central paradoxical
qualities of our species, existing side by side, at all times... was that my job as a human being, is to do what the plants do,
as they turn and reach for the sun, and that is, even though we musn't hide our heads in the sand from the expressions of
darkness around us, and if we can do something to change them, do so...to keep choosing to open ourselves to the beauty
and light, that is never far away...Quester.

No Surrender...Maybe

One of the things I tend to notice, are words that we accept and use blithely, and never question, that end up imprisoning us in some way. Many's the poetry magazine, or newspaper, that has missed out on having access to my "pearls of wisdom
and sensitivity", because of the usage of one six letter word. It is the word "submit", as in the sentence, "To have a chance
of being published submit three pieces of your work". Call me a nit picker, but I've always felt ill at ease with this call to
"surrender", so that I can get people to lend me their pages. Instead, two words, with the same number of letters, "send us", would have given me permission to get in touch. Today, I decided to check the internet dictionary, to see what they had to say about this word, in the event I'd been over reacting. What I found was a dark treasure trove of synonyms, among them:
"acquiese, appease, be submissive, bend, bow, buckle, capitulate, cave, cede, concede, cry uncle, defer, eat crow, eat dirt, fold, give away, give ground, give in, give way, knuckle, knuckle under, kowtow, obey". With this discovery I felt instant validation, for my not being in the habit of generating "submissions". I've learnt never to say never though. Who knows?...
maybe someday, if my written utterances keep blowing back in my face, I might finally decide, its time for me to "cry uncle",
"eat dirt", or "knuckle", and finally accept, a universal but questionable usage of a word. Quester.

How are you doin'?

In my coffee place this morning I heard this exchange, A: "How are you doin'?" B: "I don't know". A:"You don't know how
you're doin'?"...At this point B was silent, instead of saying, "I know you're just engaging in a social pleasantry, and you don't
really want to know, how I'm doing, so why should I tell you anything more?". It's often occurred to me that on being asked this question, if you were to launch into a litany about your slipped disc, your migraines, and your triple hernia, the asker of
the question, would recoil in horror...[maybe one of these days I'll try that approach]. I suspect most people answer "fine", to
stop that line of questioning in its tracks, when, often, this might be the furthest thing from the truth. I think that asking
this question, usually, has nothing to do, with wanting to know about someone's state at the time. but is done as a "starter upper", as insincere as it may be. In some parts of the world, however, people don't go the insincere route. In my own country of origin, Guyana, I think the people have come up with an honest way of dealing with this question. The response in the local dialect is, "Me deh", which means "I am" or "I am here". What a succinct and straightforward response that is!...the equivalent of, "you see me standing before you here, and that's all you really need to know right now". So...the next time in my adopted country, someone asks me this question, that no-one, usually, wants to know the answer to, I'll revert to my roots, and hit them with a quick, "Me deh!", and leave them to figure out what that means, rather than lay a lie on them, out of anymore insincere politeness. Quester.

Waitin' in the Doctor's Office

Years ago I wrote a kid's song...it's first verse said: "Waitin' in the doctor's office/ I've got to be really patient/ That's why they
call us patients/ 'Cos we wait a long long time". Today I had occasion to practise that patience once more. I'd been summoned to a visit to discuss my lab results. Don't know about anyone else, but visiting the doctor is one of my least
favourite things...doing so to "discuss lab results", is even less alluring. You can't help wondering from the time you've been
asked to come in for one of these, if you're going to be hit with the news that you have one of the "biggies", and from this day on, your life as you knew it is going to be changed forever. At these times, I have to work particularly hard, at curbing my
"catastrophic imagination", reminding myself that it could be, only something minor, like, my "such and such" level is a bit
high, and I have to refrain from eating french fries or lemon meringue pie...that, I know I can deal with, without too much
discomfort. Anyway, after spending my time in the waiting cubicle, looking at, tongue depressors, those menacing latex
examining gloves, and a close to hand box of Kleenex, in case of diabolical news, my doctor arrived. I am glad that I can
ask him questions, and get replies from him, that don't make "the assumption of idiocy", in replying to what I want to know.
Turned out, my "such and such" level was quite high, and I need to take certain vitamins to bring it down, to a good working
level. I was very relieved at having "avoided the knife" one more time. I felt lucky and very thankful, knowing that's all it was,
and that I'd have at least another three months, before I might have to work on my "catastrophic imagination", again.
Peace. Quester.

Moving the Organism

I do a lot of walking, and sporadic bicycle riding. A few hours ago I finished a one hour exercise session, to music I like, in
the privacy of my own home. I've done that for forty-two of the last forty-three days. I try to be daily about it, knowing how
easily I can fall out of shape, in the absence of "moving the organism", as I call it. I've never been concerned about gaining weight, and that's not why I exercise. I do so to keep fit and to clear my clouded head. For someone with "clouded head
syndrome", it has helped me, each time, to chase away the clouds for a while. I guess the serotonin surge only works for a
short time, before it fades on you, and so the clouds have a way of returning, so you can chase them away, one more time.
I've never felt the need to join an expensive health club, and move to music I don't particularly like, with an instrustor barking orders, at me and the rest of the sweaty crew. Perhaps people with inordinately busy schedules, have good reason to go that route, but since I don't believe in "inordinately busy schedules", and see through the hype about spending money to keep fit,
I'll continue, solo, in the privacy of my own home, to "move to the music" and "chase the clouds away", knowing that when
they return, I'll be ready for them, as I get a little fitter...every day.

Real Communication

In my life I have a need for "real communication" but have often found it to be in short supply. I suspect others have
experienced this too. It, often, probably has to do with the world being full of people who want to talk, but not many who
want to listen. In future postings, I'll return to this subject, but, for now, I'd like to offer, a short poem I wrote years ago,
about "communication difficulties" in relationships. I call it my "martial bliss" poem. Peace. Quester.
POEM
I've got nothing to say...he said...
with everything caught in his throat...
If you've got nothing to say...say it...she said
On second thought...don't bother...
YOU TALK TOO MUCH!!!

I express, therefore, I endure

I've been writing songs, poems, and prose, for many years. Enduring what we human beings go through, and being mute
about it, would be too much to bear, so my approach has been, "I express, therefore, I endure", and it has worked so far.
Starting this blog is an extension of all that. I don't believe in giving away my power to others, to define my life or my work,
if I can help it, and with what I create, I've always been looking for ways I can by-pass the "Middle Man". It looks like blogging
will give me a chance to do this, I hope to do three or more postings a week, so, stay tuned! Peace. Quester.