Mate, …We Got Your Back.

Perfect.  Reblogged.

Local Heart, Global Soul

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

A cowardly attack by someone armed with an automatic weapon against innocent, unarmed people on their knees in prayer.

What chance did these peaceful people have?

The perpetrator livestreamed innocent peoples last moments of life as he murdered them, how low can a human being go?

Human being is too good a word, calling him one casts a shadow over all of humanity who find this utterly deplorable. This coward is a monster.

Apparently according to his manifesto the thought that a little out of the way place like New Zealand was immune to this kind of thing, was precisely the reason why Christchurch, New Zealand was *chosen* for this attack.

This coward of a perpetrator wanted that people felt that nowhere in the world was safe.

R.I.P. the poor souls who only wanted to pray peacefully: you didn’t in any way, shape or form deserve this.

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In the Depths of Your Dreams…

Did a plant ever speak to you from the depths of a dream?  (A dog did in mine, once)

After you’re good and dead, what do you want? Not that it’ll make any difference…probably.  But really, would you like to carry any of you into the transition?

What do you hope for after death pulls the shade on you from this side?

To remember? How we value our consciousness, our own me-ness.

Perhaps, if we re-merge with the womb…would that be progress?  Who said anything about progress?  Was it Mary Kay?

Were we meant to always be separate?  What does meant mean, anyway?

I wouldn’t opt for hell, but not to be disrespectful, feel I don’t want to be dandled on another father’s knee forever, either.

Do I really want to be alone forever?  (Just not with some people, I guess).  What a mouthful: forever!

Back to consciousness.  While I don’t want Groundhog Day every lifetime,  is it all downhill after this?  Back to the atom after Beethoven?

Do I not get a goody for not throttling my husband?  If so, what would that goody be?

I won’t care any more, they say.  I’d better let go or stay on as a ghost.

Dust to dust…”Hey! I’m in here!”

Like sleeping, they say, but no dreaming?

What do you want to dream about forever?  The past? The future? The eternal now?

In your dreams did a plant ever speak to you?

 

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Scary Things Not Mentioned

It’s frightening how the media seems afraid of scaring the public with mention of climate change–I’ve never heard that word mentioned on internet weather forecasts, and Trump’s threat about his access to rough people, bikers and the military feels equal to his pulling his mask off; and I see no mention of it this morning on the internet. Are they trying to figure how to respond without frightening the pants off everyone but the rough followers, the bikers and the military?

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“Morality Isn’t Necessary in a President?”

What was all that business about Trump signing Bibles, anyway?

If I was a Christian I’d be apoplectic.

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Metaphorically Speaking…

Recently I quoted someone to the effect that if you didn’t have a language how could you think.  I’ll write more about that some day, but for now my head is being flooded with thoughts–maybe a manic episode.  So many things pushing to get the limelight, to make it to paper and to Word Press.  Silly, isn’t it.  My readers they number maybe three. That’s okay if many of my  followers are commercial.  It’s getting it all out of me that counts.

For instance, I realize that the way I’m surviving a caustic world is by padding myself with Ann Perry books.  Occasionally lines float down into my consciousness from somewhere. Today it was “How Great Thou Art.”  When I was writing a poem the other day the tune “Help Me Make It Through the Night” played repeatedly on my mental victrola.

When I’m being good to myself I select memories that comfort me.  One I treasure is from a visit to my aristocratic grandparents in Chevy Chase from down home on Tremont Avenue next to the city dump in Charlotte, North Carolina.  We were at the dinner table flanked with candles and  finger bowls and my grandfather was observing that men like the Shriners were declasse–tho I’m sure he didn’t use that word–“common,”  maybe, whereupon I piped up immediately, with certainty. “Unh unh!  My uncle _____  back home is a Shriner,”  whereupon he very gently said, “Then I must be wrong.”  The love and caring behind those words still warm me.

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Five Practical Ways to Support a Grieving Parent

Beautiful and heart-touching advice. Thank you for sharing.

thelifeididntchoose

It’s oh, so hard to know what to do when you are watching a heart break.

You want to reach out and make it better, make the pain go away, make a difference.  But it seems like nothing you can do will matter much in the face of such a huge loss.

While it’s true that you cannot “fix”  the brokenness in a bereaved parent’s life, there are some very important and practicalways you can support them in their grief-especially as the weeks turn into months and then to years.

a little consideration eeyoreHere are five practical ways to support grieving parents:

  • Remember anniversaries and birthdays.  Take note of the date our child left this life, his or her birthday, the day of the funeral-trust me, you aren’t reminding us of anything-we cannot forget!  When someone else shares that they remember too it is so, so encouraging.  It…

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What’s the Lowdown on Charter Schools Anyway?

Go here. Find out.  Diane Ravitch suggests:

https://networkforpubliceducation.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/NPE-Report-Charters-and-Consequences.pdf

CHARTERS AND CONSEQUENCES:
THE NETWORK FOR
PUBLIC EDUCATION
An Investigative Series
by the Network for Public Education

Image: Johnson City Press.com

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