What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us.
Emerson
*******************
Hello Margie
*******************
"Watchman, tell us of the night."
The night is a better night than iast night, and so is the day.
*************************
There's an old saying "Time is money." You've probably heard that. Well, with clenched fist shaking my rage at the heavens, I gave my self more time and hence more money. I found six days and $48. How did I do that? It's a secret. How can one add six days to his life and translate that into $48? I told you, it's a secret. and a mystery But it means that I will have enough food to get me to the first of August when mine next income cometh in. The secret is that one must evangelize oneself. Get it?
My nasty neighborhood hasn't changed. Yesterday about noon my two immediate neighbors got into a terrible fight out the door, down the steps and all around the parking lot. They were both yelling. He was grabbing her and she was pushing him away. Two police cars came. She got in her car in a fury and drove away. Then she came back. Then the two of them got in the car and drove away. Now both of them are back. It might make an interesting story if I knew what they were fighting about.
What is worth fighting about? Survival. Refusing to give up, refusing to be stagnant, refusing to be minimized, underestimated and disrespected. It is worth fighting for rights, for righteousness and goodness. It is worth fighting for health, happiness and self respect.
Now, you take my neighbor. Please. Take him away from here. He's strong enough to subdue his woman and order around the little girl who lives with them. But he can't control his temper or his mouth. He's a weakling.
The sternest, most difficult enemy we ever have to face is the one inside us. That subtle, conniving, devious creature knows more about us than any other enemy and it knows where our vulnerable points are, our "erroneous zones." But that enemy is also the dragon at the mouth of the cave that holds the great treasures of our lives. Bring the dragon to the mat and the treasures are ours. In the cave we find our knowledge, our genius, our enlightenment. We have won the fight with ourselves and the reward is the golden crown of freedom. That's a fight worth having.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
*************************
Showing posts with label Emerson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Emerson. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Hitching
Set your goals high and don't stop till you get there.
Bo Jackson
**********************
Hello Arlene
**********************
There are too many obstacles in the way of achieving our goals. The higher and more noble the goal the more obstacles we encounter. There must be some kind of sinister law about that. Some people will say not to want too much out of life and that way avoid the troubles that come with trying to get it. There's an old saying I've heard that goes "You always get what you want, so be very careful about what you want."
The human spirit is a flexible thing, thank goodness, and can stretch out to grasp ideas that are higher than the day by day views we have of life. Marcus Aurelius said "A noble man compares and estimate himself by an idea which is higher than himself, and a mean man, by one that is lower than himself." So why not grab a noble idea and pursue it?
I've known people in the past who I admired for their ability to face up to whatever obstacles come up and simply deal with them without getting upset or side tracked. It's the obstacles of life that make us forget what we were really doing before they occurred. It happens to me all the time.
I love to read. I get very bored with books that don't point out new and unusual trails for me to consider. I may get side tracked wandering onto one of those But the adventure is worth it. Sooner or later, however, I have to get out the trail guide and find my way back to the goal that really motivates me, the goal of enlightenment.
Human relationships can also pose enormous obstacles. Did I waste my gentle affection on someone who wasn't worth it? Maybe. But it sure took me down the rocky road to nowhere for a while. On the other hand when Linda R. comes over she jumps in rearranging my books, my furniture and my life. But at the same time she is an artist and a woman of insight and positive energy. If she distracts me from my goal it's a pleasure, doesn't last long and doesn't send me down into the cul de sac. I also have email friends I can count on for words of sanity and sooth. The right companionship is important.
But most important is the size, quality and value of the goals you set for yourself. Don't stint yourself. Don't come short of your potential. Don't be mean to yourself and compare with ideas that are smaller than you are. just to avoid obstacles On the contrary reach for something bigger. The Bible says "Set your affection on things above," (Colossians) Emerson said "Hitch your wagon to a star.."
DB - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
***************************
Bo Jackson
**********************
Hello Arlene
**********************
There are too many obstacles in the way of achieving our goals. The higher and more noble the goal the more obstacles we encounter. There must be some kind of sinister law about that. Some people will say not to want too much out of life and that way avoid the troubles that come with trying to get it. There's an old saying I've heard that goes "You always get what you want, so be very careful about what you want."
The human spirit is a flexible thing, thank goodness, and can stretch out to grasp ideas that are higher than the day by day views we have of life. Marcus Aurelius said "A noble man compares and estimate himself by an idea which is higher than himself, and a mean man, by one that is lower than himself." So why not grab a noble idea and pursue it?
I've known people in the past who I admired for their ability to face up to whatever obstacles come up and simply deal with them without getting upset or side tracked. It's the obstacles of life that make us forget what we were really doing before they occurred. It happens to me all the time.
I love to read. I get very bored with books that don't point out new and unusual trails for me to consider. I may get side tracked wandering onto one of those But the adventure is worth it. Sooner or later, however, I have to get out the trail guide and find my way back to the goal that really motivates me, the goal of enlightenment.
Human relationships can also pose enormous obstacles. Did I waste my gentle affection on someone who wasn't worth it? Maybe. But it sure took me down the rocky road to nowhere for a while. On the other hand when Linda R. comes over she jumps in rearranging my books, my furniture and my life. But at the same time she is an artist and a woman of insight and positive energy. If she distracts me from my goal it's a pleasure, doesn't last long and doesn't send me down into the cul de sac. I also have email friends I can count on for words of sanity and sooth. The right companionship is important.
But most important is the size, quality and value of the goals you set for yourself. Don't stint yourself. Don't come short of your potential. Don't be mean to yourself and compare with ideas that are smaller than you are. just to avoid obstacles On the contrary reach for something bigger. The Bible says "Set your affection on things above," (Colossians) Emerson said "Hitch your wagon to a star.."
DB - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
***************************
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
No Pain
In the darkest, meanest things
Something always, always sings.
Emerson
****************
Hello Bruce
****************
I will go deep and hear the forest song.
Maybe I will be alone.
I will let the winds take me far across the sea.
I will not be tied to wrong.
I will bring a light into the darkness.
I will find a sacred stone.
I will mark the path with rain drops.
I will not fail the song.
I will dance the wild meadow unconfined.
I will not know alarm.
I will cast all cords and cares aside.
I will be lost in time.
I will see my love spelled out in clouds.
I will do no harm.
I will not dwell with foolish folk.
I will not sit near crime.
I will breathe the ocean's silver air.
I will speak of right.
I will bury my book in mystic ground.
I will hear no evil mirth.
I will search on consecrated ground.
I will find the light.
I am unfettered, free from lies.
I walk the earth.
Things unravel in irrational ways behind someone else's closed door.
Let them. I will turn and freely walk the earth
Nothing lost, all is gain.
I do not need to feel the pain.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
***************************
Something always, always sings.
Emerson
****************
Hello Bruce
****************
I will go deep and hear the forest song.
Maybe I will be alone.
I will let the winds take me far across the sea.
I will not be tied to wrong.
I will bring a light into the darkness.
I will find a sacred stone.
I will mark the path with rain drops.
I will not fail the song.
I will dance the wild meadow unconfined.
I will not know alarm.
I will cast all cords and cares aside.
I will be lost in time.
I will see my love spelled out in clouds.
I will do no harm.
I will not dwell with foolish folk.
I will not sit near crime.
I will breathe the ocean's silver air.
I will speak of right.
I will bury my book in mystic ground.
I will hear no evil mirth.
I will search on consecrated ground.
I will find the light.
I am unfettered, free from lies.
I walk the earth.
Things unravel in irrational ways behind someone else's closed door.
Let them. I will turn and freely walk the earth
Nothing lost, all is gain.
I do not need to feel the pain.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
***************************
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Ode To Olaf
It is a happy talent to know how to play.
Emerson
******************
Hello Sue
*******************
Any one who travels around the country is no doubt familiar with the literature written on the walls of the nation's rest rooms. I don't frequent women's rooms so I don't know what sort of wisdom is inscribed there. But in the men's rooms of the land one can find some very interesting journalism.
Some of it is strange. "What's hot and swims?" can be found on a wall in a lower Manhattan bar. Some of it, alas, is downright stupid. I think I might start kicking walls if I have to read one more time "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy." Too many immature men erroneously think that remark is clever. (And some of them don't know how to spell "lobotomy.")
In northern New Hampshire where I used to live Winter means skiing season. There are a slew of mountains around there, most of them with ski slopes. The local people begin skiing when they are a few inches tall so it's a regular sport for them in snow season. But they usually do it during the week, because the weekends are taken up by the tourists, the flat landers, the ski clubbers, the second homers, and the time sharers. Hundreds of them make arrangements and reservations to come up and ski and when they get there they expect to see snow.
But there are some winters when the snow is late in coming and it's a matter of great disappointment to those who spent the time and money to get there. It's like going to your favorite amusement park and finding that all the roller coasters are closed.
The frustration of the out-of-towners spills over in many directions, some of them not so nice. But mostly they will just sit, drink and tell skiing stories or find other more private activites. And sometimes they write their frustrations on the men's room walls in carelessly worded prose.
At one particular cocktail lounge where a few friends of mine and I used to meet for a couple of drinks in the early evening, before the crowds arrived, I read on the men's room wall the following short but blunt remark, "THERE'S NO SNOW !" as if to announce to the unobservant or mentally deficient the important facts of life and weather in the north country.
Several days later when we were again visiting our drinking place, I noted that someone had written underneath that important statement, "Olaf knows why there is no snow." Ah Ha. The plot thickens. Who is this Olaf character and what does he know about it?
Sure enough, a week later, some curious intellectual, caught up in the tension of the drama, had written "Why, Olaf, is there no snow?" Breathlessly we waited to read what our resident meteorologist and ski slope authority, Olaf, had to offer by way of explanation to satisfy the curious and soothe the frustrations of the bereft. But, woe to the skiers, Olaf wasn't talking. His lips were closed. He kept his cards close to his chest. Mum was the word.
The following winter the walls of that men's room had been painted and the gripping story of Olaf and the missing snow was gone without a trace. BUT.
When I went in there (to do something that one does in a men's room) I saw written on the wall the following plaintive inscription "Where's the snow?" I couldn't resist the need to try to explain things, so underneath that I wrote "Where is Olaf when you need him?"
A week went by and then came another visit to the bar with my friends. When I went to the men's room, a condition brought on by the vigorous and fun filled consumption of beer, there was the answer. The end of the story, the final chapter, the curtain on the drama, was spelled out in definitive terms for all to see, read and ponder. "Olaf, moved to North Carolina."
In North Carolina they make snow.
Adieu Olaf, and good luck to you.
DB - The Vagabond Journey
Never give up.
**************************
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post an entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The new year is upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I think people have things to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your own journals, but to add to the joy of my own is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, the New Year. or any subject you wish or associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
I have 10 Guest Authors so far. Check them out.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
Emerson
******************
Hello Sue
*******************
Any one who travels around the country is no doubt familiar with the literature written on the walls of the nation's rest rooms. I don't frequent women's rooms so I don't know what sort of wisdom is inscribed there. But in the men's rooms of the land one can find some very interesting journalism.
Some of it is strange. "What's hot and swims?" can be found on a wall in a lower Manhattan bar. Some of it, alas, is downright stupid. I think I might start kicking walls if I have to read one more time "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy." Too many immature men erroneously think that remark is clever. (And some of them don't know how to spell "lobotomy.")
In northern New Hampshire where I used to live Winter means skiing season. There are a slew of mountains around there, most of them with ski slopes. The local people begin skiing when they are a few inches tall so it's a regular sport for them in snow season. But they usually do it during the week, because the weekends are taken up by the tourists, the flat landers, the ski clubbers, the second homers, and the time sharers. Hundreds of them make arrangements and reservations to come up and ski and when they get there they expect to see snow.
But there are some winters when the snow is late in coming and it's a matter of great disappointment to those who spent the time and money to get there. It's like going to your favorite amusement park and finding that all the roller coasters are closed.
The frustration of the out-of-towners spills over in many directions, some of them not so nice. But mostly they will just sit, drink and tell skiing stories or find other more private activites. And sometimes they write their frustrations on the men's room walls in carelessly worded prose.
At one particular cocktail lounge where a few friends of mine and I used to meet for a couple of drinks in the early evening, before the crowds arrived, I read on the men's room wall the following short but blunt remark, "THERE'S NO SNOW !" as if to announce to the unobservant or mentally deficient the important facts of life and weather in the north country.
Several days later when we were again visiting our drinking place, I noted that someone had written underneath that important statement, "Olaf knows why there is no snow." Ah Ha. The plot thickens. Who is this Olaf character and what does he know about it?
Sure enough, a week later, some curious intellectual, caught up in the tension of the drama, had written "Why, Olaf, is there no snow?" Breathlessly we waited to read what our resident meteorologist and ski slope authority, Olaf, had to offer by way of explanation to satisfy the curious and soothe the frustrations of the bereft. But, woe to the skiers, Olaf wasn't talking. His lips were closed. He kept his cards close to his chest. Mum was the word.
The following winter the walls of that men's room had been painted and the gripping story of Olaf and the missing snow was gone without a trace. BUT.
When I went in there (to do something that one does in a men's room) I saw written on the wall the following plaintive inscription "Where's the snow?" I couldn't resist the need to try to explain things, so underneath that I wrote "Where is Olaf when you need him?"
A week went by and then came another visit to the bar with my friends. When I went to the men's room, a condition brought on by the vigorous and fun filled consumption of beer, there was the answer. The end of the story, the final chapter, the curtain on the drama, was spelled out in definitive terms for all to see, read and ponder. "Olaf, moved to North Carolina."
In North Carolina they make snow.
Adieu Olaf, and good luck to you.
DB - The Vagabond Journey
Never give up.
**************************
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post an entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The new year is upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I think people have things to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your own journals, but to add to the joy of my own is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, the New Year. or any subject you wish or associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
I have 10 Guest Authors so far. Check them out.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
Saturday, July 9, 2011
It Takes A Friend
CONTENTS:
It Takes A Friend
Weekend Contest
Summer Question
----------------------------
A friend is one before whom I can think out loud.
Emerson
******************
"Trust a few" said Shakespeare.
I live alone. It's okay. I keep excellent company with myself. I agree with most of what I say. I don't complain about dirty dishes in the sink. And when I come home everyone here is glad to see me.
For almost everyday of the week I am left alone with my own thoughts and sometimes I'm astonished at the range and depth of my thinking. Sometimes. Not all the time.
Do I get lonely? Yes. Now and then In the past that loneliness has tempted me to share my thoughts with people who, for one reason or another, were not worth it. People who took my words and tuned them to a different key.
It's a matter of estimation. Hiring an employee, trusting your well being to a professional healer or deciding on a soul mate are all acts in which it's a good idea to judge someone's character and qualities. But when it comes to friendship why can't we take people as they are and not as we want them to be?
Beware of the gossipers and the controllers.
The gossipers is one who listens to you in a seemingly friendly manner but edits and reinterprets what you said then spreads it around to his own world of "friends" as an estimation and description of who you are and what you are about.
The controller is one who listens to you and misinterprets your observations about life as a complaint or plea for help and tries to take over your life with advice and a reorganization of your affairs and activities.
To the gossiper I say "Stop it. I am not advertising myself." And to the controller I say "Stop it. I'm not asking to be made over."
Today I have a few friends with whom I can share my thoughts without threat. And they are those who can share their thoughts with me without threat. I know that because they do.
My life and my private thoughts are my own business, and if I want to share them with someone, outside of Vagabond Journeys, I will choose a friend I can trust. Your life and your private thoughts are your own business and if you want to share them with me you will find an ear that hears without judgement, underestimation, misinterpretation or control.
P.S.: I also have a sense of humor.
-------------------------------------------------------
Never give up.
DB - The Vagabond
***************************
WEEKEND CONTEST
There's a saying "Love is good. Love with noodles is better."
Your task, should you choose to accept it, is to supply a different word or words in the place of "noodles." Enter as often as you wish. As usual the decision of the ornery, highly critical judge is final. The winner will receive an autographed copy of the recipe for Armadillo Fettuccine.
Love with ______________ is better.
4 entries so far.
Good luck
DB
************************
SUMMER QUESTION
It's a long, hot, sticky summer, so here's a hot, sticky question for you. Don't let the recent New York State decision rob you of your thunder.
Same sex marriage. Should it be legal or not? If so, why? If not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
8 answers so far.
You have until the last day of summer, but don't dally.
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
************************
It Takes A Friend
Weekend Contest
Summer Question
----------------------------
A friend is one before whom I can think out loud.
Emerson
******************
"Trust a few" said Shakespeare.
I live alone. It's okay. I keep excellent company with myself. I agree with most of what I say. I don't complain about dirty dishes in the sink. And when I come home everyone here is glad to see me.
For almost everyday of the week I am left alone with my own thoughts and sometimes I'm astonished at the range and depth of my thinking. Sometimes. Not all the time.
Do I get lonely? Yes. Now and then In the past that loneliness has tempted me to share my thoughts with people who, for one reason or another, were not worth it. People who took my words and tuned them to a different key.
It's a matter of estimation. Hiring an employee, trusting your well being to a professional healer or deciding on a soul mate are all acts in which it's a good idea to judge someone's character and qualities. But when it comes to friendship why can't we take people as they are and not as we want them to be?
Beware of the gossipers and the controllers.
The gossipers is one who listens to you in a seemingly friendly manner but edits and reinterprets what you said then spreads it around to his own world of "friends" as an estimation and description of who you are and what you are about.
The controller is one who listens to you and misinterprets your observations about life as a complaint or plea for help and tries to take over your life with advice and a reorganization of your affairs and activities.
To the gossiper I say "Stop it. I am not advertising myself." And to the controller I say "Stop it. I'm not asking to be made over."
Today I have a few friends with whom I can share my thoughts without threat. And they are those who can share their thoughts with me without threat. I know that because they do.
My life and my private thoughts are my own business, and if I want to share them with someone, outside of Vagabond Journeys, I will choose a friend I can trust. Your life and your private thoughts are your own business and if you want to share them with me you will find an ear that hears without judgement, underestimation, misinterpretation or control.
P.S.: I also have a sense of humor.
-------------------------------------------------------
Never give up.
DB - The Vagabond
***************************
WEEKEND CONTEST
There's a saying "Love is good. Love with noodles is better."
Your task, should you choose to accept it, is to supply a different word or words in the place of "noodles." Enter as often as you wish. As usual the decision of the ornery, highly critical judge is final. The winner will receive an autographed copy of the recipe for Armadillo Fettuccine.
Love with ______________ is better.
4 entries so far.
Good luck
DB
************************
SUMMER QUESTION
It's a long, hot, sticky summer, so here's a hot, sticky question for you. Don't let the recent New York State decision rob you of your thunder.
Same sex marriage. Should it be legal or not? If so, why? If not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
8 answers so far.
You have until the last day of summer, but don't dally.
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
************************
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Were You There
A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer.
Emerson
******************
In life's grand quiz show of understanding ourselves called "Who Am I" there will always be unanswered questions.
I moved into my apartment here on September 9, 2001, two days before the attack on the World Trade Center. If I had still been in New York I either would have seen it happen or I would have been stuck in a subway station underneath it.
It wasn't long before the films and video tapes were processed and we could see the results on the ground and how people reacted to it. I noticed that there were basically three types of people. There were those who stood in stunned, shocked silence. I knew one of them. There were those who ran away from it in panic. I don't refer to the inhabitants of the building. They had a perfect right to run away from it. I also knew one of them. I mean the ones in the vicinity who turned and fled the scene as fast as they could. And then there were those who ran towards it.
There were the first responders from the police and fire departments. But there were ordinary people who ran to see what they could do to help. A temporary clinic was set up in a local church. That church also housed a theatre where I had performed several times. I could have been very helpful directing people to that church and seeing that those who needed it were in and comfortable. I could have helped the medics who were caring for the injured. Who knows what I could have done?
Of those who did not run away there were a great many volunteers, ordinary people, who found some way of helping those who had barely survived the disaster and the police and fire fighters who had been overcome with smoke and exhaustion.
I have often wondered over the past 9 years what I would have done if i had been in proximity to that event. I was only a few blocks away from it waiting for my train. I had a clear view of the WTC from where I was standing. If I had already boarded the train I would have been underneath it when it happened. In either case I could have been very helpful to people who were suffering. What would I have done? Would I have stayed as far away from it as I could? Would I have stood post and pillar still in shock? Or would I have gone towards it and gotten involved?
The answer is: I don't know. It took a lot of courage to be in that neighborhood. Nobody really knew what was going to happen next. The building was on fire. People who could were jumping out of windows to their deaths to avoid being burned alive. I had worked off and on at a firm in the upper floors. People I knew and had worked with were dying, nice people, good people. The surrounding streets were strewn with body parts. Frantic evacuations were taking place in overcrowded elevators and stairways. The building was collapsing. How much of it would fall on the surrounding structures and the people below? It took heroic courage for anyone to go there and stay there. Would I have done it?.
That is a question I will never have the answer to. I like to think I am a brave man. I've faced up to other frightening experiences. But about that one I will never know. I wasn't there.
Dana
The Vagabond
********************
SUMMER QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)
Who are the 2 (two) most important people alive today? Why?
Only 7 responses so far. Summer is about to close her gates. Get with it. Don't be left out in the heat.
dbdacoba@aol.com
Thank you.
DB
********************
Emerson
******************
In life's grand quiz show of understanding ourselves called "Who Am I" there will always be unanswered questions.
I moved into my apartment here on September 9, 2001, two days before the attack on the World Trade Center. If I had still been in New York I either would have seen it happen or I would have been stuck in a subway station underneath it.
It wasn't long before the films and video tapes were processed and we could see the results on the ground and how people reacted to it. I noticed that there were basically three types of people. There were those who stood in stunned, shocked silence. I knew one of them. There were those who ran away from it in panic. I don't refer to the inhabitants of the building. They had a perfect right to run away from it. I also knew one of them. I mean the ones in the vicinity who turned and fled the scene as fast as they could. And then there were those who ran towards it.
There were the first responders from the police and fire departments. But there were ordinary people who ran to see what they could do to help. A temporary clinic was set up in a local church. That church also housed a theatre where I had performed several times. I could have been very helpful directing people to that church and seeing that those who needed it were in and comfortable. I could have helped the medics who were caring for the injured. Who knows what I could have done?
Of those who did not run away there were a great many volunteers, ordinary people, who found some way of helping those who had barely survived the disaster and the police and fire fighters who had been overcome with smoke and exhaustion.
I have often wondered over the past 9 years what I would have done if i had been in proximity to that event. I was only a few blocks away from it waiting for my train. I had a clear view of the WTC from where I was standing. If I had already boarded the train I would have been underneath it when it happened. In either case I could have been very helpful to people who were suffering. What would I have done? Would I have stayed as far away from it as I could? Would I have stood post and pillar still in shock? Or would I have gone towards it and gotten involved?
The answer is: I don't know. It took a lot of courage to be in that neighborhood. Nobody really knew what was going to happen next. The building was on fire. People who could were jumping out of windows to their deaths to avoid being burned alive. I had worked off and on at a firm in the upper floors. People I knew and had worked with were dying, nice people, good people. The surrounding streets were strewn with body parts. Frantic evacuations were taking place in overcrowded elevators and stairways. The building was collapsing. How much of it would fall on the surrounding structures and the people below? It took heroic courage for anyone to go there and stay there. Would I have done it?.
That is a question I will never have the answer to. I like to think I am a brave man. I've faced up to other frightening experiences. But about that one I will never know. I wasn't there.
Dana
The Vagabond
********************
SUMMER QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)
Who are the 2 (two) most important people alive today? Why?
Only 7 responses so far. Summer is about to close her gates. Get with it. Don't be left out in the heat.
dbdacoba@aol.com
Thank you.
DB
********************
Friday, April 2, 2010
Asocial Skills
We dare not trust our wit for making our home pleasant to our friend, so we buy ice cream
Emerson
***************
I learned many things growing up but one thing I never learned was how to be comfortable in the presence of strangers. Even though I always felt comfortable and at home on the stage, I'm always uncomfortable when I am invited to someone's house. I'm a terrible guest. I overcompensate for being uncomfortable by doing things that seem rude and presumptuous or else I sit in a corner and just look, without entering into any conversations.
I always want people to come and visit me, especially now that I live so much alone. They rarely do, but I'm always embarrassed at how my place looks and smells. There will probably still be some dishes in the sink, something around that needs cleaning and a pile of chaos somewhere. People come to see me, if they do, not to look at my apartment. I always forget that.
I guess in some ways it's a mark of vagabondism. Intelligent adults are supposed to have social skills, to know how to say the right thing, do the right think and dress in an appropriate manner. I never learned any of those things. Maybe those graces come from being in a family and learning how to deal with people on a regular basis, I don't know. I didn't have such a family.
Those skills may also come from examples, learning from those around you how to behave. Those around me had the same embarrassing lack of finesse I did, so I didn't learn anything polite and gracious from them. I still leave my spoon in the cup and not on the saucer.
And now, the tail may still be wagging and I can still do roll over and sit, but this old dog is probably not going to gain any new tricks. I'd rather have a nap. If you come to visit me, (please do, someday), you'll have to bring your own ice cream.
DB - The Vagabond
*****************
APRIL FOOLERY
Weekend Contest
This contest is open for the next 3 days.
APRIL FOOLERY
Choose as many numbers as you want and fill in the blanks
Winners will be posted on the evening of April 4.
The decisions of the nasty biased judge are final. Prizes will awarded on the basis of originality and whatever makes me laugh.
3 ENTRIES SO FAR
On the first day of April my true love gave to me
12______
11______
10______
9_______
8_______
7_______
6_______
5_______
4_______
3_______
2_______
and_______
Good luck
DB
****************
Emerson
***************
I learned many things growing up but one thing I never learned was how to be comfortable in the presence of strangers. Even though I always felt comfortable and at home on the stage, I'm always uncomfortable when I am invited to someone's house. I'm a terrible guest. I overcompensate for being uncomfortable by doing things that seem rude and presumptuous or else I sit in a corner and just look, without entering into any conversations.
I always want people to come and visit me, especially now that I live so much alone. They rarely do, but I'm always embarrassed at how my place looks and smells. There will probably still be some dishes in the sink, something around that needs cleaning and a pile of chaos somewhere. People come to see me, if they do, not to look at my apartment. I always forget that.
I guess in some ways it's a mark of vagabondism. Intelligent adults are supposed to have social skills, to know how to say the right thing, do the right think and dress in an appropriate manner. I never learned any of those things. Maybe those graces come from being in a family and learning how to deal with people on a regular basis, I don't know. I didn't have such a family.
Those skills may also come from examples, learning from those around you how to behave. Those around me had the same embarrassing lack of finesse I did, so I didn't learn anything polite and gracious from them. I still leave my spoon in the cup and not on the saucer.
And now, the tail may still be wagging and I can still do roll over and sit, but this old dog is probably not going to gain any new tricks. I'd rather have a nap. If you come to visit me, (please do, someday), you'll have to bring your own ice cream.
DB - The Vagabond
*****************
APRIL FOOLERY
Weekend Contest
This contest is open for the next 3 days.
APRIL FOOLERY
Choose as many numbers as you want and fill in the blanks
Winners will be posted on the evening of April 4.
The decisions of the nasty biased judge are final. Prizes will awarded on the basis of originality and whatever makes me laugh.
3 ENTRIES SO FAR
On the first day of April my true love gave to me
12______
11______
10______
9_______
8_______
7_______
6_______
5_______
4_______
3_______
2_______
and_______
Good luck
DB
****************
Monday, December 7, 2009
The End of the Tether
In the darkest, meanest things
Something always, always sings.
Emerson
****************
Better make yourself a cup of tea, this is a long one.
I'm sorry to disappoint anyone but life is NOT just a bowl of cherries. It is a mass of threads which we weave, braid and twist into a rope, better known as a tether. And that rope connects us to our past and our future. Like Penelope we keep weaving it every day, but unlike she we don't undo it at night.
I used to know a most unpleasant woman named Mrs. Fox. It was a good name for her because she was a wily observer and harsh critic of what she considered incorrect moral activity of the teenagers around her. As far as I know she wasn't employed to do that. It was a self-appointed crusade against normal behavior. While she sat, keeping a close and suspicious eye on us she would knit. I never saw any result of her knitting, maybe she did undo it every night, but I'll bet she had special knots to record, like Madame Defarge, the names, dates and acts of all offenders. She didn't realize it but she was knitting her own tether.
I recently read an article about a man who has a strange condition that allows him to remember every single day of his life. I don't know if that's a blessing for him. I know for me it would be a curse. There are a lot of things I've done that I would like to forget but can't. On the other hand there are a lot of things I've done that I would like to remember and can't. That's one of nature's little jokes.
There's a box next to a window in my apartment which contains the threads of my career that somehow I managed to save. In that box I can find simple typed and copied programs each of which tell me I was someplace in New York on such and such a date and did a reading of someone's play. I have absolutely no memory of most of them.
Such a condition tends to make me doubt my own history. I have vivid memories of certain things. But was I really there, did I really do those things, did those things actually happen to me? Some of it seems inconceivable to me now. I feel like a stranger to myself. It seems I am not the man I was 20, 30, 40 or 50 years ago.
Saturday afternoon I was trying to explain to someone how it was that I first started painting. I couldn't remember the year or many of the facts leading up to it. It's all there somewhere in the rope, but I've lost track of it.
I set out to write about my experiences during th six weeks I was unable to connect with the Internet and thus with my own journal, my address book, my stories and all the journals I enjoy looking into. From the moment I knew for sure and had to accept that my computer was just no good, until the new computer arrived, was a period of great transition, a period of learning and adjustment. From the despair and depression of being deprived of my friends and my ability to communicate, I turned back to reexamine other parts of my life, reading and painting, writing in my private journal. I even baked some cookies. And finally there came the moment when I was awestruck and speechless at the arrival of the new computer, given to me by the love and generosity of some of my journal friends, some of whom are reading this entry right now.,
But the resonance of those weeks is slipping thorough the cracks. I find it hard to put all the pieces in their proper places. I remember the peaks of emotion, of course, the rage, frustration and deep despair. But most of the knicky kinacky things that happened through that trip in the desert are forgotten, which is all to the good, I suppose.
The threads in our ropes are made of the easy, mundane things of life, the tasks performed, the simple acts of love, the great acts of heroism, the beautiful moments of inspiration, the fantasies of the day, the dreams of the night, plans, hopes, failures, successes, lessons learned, lessons taught, tears and laughter.
I'm 70 years old, which I also find it hard to believe, and as with many people my age and older, I'm grateful that I'm not at the end of my tether.
DB - The Vagabond
=======================
Results of the Weekend Puzzle
KAD DVA UAFXDE IA KCYA UA IVFD IA PC.
LET THE BEAUTY WE LOVE BE WHAT WE DO.
First place Grand Prize of the Mistletoe Tiara goes to Paula of the Email Lions
The second place prize, a subscription to Pine Cone News, goes to Salemslot9 of the Blogspot Tigers.
Nice going girls.
Something always, always sings.
Emerson
****************
Better make yourself a cup of tea, this is a long one.
I'm sorry to disappoint anyone but life is NOT just a bowl of cherries. It is a mass of threads which we weave, braid and twist into a rope, better known as a tether. And that rope connects us to our past and our future. Like Penelope we keep weaving it every day, but unlike she we don't undo it at night.
I used to know a most unpleasant woman named Mrs. Fox. It was a good name for her because she was a wily observer and harsh critic of what she considered incorrect moral activity of the teenagers around her. As far as I know she wasn't employed to do that. It was a self-appointed crusade against normal behavior. While she sat, keeping a close and suspicious eye on us she would knit. I never saw any result of her knitting, maybe she did undo it every night, but I'll bet she had special knots to record, like Madame Defarge, the names, dates and acts of all offenders. She didn't realize it but she was knitting her own tether.
I recently read an article about a man who has a strange condition that allows him to remember every single day of his life. I don't know if that's a blessing for him. I know for me it would be a curse. There are a lot of things I've done that I would like to forget but can't. On the other hand there are a lot of things I've done that I would like to remember and can't. That's one of nature's little jokes.
There's a box next to a window in my apartment which contains the threads of my career that somehow I managed to save. In that box I can find simple typed and copied programs each of which tell me I was someplace in New York on such and such a date and did a reading of someone's play. I have absolutely no memory of most of them.
Such a condition tends to make me doubt my own history. I have vivid memories of certain things. But was I really there, did I really do those things, did those things actually happen to me? Some of it seems inconceivable to me now. I feel like a stranger to myself. It seems I am not the man I was 20, 30, 40 or 50 years ago.
Saturday afternoon I was trying to explain to someone how it was that I first started painting. I couldn't remember the year or many of the facts leading up to it. It's all there somewhere in the rope, but I've lost track of it.
I set out to write about my experiences during th six weeks I was unable to connect with the Internet and thus with my own journal, my address book, my stories and all the journals I enjoy looking into. From the moment I knew for sure and had to accept that my computer was just no good, until the new computer arrived, was a period of great transition, a period of learning and adjustment. From the despair and depression of being deprived of my friends and my ability to communicate, I turned back to reexamine other parts of my life, reading and painting, writing in my private journal. I even baked some cookies. And finally there came the moment when I was awestruck and speechless at the arrival of the new computer, given to me by the love and generosity of some of my journal friends, some of whom are reading this entry right now.,
But the resonance of those weeks is slipping thorough the cracks. I find it hard to put all the pieces in their proper places. I remember the peaks of emotion, of course, the rage, frustration and deep despair. But most of the knicky kinacky things that happened through that trip in the desert are forgotten, which is all to the good, I suppose.
The threads in our ropes are made of the easy, mundane things of life, the tasks performed, the simple acts of love, the great acts of heroism, the beautiful moments of inspiration, the fantasies of the day, the dreams of the night, plans, hopes, failures, successes, lessons learned, lessons taught, tears and laughter.
I'm 70 years old, which I also find it hard to believe, and as with many people my age and older, I'm grateful that I'm not at the end of my tether.
DB - The Vagabond
=======================
Results of the Weekend Puzzle
KAD DVA UAFXDE IA KCYA UA IVFD IA PC.
LET THE BEAUTY WE LOVE BE WHAT WE DO.
First place Grand Prize of the Mistletoe Tiara goes to Paula of the Email Lions
The second place prize, a subscription to Pine Cone News, goes to Salemslot9 of the Blogspot Tigers.
Nice going girls.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Empirical Emergency 6/27/09
Beware when the great God lets loose a thinker on this planet.
Emerson
******************
Howdy
=======================
I wonder, with anxiety, what it is that has stupified the human race. It seems to me that very few things we humans do make any sense. We have wealthy Congressmen deciding on legislation to affect the poor, and if, by chance, it looks worthwhile, they vote against it. We have men who couldn't throw a football if their lives were at stake discussing the relative merits of one athlete over another. We have folks who would be frightened to death to step out on a bare stage in front of an audience critiquing those who do. We have those who are too old to go into battle sending others off to do it. We have men and women fighting in a foreign land under the ruse of defending ourselves and then coming home in boxes. We have children disappearing or being abused at home, We have pastors preaching honesty and family values who have mistresses on the side. We have medicines which are dangerous to our health. We have products that can cause accidents. We have economic theories that feed the greedy and starve the poor. We have banks that plunder people and courts that tie them down. And we are all out to get even with somebody.
What has brought us to this point of stupidity? Social structures, traditions, fear?
I don't know where to point the finger of blame except at myself. I learned a while back that it's no use complaining about a problem unless you are prepared to do something about it. I wonder what more I can do. I write in this journal every day and pray that my words have some positive effect somewhere in the world. Whatever teaspoon of wisdom I have comes from decades of trying to overcome my own ignorance. But it does seem futile sometimes when faced with the bland, blind nonsense I see and hear around me, nonsense that is gleefully accepted and seriously put into practice by all of us.
Where are the thinkers? Where did they go? They can't all be hiding out in some secret Bohemian Club, or securely tethered to a University post, or masquerading in a blue collar on some tight lipped assembly line somewhere. Wisdom often comes in strange forms and from unexpected places, but it takes a thinker to recognize it.
I like to read books, journals and magazines hoping to become a thinking person. But I also like to read newspapers because in the haystack of useless ink every now and then someone writes something intelligent. With the demise of newspapers, the haystacks have grown into wastelands. I think so.
To be a real thinker in this age is to be an odd, eccentric, unorthodox, illfitting, dangerous crack pot who has to face the demonic outrage and lethal attack upon himself by the general population. Maybe that's why it is so hard to find any. We need to pray to the great God to let loose a few more thinkers from under His protecting wing.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
_________________________
May you have a relaxing weekend.
_______________________
Emerson
******************
Howdy
=======================
I wonder, with anxiety, what it is that has stupified the human race. It seems to me that very few things we humans do make any sense. We have wealthy Congressmen deciding on legislation to affect the poor, and if, by chance, it looks worthwhile, they vote against it. We have men who couldn't throw a football if their lives were at stake discussing the relative merits of one athlete over another. We have folks who would be frightened to death to step out on a bare stage in front of an audience critiquing those who do. We have those who are too old to go into battle sending others off to do it. We have men and women fighting in a foreign land under the ruse of defending ourselves and then coming home in boxes. We have children disappearing or being abused at home, We have pastors preaching honesty and family values who have mistresses on the side. We have medicines which are dangerous to our health. We have products that can cause accidents. We have economic theories that feed the greedy and starve the poor. We have banks that plunder people and courts that tie them down. And we are all out to get even with somebody.
What has brought us to this point of stupidity? Social structures, traditions, fear?
I don't know where to point the finger of blame except at myself. I learned a while back that it's no use complaining about a problem unless you are prepared to do something about it. I wonder what more I can do. I write in this journal every day and pray that my words have some positive effect somewhere in the world. Whatever teaspoon of wisdom I have comes from decades of trying to overcome my own ignorance. But it does seem futile sometimes when faced with the bland, blind nonsense I see and hear around me, nonsense that is gleefully accepted and seriously put into practice by all of us.
Where are the thinkers? Where did they go? They can't all be hiding out in some secret Bohemian Club, or securely tethered to a University post, or masquerading in a blue collar on some tight lipped assembly line somewhere. Wisdom often comes in strange forms and from unexpected places, but it takes a thinker to recognize it.
I like to read books, journals and magazines hoping to become a thinking person. But I also like to read newspapers because in the haystack of useless ink every now and then someone writes something intelligent. With the demise of newspapers, the haystacks have grown into wastelands. I think so.
To be a real thinker in this age is to be an odd, eccentric, unorthodox, illfitting, dangerous crack pot who has to face the demonic outrage and lethal attack upon himself by the general population. Maybe that's why it is so hard to find any. We need to pray to the great God to let loose a few more thinkers from under His protecting wing.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
_________________________
May you have a relaxing weekend.
_______________________
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)