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Entries in visionary (3)

Tuesday
Jun052018

Heart-mind

The heart-mind gift of writing allowed Zeynep to meditate in the present as a stranger to herself:

Mindfulness gives me time and time gives me choices. Choices, skillfully made, lead to freedom. I’m not swept away by my feelings. I can respond with wisdom and kindness rather than habit and reactivity.

I love the crazies, it’s the fools I can’t tolerate.

A Zen writer is an artist, said Z the younger. They love making a big bright, beautiful mess, cleaning it up and making another mess. You are a Lone Wolf blessed with genetic DRD4-7R. Free is your quality of life.

The world is a stage and we are but the players. The play’s the thing.

A risk taking adventure using asemic language sensing joy and mystery winds down.

A poem begins in wisdom and ends in delight.

Visionary mystics blossom radiant beauty.

Water-stone. Yin-Yang.
Wear a star on your forehead.
Small powerful stars sing with their light.

The Language Company

Burma

Thursday
May292014

maya Angelou 1928-2014

Maya Angelou, poet, author, activist and Renaissance woman has passed.

"All my work, my life, everything I do is about survival, not just bare, awful, plodding survival, but survival with grace and faith. While one may encounter many defeats, one must not be defeated."

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” 

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” 

“I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it.” 

“I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life's a bitch. You've got to go out and kick ass.” 

“Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.” 

“Courage is the most important of all the virtues because without courage, you can't practice any other virtue consistently.” 

“I do not trust people who don't love themselves and yet tell me, 'I love you.' There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt.” 

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.” 

Wiki

WSJ

NYT

Tuesday
Nov112008

Visionary Vet

She was an angel looking down on the human world from a great height. She floated where material concerns and possessions did not matter in the big picture. 

She remembered standing at attention at basic training in another century with Senior Drill Sergeant Roger That screaming in her face, “You’d better keep the big picture in mind you bunch of dumb shits. What I’m telling you may save your sweet ass.” They practiced eating dust, killing ghosts and lethal hand-to-hand combat. The quick and the dead.

It was one of those crucial survival messages she was blessed to receive in her short sweet life. Before they packed her off to a hot humid Asian jungle where she gobbled rice with her hands, moved with the speed of a reptile, swam with leeches sucking her blood, connected all her senses into a single bright sharp clarity, maintained her ironic detached sense of humor and kept her mean machine clean. 

She’d rotated out of the jungle and just kept on going. 

They pinned medals on her in sweltering Saigon, she caught a freedom flight, confronted bitter cold in thin tropical khakis dashing across an Alaskan tarmac, then flew to the City by the Bay. A sergeant offered her a steak dinner. 

She muttered, “Screw the steak, give me a fresh dress green uniform and I’m back to Colorado.”

Airborne, airmobile to Denver she became an exile with a degree in Silence and Cunning. Surrounded by the living dead. Wandering Ghost material.  She’d evolved through the first of many metaphysical windows. It was impermanence; one life, no plan and many adventures. Restless was her masterful mistress. Movement and silence. 

She eased out at the Spanish summit to breath deep - receiving freezing cold gray and black clouds. They gave her the threads she needed then and there in the wilderness. They were a security blanket around her shoulders and she weaved them into a fine piece of work. 

She started descending toward the Penon Grande mountains above Lacilbula where she’d sit down doing her winter weaving travail. 

Immediately after arriving at her small space it started pouring. Coming down. Reminded her of Nam monsoons. Nature’s rain turned to violent hail, welcoming her to a new sanctuary in the old Roman pueblo. She welcomed the transition.

Inch deep hail accumulated on patio plants. She’d been warned it had the highest rainfall in Andalucia. The weather turned bitter cold for a week. 

“Unseasonable,” said a woman neighbor near a rose bush outside her cobalt blue Moorish door. 

She settled into an intimate furnished two room space with plastered stone walls, no central heating, a patio with 20 plants and delicious orange and lemon trees. Simplicity, serenity and sanctuary.

Metta.