Creative Brooding

2007-04-24T17:26:00.000-07:00

I Am Seeking You Out LORD!

My soul yearns for you LORD,

In my sleeping I call out for you.

In my waking I watch and wait for your presence,

I long for your goodness and grace to fill me afresh.

My spirit cries out for your loving touch,

Your tender touch upon my life, my all!

To touch a little peace of heaven is all that I long for LORD!

If I could hold on to that I would have joy forever.

I am seeking you out LORD!

Seeking to find you in all that I do,

Seeking for you day and night,

I am earnestly seeking you LORD!

LORD, when I find you I will rest at your feet and sing songs,

Sweet love songs that tell of sacrifice and grace.

And may you, LORD, sing songs over me,

Then draw me close to you; I will rest in your peace.

Amen.

New Psalms

2007-03-21T17:51:00.000-07:00

Throwaway Children

Pat O'Connor Google Pages

It has been said, that we are all given our crosses to bear in our lives. Certainly, lymphedema with all the complications including lymphoma was one of mine. My second one was the abuse and rejection I experienced as a small child.

It is true, that we have no choice in the cross that we were born with. But we do have a choice in how we respond to and carry that cross, especially as an adult.

It also amazes me how many generations and descendants of a person’s family are affected by the actions of the parents. Mom and dad, whatever you do to your child, your are also doing to your grandchildren, great grand children and perhaps even beyond.

But, I digress, so back to our story.

When my mother and John were married, we lived in Jacksonville, Florida. We stayed there long enough for mother to give him two daughters of his own. Susan, the oldest was born in 1954 and Diana in 1956. After that he was transferred to Tennessee and then subsequently to southern California. I am assuming it was Camp Pendleton as that was the largest Marine Corps facility in the state.

Immediately after my mother and dad’s divorce, our dad disappeared forever from our lives. The story that I am told is that mom had caused him to be fired from every position he had and that the final straw was the last time he came to see us. He had brought Marion (my older sister) a dress. Mother ripped it up and John threatened to have his marine “buddies” take care of him if he ever showed up again. How true it is, perhaps we will never know, but the story comes from several sources.

Alcohol was also a central problem with both mother and John. They are the type of people whose entire personality changes with drinking. When you add alcohol to unstable mean spirited people, they become even more cruel and violent.

My earliest memories of childhood are filled with recollections of this violence and brutality. One of John’s disciplinary tactics was to pull you around by the hair and throw you down on the floor.

When I was about four years old, our dog peed on the floor. John of course accused me of doing it so he put the leather belt all over me and rubbed my face in the dog pee.

There was also a park nearby that my older brother, sister and I would go to. I remember how upset they would get because I would refuse to join them in begging people at the park for food.

While living in that same house, my sister Marion ate poison as a result of digging food from a neighbor’s garbage can.

From Jacksonville, John was briefly transferred to a base in Tennessee. With one glaring exception, I don’t have too many memories from there.

While mother and John were out at the bar, a severe storm passed through our area and a tornado took of the top of our two story house. It was incredibly frightening for five children, ages 8 through 3 and home alone.

Shortly after that, John was transferred to southern California as I mentioned above. We were not there long as events unfolding in Oregon were soon to have a profound effect on us.

In the late forties, mother's oldest sister, Paula had sold all her beauty colleges, schools and shops throughout Southern California and decided to be a rancher in Oregon.

She bought an 1800 spread, called Fall Creek, just outside a tiny town named Glide, Oregon. Her financial stature increased even more when she married a very well to do rancher Lossie. Together, they had properties all over the state of Oregon and beyond.

Mother decided she wanted to stake a claim on this wealth and get as much as she could from Paula. So, leaving John behind in Camp Pendelton, she packed we five children up and moved to Oregon.

We settled into a 1600 acres ranch, owned of course, by Uncle Lossie outside another small town named Yoncalla.

John only came up for visits and even those rare events were
full of the usual violence and abuse. I remember the first time it snowed. I had never played in snow before, so I thought it would be a grand idea to go out and build a snowman.

Apparently, it was a very wrong decision, and John kept beating me hard enough and long enough that the leather belt he used actually broke.

In the meantime, something had changed in me and I fought back against the abuse. This is not such a good idea when you are a five year old against a grown woman and a marine sargeant.

When I fought back, mother would hold my head under the water faucet until I could no longer breathe and lapsed into compliance.

Another favorite punishment would be to have me stand in the corner until I came close to passing out.

We were not in Yoncalla very long before John had one of those "forced" honorable resignations from the Marine Corps (thanks naturally to mother's actions). At that point they made a decision that it was time to be rid of the O'Connor children and we were to be carted back off to Florida and dumped on relatives.

Ironically, their decision based in evil was the best possible course of action for me. It provided me with years of somewhat of a normal childhood, gave me a person who became (and still is) my mother in my heart and enabled me to get medical care for the worsening lymphedema.

By the time we left Yoncalla, I was such a wreck from the abuse that I would wake up in the middle of the night after having vomited all over my bed....and yes, there was punishment for that as well.

2007-03-19T18:54:00.000-07:00

Against our Fear
Fearful, God, we are fearful
even though you yourself said
“Do not fear; I will be with you.”
We cannot help oursleves
We are fearful
for our families
for our jobs
for our insecurities
We are fearful
that we have it all wrong
that we are wrong about you
that everyone will know
our secrets

We are fearful…of you
because we can hide notihng
from you

Our insecurities, our secrets,
our fears all are laid
bare before you
and we are terrified
We fear you but for all
the wrong reasons
and in all the wrong ways

So we ask, God, against
our fear that you be with
us that you be our
strength and shield that
you take away everything
that makes us fearful
And we ask fearfully,
knowing that
you will answer.

Modern Psalms

2007-03-09T20:53:00.000-08:00

* * * * * * * *

Irish Poems and Blessings

for our upcoming St. Patrick's Day

17 March 2007

* * * * * * *

DEDICATION

by Patrick MacGill (1890- )

from 1000 years of Irish Poetry

.
I speak with a proud tongue of the people who were

And the people who are,

The worthy of Ardara, the Rosses and Inishkeel,

My kindred-

The people of the hills and the dark-haired passes

My neighbours on the lift of the brae,I

n the lap of the valley.

.
To them Slainthé!

.
I speak of the old men,

The wrinkle-rutted,

Who dodder about foot-weary -

For their day is as the day that has been and is no more -

Who warm their feet by the fire,

And recall memories of the times that are gone;

Who kneel in the lamplight and pray

For the peace that has been theirs -

And who beat one dry-veined hand against another

Even in the sun-

For the coldness of death is on them.

.
I speak of the old women

Who danced to yesterday's fiddle

And dance no longer.

They sit in a quiet place and dream

And see visions

Of what is to come,

Of their issue,

Which has blossomed to manhood and womanhood -

And seeing thus

They are happy

For the day that was leaves no regrets,

And peace is theirs

And perfection.

.
I speak of the strong men

Who shoulder their burdens in the hot day,

Who stand on the market-place

And bargain in loud voices,

Showing their stock to the world.

Straight the glance of their eyes -

Broad-shouldered,

Supple.

Under their feet the holms blossom,

The harvest yields.

The their path is of prosperity.

.
I speak of the women,

Strong hipped, full-bosomed,

Who drive the cattle to graze at dawn,

Who milk the cows at dusk.

Grace in their homes,

And in the crowded ways

Modest and seemly -

Mother of children!

.
I speak of the children

Of the many townlands,

Blossoms of the Bogland,

Flowers of the Valley,

Who know not yesterday, nor to-morrow,

And are happy,

The pride of those who have begot them.

.
And thus it is,

Every and always,I

n Ardara, the Rosses and Inishkeel -

Here, as elsewhere,

The Weak, the Strong, and the Blossoming -

And thus my kindred.

.
To them Slainthé!

* * * * * * * *

LINES TO ERIN

by J. J. Callananfrom

The Poetry and Song of Ireland

.
When dullness shall chain the wild harp that would praise thee,

When its last sigh of freedom is heard on thy shore,

When its raptures shall bless the false hearth that betrays thee -

Oh, then, dearest Erin, I'll love thee no more!

.
When thy sons are less tame than their own ocean waters,

When their last flash of wit and genious is o'er,

When virtue and beauty forsake thy young daughters -

Oh, then, dearest Erin, I'll love thee no more!

.
When the sun that now holds his bright path o'er the mountains

Forgets the green fields that he smiled on before,

When no moonlight shall sleep on thy lakes and thy fountains -

Oh, then, dearest Erin, I'll love thee no more!

.
When the name of the Saxon and tyrant shall sever,

When the freedom you lost you no longer deplore,

When the thoughts of your wrongs shall be sleeping forever -

Oh, then, dearest Erin, I'll love thee no more!

* * * * * * * *

STANZAS TO ERIN

by J. J. Callanan

from The Poetry and Song of Ireland

.
Still green are thy mountains and bright is thy shore, And the voice of thy fountains is heard as of yore: The sun o'er thy valleys, dear Erin, shines on,Though thy bard and thy lover forever is gone.

Nor shall he, an exile, thy glad scenes forget -The friends fondly loved, ne'er again to be met -The glens where he mused on the deeds of his nation,And waked his young harp with wild inspiration.

Still, still, though between us may roll the broad ocean, Will I cherish thy name with the same deep devotion; And though minstrels more brilliant my place may supply, None loves you more fondly, more truly than I.

* * * * * * * *

Songs of Our Land

by Francis Brown

.
Songs of our land, ye are with us for ever,The power and the splendor of thrones pass away;But yours is the might of some far flowing river.Through Summer's bright roses or Autumn's decay.Ye treasure each voice of the swift passing ages,And truth which time writeth on leaves or on sand;Ye bring us the thoughs of poets and sages,And keep them among us, old songs of our land.

.
The bards may go down to the place of their slumbers,The lyre of the charmer be hushed in the grave,But far in the future the power of their numbersShall kindle the hearts of our faithful and brave,It will waken an echo in souls deep and lonely,Like voices of reeds by the summer breeze fanned;It will call up a spirit for freedom, when onlyHer breathings are heard in the songs of our land.

.
For they keep a record of those, the true-hearted,Who fell with the cause they had vowed to maintain;They show us bright shadows of glory departed,Of love that grew cold and hope that was vain.The page may be lost and the pen long forsaken,And weeds may grow wild o'er the brave heart and hand;But ye are still left when all else hath been taken,Like streams in the desert, sweet songs of our land.

.
Songs of our land, ye have followed the stranger,With power over ocean and desert afar,Ye have gone with our wanderers through distance and danger,And gladdened their path like a homeguiding star.With the breath of our mountains in summers long vanished,And visions that passed like a wave from the sand,With hope for their country and joy from her banished.Ye come to us ever, sweet songs of our land.

.
The spring time may come with the song of our glory,To bid the green heart of the forest rejoice,But the pine of the mountain though blasted and hoary,And the rock in the desert, can send forth a voice,It was thus in their triumph for deep desolations,While ocean waves roll or the mountains shall stand,Still hearts that are bravest and best of the nations,Shall glory and live in the songs of our land.
.

* * * * * * * *

Irish Blessings

.
May the Irish hills caress you. May her lakes and rivers bless you.May the luck of the Irish enfold you. May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

.
Now sweetly lies old Ireland. Emerald green beyond the foam, Awakening sweet memories, Calling the heart back home.

.
Ireland, it's the one place on earth. That heaven has kissedWith melody, mirth, And meadow and mist.

.
Wherever you go and whatever you do, May the luck of the Irish be there with you.

.
May your heart be warm and happy. With the lilt of Irish laughter. Every day in every way. And forever and ever after.

.
May the luck of the Irish possess you. May the devil fly off with your worries. May God bless you forever and ever.

.
Bless your little Irish heart - and every other Irish part.

.
Ireland is where strange tales begin and happy endings are possible.

.
An Irish method for tackling problems; There comes a time when you must take the bull By the tail and face the situation squarely.

.
Here's to good Irish friends. Never above you. Never below you. May the Irish hills caress you. May her lakes and rivers bless you. May the luck of the Irish enfold you. May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

.
Now sweetly lies old Ireland.

Emerald green beyond the foam, Awakening sweet memories, Calling the heart back home.

.
Ireland, it's the one place on earth. That heaven has kissed With melody, mirth,And meadow and mist.

.
Wherever you go and whatever you do, May the luck of the Irish be there with you.
May your heart be warm and happy With the lilt of Irish laughterEvery day in every way. And forever and ever after.

.
May the blessing of Light be on you - light without and light within, May the blessed sunlight shine on you and warm your heart till it glows like a great peat fire, so that the stranger may come and warm himself at it, and also a friend. And may the light shine out of the two eyes of you, like a candle set in two windows of a house, bidding the wanderer to come in out of the storm.

.
And may the blessing of the Rain be on you - the soft sweet rain. May it fall upon your spirit so that all the little flowers may spring up, and shed their sweetness on the air. And may the blessing of the Great Rains be on you, may they beat upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean, and leave there many a shining pool where the blue of heaven shines, and sometimes a star.

.
And may the blessing of the Earth be on you - the great round earth; may you ever have a kindly greeting for them you pass as you're going along the roads. May the earth be soft under you when yourest upon it, tired at the end of the day, and mayit rest easy over you when, at the last, you layout under it; May it rest so lightly over you, that your soul may be out from under it quickly, and up, and off, and on its way to God.

May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, And the rains fall soft upon your fields.And until we meet again. May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

* * * * * * * *

Pat O'Connor

9 March 2007

2007-02-25T11:43:00.000-08:00

Connor
Ryan
Dant

A Photo Gallery

Ok, now this wasn't the neat tidy arrangement I had hoped to make, but you are really limited by the program of Blogger.

1.) Mom and Connor, Nap time

2.) Connor, hmm bib's on, must be food time...hooray!!!!!

3.) Connor ... with his cap, and don't mess with his cap when its on

4.) Connor and his first cereal...yummy!!!

5.) Connor... he has the most piercing eyes that look right into you

6.) Connor...what a smiley

7.) Grandpa and Connor...hmmm what are we looking at???

8.) Grandpa (me) and my pumpkin

9.) Uncle Patrick and Connor...bottle time. Patrickis Emily's brother.

10.) LOL... a larger picture of mom and Connor napping

11.) Shaun...the proud dad at the hospital

12.) Emily, Shaun and Connor... what a little family!!!

2007-02-25T10:06:00.000-08:00

Connor Ryan Dant

Born: October 15, 2006
.
Enough of the sad songs, and melancholy moods for it is long past time that I introduce the world to my first grandchild, Connor Ryan Dant, born on October 15, 2006.
.
In February 2006, before my daughter Emily, knew she was pregnant, she had brought over a six week old half Labrador half Australian shepard puppy to show me. I could not believe she had gotten this little pup as she already has two Shelties and a Lab. Before even thinking, I said, "Emily, what in the world are you going to do with a new puppy and a baby?"
.
How very prophetic those words turned out to be. One week later, she called me and said, "Uh, dad, I'm pregnant!"
.
Now of course, I was the humble dad, never once uttering, "I told you so."
.
But, needless to say this old man was bouncing off the wall at the thought of a grandchild.
.
I was excited too because in my heart, I just knew that Emily was going to be a great mom, and her hubby Shaun would be a great dad. That little baby would be surrounded by two families of nuturing love.
.
Emily was a perfect example of the old adage that there is something especially beautiful about a pregnant woman and I was very proud of her that she took such good care of herself, managed to survive the oppressive Summer heat that we have here in Atlanta and still keep her sense of humor and her smile.
.
Poor Em is tall and skinny, so she carried Connor right out front. By the time he was born, it looked like someone had stuffed a super sized pumpkin in her tummy.
.
Spring and Summer quickly slipped away and the Autumn winds blew a new season into our lives.
.
It was Sunday morning when we got the call that Emily and Shaun had gone to the hospital. Of course, I very calmly got ready and without breaking any speed limits, her brother Patrick and I headed for the hospital.
.
There were a number of close friends that joined us and we waited and waited and waited. Finally, at 12:47 in the afternoon, Connor made his grand debut wighing in at 7 pounds 7 ounces and 18 1/2 inches in length.
.
Now, I told myself I was going to keep a stiff upper lip when I got to hold him. Right...I was quickly turned into mush gazing at this beautiful little miracle.
.
It is so hard to believe that he is now fourth months old. OK, so I know I am the grandpa, but he just gets cuter and cuter as time goes by. He is now so responsive and tries so hard with his little sounds to tell you tall tales.
.
We have just past some milestones too. Recently he had his first cereal and now his first bananas. He is growing so quickly and changing day by day.
.
I can't wait to see what type of person he becomes, what his values to be, his dreams, visions and goals are going to be. In the meantime though, I'm just going to enjoy being grandpa. Thank you, my beloved daughter for this gift you have given not only to me, but to the world.

"A Grandson is the greatest gift. A lifetime can provide, A special joy that comes from deep inside. A Grandson is a blessing and a constant source of happiness and pride."

"Grandchildren are a lift for the spirit and a joy for the heart. We all tell the next generation the praise worthy deeds of the Lord.... then they will put their trust in God. Psalm 78-4b-7a"

2007-02-23T05:09:00.000-08:00

Lamentations Three

Hope of Relief through God's Mercy

1: I am the man that hath seen affliction by the rod of his wrath.

2: He hath led me, and brought me into darkness, but not into light.

3: Surely against me is he turned; he turneth his hand against me all the day.

4: My flesh and my skin hath he made old; he hath broken my bones.

5: He hath builded against me, and compassed me with gall and travail.

6: He hath set me in dark places, as they that be dead of old.

7: He hath hedged me about, that I cannot get out: he hath made my chain heavy.

8: Also when I cry and shout, he shutteth out my prayer.

9: He hath inclosed my ways with hewn stone, he hath made my paths crooked.

10: He was unto me as a bear lying in wait, and as a lion in secret places.

11: He hath turned aside my ways, and pulled me in pieces: he hath made me desolate.

12: He hath bent his bow, and set me as a mark for the arrow.

13: He hath caused the arrows of his quiver to enter into my reins.

14: I was a derision to all my people; and their song all the day.

15: He hath filled me with bitterness, he hath made me drunken with wormwood.

16: He hath also broken my teeth with gravel stones, he hath covered me with ashes.

17: And thou hast removed my soul far off from peace: I forgat prosperity.

18: And I said, My strength and my hope is perished from the LORD:

19: Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall.

20: My soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me.

21: This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope.

22: It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.

23: They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.

24: The LORD is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.

25: The LORD is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him.

26: It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the LORD.

27: It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth.

28: He sitteth alone and keepeth silence, because he hath borne it upon him.

29: He putteth his mouth in the dust; if so be there may be hope.

30: He giveth his cheek to him that smiteth him: he is filled full with reproach.

31: For the Lord will not cast off for ever:

32: But though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies.

33: For he doth not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men.

34: To crush under his feet all the prisoners of the earth, 35: To turn aside the right of a man before the face of the most High,

36: To subvert a man in his cause, the Lord approveth not.

37: Who is he that saith, and it cometh to pass, when the Lord commandeth it not?

38: Out of the mouth of the most High proceedeth not evil and good?

39: Wherefore doth a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins?

40: Let us search and try our ways, and turn again to the LORD.

41: Let us lift up our heart with our hands unto God in the heavens.

42: We have transgressed and have rebelled: thou hast not pardoned.

43: Thou hast covered with anger, and persecuted us: thou hast slain, thou hast not pitied.

44: Thou hast covered thyself with a cloud, that our prayer should not pass through.

45: Thou hast made us as the offscouring and refuse in the midst of the people.

46: All our enemies have opened their mouths against us.

47: Fear and a snare is come upon us, desolation and destruction.

48: Mine eye runneth down with rivers of water for the destruction of the daughter of my people.

49: Mine eye trickleth down, and ceaseth not, without any intermission,

50: Till the LORD look down, and behold from heaven.

51: Mine eye affecteth mine heart because of all the daughters of my city. 52: Mine enemies chased me sore, like a bird, without cause.

53: They have cut off my life in the dungeon, and cast a stone upon me.

54: Waters flowed over mine head; then I said, I am cut off.

55: I called upon thy name, O LORD, out of the low dungeon. 56: Thou hast heard my voice: hide not thine ear at my breathing, at my cry.

57: Thou drewest near in the day that I called upon thee: thou saidst, Fear not.

58: O Lord, thou hast pleaded the causes of my soul; thou hast redeemed my life.

59: O LORD, thou hast seen my wrong: judge thou my cause.

60: Thou hast seen all their vengeance and all their imaginations against me.

61: Thou hast heard their reproach, O LORD, and all their imaginations against me;

62: The lips of those that rose up against me, and their device against me all the day.

63: Behold their sitting down, and their rising up; I am their musick.

64: Render unto them a recompence, O LORD, according to the work of their hands.

65: Give them sorrow of heart, thy curse unto them.

66: Persecute and destroy them in anger from under the heavens of the LORD.

2007-02-06T11:27:00.000-08:00

TEARS OF A NATION

*
I met a man of many colors And a tear was upon his cheek."Old man" I ask, "why do you cry With such an agonizing weep?"

"Oh child" this man he says to me, "My heart is broken in so many ways. That I believe this day to end Will find me out stretched and far within the encompassing earth of sin."

I sat down beside this man and asked him "do not cry. For what you think is so bad, that life will pass you by?"

He looks at me with such sad eyes, and weeps ever more. He holds his hands out to me and alas, I do see the anguish of his heart.

For his hands were different colors one is red and the other white, a leg he unclothed for me was as yellow as could be and his other leg as black as night.

"I am the father of the world. In case you do not know. And my children have grown apart and fight among themselves.

For when they do not get along my arms and legs and hands and feet destroys the very life of me.

My hands of red and white will not feed this face of night. And my legs of black and yellow, will not stand beneath this body and support my heart and soul.
For they argue far too much, and now I have grown old.

So here I sit in this haven of unwelcomeness. And when this day ends, a father I will not be. For my children of many nations have forgotten how to accompany me.

LneStarLdy

Pat O'Connor

Credit to: poem: Fortune City artwork: Mountain Grandmother

2007-01-26T11:34:00.000-08:00

Anger - A Few Random Thoughts

I originally posted this on another blog, but felt it was important enough that I wanted to share it here as well.

It is 3:00am; Sunday Morning with the only sound is the clicking of the keyboard and the mellow sounds of BB King echoing throughout the stillness of the night.. What a beautiful time of the day, nourishing solitude and a special time for reflection.

Home at last after another week of being poked, prodded, disrupted and cut. I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll be able to stay out this time, and I remember what Dr. Stewart said about being caught in the cycle. For me the cycle goes only downward, and my eyes look upward, not downward.

We had an interesting incident in the Lipedema group this week, and I bade farewell to the group I founded. There was a member that simply in absolute anger went berserk over the fact that I questioned them on some treatment they had suggested.

How very very say to be so driven and consumed by such an emotion as anger. I have struggled against lymphedema, lymphoma, leukopenia…but there are worse things you can have…anger, bitterness and fear.

Those emotions have destroyed more lives then all the wars of human history combined and life is far too short to be eaten up by them.

It is easy to become angry when you have a serious illness and actually it is quite normal. What isn’t normal and what can be totally destructive is when you allow the anger to be predominant in your emotions.

Choose your path…choose your destiny…no matter what condition or situation your are in, you still have a choice.

Choose anger…and you choose death…lonliness….bitterness.

It may not be your fault, indeed it is probably no one’s fault that you have a terrible medical condition. But, it is your responsibility how you react to it.

You can also choose to be a blessing to others, or to be a curse. You can be remembered in their hearts with sweetness or with a relief that you are gone.

When you are consumed in anger, I do not have compassion for you or your medical condition. I do feel sorry for those who are going to be your victims. Those innocent people who come across your path that you hurt and lash out at to make yourself feel better. What a coward’s way to face life and you certainly don't have the right to take out your anger on others.
Some interesting quotes about anger:

If you do not wish to be prone to anger, do not feed the habit; give it nothing which may tend to its increase.
Epictetus (55 AD - 135 AD)

Speak when you are angry--and you will make the best speech you'll ever regret.
Laurence J. Peter (1919 - 1988)

When anger rises, think of the consequences.
Confucius (551 BC - 479 BC)

He who angers you conquers you. My mother used to say, "He who angers you, conquers you!" But my mother was a saint.
Elizabeth Kenney

Of the Seven Deadly Sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back -- in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.
Frederick Beuchner

How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it.
Marcus Aurelius

People who fly into a rage always make a bad landing.
Will Rogers

Anger dwells only in the bosom of fools.
Albert Einstein

If you kick a stone in anger, you'll hurt your own foot.
Korean Proverb

Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him.
Louis L'Armour

Consider how much more you often suffer from your anger and grief, than from those very things for which you are angry and grieved.
Marcus Antonius

Anger is the handmaiden of self-pity and the toxin of death.
Pat O'Connor

When you were born, the world rejoiced and you cried. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice.
Old Cherokee Proverb

Pat O'Connor
01/21/2007

2007-01-24T21:07:00.000-08:00

Courage

Some random thoughts

It has often been said, that it takes more courage to face life, then to face death.

For in death, you are given the answers you seek during life and your pathway is guided by the holy light of the Almighty.

But, to remain in this life, there are dragons to slay, demons to subdue, monsters to conquer.

What are these dragons and monsters?

Fear, bitterness, lonliness, sickness, hopelessness, self-doubt or even worse self-hate.

There are dreams long turned into dust, loved ones who have forsaken us, the over whelming sense of futility, the pain of rejection that rapes our soul.

Courage is more then simply the opposite of cowardice. It is the flowering of your spirit, knowing what is it to be beautiful in spirit.

It is the determination to overcome the great tragedies and sorrows of life without becoming hard, bitter and cynical.

Courage is the empowerment of the heart to care, to love, to forget onself and to bring comfort to the suffering of another.

Courage is remaining true to your own values, even if and when it costs you everything you have, or ever hoped to have.

Courage is holding onto your dreams, of being unafraid to dream again.

Courage is the discovery of hope, for if you lose hope, you lose the vitality of your spirit.

Courage is continuing the spirirtual war, even when you lose the battle today.

Courage is forgiving and loving the very person that brutalized you the most.

Courage is a way of life. It is as much a habit as anything else. Like getting up and brushing your teeth in the morning, or drinking coffee. It’s a matter of routine more than anything else. For it has also been said that the real test of courage is in our daily lives.

Courage is someone who feels fear, recognizes fear and still goes on to do what he or she believes is right.

Courage is the strength to speak our mind and not stay silent in the midst of hate and wrong doing.

Courage is giving freely without the expectation of reward or the feeling that the person you helped now "owes" you something.

Mark Twain has said, Courage is not the absence of fear. It is acting in spite of it.

Pat O'Connor

Janoary 24, 2007

2007-01-23T20:55:00.000-08:00

You're tired and you're poor, you long to be free, but in this Godforsaken land you find no home, no family on the many roads that you've wandered since the day of your birth. You've become one of the last, lonely and wretched.

Your hair is matted, your face and hands are dirty, and the years that you've toiled must number somewhere near thirty. The deepening of a sadness broke finally into madness. You are truly one of the last, lonely and wretched.

Your eyes are wild and frightening at the same time they are blessed and I wonder if God died, turned his back or only just rested. And you walked out on the seventh day through the big gates and on your way to become one of the last, lonely and wretched.

For once you were a child. Your cheeks were red, you were well fed. You laughed and played till you got teary, ran to your mother when you were weary.

But somewhere you were forsaken alone I'll not bear the blame and somehow all was taken, your mind, your body, your name.

Forgive us our unkindness, our desertion and our blindness, with you, all the last, lonely and wretched. Forgive us, all the last, lonely and wretched

1970, 1971 Chandos MusicWords, Lyrics by Joan Baez

2007-01-22T22:47:00.000-08:00

When we are young, so very young our hearts were full of the joy of life.

We delighted in all that we saw, eager to learn, eager to grow.

Then time begins to take its toll and wears away even the essence of our spirit.

By the time we are adults, the sensitivity of our young spirit has been forever hardened. We hide who and what we are...safely locking it away in a prison cell.

We learn to play the game of life, give the world what it wants and what it expects. We are shorn of our ability to trust, to reach out, to care. We hide our sorrows, quickly wipe away our silent tears and protect our hearts with a solid impenetrable vault.

Slowly, even before we realize it, we begin to die. Our true self retreats further and further into the darkness, until there is only a faint shadow left, until we don't even recognize the stranger that lives deeply within us.

I don't wanna grow old and turn to stone. I want to feel all the joys and sorrows of my life. I want to create beauty and to delight in the simple things. I want to embrace the dawn and feel the resurrection of the sun filling my heart. I want to squeal with delight in learning new truths, discovering new epiphanies. I want to have the courage to not let the world and the brutality of life destroy my spirit or crush my heart.

I don't want to loose who I am, what I am, what I stand for in my heart and my spirit. I don't want to be afraid to care, to love, to be gentle, to create beauty, to give hope. For if I loose all of those treasures, then my life truely will be over and there will no longer be any reason to continue along life's path.

"I've Gotta Be Me"

Whether I'm right or whether I'm wrong

Whether I find a place in this world or never belong

I gotta be me, I've gotta be me

What else can I be but what I am

I want to live, not merely survive

And I won't give up this dream

Of life that keeps me alive

I gotta be me, I gotta be me

The dream that I see makes me what I am

That far-away prize, a world of success

Is waiting for me if I heed the call

I won't settle down, won't settle for less

As long as there's a chance that I can have it all

I'll go it alone, that's how it must be

I can't be right for somebody else

If I'm not right for meI gotta be free, I've gotta be free

Daring to try, to do it or die

I've gotta be me

I'll go it alone, that's how it must be

I can't be right for somebody else

If I'm not right for me

I gotta be free, I just gotta be free

Daring to try, to do it or die

I gotta be me

Sammy Davis Jr

---------------------------

Pat O'Connor

January 22, 2007

2007-01-21T01:38:00.000-08:00

In thee, O LORD, do I put my trust;

let me never be ashamed:
deliver me in thy righteousness.
2
Bow down thine ear to me;

deliver me speedily:
be thou my strong rock,
for a house of defense to save me.
3
For thou art my rock and my fortress;

therefore for thy name's sake lead me, and guide me.
4
Pull me out of the net that they have laid privily for me:

for thou art my strength.
5
Into thine hand I commit my spirit

thou hast redeemed me, O LORD God of truth.
6
I have hated them that regard lying vanities:

but I trust in the LORD.
7
I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy:

for thou hast considered my trouble;
thou hast known my soul in adversities;
8
and hast not shut me up into the hand of the enemy:

thou hast set my feet in a large room.
9
Have mercy upon me, O LORD, for I am in trouble:

mine eye is consumed with grief,
yea, my soul and my belly.
10
For my life is spent with grief,

and my years with sighing:
my strength faileth because of mine iniquity,
and my bones are consumed.
11
I was a reproach among all mine enemies,

but especially among my neighbors,
and a fear to mine acquaintance:
they that did see me without fled from me.
12
I am forgotten as a dead man out of mind:

I am like a broken vessel.
13
For I have heard the slander of many:

fear was on every side:
while they took counsel together against me,
they devised to take away my life.
14
But I trusted in thee, O LORD:

I said, Thou art my God.
15
My times are in thy hand:

deliver me from the hand of mine enemies,
and from them that persecute me.
16
Make thy face to shine upon thy servant:

save me for thy mercies' sake.
17
Let me not be ashamed, O LORD;

for I have called upon thee:
let the wicked be ashamed,
and let them be silent in the grave.
18
Let the lying lips be put to silence;

which speak grievous things
proudly and contemptuously against the righteous.
19
Oh how great is thy goodness,

which thou hast laid up for them that fear thee;
which thou hast wrought for them that trust in thee
before the sons of men!
20
Thou shalt hide them in the secret of thy presence

from the pride of man:
thou shalt keep them secretly in a pavilion
from the strife of tongues.
21
Blessed be the LORD:

for he hath showed me his marvelous kindness in a strong city.
22
For I said in my haste,

I am cut off from before thine eyes:
nevertheless thou heardest the voice of my supplications
when I cried unto thee.
23
O love the LORD, all ye his saints:

for the LORD preserveth the faithful,
and plentifully rewardeth the proud doer.
24
Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart,

all ye that hope in the LORD.

Psalms 31

2007-01-13T19:17:00.000-08:00

I am Free

Pat O'Connor

March 17, 2005

I was born with lymphedema. Slowly over the years, I have watched helplessly as my body swells more and more, destroying so much of my abilities of doing

"things." Then came the cancers, the depletion of an already tattered immune system.... the slow ebbing of a life.

I know what it is to hurt so bad...your body screams to die just for relief. I have felt that despair that says, "if only I could go to sleep and not wake up."

I have wrestled with the anger that comes and cries out "if only this stuff would do its job quickly...instead of slowly stealing away my life."

You struggle with the shadows of the night...the quiet tears that stain your cheek.

I know the shame of being made fun of....laughed at....rejected because my legs were so "wierd." The heart break of being called a freak. The feeling of hopelessness and isolation.

Some would say I am prison bound...locked away in a body that is overwhelmed by pain, disfigurment, continually eaten up by non-stopable infections...sorrow and frustrations face my every day.

But, I am free.

I am free to embrace the dawn...to bask in the warmth of the morning sun.

I am free to wander through the stars at night...to behold the glory of my God and worship His goodness.

I am free to be intoxicated by the aroma of a rose...glistening with the dew. To rejoice in all the glory of a wonderous creation.

I am free to create beauty, whether through the pen, a camera...a brush...to create beauty in a world where so many create ugliness.

I am free to laugh and to bring laughter into anothers sorrowful life.

I am free to go beyond my own pain...to bring comfort to another...to bring healing to an aching heart.

I am free to go beyond my selfishness...to choose a life of selfless giving to others.

I am free to reach out and touch the heart of another...to bring comfort and hope.

I am free to wipe away the tears of another hurting spirit...to lift them up...to help heal their broken heart.

I am free to journey within...to face my fears...to overcome them with victory in my spirit...instead of living in fear and doubt.

I am free to allow bitterness....to be turned into a sweet nectar.

I am free...to be me. Free to say "I don't want to be anyone else, but me"

I am free to look into the mirror and respect the person I see, to like my values... to know who I am deep inside.

I am free...in so many many ways...seemingly to many to list. But...perhaps most important.......

I am free to choose who I am and how I live.

I am free to choose life...instead of allowing myself to be destroyed by the shadows of despair or even death.

I am free to love...to dream...to forgive...to choose kindess and gentleness.

I am free...

2007-01-13T17:34:00.000-08:00

On Life and Death

Like an endless turbulent tide, the struggle between life and death ravages my soul and overwhelms my spirit.

To live is only to know pain and sorrow and to drink from the cup of forgotten dreams and vanquished hopes, to endure an endless struggle of aloneness and desperation.

We are born to know suffering. We journey through life attempting to create meaning and purpose from absolute futility and chaos. We run from the reality, that all we are is dust in the wind.

For we are here for a few short years, and then after we are gone, we are forgotten in only a few minutes. No one remembers or even cares that we were here.

Death is a sweet release. It is the time when you soul is finally freed from the weak and worn out body. It is the moment of rebirth when you spirit is allowed to soar through the universe and finally discover its fulfillment.

If death is a time of no more suffering and pain, no more sorrow and anguish, then why does humanity fear it so? As Kahlil Gibran, the Lebanese poet once said, “We fear death, yet we long for slumber and beautiful dreams.”

But always, I chose the path of life because it is the responsible thing to do. After all, the responsible person chooses that which will cause the less pain in others. I live because, I am told, they need me too. I live because it is expected of me.

Yet, as night covers the earth and the shadows race across the face of the moon, I am alone. My spirit weeps with the memories of silent sorrows. Tears that could not be cried, fears that could not be acknowledged to others. I am imprisoned in the darkness of the night and wonder when I shall delight in the dawn.

Pat O'Connor

January 13, 2007

2007-01-01T07:08:00.000-08:00

My Big Brother Steve

January 1, 2007

What better way can there be to welcome the new year, then by sharing a little about someone who you love very much and for whom you have great respect and admiration for.

Like so many families and family members, time and distance had separated Steve and I for many many years. So much so, that we almost became like strangers to each other.

Then a couple years ago, Steve came down (from Alaska) for a visit. I suddenly came to know my brother, like I had never done before. I came to see a depth and quality, of deep inner feeling, that sense of humor, and a quiet but strong gentleness that came from within.

A big gap in my heart had been filled. I had my big brother back!

This year, Steve had retired as fire chief for the area he lived in Alaska and was planning to come down for a couple weeks to again visit and so we could spend time together. This was really going to be one the highlights of my year.....so excited about it.

Then a week before he was to be here, came that awful phone call. He had an accident on September 14th:

Steve was unloading a rototiller from the back of his truck when he got tangled with it and both of them fell to the ground. Steve's wife Linda found him unconscious a short time later and called for help. The Nikiski Fire Department responded to the call and transported Steve to Central Peninsula General Hospital in Soldotna. Steve regained consciousness and was evaluated for possible head, neck, and back injuries. He was admitted to the hospital for overnight observation. During the night his condition deteriorated and Steve required intubation and ventilation support. Further test results determined that he had intracranial bleeding and was subsequently Medevaced to Providence Medical Center in Anchorage at 5:30am on Friday, September 15th.

All of a sudden, it seemed that very brother I had just been restored to might well be taken away. I was shattered...think freaked out would be a good term too. He was in a coma and for the first few days was not doing to well.

Move ahead several months though, and we have our miracle. Not only did he come out of the coma, but his healing and progress and been spectacular. He has made it from critical care to a hospital back in his home town where he is receiving physical therapy. The old Steve is back....roaring to get going. I am again filled with excitment over the prospect of him being able to visit and of spending time together.

I know this isn't what I usually put in this blog...but just needed to share...and wanted you to know a little about my brother Steve.

Unlike the previous three posts, this could be more appropriately called

The Beauty of a Life Restored

Pat O'Connor

January 1, 2007

2006-12-10T13:27:00.000-08:00

The Beauty of Death - Part One

The Calling

Kahlil Gibran

Let me sleep, for my soul is intoxicated with love and Let me rest, for my spirit has had its bounty of days and nights; Light the candles and burn the incense around my bed, and Scatter leaves of jasmine and roses over my body; Embalm my hair with frankincense and sprinkle my feet with perfume, And read what the hand of Death has written on my forehead.

Let me rest in the arms of Slumber, for my open eyes are tired; Let the silver-stringed lyre quiver and soothe my spirit; Weave from the harp and lute a veil around my withering heart.

Sing of the past as you behold the dawn of hope in my eyes, for It's magic meaning is a soft bed upon which my heart rests.

Dry your tears, my friends, and raise your heads as the flowers Raise their crowns to greet the dawn. Look at the bride of Death standing like a column of light Between my bed and the infinite; Hold your breath and listen with me to the beckoning rustle of Her white wings.

Come close and bid me farewell; touch my eyes with smiling lips. Let the children grasp my hands with soft and rosy fingers; Let the ages place their veined hands upon my head and bless me; Let the virgins come close and see the shadow of God in my eyes, And hear the echo of His will racing with my breath.

2006-12-10T13:19:00.000-08:00

The Beauty of Death - Part Two

The Ascending

Kahlil Gibran

I have passed a mountain peak and my soul is soaring in the Firmament of complete and unbound freedom; I am far, far away, my companions, and the clouds are Hiding the hills from my eyes.

The valleys are becoming flooded with an ocean of silence, and the Hands of oblivion are engulfing the roads and the houses; The prairies and fields are disappearing behind a white specter That looks like the spring cloud, yellow as the candlelight And red as the twilight.

The songs of the waves and the humans of the streams Are scattered, and the voices of the throngs reduced to silence; And I can hear naught but the music of Eternity In exact harmony with the spirit's desires. I am cloaked in full whiteness; I am in comfort; I am in peace.

2006-12-10T13:12:00.000-08:00

The Beauty of Death - Part Three

by Kahlil Gibran

Part Three - The Remains

*
Unwrap me from this white linen shroud and clothe me With leaves of jasmine and lilies; Take my body from the ivory casket and let it rest Upon pillows of orange blossoms. Lament me not, but sing songs of youth and joy; Shed not tears upon me, but sing of harvest and the winepress; Utter no sigh of agony, but draw upon my face with your Finger the symbol of Love and Joy. Disturb not the air's tranquility with chanting and requiems, But let your hearts sing with me the song of Eternal Life; Mourn me not with apparel of black, But dress in color and rejoice with me; Talk not of my departure with sighs in your hearts; close Your eyes and you will see me with you forevermore.

Place me upon clusters of leaves and Carry my upon your friendly shoulders and Walk slowly to the deserted forest. Take me not to the crowded burying ground lest my slumber Be disrupted by the rattling of bones and skulls. Carry me to the cypress woods and dig my grave where violets And poppies grow not in the other's shadow; Let my grave be deep so that the flood will not Carry my bones to the open valley; Let my grace be wide, so that the twilight shadows Will come and sit by me.

Take from me all earthly raiment and place me deep in my Mother Earth; and place me with care upon my mother's breast. Cover me with soft earth, and let each handful be mixed With seeds of jasmine, lilies and myrtle; and when they Grow above me, and thrive on my body's element they will Breathe the fragrance of my heart into space; And reveal even to the sun the secret of my peace; And sail with the breeze and comfort the wayfarer.

Leave me then, friends - leave me and depart on mute feet, As the silence walks in the deserted valley; Leave me to God and disperse yourselves slowly, as the almond And apple blossoms disperse under the vibration of Nissan's breeze. Go back to the joy of your dwellings and you will find there That which Death cannot remove from you and me. Leave with place, for what you see here is far away in meaning From the earthly world.

Leave me.

2006-12-08T15:37:00.000-08:00

When you arise in the morning,

give thanks for the morning light,

for your life and strength.

give thanks for your food

and the joy of living.

If you see no reason for giving thanks,

the fault lives in yourself.

-- Tecumseh

2006-12-03T09:27:00.000-08:00

We and You

Kahlil Gibran

We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the
Sons of Joy. We are the sons of Sorrow,
And Sorrow is the shadow of a God who
Lives not in the domain of evil hearts.

*
We are sorrowful spirits, and Sorrow is
Too great to exist in small hearts.
When you laugh, we cry and lament; and he
Who is seared and cleansed once with his
Own tears will remain pure forevermore.
You understand us not, but we offer our
Sympathy to you. You are racing with the
Current of the River of Life, and you
Do not look upon us; but we are sitting by
The coast, watching you and hearing your
Strange voices.

*
You do not comprehend our cry, for the
Clamour of the days is crowding your ears,
Blocked with the hard substance of your
Years of indifference to truth; but we hear
Your songs, for the whispering of the night
Has opened our inner hearts. We see you
Standing under the pointing finger of light,
But you cannot see us, for we are tarrying
In the enlightening darkness.

*
We are the sons of Sorrow; we are the poets
And the prophets and the musicians. We weave
Raiment for the goddess from the threads of
Our hearts, and we fill the hands, of the
Angels with the seeds of our inner selves.
You are the sons of the pursuit of earthly
Gaiety. You place your hearts in the hands
Of Emptiness, for the hand's touch to
Emptiness is smooth and inviting.
You reside in the house of Ignorance, for
In his house there is no mirror in which to
View your souls.

*
We sigh, and from our sighs arise the
Whispering of flowers and the rustling of
Leaves and the murmur of rivulets.
When you ridicule us your taunts mingle
With the crushing of the skulls and the
Rattling of shackles and the wailing of the
Abyss. When we cry, our tears fall into the
Heart of Life, as dew drops fall from the
Eyes of Night into the heart of Dawn; and
When you laugh, your mocking laughter pours
Down like the viper's venom into a wound.

*
We cry, and sympathize with the miserable
Wanderer and distressed widow; but you rejoice
And smile at the sight of resplendent gold.
We cry, for we listen to the moaning of the
Poor and the grieving of the oppressed weak;
But you laugh, for you hear naught but the
Happy sound of the wine goblets.
We cry, for our spirits are at the moment
Separated from God; but you laugh, for your
Bodies cling with unconcern to the earth.

*
We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the
Sons of Joy . . . Let us measure the outcome of
Our sorrow against the deeds of your joy
Before the face of the Sun . . .
You have built the Pyramids upon the hearts
Of slaves, but the Pyramids stand now upon
The sand, commemorating to the Ages our
Immortality and your evanescence.

*
You have built Babylon upon the bones of the
Weak, and erected the palaces of Nineveh upon
The graves of the miserable. Babylon is now but
The footprint of the camel upon the moving sand
Of the desert, and its history is repeated
To the nations who bless us and curse you.
We have carved Ishtar from solid marble,
And made it to quiver in its solidity and
Speak through its muteness.

*
We have composed and played the soothing
Song of Nahawand upon the strings, and caused
The Beloved's spirit to come hovering in the
Firmament near to us; we have praised the
Supreme Being with words and deeds; the words
Became as the words of God, and the deeds
Became overwhelming love of the angels.

*
You are following Amusement, whose sharp claws
Have torn thousands of martyrs in the arenas
Of Rome and Antioch . . . But we are following
Silence, whose careful fingers have woven the
Iliad and the Book of Job and the Lamentations
Of Jeremiah.

*
You lie down with Lust, whose tempest has
Swept one thousand processions of the soul of
Woman away and into the pit of shame and
Horror . . . But we embrace Solitude, in whose
Shadow the beauties of Hamlet and Dante arose.

*
You curry for the favor of Greed, and the sharp
Swords of Greed have shed one thousand rivers
Of blood . . . But we seek company with Truth,
And the hands of Truth have brought down
Knowledge from the Great Heart of the Circle
Of Light.

*
We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the
Sons of Joy; and between our sorrow and your
Joy there is a rough and narrow path which
Your spirited horses cannot travel, and upon
Which your magnificent carriages cannot pass.

*
We pity your smallness as you hate our
Greatness; and between our pity and your
Hatred, Time halts bewildered. We come to
You as friends, but you attack us as enemies;
And between our friendship and your enmity,
There is a deep ravine flowing with tears
And blood.

*
We build palaces for you, and you dig graves
For us; and between the beauty of the palace
And the obscurity of the grave, Humanity
Walks as a sentry with iron weapons.
We spread your path with roses, and you cover
Our beds with thorns; and between the roses
And the thorns, Truth slumbers fitfully.

*
Since the beginning of the world you have
fought against our gentle power with your
Coarse weakness; and when you triumph over
Us for an hour, you croak and clamour merrily
Like the frogs of the water. And when we
Conquer you and subdue you for an Age, we
Remain as silent giants.

*
You crucified Jesus and stood below Him,
Blaspheming and mocking at Him; but at last
He came down and overcame the generations,
And walked among you as a hero, filling the
Universe with His glory and His beauty.

*
You poisoned Socrates and stoned Paul and
Destroyed Ali Talib and assassinated
Madhat Pasha, and yet those immortals are
With us forever before the face of Eternity.
But you live in the memory of man like
Corpses upon the face of the earth; and you
Cannot fine a friend who will bury you in
The obscurity of non-existence and oblivion,
Which you sought on earth.

*
We are the sons of Sorrow, and sorrow is a
Rich cloud, showering the multitudes with
Knowledge and Truth. You are the sons of
Joy, and as high as your joy may reach,
By the Law of God it must be destroyed
Before the winds of heaven and dispersed
Into nothingness, for it is naught but a
Thin and wavering pillar of smoke.

2006-08-09T09:15:00.000-07:00

Precious lord, take my hand

Lead me on, let me stand

Im tired, Im weak, Im lone

Through the storm, through the night

Lead me on to the light

Take my hand precious lord, lead me home

When my way grows drear precious lord linger near

When my light is almost gone

Hear my cry, hear my call

Hold my hand lest I fall

Take my hand precious lord, lead me home

When the darkness appears and the night draws near

And the day is past and gone

At the river I stand

Guide my feet, hold my hand

Take my hand precious lord, lead me home

Precious lord, take my hand

Lead me on, let me stand

Im tired, Im weak, Im lone

Through the storm, through the night

Lead me on to the light

Take my hand precious lord, lead me home

2006-04-30T10:56:00.000-07:00

Carry me away in the wings of the wind......

sail away....sail away ...above the clouds.....beyonds the stars

To where there is no more pain....no more sorrow....no more suffering.

Sail away....

to a land where I am free.

Let me splash in the waves....

play in the sand....

walk along an endless shore...

with the warmth of the sun to caress my soul...

to feel the white sands squishing between my toes...

and the peace of eternity to heal my broken spirit.

Sail away....to a land where I am free

Where the chains of life are broken...

and the spirit is free to seek the beauty of its own fullfillment,

to a land where the heart is given a new life of hope and joy.

Carry me away on the wings of the wind

let me disappear beyond eternity....

to hide in the bosom of the great beyond.

Why is no one willing to give me persmission to die

and why do I feel the need for that permission?

2006-04-06T09:37:00.000-07:00

Born free, as free as the wind blows, as free as the grass grows,

Born free to follow your heart.

Live free and beauty surrounds you, the world still astounds you,

Each time you look at the stars.

Stay free where no walls divide you, you're free as the roaring tide,

So there's no need to hide.

Born free and life is worth living, but only worth livng,

Cause you're born free.

* * * *

Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains

Jean Jacques Rousseau

2006-03-18T10:38:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, even when you least expect it, you remember the haunting loneliness of your heart.

So many forgotten memories wander through your mind, memories of a distant life where there was, if only briefly, the beauty and joy of a young love. It was a time when the hopeful anticipation of an innocent heart yearned for the fulfillment of its destiny.

Even now as you slip further and further into the darkness and are so lost in the darkness of your mind, I remember.

I remember the gentleness of your spirit

the warmth of your smile

the sparkle of your eyes

the boundless depth of your soul

even the passion of your love

Or...maybe it was just an illusion, maybe it was only a shadow cast against a faded and decaying wall.

Maybe I just wanted it to be, so I could pretend.

Was I ever really so naive as to believe that love was truely eternal?

Does it ever make any sense? Does the sadness ever really go away?

Or is it simply that the rhapsody of life is destined to remain only a requiem of sorrow.

2006-02-19T05:25:00.000-08:00

Two Wolves

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.

He said, "My son, the battle is between 2 'wolves' inside us all.

"One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy,sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

"The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf wins?"

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

2006-02-03T17:41:00.000-08:00

Some of us have never belonged in this world...for we are vagabonds who journey down life's path seeking beauty and meaning...only to find the emptiness of an endless eternity to torment our forsaken souls......

and we put a candle in the window and the taker of souls never sees the light and passes us by that we can suffer for yet another day.

Who can know or understand the empty meaningless futility of our existence

* * * * * * *

Starry, starry night

Paint your palette blue and grey Look out on a summer's day With eyes that know the darkness in my soul

Shadows on the hills Sketch the trees and daffodils

Catch the breeze and the winter chills

In colours on the snowy linen land

Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

And how you suffered for your sanity

And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen

They did not know how

Perhaps they'll listen now

Starry, starry night

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze

Swirling clouds and violet haze

Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue

Colours changing hue

Morning fields of amber grain

Weathered faces lined in pain

Are soothed beneath the artists' loving hand

Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

And how you suffered for your sanity

And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen

They did not know how

Perhaps they'll listen now

For they could not love you

But still your love was true

And when no hope was left inside

On that starry, starry night

You took your life as lovers often do

But I could have told you Vincent

This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you

Like the strangers that you've met

The ragged men in ragged clothes

The silver thorn of bloody rose

Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now I think I know

What you tried to say to me

And how you suffered for your sanity

And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen

They're not listening still

Perhaps they never will...

2005-11-23T12:35:00.000-08:00

Untitled

The futility of existence

ravages my soul and

casts my spirit upon a raging tempest.

For I am old and weary, and my heart is

consumed by pain. My life swallowed by the relentlessness of the waves.

The dreams of youth are scattered and broken, tossed asunder amongst the rocks.

For there is only the cold,

only sorrow that guides my path.

There is no warmth, no sun, only the gray monotony

of an endless canopy of clouds.

And hope is in death

that releases the soul.

Hurry, my beloved friend

break my chains and set me free.

Let me rejoice in the beauty

of the beyond

and

celebrate the morning

in the sweet rhapsody of

eternity

2005-10-14T05:46:00.000-07:00

A Little About Pat O'Connor

Originally written September 3, 2003

Am old enough to understand the difference between the Bay of Pigs - and roasting a pig at a epicurian feast. Been thru the hippy, yippie and yuppie years - always remaining who I am.

Very much believe in "Sing your own song - weave your own tapestry"

Am young enough to still know the thrill of new discoveries, the beauty of the evening, to celebrate the joy of another tommorow.

Survived these many decades with a severe medical problem. Sorting out the maze of now having two lymphomas and all their nasty little companions, but I continue.

Besides, being a simple iconoclastic eclectic, have been called many things. An incurable romanticist - with a strong touch of reality. Thinker, intellectual (God, how I hate that term) - been told I am a lion with the heart of the poet.

Know how to wage war and conquer my foes - but would rather be known as one who brings hope and life. To bring hope into anothers life is the ultimate of joys.

Life should be about bringing hope, peace, vision... a sense of purpose beyond yourself.

"The needs of the many.... outweigh the needs of the one."

Where are the gentle people? Where are those who seek truth, instead of just regurgitating their own ignorance? Where are those who question... even themselves?

Were I rich, I would be called eccentric.... but as a middle class person... I am just off the wall.

If I havent scared you off - respond - share your thoughts.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Two long years have passed since I wrote that...and much has happened. Hopefully, I have grown, become a bit kinder and more caring. Hopefully too I have been able to make a small difference in a few lives with my website Lymphedema People and its many online support groups.

I do think my life is happier and more fullfilling and has a renewed sense of purpose and for that I am grateful.

I will be adding regularly to the blog and hope you enjoy it.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Most of the photographs used will be mine. Other artwork is freely available on the internet and I will provide credits and links to those as well.

Finally, all writing is my own creation, unless I specifically say otherwise in the title line

Enjoy!

2005-10-14T04:58:00.000-07:00

My Brother, the Hawk

September 20, 2003 - Saturday

In the dusk and in the dawn, you have been my friend. Our hearts have touched.. and I long to be with my brother. When I go outside and if I don't see you, I miss you and long for your companionship. I am honored by your friendship and comforted by your spirit.

We share so much my friend. When you take wing upon the wind...my spirit joins you among the heavens. Your cry is my voice, your sorrow... my tears. Together we journey through our lives seeking to know the truth and the purpose of our lives.

Two solitary spirits.... yet, one, in a mystical union... a celebration of life and creation. We have been so blest by Grandfather Spirit to be brothers.

Share with me your strength and I shall share my joy. Share with me your wisdom and I shall share my desire. Share with me your pain and I shall share my hope.

Fill my heart with the understanding of Grandfather Spirit.... teach me to be strong.

Fill my spirit with respect for Grandfathers creation and I shall be a faithful steward of the beauty of His world.

Soon, my brother... he is who is Spirit of the Sky shall rejoice with He Who walks in Two Worlds

2005-10-13T08:14:00.000-07:00

The Tomorrows Are All Gone

Wednesday, September 3, 2003

I remember when we met, on that chilly and wet October morning in 1973. We were so young, only 18.. and life was full of hope and reverberated with joyous expectations.

You soon captured my heart with the beauty of your smile, the softness of your heart... the life in your eyes. How I loved to be lost in your eyes and to explore the secrets of your soul.

But even then, the demons lurked... like evil shadows crouching in dark corners. Why could I not see them? Did I even want to?

Spring and Summer came and our spirits intertwined in a celebration of life itself. The Autumn we spent wandering hand in hand thru the Alps..... how can it be... that it really happened... such ancient of days long ago in a forgotten lifetime.

The years blended into decades with monotonous regularity.... and then who you were died. Like a flower consumed in the heat you faded into oblivion.... and the demons came and the fog settled over your spirit..... and there were no more tomorrows.

Who you were died...... and I wonder how much beauty was forever lost when you died...how much joy was left unfulfilled ... how many promises of hope lie buried in a graveyard of emptiness.

And I couldn't even save you..... the more we run from our demons, the more we become their prisoner. To be free from our pain, we must embrace it and allow it to sculpture our spirit,,, to create beauty.... other wise it will consume our souls.... and no one can save you.

I couldn't even give you the bouquet of forgiveness... how I wanted to set it at your doorstep.... but the petals would have withered and fallen in a crumpled pile.

Now, you have woven your own reality.... hidden away in your home (your car)..with you only companions a cellphone and a lap top. You are safe, even from those who love and care.

How I mourn for who you were... how my heart weeps because of the fog that covers your soul......am I one of those who can only love once? "If I give my heart.... it will be forever.... or I'll never fall in love".... but there are no more tomorrows.

Only the sorrows of today and the memories of a forsaken yesterday.

artwork: Web Musem

2005-10-13T07:26:00.000-07:00

Why Must It Be So

Here is my very first attempt at writing from my heart. my daugher found it tonight, and I didnt even think I still had a copy:

WHY MUST IT BE SO

The soul is an empty shell. The heart is lonely, it breaks with pain. Hurt, battered and worn with time, it continues it's anguished beat.

For a fleeting moment, love had entered in and at last it could exclaim, "I have found the one for me!" But then as the black clouds of despair covered the sun, the brief, flickering flame died out; and all was cast into cold.

The heart cried out in bitter agony, "Why, why, oh my God must it be so? Why must I always be alone, so all alone? I can not long continue my lonely vigil for the pillars of my temples crumble in the wake of my enemy...loneliness. I bleed fatally with pain, hurt and agaony! Please, I beg, lift me up from this dark and forbidden sea."

The storm raged relentlessly, lashing out it's cruel and bitter fury and the desolate heart. Pain, agony and despair grew, and Grew, and GREW.... until... all was quiet... tranquility prevailed.... the war was over.

The heart lay still, it was alive... but dead. It was forever destined to continue it's lonely, ever so lonely life.

And all it asked was.... Why, Why must it be so?

11/13/1969

2005-10-13T07:12:00.000-07:00

THE TRUE WARRIOR

Sunday, September 7, 20039:42:00 AM EDT

Is one who walks in humility and obedience before Great Spirit

One who seeks the Wisdom of GrandFather Eagle as he embraces the heavens and touches the stars.

One who lays down his own life for his people, his village, his family

One who has the strength of great bear, but the gentleness of a butterfly

One who has the courage of a lion, but the heart of a poet

One who respects and seeks the counsel of the elders

One who is a father that nutures and guides not only his children but all children of the village

One who stands as a protector of the unprotected

One who respects mother nature and all her creation

One who always does that which is right, without regard to personal cost

One who even while alone in the forest, maintains his purity of heart and soul

On who seeks always to walk in peace, who only wages war to defend and protect his people.

"Oh Great Spirit, search me and try me. Create in me the spirit of the true warrior that I may serve you and be a river of life to all who trails I cross."

nvwadohiyada ulihelisdi utugi ayelvnudvnadegv
peace joy hope health

2005-10-02T12:06:00.000-07:00

Requiem for Methuselah
09/03/03

How I cherish the solitude of the night. Sitting on my patio, I fill my brain's hungry neuro-transmitters with adequate doses of nicotine. While the fireflies sparkle in the darkness, beaming their hopes to the world beyond, I cast my soul forth to embrace the heavens and wander among the stars.

The woods beyond reverberate in a jubilee of life. The joyous songs of the crickets blend with the audacious symphony of frogs to give birth to a sweet rhapsody of harmony and peace.

But, the wind changes, and as the moon wanes, the rhapsody of the night is hushed, pierced only by the painful cry of a robin or the lonely call of a solitary whippoorwill.

For it is the time for the shadows. They scurry forth and in solemn procession they journey to the rivers edge to whisper a requiem for all the thousands of yesterdays that have been abandoned and forgotten. To remember only briefly the sorrows of a forsaken humanity.

"A Requiem for Methuselah"

But, there is no time to mourn and no comfort to be found inthe hollowness of today. For on the waters, a gaunt and haunting figure pushes his boat to the shore. He is the guardian of the underworld and cries, "A ride for a coin."

Spare change - anyone have any spare change? I need to journey across the river Styx but I have no change....but soon...it is too late and the boat is gone. Again I am left alone on the shore. Even the shadows hide and tremble...and all I hear is the gentle splash as the guardian guides his boat back across the water....and again I am left alone on the shore.

The quiet fills the air....shall we sing of sorrows or sonnets....a hymn or a soliloqouy....shall we celebrate a wake....or just whisper a requiem for Methuselah?

artwork: Visual Paradox

2005-10-02T11:17:00.000-07:00

The Tormented Soul
09/20/03

Listen to the quiet..... listen my friend, to the stillness of the night.....do you hear? Do you hear the weeping of the tormented soul? Do you hear the anguish and torment of the damned?

The sorrows of a thousand yesterdays turn into the emptiness of a million tomorrows and always, always, there is the quiet.... and the solitude of thelost soul.

The lonely paths untaken, the journeys unknown....the endless roads where the only footprints are those that follow you. Where does the tormented spirit go for peace...for comfort... for love.

Bouquets of sorrows, songs and sonnets.... and you cry out to your God for answers...only to have the echoes of your cries bounce off the walls and disappear into nothingness. And you wonder.... is God asleep or maybe he has just forgotten.

Perhaps we are as Milton said, "Helpless sinners in the hands of an angry God."

And there are no answers, no faint whispers of truth, not even a dim light to guide you. There is only the meaningless of the now. Am I one of the damned...destined now become one of the lost...one of the wretched.... one of those who aimlessly wander through the bareness of existence.?

And no one knows.....and you play the role... and who you are expected to be...and do what you need to do... all the while withering and dieing... fading into oblivion...disappearing into nothingness.

*"Have you ever heard a Robin weep, as Autumn leaves begin to fall.... It means she has lost the will to live."

artwork: Sue3Hawk

2005-10-02T11:15:00.000-07:00

Sorrow's Song
10/03/03

It is dawn, but there is no sun. It is a prisoner of the thick gray clouds lie a captive soul bound in chains and hidden away in lonely isolation.

The cold dampness of the air torments my bones and the monotony of the dreary rain echoes through my head and numbs my senses.

For to live is to journey towards death...and in the journey the spirit sings sorrow's song.

Oh! quiet shadow of death, where is they sweet kiss, thy gentle touch.... the soft embrace that frees our spirit.

For so long you have snatched away those I love, those whos presence gone leaves a sorrowful mourning. But, have you forgotten my name?

Did you not see the candle I left burning for you in the window or has the rain blinded your sight?

Did you not see how I wrote my name in your book or was it erased by an uncaring fate?

Come and let us embrace with passion's dare, take my hand and know the secrets of my soul.

And in mean... sorrow's song continues....line by line....verse by verse.

2005-10-02T11:10:00.000-07:00

Emily
10/25/03

How can words possibly express that special love a father has for his daughter. They seem so very inadequate and superficial.

Just like it was yesterday,I remember that day when a new little baby girl cam into our family and our world. When you were little, you were so excitable and spilled over with glee at every new delight. That laugh, those beautiful little eyes were so full of life and joy. That joy still overhwlems my heart when I remember those times. How can one tiny little girl bring so much fullness to a heart?

Then, as you grew, you became timid. With every new thing you always said, "but daddy, I can't".... but you always did... even learning to swim...do you remember?

You always tried and tried and you never failed.

The seasons went by so quickly...Spring and Fall, Winter and Summers....suddenly my little girl was all grown up. You had become a beautiful woman strong and independent in your own right.

How I respect the woman you have become. How I admire the person you are...your courage, your strength, your determination... and your unwillingness to let the sorrows and trials of life break your spirit.

One day, not so very long ago, you came to me and said, "There is a song that makes me think of you, it's called "Your Song"... I can never listen to it without tears whelling up in my eyes. That my daughter should think that of her dad is beyond what any father could hope for.

Remember, no matter where I am, or where you are, listen closely to the whispers of the wind and I will be singing it, just for you.

Sometimes, you tell me about something that happened and the first thing you though was, "I want my daddy!".... how my heart dissolves like molten putty.

Take wings with the spirit of the dawn, little butterfly. Embrace the heavens and touch the stars. Dream your dreams and watch them become the beauty of your hope.

Let all the world celebrate your life and rejoice with the comfort of your presence.

Happy 22nd Birthday

Love

Dad

2005-10-02T11:03:00.000-07:00

Little Boy Lost
09/08/03

Little boy lost...why do you sit alone in the frigid night air... alone on the first stair?

Little boy lost...what is it you fear? Are there monsters hiding in the dark at the top of the stairs? Or is it the rage and anger of those who have so brutlized your young body?

Little boy lost... why do you cry? Is it from the pain and sorrow that has already seared your tender spirit? Or is it the bitter lonilness that comes only from abandonment?

Little boy lost.... where is your mom, to wipe those tears.... or your dad to hold you in his comforting arms?

Little boy lost... so all alone ... so all alone.

Take my hand my little friend. Together we'll find your place, we'll find your home.
Sorrow is a river that runs so very deep, and never really ever goes away.

But beside the river you can plant a garden. You can fill it full of beautiful flowers and trees. It can be a sanctuary where hummingbirds and butterflies dance and play, a place where robins and bluebirds fill the air. Your hideaway where sweet music drifts downward from the boughs of the trees.

A home, where joy begins anew and where your spirit can be healed by the warmth of a new sun.

artwork: Hyena Storm Cub