Perhaps I have it backwards, I am living the life I should,
to allow all these other mes to be the mes they would.

Perhaps my dreams are alternate mes, the mes of other choices;
the dreams piercing the veil that separates me from my other voices.

Does the powerless me, the purposeless me, the me that has grown resigned,
allow the Freedom Fighter me to pursue the future that I seek to find?

Or maybe the sad me, the confused me, the me that despairs for humanity,
allows the vibrant, optimistic me help others return to sanity?

Are there many mes in a multiverse greatly varied and wide,
with me the counterbalance here on the other side?

And the biggest question I have of the mes I so often see,
“Do the rest of you, my other selves, also dream of me?”

The post Alternity first appeared on thrumyeyes.

Change is essential to our perception of reality.

I have never expressed the idea in quite that way, but this is a concept I often share. Change provides the contrast that allows us to differentiate between now and then. It provides a template for our understanding of improvement (or its lack). Without change, we cannot truly learn … or even understand … ANYTHING, simply because the very act of learning and understanding IS change. Change is inherent in the very definitions of time; life; existence … basically all the core concepts that define reality.

Without change, everything simply stops.

Recently, I have found myself exploring both extremes I mentioned above. I have both been denying much that is changing around me; WITHIN me. I have also been fighting against it. Both are not norms for me, but that in itself is one of the changes I face. Where once I thrived on frequent change, I now see more clearly the value of a certain level of constancy as well. I look back at my life, much of it shared by means of my creative endeavors, and I both see how much I have changed, and how much I have NOT. The very world around me has drastically changed even as it remains the same. Part of that is the essence of change itself, part of that is my perceptions of the world change as I do. Thus I become more and more human, yet never felt so distant from the rest of humanity.

And only I can change ANY of that.

Taking part in the challenge this year has reminded me of all that I have just rambled on about. I needed to remember that change is inevitable. I also needed the reminder that I have very much input in what changes FOR ME, and what does not. For that matter, I am the ONLY one who can choose those changes for myself. By abdicating from life, I am giving away this fundamental right and essentially casting myself adrift in the flow of time. In many ways, I am the same me I was as a child … I just understand THAT me so much better now. In other ways, I have grown so far beyond that child that I no longer recognize him in me. This is neither right nor wrong … just the way things are. I recognize the “flaws” in me that have shaped my path through life. More importantly, I recognize that they are only “flaws” if I choose to see them as flaws. I am, and always will be, me and the only change that I require of myself it to let myself be the best me I can be.

So the very short answer to the questions I posed: I would not change anything. I would continue to be me, which itself is a constantly changing concept, and allow me to take me where I will go. For no matter how much we might change, we are still we. It is like the flow of water in a river. The water is ever changing, but the river remains a river. And even if that river dries up to be a mere creek, or disappears entirely, the river that was is still the river that was. I will be the me that is, even as I am still the me that was. I will continue to create because being a creator is how I have defined myself. Whether or not the rest of the universe even notices my contribution is immaterial, because I was, I am, and I will be for a bit longer, and this simple reality is one that is immune to change.

I have no idea what to expect from the future. I cannot bemoan the loss of the past, because it is not lost. I can only continue to create my present. The rest will fall in place on its own.

The above image is a digital expression of what I have just written. It is my own creation, emulating the wonder that is inherent in nature. It is far from perfect, yet still has its own beauty. The me that was has become the me that is through learning the skills necessary to make this image, and I will continue to learn and change into the me that will be (with future creation). The image well portrays changelessly changing, in the form of flowing water. Thus I change as I remain the same

The post Reflections and (in?) a bit of digital art … first appeared on thrumyeyes.

I am ending at the beginning.

This is the cyclical nature of the mysterious thing we call life. Nothing ever truly ends. It just transitions. And while from our own small perspective, we might see a beginning and an end, we are just continuing a story that may have no ending … or beginning. The vastness of existence is not really an uncountable number of stories. It is rather ONE story with uncountable chapters in it. Each of us represents the smallest part of that story. I am not sure we even qualify as a chapter. We are more like a few sentences from an (extremely) small section of a chapter.

Even as I call this an ending I am about to begin another word in the few sentences that are me. I do not even know yet what that word may be, for all too often the word does not become apparent until it manifests. Thus I will not know what I have begun until I have finished. I might be able to choose a letter or two, but even that is not guaranteed. I end, I begin, I begin, I end. Sometimes I end before I begin, and there are also those times that I begin before I end. The whirlwind of letters forms into words, becoming sentences that help move the story along. But those few sentences will really give little information about the Grand Story; it’s only a few sentences after all.

The odd thing about this Grand Story (maybe one of the odd things would be more accurate) is that many sentences are being written, and read, at the same time. Thus whole chapters of the Story might appear to be one garbled sentence, or even a simple word. Maybe even a letter. Part of the joy of being in this story is learning how to read it. There is also joy in learning how to write our part of it, especially if we all manage to write our sentences into a harmonious whole.

I am about to end this little ramble on endings and beginnings. Whether this is truly an ending or a beginning is really a matter of perspective. Maybe it is really the middle. But for this moment in time I do know what letter I am working with. Here’s to the letter A.

THE END.

or

THE BEGINNING.

The post A beginning in An end first appeared on thrumyeyes.

I have not written anything in months. For that matter, I have not done much of anything in months. There are many reasons for this. I could write a quite a few words on this subject alone. But I won’t, because  … well … who would wanna read that? Show of hands? Even MY hand is not raised.

The least wordy reason for my lack of participation in life is I have misplaced my purpose.

“What,” you are no doubt not really even thinking of asking, “do you mean by that?” Just your luck, I am going to tell you.

I don’t believe in destiny. I don’t believe that there is some sort of cosmic H. R. department that assigns us our life duties, with all sorts of hell to pay if we stray from our assigned path. I also don’t believe that there is some grand meaning to existence that keeps just out of our reach just for the sheer pleasure of torturing us (or teaching us if you’re more of an optimist) that its creator receives.

Purpose and meaning are things we need to create for ourselves.

And I seem to have run out of ideas. No, that’s not quite it. I have plenty of ideas. I just ran out of a good reason to pursue any of those ideas. Thus I have stopped living, like so many others in our society. The Zombie Apocalypse is actually already here. All to many of us simply go through the motions of life, without really showing any proof that we are LIVING it. We somnambulate, searching for brains to eat, many not even realizing that this particular food source is in rare supply these days.

Not only is this a REALLY depressing way to (not) live, it is extremely BORING.

Now that spring is pretending to appear in my part of the world (it has the same precision of scheduling that the average cable company has), and I’m acknowledging that I am not getting any younger, I have decided to shift gears and once again create a purpose. The main difficulty with this decision (one that I often make I might add) is determining which of my over-abundance of ideas has any chance of being even reasonably considered an obtainable goal, and then figuring out if I have what is needed to obtain said goal. Once I have accepted that I probably do not, then I will have to figure out how to find; get; create what I need, and start the whole cycle of life over for my silly self.

This is generally not a simple process.

So, considering how much time I have on my hands, the fact that today is April Fool’s Day (a prime day for ANY fool to start afresh), the influx of emails reminding me of the A to Z challenge that helped me enter the blogging world, and the sheer boredom that threatens to complete my zombification, I decided last night mere hours before last call that I would attempt to participate in this year’s challenge. Thus here I am, rambling on with no clear purpose of words or intent, starting another new journey.

“Why,” you are still probably not really asking, “have you started with Z?” Another of my beliefs is that the passage of time really has no beginning or end. When we claim to start or finish something, we are really just continuing along our journey, setting reference points along the way to keep us believing we actually have some control over the journey. Following “traditional” paths has rarely gotten me anywhere I wanted to be, so I switch it up a bit, to see if that will make a difference. I still usually don’t end up where I think I want to be, but at least the ride will be an interesting one. Who knows? Maybe doing things “backwards” is just what I need this time around.

Onward to A.

The post Z end in Z beginning first appeared on thrumyeyes.

He quickly proved to be fond of all the best things …  food, sleep, and a good book … and in no time at all he was outgrowing his clothes, let alone the box that he was supposed to thrive in (according to those who decide such things). This too seemed to be a pattern that would be oft-repeated as he rode the ride. He fully embraced the path less traveled, thus convincing himself (and possibly others with a seeing eye) that he would not manage to stay on the roller coaster past his 25th birthday.

Somehow this self-made prophecy never came to pass. Not being one to tempt fate, or rather, being one who liked to wholeheartedly tempt fate, he decided that he would start over, figuring that fate would be too busy searching for an annoying 25-year-old than focusing on yet another “new-born”. Thus he started his second ride on the roller coaster. Having done this all before, he figured he was wise enough to successfully put his arms outside the ride and such, and the second ride was even crazier than the first … with the odds of survival definitely decreasing.

Suddenly the second 25 years has come to an end, with all still surprised that our hero has managed to stay on the ride. Fate still seems not to have caught on, so the intrepid, mischievous wanderer has decided to start fresh once again. Maybe if he keeps resetting every 25 years fate will simply write him off as a lost cause and he can continue wreaking havoc to clothes and boxes unmolested.

I admit it, that little tyke is me. I have just achieved my second 25, with dubious claims to success. The mysterious THEY claim that three times is a charm, so maybe I will get it right this time. So today is day one of the next 25 years. This time, if I don’t make it is just as likely because the roller coaster itself collapsed, and not my personal ability to stay on board. All I know is that I am going to do my best to enjoy the ride again!

P.S. I actually planned to use this post to blatantly promote some other posts on two of my other blogs, but seem to have gotten sidetracked (generally not a good idea on a roller coaster). So, to get back on the “right” track, here are two even MORE blatant plugs (for a good cause as you will see) …

• BLATANT PLUG 1 (it involves a cute dog)
• BLATANT PLUG 2 (it involves push ups)

The post Here we go again! first appeared on thrumyeyes.

This is no great revelation … a simple statement of observable fact. So why do I start my post with a statement of the obvious? Ultimately, because I need to start SOMEWHERE, and that is what worked for me. Yep, folks, I am once again on a ramble. Hope others enjoy the ride, because I am not sure where it is going myself.

I started this particular post with the intent of updating (for any interested), what is going on with my pretending to be a writer. But as often happens when I sit at the keyboard, my fingers decided they had other intentions. Before I let them go too far astray, I will slip in a writing update.

I have now officially started THREE (yep, that is 3, III, tres) projects that may someday end up with the dubious title of “Book”. The two that I have been talking about here for a long while got shelved when I started my great hiking adventure. The great hiking adventure turned into a great wandering adventure, but whatever it was (is?) labeled, it too decided it needed to be a book. So that manuscript has also been started … and shelved. Fortunately, my shelves are not all that hard to access, especially now that I am back in my cave of choice for the moment. So the current “to be book” list, complete with supposed story lines is as follows:

• Rayson’s Tale (title pending) in which a boy with an unstained soul becomes adept at magic, thus getting sucked into an ongoing battle between “good” and “evil” … or is he just a dream of another “ordinary” boy? (roughly 70,000 words written)
• Gusty’s Story (title also pending) in which a man searching for what is important in life who, after eating an oddly pulsing snack cake, finds himself not only on another world, but its foreordained savior. To complicate matters a little more, the prophecy is a lie. (roughly 30,000 words written)
• “The Tao of Picnic” in which a disillusioned man wanders the world in search of  … well that is part of what he is trying to find out. Basically an exploration of philosophy and humanity through the many eyes of one wandering soul … except this one is a true story. (uncountable words written … the question is how many will make the final cut?)

This thought train was momentarily derailed by my other half. Brown Dog is completely addicted to playing with her new favorite toy … but I too must play.

As I look at what I have already written here, so I can re-rail the train, I realize that on the surface, all three stories sound very similar. Yet they are very different both in writing style and content when read. They DO hold one thing in common, which is ultimately the life view of their creator … which makes sense.

Maybe the reason that I have not completed any of them is that I have not completed my life view yet.

Yep, life is ultimately about change. When I started this exploration of the writer’s world (hard to believe it has been five and a half years ago), I had no idea where it would lead me. Now, I am involved in 3 book projects, 12 blogs, world and self exploration … all while having no income and calling my mom’s attic (the cave) Home Base.

Funny thing is, I am no closer to knowing where I am going then when I started this journey.

I don’t know if anyone actually follows my blogs. And I find it really does not matter. I write to express ideas. Sometimes I just need to express them for my own better understanding. If others actually read the words, and take something from them … well that is just a bonus.

It seems that I am at the end of this particular finger wandering. I don’t think it ended up where I was aiming (it bears no relationship to the title, which came first), but I rarely know where I am aiming anyways. That is the joy (and frustration) of being me. Until the next time folks!![/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

The post Time to try this organization thang again … first appeared on thrumyeyes.

This was Bob Tilley.

Bob was maybe the best teacher I ever had, yet ironically I never sat in one of his classrooms. I can without any doubt say that I would not be the man I am if not for the experiences I shared with him. Among many other things, I learned self-confidence, fortitude, and the value of a dry sense of humor. I also learned the art of patience … and when to leave patience behind.

Whenever things get tough for me, I find myself thinking “It’s just over the next ridge,” or “It’s just around the next bend.” I will even say this to others who may be struggling, usually resulting in an odd look. He was a man who knew how to bring out our best efforts, often with nothing more than a bit of humor. But if a stern lesson was required, he knew how to give it as well.

I am a very now oriented person, so don’t really have many memories of my youth that really stand out. Yet the ones that do; the ones that are permanently engraved, almost all revolve around the times I spent with him: memories of tear bringing laughter; memories of limit pushing effort; memories of peaceful tranquility … in short memories of living life to the fullest.

Bob was, and frankly still is, a force of nature. He touched the lives of so many people, and I challenge any one of them to prove that they are not a better person for it. He will live on in many a memory, even though his next adventure is now beyond our reach. I envision him stepping into a well packed ethereal canoe, guided by Al Cornelius, and together they paddle around the next bend, to destinations unknown. Thank you Bob Tilley, for being the man you were and for helping me be the man I am. Your legacy will live on!

The post Just over the next ridge first appeared on thrumyeyes.

This is not news to some, an interesting fact to others, a meaningless mess of images to some others … and many other things to still many other people.

Actually, I am writing several books, but THIS book … this book is special. It is going to be a best seller; nobody is going to read it; both; neither; everything in-between. it may well go down as the hardest book one ever wrote. Or maybe instead it will be nothing more than a children’s learner … a book of letters that imparts a little joy and maybe also a little learning. Or both … neither … everything in-between.

Writing this book is a learning experience like no other. The first thing I have learned … an epiphany that was reminiscent of the sun shining though clouds after days of stormy weather … was that I, me, THIS ONE … KNOWS …

… absolutely nothing.

Possibly the most limiting concept humankind ever came up with is the concept of KNOWING something. Just think how much in the realm of possibility never gets a chance to exist simply because we KNOW it can’t.

Fortunately we who create, we who choose to weave the magics of the cosmos into random bits of coherence, we all KNOW one thing. We KNOW how limiting it is to KNOW. Am I a god? Yes. No. Or both … neither … everything in-between.

The biggest challenge of this book is I won’t know how it ends until … it ends. How is one to write a book that’s ending depends on how it ends? Every chapter has the same issue … sometimes even paragraphs and sentences. There are moments that are re-written before the moment is even over. How does one WRITE such a book?

Yet THAT is the book I am writing. Doesn’t that make me SPECIAL?

Yes. No. Or both … neither … everything in-between.

It seems I am not the only one writing this book. And every author has their own unique vision on how this book will turn out. I am very curious how this book … this SPECIAL book that I/WE am/are writing will turn out.  I/we simply don’t KNOW. But I/we certainly can …

IMAGINE CREATE IMAGINE CREATE IMAGINE CREATE IMAGINE CREATE IMAGINE

So what shall I/we call this book? That too may be a challenge.

I was positive that a path changing moment was imminent. Kind of scared me until I realized that EVERY moment can be described that way.

-Picnic

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The post Both … neither … everything in-between first appeared on thrumyeyes.

As I wander life in search of meaning, I frequently have to call on a mysterious entity I call The Wise Man. He is essentially a manifestation of epiphany, wisdom in the form of a human that helps me to … UNDERSTAND. Often his help comes in times of personal need, other times he magically appears while I am delving into the cores of human interaction … those deepest of concepts that will make or break our future. Seeking that collection of words to share with a thousand plus others (#1000Speak) on the UN World Day of Social Justice, words that hopefully will impart meaning and understanding to others, I found the need for The Wise Man’s insight again …

I was flipping channels the other day in the usual search for something of value to watch. As often happens for channel surfers. especially those who do it quickly, the partial sentences and words on each station seemed to form a dialog of its own … channel surf speak. Sometimes this phenomenon can be entertaining in itself, especially in those odd moments when a theme of sorts presents itself. For whatever reason, as the “news” channels, infomercials, “reality” shows, dramas, and odd religious programming, passed me by, one concept seemed to keep popping up.

Compassion.

My thumb clicked away, and each time it seemed the universe was again trying to tell me something, in the form of a word … a powerful idea. Yet for some reason, many of the times it started taking shape as the channels flipped by, it lacked a certain level of sincerity … an essence of not quite “getting” it. The campaigning politician used it in reference to ongoing war, and it was as if it was a totally different word on his lips. The world-renowned preacher used it to raise money for his ministries, and it was if he had reshaped the idea to his own meaning. The famous actor used it with dramatic intensity, yet it seemed so … well … scripted. It became evident to me that somebody maybe did not really understand the amazing concept that is compassion. The question … was that someone ME or those random voices on the Digital Soap Box?

Apparently a new quest was in order.

I shut off the Digital Demon, and put on my Questing Clothes and my Face of Curiosity. Where to start? How about the dictionary. I turned to another one of the Digital Demons (who uses paper dictionaries any more?) and came up with a starting place … an official definition:

A straightforward definition, yes. But as often is the case with life changing concepts … wholly inadequate to my mind. Sometimes the powerful tool that is words are simply insufficient for true understanding. This definition LACKED something. The imp in me said the definition lacked … well … compassion. Time to find out what the “experts” had to say.

I went into the opulent building of worship, and asked the Holy Man “What IS compassion?”

Without hesitation, he said “Following the word of God,” as he handed me the collection plate.

It did not ring true to me.

“What IS compassion?” I asked the eloquent Government Man as he postured for the press.

He slid money into one pocket, and directed a soldier to attack THOSE innocents because they “might” be dangerous before answering, “Making the world a better and safer place for all!” he said with an eyeless smile.

Hmmm. Irony?

I managed to get a meeting with a Lord of Commerce. “What IS compassion?” I asked.

“Weakness!” he said with authority. “An excuse for the needy to try to take my well-earned wealth!” Then he brushed me aside to direct the advertisers on how to make the company look like it “cared”.

Obviously he did not know.

“My reason for being,” said the Idealist.

“Feeling sad for those less fortunate,” said the Happy Homemaker.

“Only for those who deserve it,” said the Cynic.

The answers were endless. Some seemed to truly have a grasp, others just catching a glimmer, or missing altogether. Yet I still was not quite grasping it myself. I continued to wander, asking those willing to answer and adding their definitions to the growing picture. Yet I was still not quite there. I found myself in one of those places where the currents of the world meet. A walled off community, obviously one with stature. On the other side of the wall, slums, looking almost war-torn. Many passing, some allowed through the walls, some looking at the walls with envy, others simply passing by, in their own world, resigned or uncaring of the walls. A constant flux of motion, an interaction of many parts that on the surface seemed very different. But all shared one common trait. They all passed by, scorned, looked with pity at, ignored, feared, fled from, flung vitriol at a single figure. A being clad in rags, sitting against the wall. Dirty. Aromatic. Scarred by injury or disease.

The figure held out a hand, and reactions differed. Disgust. Civility with apology. Turning a blind eye. Occasionally an exchange of small funds. But always brief … a quickly forgotten interaction.

A family group, with kids of varying ages came along. They were laughing and playing as they rambled along. One little girl, nibbling on a cookie, ran ahead and looked at the figure with curiosity … a curiosity that was returned with a surprisingly bright smile. Older children said stinging words, laughing with derision and making faces. A mother said sharply “That is not nice!” to the culprits, yet dragged the little girl away. “Stay with us!” Politely but with an air of concern. The figure’s smile faded a little as the street prepared to return to carefully nurtured oblivion.

The childs eyes remained on the figure though, unable to look away. Suddenly, she darted from her mother, back to the figure. And with a giggle, she offered the figure a bite of her cookie. The smile brightened again. Polite denial, followed by the hand out again. Soft words, another giggle, and the child offered her own hand, to the apparent displeasure of her family and others near. With a bit of a struggle, lessened by the little girl’s hand, the figure got to its feet, and went to the bus station, boarding the bus that just arrived. Off to live life elsewhere.

As the figure boarded the bus, another familiar figure passed, exiting the bus. The new figure paused to give the ailing figure a hug, then continued off the bus, to pat the little girl on the head, telling her now flummoxed mother “There lies the hope of our future!” Then he turned to me.

I realised it was the Friendly Neighborhood Wise Man. “You have a question for me?” He said, knowingly.

“What IS compassion?” I asked, excitingly awaiting the answer I KNEW he had.

“I can’t tell you.” He must have noted the disappointment I felt with that answer. His air changed subtly, in at first an indefinable way. “I CAN show you though. Actually you just witnessed it.” He indicated the little girl.

Suddenly I got it.

The indefinable way he was speaking was itself compassion. And I understood. Compassion is like love; like spirituality; like enlightenment. Something not to be defined by words, but defined by action. And each and every one of us has to choose that definition for ourselves. Yet it is also a necessary component for the healing of humanity. No one, no one at all, with a hand out for aid should ever be left grasping air.

THAT is compassion.

If you like this and wish more of The Wise Man’s insight, check out The Wise Man Series. But more importantly, to fully appreciate the power that many strong thinkers can bring to a beautiful concept, see what magic these other voices have to share:

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The post The question of compassion #1000Speak first appeared on thrumyeyes.

The horror of the day is the burning alive of a soldier by the demons of the year. I know this sentence is ripe with sarcasm and seemingly a little lacking in compassion, but that is by intent. I have said it before, and I am saying it again. Terrorism is NOT caused by “terrorists”, though they might be the initial trigger. It is caused by our own reaction to what they do, especially in this day and age of instant information sharing. ISIS is a band of cowards with big sticks, and the main reason they carry such weight in the world is plain and simply because we LET them. They are nothing more than rabid animals. I am not saying that they are not dangerous. Nor am I am saying that they are not to be feared. But by having the news of their latest exploit repeated every five minutes; by sharing and re-sharing the video of them in action; by responding with any number of negative emotions … WE are the ones actually spreading their “message”. A rabid animal kills someone, it was most likely a painful death. We mourn the death, and remove the animal. We don’t post it all over the internet and make it huge news.

Why should we treat these other rabid animals any differently?

The military man died a very horrible death. Yes. He was also a military man. War means death. Quite often painfully and horribly. That is what anyone who joins the military is ultimately signing up for. The job description includes being willing to die for your country … which most likely will be a very unpleasant experience. Even his manner of death was not completely unheard of considering he was a pilot. Planes crash. Planes burn. He could have died that way under other circumstances. So frankly I find no more horror in it than ANY death from war.

I say again, the people of ISIS are basically nothing more than cowards. They hide behind masks, hide behind weapons, hide behind their own version of god, and feel strong because they can easily slaughter a restrained, severely outnumbered man who basically cannot defend himself.

And we give them the notoriety they crave simply because we actually WATCH the video they made of it.

I firmly believe the best way to combat the psychology of terrorism is to basically IGNORE it. I am not saying ignore the incident and the perpetrators. Take the rabid animals out. But ignore their intent, which is to become a threat to the world by INTENTIONALLY being rabid. They are like spoiled children throwing a tantrum. You pay attention to them, and they will just keep acting up. Ignore them, and then when they realize that they aren’t going to get anywhere, teach them the lesson they need.

If the voices of hatred can so strongly alter the current of world action, causing fear and anger and return hatred … imagine the power of voices that speak with compassion instead. Why are we so reluctant to hear THOSE words; so reluctant to let them spread HEALING instead of hatred and fear? Maybe because they are too often lone voices, voices that may speak wisdom but don’t have the strength of numbers. But on February 20th, a thousand such voices are prepared to share their words of compassion; their words of sharing, love and goodness; all at the same time. The messages will each be unique in form, but ultimately with the same intent. Their ARE alternatives to hatred and fear. And frankly they really have much more power … if we only have the courage to USE them. One voice can reach tens, hundreds, thousands … there is no limit really in this day and age. Fear and hatred only have as much power as we give it. Imagine a thousand voices sharing the power of LOVE.

Do you have the courage to hear those voices?

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The post The voice(s) of compassion – #1000Speak first appeared on thrumyeyes.