Some Thoughts On Thoughts ~ Early Evening Thoughts

It was still dark when I awoke. There was nothing but the normal sounds of the area around where I live. What woke me? I realized that my mind hadn’t really calmed down from yesterday and was still “working over” things of the day…and was trying to borrow trouble from the day that was about to start.

Of course, things at that time of night/day for me become even more magnified…When I finally did get up ~ I was still tired. And my mind was still “yapping” about what had to get done, what hadn’t gotten done and what wasn’t GOING to get done. I couldn’t even begin to enjoy the light of day with all I had accepted (key word: accepted) as being on my plate. In all honesty, I was discouraged.

This post is not a “poor me” post ~ but is part of the continuing journey that I share here. It colored my entire morning and much of the afternoon. It was difficult not to become irritated at things that were completely out of my control, and to lose control over what WAS in my control.

Often in situations such as this, I like to turn sometimes to what others have to say on a subject … hopefully, you will find these helpful ~ as I did.

Take These Thoughts With You
On Your Journey To Your Dreams

Don’t ever forget that you are unique. Be your best self and not an imitation of someone else.

Find your strength and use them in a positive way. Don’t listen to those who ridicule the choices you make.

Travel the road that you have chosen and don’t look back with regret. You have to take chances to make your dreams happen.

Remember that there is plenty of time to travel another road – and still another – in your journey through life.

Take the time to find the route that is right for you. You will learn something valuable from every trip you take, so don’t be afraid to make mistakes.

Tell yourself that you’re okay just the way you are. Make friends who respect your true self.

Take the time to be alone, too, so you can know just how terrific your own company can be.

Remember that being alone doesn’t always mean being lonely; it can be a beautiful experience of finding your creativity, your heartfelt feelings, and the calm and quiet peace deep inside you.

Don’t ever forget that you are special and you have within you the ability to make your dreams come true.
—Jacqueline Schiff

Today’s Dreams Are
Tomorrow’s Successes

Don’t be afraid of high hopes or plans that seem to be out of reach.
Life is meant to be experienced, and every situation allows for learning and growth.

Motivation is a positive starting point, and action places you on a forward path.
A dream is a blueprint of a goal not yet achieved; the only difference between the two is the effort involved in attaining what you hope to accomplish.

Let your mind and heart urge you on; allow the power of your will to lead you to your destination.

Don’t count the steps ahead; just add up the total of steps already covered, and multiply it by faith, confidence, and endurance.

Always remember that for those who persist, today’s dreams are transformed into tomorrow’s successes.
—Kelly D. Caron

This is my all time favorite quote (I’m sorry I don’t know where it’s from): Any problem worthy of attack will prove it’s worth by hitting back.

Another In A Flash ~ Late Night Thoughts

Following up on my last flash fiction post, here are three more examples.

From Vestal Review: A good flash, replete with a cohesive plot, rich language and enticing imagery, is perhaps the hardest type of fiction to write. A good flash is so condensed that it borderlines poetry. A good flash engages your mind not only for the short duration of its read, but for a long time after.


The Indian woman sits, cross-legged, in the burning tan sand, a wooden barrel confined within the space between her legs. She does not move, does not appear to be breathing. She stares at him, skin burnt and dry. Simply stares. The plumes of flame that spire from the barrel separate her face from his, making her facial expressions indecipherable and barely visible. Her thin lips do not move, but he hears her. She asks if he wants water. Tongue swollen and mouth parched, he tries to reply, but it is futile. She understands, though he has not spoken. She raises her hand in warning. For what reason? He does not know. Ah! The thirst! It is driving him mad.

“Water,” he manages to speak. Spittle forms at the corners of his mouth. His broken-down jeep is far; he has come a long way and if he doesn’t drink now, he will surely die of dehydration, very painfully.

Her face remains passive, but there is a hint of decisiveness in her expression. She nods.

“Before you drink, boy, be warned: for each gulp of water you take, you lose one year off your life.” She reaches into the burlap bag beside her and takes out a faded, brown canteen. He snatches it from her frail hands greedily and begins to wrestle with the cap. Finally! It gives. Water spills over his hands and onto his pants. He brings the canteen to his burnt lips and proceeds to drink without counting the gulps. How wonderful it feels running down his dry throat!

He swallows the water…swallows…swallows…swallows. She observes him without action or notice; his skin turns to dust—to sand— until he is no more than a puddle against a sea of sand. A smile passes briefly over her face, then fades. She had warned him…

She leans over and kisses the sand where he once sat, then gets up, brushing sand grains from her lap, then faces the Sun. Steps once toward it, now twice.

Her figure, garbed in brown with ceremonial sashes, trailed by long, salt-and-pepper-colored hair, begins to fade. Now she is translucent…and now she is gone, as though she had never existed.
—Jack Fisher
Copyright © 2000

To Really Hear It

He’s driving in the Sierra Nevada with his wife and their small daughters and the kids are fighting and he can’t take much more of it. He’s tired of everything, really, but then he forgets about the rote of fighting children and harried wife and underpaid work and his occasional excuses for laughter. He escapes from his messy, loud days, but not because of any wonderful thing he didn’t expect to happen—but by the opposite. Tragedy and dread have brought him here, though he hasn’t gone anywhere since the accident occurred. It hasn’t happened all that long ago. In fact, he’s still in the loud, hot crashing of it, and only now seeing how things will end up.

The car has gone through the guardrail and they’re falling. They have no choice now, but to roll and bounce and shred. He’s a high school physics teacher, and so he understands these things. Microseconds turn to years and the violence doesn’t reach him because he’s protected by the car’s seatbelt and safety cage, but he can see it’s not going well for his wife and their small daughters. He tries to will the damage upon himself, but all he can do is watch as the forces of nature tear his family apart. He’s horrified by the cruelty of the equations he’d written on chalkboards. All thoughts of bodily needs and monetary expenditures and his longing for peace and quiet are gone. He wants to go back to the time of squalling children and short-tempered wife. He wants to revel in the sounds of anger and concern, and if that isn’t possible, he wants the accident to continue for all eternity so that at least they can be together. The car is still shredding itself against the stony precipice and his loves are gone now, he can feel it, and he’s never heard such quiet in all his life.

The tumbling continues and he knows he’s alone and that the violence won’t come for him unbidden, and so between impacts he opens the car door and unbuckles his seatbelt and the jaws of nature clamp down on him and pull him out into the maelstrom. He tastes rock and dust and the steely gush of blood, and then suddenly he’s back in the car, driving the winding mountain road, the sky going yellow and silhouetting the pines and the guardrails and the rocky ridgelines, so that everything seems to be tall and two-dimensional and lovely. He wipes the tears from his cheeks and sits up straight and drives carefully. His young daughters are fighting over the last bag of potato chips and his wife is shouting at them to behave themselves, to please, please, please at least try to pretend they are civilized human beings, and there are tears and wails and accusations and all the usual racket of life, and he’s the happiest man who ever lived, to hear it.
–Terry DeHart
copyright 2000

A Civilized Affair

So civilized, he’d said, how she understands the claims of family, dinner parties, holidays. She’s smart as well as beautiful. His wife, well, she’d never understand. Different generation.

Last night he’d insisted on buying champagne for her coming birthday. “Jenny, damn, I wish I could spend it with you.”

“No problem. I’ll find a party,” she’d said, laughing.

His hand had stroked her knee, squeezed. His eyes were warm with admiration and sated lust.

In the cab she pulls at the curls of the barrister’s wig she holds. He’d left it at the oyster bar in a Harrods bag. It is the civilized thing to do, to return it.

Jenny pauses when she sees the house: an enormous Georgian with four cars parked outside.

But the wine still zings through her system and though the maid frowns, Jenny can hear laughter. She walks with long strides, her black cape swinging, his wig atop her head, into the dining room. Ten people glow in the chandelier light. He sees her and his patrician face pales.

“Birthday surprise!” she calls. The words slur. “For me.”

She lifts the wig, then spins it. It settles on the table like a severed head. There is only squirming silence.

“Don’t all sing at once.”

A woman, grey hair in a chignon, classic black dress, rises, smiling. “Jenny!” she says. “Come, dear, let me take your pretty cape.”

Her elbow is held; she is ushered out. In the hallway they regard each other, wife and mistress.

“How?” Jenny asks. ” How did you know my name?”
—Mary McCluskey
copyright 2000

Jack Fisher has been published in over 70 markets including most recently: Dark Regions, Transversions, Space & Time, The Fractal, and more. He edits the horror/dark fantasy magazine, Flesh and Blood and the ezine, Skin and Bones.
Terry DeHart lives in California with his wife and two daughters. He works as a technical writer at NASA/Ames Research Center and helps his father-in-law produce a fine cabernet. Two of his stories were published in bananafish in 1998, one of which was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
Mary McCluskey, a British journalist now living in California, is the author of Match (with Bryan Breed: John Clare Books, UK) and Bel-Air (Pinnacle). Her short fiction has appeared or will appear in Zoetrope All Story Extra, Exquisite Corpse and Linnaean Street (Summer 2000).

All three of these stories were published in The Vestal Review – an online magazine devoted to flash or short-short fiction.

Early Morning Thoughts ~ Poison to Medicine

Remember you’ve got a choice.
When you feel you can’t handle something,
you can either choose to feel miserable and helpless,
or maybe put your life in someone else’s hands to sort out – if they can be bothered.
Or you can decide to take charge ,
take full responsibility for whatever is happening,
even if none of it seems to be your fault,
and decide to turn poison into medicine.

– Geoff from the book, “The Buddha, Geoff and Me”
The spiritual journey does not consist in arriving at a new destination
where a person gains what he did not have
or becomes what he is not.
It consists in the dissipation of one’s own ignorance concerning one’s self and life
and the gradual growth of that understanding which begins the spiritual awakening.
The finding of God is a coming to one’s self
– Aldous Huxley

Sometimes the randomness of thoughts link together and drive the consciousness into places and patterns I have no intention of letting it go. I had a delightful phone call from a dear friend this morning, and several of the topics that we/he gently touched on took hold and roiled around all day. This was also brought to fruition by a chat at the bus stop with someone I know is having a very tough time – with no support system (inner or without) to help.
While this dealing with inner issues certainly is not a bad thing – it did manage to consume time, energy and spirit. As I approached the evening time, I realized I was fatigued. A mental kind of fatigue that at first bothered me – but then I realized it was a fatigue from actually having accomplished some mental/spiritual things.

So, that led to the consideration that over these nights of ideas is the concept of truth, self and love . Is what happened preventing me from being my true self, the self I am intended to be. Was the progression in this life going to change me in such a way that I will not be the me I know now and that the me I know now will not be the me that other people know.

That’s when I once again took a long hard look at a relationship that almost destroyed me. This time on paper – and to place it in public.

When I first met ZZ, he was – or seemed to be – a deep seeker. He also was delightful, charming, funny and in many was in need of support. We became friends. As the time went on I thought the friendship was deepening into a deep friendship. He was just getting over a very deep and prolonged long term relationship and looking, or so I thought, for support. I found out later that his relationship had been predicated on a lie – an absolute lie he created. He wanted me to just be a good deep friend. And I was willing to do/be just that. I didn’t know about the previous relationship being built on a lie, and when he maneuvered me into being something I was not – and this is hard to admit – I went along with it.

When I made that conscious decision, I set myself of a path of absolute destruction. I had allowed the lie to come in, to begin to grow and to make itself quite at home. For a number of years, this lie was as a stage director consuming more and more time for the stage. As I wrote the other night on fences and boundaries – I also believed that the friendship could possibly deepen even further – even though I was so far off ZZ’s radar I wasn’t even a blip on the screen. I began to tear down boundaries and fences and to lay myself open. As I also said the other night, in a relationship this is something that has to be done – but in the wrong situation can be very dangerous.

Now, understand this relationship between ZZ and I was never physical. But it took me quite some time to realize/admit that it was a relationship non-the-less. But there were several things wrong on my part – 1) Who/what I was to him was based on a lie of his choosing and my own accommodation of that lie, 2) I was trying to be what I was not and 3) I was giving up myself piece by piece – belief by belief. I also 4) was hiding my own lies about feelings, beliefs, dreams and hopes. And, of course, when that happens, the well can and will run dry at some point.

Mine ran so dry that I ended up by giving up on everything including life. However, from that lower depths came a wondrous journey … that has me where I am today. To quote what I posted at the top: The spiritual journey does not consist in arriving at a new destination where a person gains what he did not have or becomes what he is not.

Chapter two of the story or as a famous radio commentator/author might say: Tomorrow the rest of the story!

Tulip from Triumph Tulip by Steven N.Meyers (

Early Morning Thoughts ~ Two Very Special Guests

I have been writing about my journey concerning truth, childlike enthusiasm and love. During this time, I discovered a wonderful blog written by Steve and Warren. It’s called simply Our View On Superior. Since they live near Lake Superior – it’s a very apt title.

It also is a searing, unflinching and honest blog. I have it listed in my blogs I read section, but here is another link to it.

For those of us who are “older” we look on in awe at what some people have found together, and Steve and Warren are people who have worked at their relationship, and found something powerful and wonderful. They seem to continue their journey in love and communication with profound respect for each other and for life.

I salute them…and offer this posting in its entirety from their blog for you to see. It deals with words and love. And it touched my heart deeply as well as profoundly.

In an unusual move for me, the only picture in the posting is the one they used on their site … by the poem at the end – which, by the way, is one of the more beautiful ones I have read.

And someday – I hope in the not too distant future – that I will be able to look at my partner this way —

I will be interested in what you think of it …And please do not use their post without asking them first.

It is strange how words can change the flow of life. For nearly eight and one-half years words have been at times misunderstood between us. He is 33 and I am 60, we come to this world and to this relationship from different eras of time. Our words learned and our words spoken do not necessarily mean the same thing in today’s era of time. Steve was taught this, and I was taught that; Steve learned this and I learned that, he understood this and I understood that.

The way we speak, the reason we speak, what we mean, what we don’t mean – are all about us – together and spoken in love.

Words spoken in love, in jest, in kindness, in moments of hurt, in all situations have a way of hurting or helping a relationship such as the one Steve and I share together.

Has it ever happened that you have stopped to think about the power of words? Probably not – because most of us simply do not stop to think – but we speak first and listen second. Depending on how they are used, words can:

* bring about confusion to our lives
* create enormous and very walls that we sometimes hide behind
* come between you and your mate like a razor sharp knife that cuts and hurts one or both of you
* brings about fear and mistrust between you and your mate

Or they can:

* encourage us to try new adventures and new ideals in life
* many times they can bring peace to a hurting and broken heart
* create bridges of our friendship with our mates and increase our love for him
* and even sometimes they can pass on eternal truths to the one we love
* break down walls of fear

Each of these items is true of all words, whether spoken or written.

Your words will show what’s in your heart, so decide about your words carefully, look into your heart. If you find anger, fear, hurt, and other types of darkness; showing or speaking those words to others may not have a good final outcome. Ask me, I’ve done that and so has Steve – we’ve hurt each other and in all cases we truly never meant it.

When your heart is boiling over with respect, gratitude, understanding and love, your words will touch your mate’s heart with softness.

I’ve learned that I need to keep in mind that spoken words can not be unsaid, written words can not be unread.

We each need to learn how to use the power of our spoken and sometimes written words with discretion and leave instead a never ending trail of joy for the man we truly love.

When I lie beside Steve,
His knee presses
Against the underside
Of my knee,
His hand presses
Against my chest,
As if holding me together.
If I wake,
And he isn’t beside me,
I’ll curl up
Like a frightened child,
Lost in the dark,
Afraid to move.
If I wake,
And he isn’t beside me,
The thickest blanket
Won’t keep me warm.
But I wake,
And find him
Beside me.
He holds me together.

Together – love spoken to my mate.

Yes, I have faith.

AbFab Or Not ~

‘Tis the season to be jolly, and totally surprised at gifts, thoughts and people. The other day on public transportation I was amazed at how people were reacting to each other, and anything that might happen. Let’s just say that Santa was going to make a lot of notes on naughty or nice.

I was invited to attend an afternoon party. I knew it was going to be trouble when the host(ess) used the word fabulous four times in the conversation to describe the

So, looking at some ideas that are fabulous (AbFab) or not ….

For those who just have to grab something for a last minute gift, this is NOT what you should offer – even at a white elephant party… No, just NO!!!

Christmas is the time of peace on earth, etc. I have difficulty thinking that these little fellows do much to promote that…actually, nothing at all to promote peace.

And you know your day is less than fabulous if the school calls to say something about your child saying something….

And while we’re on the subject of doing ~ This is NOT an option, even if your neighbor IS playing “Grandma’ got run over by a reindeer” with his flashing lights from 9pm until midnight EVERY night.
(your punishment if you do would be having to watch the Cartoon Network movie of the same name for eternity!!!!)

Now, this one will do without explanation. Perfect for that bratty…um…enthusiastic relation. Just tell them it’s building character, muscles and whatever else you can think of!!!

And now, just for me ~ I wish for peace, joy, happiness all that “stuff.” But what would really make my day, month, year would be to find just the right person under the mistletoe … and then someone could sing (a HUGE choir would be fabulous!!!) I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus! Who would be daddy and what would happen later is NONE of your business!!!

Early Morning Thoughts ~ hold fast to dreams

This was going to be a night I slid into the comforting arms of sleep early. I was going to curl up in the warmth of my mind and allow my body to sink into the relaxed state where pain went away. And, here I am somewhat awake, somewhat sleepy. Feeling as if I am unable to participate totally in either state.

So I began to contemplate dreams – not the air-brushed kind that fade in the morning as the light fog in the garden, but the kind that poets use to drive us onward, upward and to greater accomplishments than we ever thought possible.

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Dreams by Langston Hughes

Once in the dream of a night I stood
Lone in the light of a magical wood,
Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;
And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed
In that magical wood in the land of sleep.
Excerpt from: Song of a Dream
Sarojini Naidu

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation.
Darkness wakes and stir imagination.
Silently the senses abandon their defenses,
Helpless to resist the notes I write,
For I compose the Music of the Night.

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor.
Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender.
Hearing is believing. Music is deceiving.
Hard as lightening, soft as candlelight.
Dare you trust the Music of the Night?

Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth,
And the truth isn’t what you want to hear.
In the dark it is easy to pretend…
That the truth is what it ought to be.

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you.
Hear it, fear it, secretly possess you.
Open up your mind; let your fantasies unwind.
In this darkness which you know you cannot find.
The darkness of the Music of the Night.

Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange new world.
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before.
Close your eyes and let music set you free…
Only then can you belong to me.

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication.
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation.
Let the dream begin; let your darker side give in
To the power of the music that I write,
The power of the Music of the Night.

You alone can make my song take flight.
Help me make the Music of the Night.

“Music of the Night” by Andrew Lloyd Webber

And so I take hold of the music of my dreams
and push them toward reality.
For this is the time of day when
I alone am in charge.
I can dare to hope,
dare to plan
and dare to believe.

I am here!

Evening thoughts~

Today, six hours was spent in an ER center with a dear friend that was in need. When they called him “back” to the hidden area, I was left for most of the time by myself. It gave me a chance to watch people and see what was going on with them. The hospital allowed two times to “visit” my friend in the back area. Which in itself added some surprises. Of course, discovering they had “misplaced” my friend only added to the day.

ER poem 1

I saw the fear
in his eyes.
The not knowing,
not comprehending,
naked fear.

It was all so strange
doing strange
frightening things.

He bit his lower
lip and tried not to

But a small tear
dripped down his
He brushed it away
with a grimy

The man didn’t understand
where he was –
who these people were –
what needed to be done.

The daughter was firm
and somewhat
out of patience.
Her firmness became

It evidently was
as a drill to his
Which melted
much as the boy’s
tear had
But there was
no hand
to brush
it away.

ER poem 2
The trauma team
all wear
black shirts.
Around them
an occasional
flash of
white whirling

I don’t think
I would
want to wake
up surrounded
by black shirts.
There are times
my life is
black enough
as it is.

grateful for all ~

Since I don’t drive, the bus is my usual form of transportation. Several weeks ago, during some really wet, nasty weather, I watched a very elderly, frail gentleman get on the bus with two plastic shopping bags. I became concerned because it was obvious he was not well – at one point he almost passed out from coughing. The bus driver didn’t even ask him for the fare. He sat across from me, and I realized that not only was he not well, but homeless – everything in those two bags was everything he had. Several tried to offer things – but he was (I think) too concerned with getting in trouble with the bus driver – who already had an “I’m thinking how to take care of this” look.

I teared up as I sat there, and realized that no matter what is going on in my life, whatever might not be working well in my body I need to be grateful. I have been blessed. A couple of stops before mine, he got off.

When my stop came as I was leaving, I put the fare for the gentleman in the fare box, and thanked the driver for his kindness.

Old Man In The Park

By David Lewis

Old man why do you walk so slow?
To give me time to see the flowers grow.

Old man why do you stop and linger?
To listen to the birds, natures singer.

Old man why do you smile as lovers walk past?
I remember my youth, which passed so fast.

Old man what is your wish for the world today?
That people love people, stop wars without delay.

Old man who is the Lady by your side?
My wife, now almost seventy years a bride.

Old man,sometimes you look sad, then smile!
Come walk with me, share my dreams, down the last enchanted mile.