Category Archives: Just Me Musing

All of my non-poetry posts, relating to anything and everything. Mirthful, with a sprinkling of Truth.

Abundance Rejoices – #Meditations on #Blessings

20 Friday Dec 2019

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Christmas Present

“Christmas is a time of year when Want is keenly felt and Abundance Rejoices”. …Charles Dickens.

I’m not sure about you or what you think about when you hear the words Abundance, but to me I tend to see the Ghost of Christmas Present, lounging upon his throne of Abundance. “Heaped upon the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see, who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty’s horn.”

OH what a sight to see, Indeed, yet as I sat in the sparkling light of my Christmas tree on Christmas Eve night, surveying the wondrous Abundance that filled my own chamber, (minus the sucking-pigs and wreaths of sausages) I could not help thinking, somewhat, like Cindy Lou Who, who questioned “Doesn’t this seem a bit superfluous?” Please don’t misunderstand, I love spending the day opening presents with family, enjoying the sweet and savoury treats of the season, sipping steaming cups of mulled holiday wine and then, at last, sitting back with a great, contented sigh. I enjoy the hustle and bustle of wrapping and baking and cooking and rushing (well, almost) and I do confess to having said on more than one occasion that Quantity Counts! (In jest of course) (nearly), but how much quantity is enough?

How much is Abundance?

To some this word brings thoughts of expensive jewelry, racy sports cars, (one for each day of the week!), brand name clothing, fine perfumes, Dom Perignon, (Or if you are me, Veuve Clicquot), trips to Italy, Hawaii, or the Caribbean, Belgian chocolates, or anything else you fancy that you, ordinarily, cannot afford. Yet, the kings of old had all these things, (well, in one form or another), Rome was filled to bursting with Abundance and Jerusalem was rich with The Temple of David; still, the Herald of the Heavens, the Glory of the Lord, a vast Multitude of Angels sang in resplendent joy of the Birth of the Saviour not to the Kings, High Priests, Governors, and wealthiest of men, but to those few, poor shepherds who lived in the fields with their sheep.

This small cluster of followers had little Abundance, in the worldly view; they had only what they needed to survive each day: food, clothing, a tent to cover their heads, perhaps, and maybe a musical instrument carved from wood, which they might use to serenade the quiet evenings in humble praise. Nevertheless, what they lacked in material wealth, they made up for in spiritual Abundance. They were rich in their love and kinship; they were wealthy in their appreciation of simple pleasures, of goats milk, perhaps, and wild honey; they were prosperous in sharing their faith and traditions. They were Abundant in all those things that, we too, value above all else: Hope, Faith, Joy and Love.

So whether The Ghost of Christmas Present poured out the light of his shimmering torch upon you and yours this holiday, or whether you celebrated in quiet, homespun holiday tradition, without all the froof, jing-tinglers, and hulabaloo, Perchance, this simple notion might settle softly amoung the gifts under your tree, as it did mine this year: That All the Abundance in the World cannot Shine more Brightly, Please more Completely, or Linger as Enduringly as the Gift the Herald of Heaven brought that quiet night so long ago.

~Morgan~
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Ghost of Christmas Present found at: pjlynchgallery.blogspot.com
Heavenly Herald found at: blogs.nd.edu

Impressions – #DailyMeditations for #HarmoniousLiving

03 Sunday Nov 2019

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Gothic

What you Think about Another,
Will be Reflected in How You Treat Them
Love Each as your Brother, As Your Mother,
And Kindness from Your Love will Stem.

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Harmony Blossoms when we Look at another and See ourselves.

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Take each step upon the Path of Life with the Intent to Smile
and Harmony will Light your way.

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Reach with Hands that seek to Give
and
Abundance will Fill your world.

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~Morgan~
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Beautiful Photograph found on Pinterst.

Spanking the Pomegranate – #Phraseology & #Language

02 Wednesday Oct 2019

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Pomegranate

I cannot speak for other languages as I do not know any others fluently, (unless you are including Dlalth, but since that is one I made up myself for my story Dark Fey, it really doesn’t count) but the English language is a curious thing. Have you ever noticed how often we say things that mean something entirely different from what we are actually trying to say? Our slang is chock full of examples. (such as the one I just used.) Chock? How does a word that means to block or stop something from moving; a ships fitting or cable, or an anchor or brace, end up in an expression that means completely full? Even Wiktionary cannot say for sure.

I loved the Linguistics class I had in high school; learning all about words, phrases, slang and etymology; what’s not to like, really? For someone (like me) who spent their free time constructing grammatically correct, compound, complex sentences worthy of praise from Charles Dickens and then diagramming them (correctly, I might add!) just for fun; explaining that I enjoyed the systematic study of (the English) language is like saying Mr. Spock is Logical or Hobbits have hairy feet. It’s a given.

The variety of vernacular that exists, depending on the region (or country) you live in is truly amazing or, one might say, is enough to make your head spin or leave you gobsmacked. As I have lived in several distinctly different areas of the country (that country being the US) I’ve picked up more than a few catch phrases (although how I picked up an inanimate object and what exactly said object was catching I am by no means sure).

In South Central Pennsylvania, where I presently reside, there are a plethora of colloquialisms derived from the Pennsylvania Dutch community that are peculiar enough to make anyone who is not from the area stare at you like you just started speaking Klingon should you happen to use one. For example, if you are embarrassed about something you Feel Your Nerve. If you cannot sit still you are Ruchy. If you want me to move down lower in my chair or make room for you on the park bench you would ask me to Ruch Down or Ruch Over. Similarly, the milk bottle is not empty, It’s All, and you don’t turn off the light, you Make Out The Light.

When I lived in the South (Alabama to be exact, which was an experience worthy of its own bizarre post) I swore left and right (although I never actually turned my head) that I would not be Fixin’ or Reckon’ anything. Nevertheless, I often found myself saying things like It’s Fixin’ to Rain, which means It’s Getting Ready to Rain, or It’s Fixin’ to Get It, which means Things are About to Get a Little Crazy. Fixin’ simply means Getting Ready, unless, of course, you say I’m Fixin’ to Get Ready, which, literally translated, would mean you are Getting Ready to Get Ready, but in reality it means you are already Ready to Do whatever it is you are going to do. Confused yet? I Reckon’!

(Disclaimer to my friends across the pond: As I am not British, {a tragedy I will forever lament}, I believe I understand the proper use of the following examples of British slang, but should I be mistaken, please do feel free to correct me)

In America we say Ta! when we mean Goodbye and Cheers! when we mean Thank you; however in England they say Cheers! when they mean Goodbye and Ta! when they mean Thank You. In America we ask if someone is All Right? when we are concerned over their health or state of being; however in England saying All Right? to someone is like saying Hi, How are you? And if someone in England said to me Give Us a Bell, being American, I would raise a delicately arched brow and hand them a bell, when what they really mean is they want me to call them (or ring them) on the telephone. Perplexed? Me too!

The differences in our own language are endless and with all these intricacies, dialects, regional connotations, and interpretations about (or around, depending) not to mention slang usage and hyper-text abbreviations, it is a miracle that we understand each other at all. So the next time you (or I) labor for hours masterfully interweaving descriptors, plot, characters, research, and good old fashioned fancy into something post-worthy; yet it ends up sparking only minimal interest (or the editor/publisher requests an absurd number of rewrites), take heart! Even if only a handful of readers ultimately respond, you can still consider it a triumph of communication in a sea of chaff.

OH….any for those of you who were lured in by the double-entendre of this post’s title, Spanking the Pomegranate is simply a culinary term used for liberating those delectable little jewels of sweetness from the otherwise inconsequential husk of the fruit.

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Photograph found on pinterest

Sorrow- #Remembrance of #Love

11 Wednesday Sep 2019

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Sorrow

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It doesn’t seem possible that 5 years have passed since my Mother left this world for the next.

It isn’t conceivable that it has been so long, and yet I miss her still and the grief can still overtake me.

I found it hard to imagine 5 years ago when a close friend commiserated with me and said she could not believe 5 years had passed since her own mother moved to a different realm; yet now I stand wondering where 5 years have gone.

So much has happened, so many things I wish I could have shared with her, though I know she watched and listened and shared them with me through the silent whispers of Love.

5 years ago this day was unbearable.  traumatic.  heart-breaking.

Today I remember, not with tears, but with overflowing gratitude that I was so Abundantly Blessed to share so many years with so Beautiful a spirit as my Mother was, IS and ever shall be.

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Sorrow has broken my heart this week. The trauma of bearing witness to slow decline, the struggle, the anguish, and, Today, the Unbearable, Inexpressible, Heart-wrenching LOSS and Loneliness is nearly more than I can bear.

My Mother Passed on into the Realm of Eternal Love, Hope, Peace and Joy today. I Envy her. I Rejoice for her. I miss her more than I could ever, ever say.

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I love you Mom!

~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by:Unknown, but I thankfully acknowledge credit to the talented artist.

Showers of Blessings- #BeTheChange- A Thought on #Gratitude, #RandomActsofKindness and #Generosity

10 Saturday Aug 2019

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thankful

Being Grateful means, by Oxford’s definition, a readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness; having or showing the desire or reason to thank someone for giving pleasure or comfort. Being Grateful means you know you are indebted to someone for some action undertaken by them that benefited you in some manner and consciously acknowledging that appreciation. Gratitude can take unnumbered shapes and forms, from tickets to the hottest show in town to a brand new Porsche (theoretically speaking, of course), but often gratitude comes in gentler doses; a simple inclination of the head, a tearful, wordless hug, a handshake and poignant look into another’s eyes. Yet however it comes, it is one of the most important things we can ever do.

Expressing gratitude rewards; it builds bridges, it alleviates tensions, it sets a higher standard, but it also opens the doors and windows to blessings untold. It sets aside our baser, more selfish tendencies and allows us to be, if only for a few moments, the people we all wish we could be far more frequently. It makes princes out of paupers and, conversely, paupers out of princes; it is a leveler of scores and a righter of wrongs and no matter how it is expressed, if it is genuine, it is always significant.

Imagine, for a moment, that you are a laborer working at some menial job; cleaning bathrooms perhaps, collecting garbage, mopping floors somewhere. Every day you come in on time, do your job conscientiously and without complaint; you leave only when your task is done completely and correctly, but no one ever says a word to you. If you didn’t do this job, the resulting mess would be atrocious, yet people pass by you all the while you work, stepping to the far side of the hall or moving to the other side of the room rather than approaching you and no one, not even your boss, tells you that you are doing a good job.

Then one day, out of the blue, a complete stranger comes up to you and says Thank You. They tell you they truly appreciate your willingness to do a job that not many others would do and they even go so far as to shake your hand, although you are grimy and they are pressed and polished. It only takes a moment, then they go on their way, but their simple act changes everything. You hold your head higher, walk with a lighter step; you go home, tell those close to you what happened, share how good it made you feel and, regardless of the fact that no one, not even your boss, has ever told you how important you are, you value yourself much more highly.

When you go back to work, you feel so good, so essential, you begin taking on extra responsibilities without being asked; you work a few extra minutes each day tidying up or polishing something that has been neglected for months. You talk to people more willingly; you share a smile more easily; you begin noticing the things that others do, which go unspoken, and you take time to extend a token of appreciation to them. A small note of thanks for cleaning the windows so well or a bottle of water for the man cutting the grass outside in the summer heat, and as a result of all of this, you feel even better about yourself.

Not too long after this change occurs, your boss stops by unannounced to speak with you. He tells you that he has noticed what a great job you’ve been doing lately, how hard you have been working and how well you treat your coworkers and the company’s clientele. He explains that a new position has recently been created by management, one for which he feels you would be perfect, and asks if you would be interested in a promotion and a raise. Then he stands back and watches you smile.

And all because someone thanked you.

Yes, Gratitude is a miracle worker, and if we remember to be thankful for our blessings, big or small, trite or unique, miraculous or mundane, our appreciation invariably opens the floodgates and allows Heaven to send down Showers of Blessings beyond imagining.

~Morgan~

A Splendid Giggle – #ThoughtsonLife #Laughter #JoyfulLiving

06 Saturday Jul 2019

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laughter

I recently read an article about the (not so) amazing benefits of laughter (found here: http://www.webmd.com/balance/features/give-your-body-boost-with-laughter) , which got me thinking… When was the last time you had a really splendid giggle? A laugh-until-you-cried laugh? If it’s been more than a few days, then it may have been too long.

My coworkers and I went for lunch one bright day…nothing special, just a little spot nearby that has really good pork barbeque sandwiches ( which is a specialty in our part of the country and not at all what you might expect since no BBQ sauce is involved)….and ice cream! Not necessarily a great combo, but when you have a few hours to kill…

If you know anything about me yet, you know one thing for sure; wherever I go, laughter ensues. Not to say that I can’t be serious, I can, but giggles are just so nice, really, aren’t they? So it doesn’t take very long before we are doing more laughing than eating, before we are quoting Seinfeld episodes, Big Bang Theory, and generally having more fun than anyone else in the place. Not unusual, actually; I like to enjoy myself.

It’s a Friday, by the by. This means it’s the one day a week I allow myself a soda (or Pop, depending on your location), specifically Mountain Dew Voltage: Bottled Blue Bliss. 90 lovely mg’s of caffeinated liquid candy to supercharge my morning, since I am most assuredly NOT a morning person. On top of that I’ve also ingested an additional 96 mg’s of caffeine thanks to a morning Starbuck’s Gingerbread Mocha Chai Latte (but that is a post entirely worthy of itself!) In other words, I am about as revved as a person can legally be during the first three hours of the work day.

I confess Diet Coke with lunch was not a brilliant idea and at this point, I am the resident entertainment for my coworkers, it’s a lark, if you can keep up with me, but this is not the end of the story…No No No! This is the beginning. I mentioned this lovely little luncheonette serves Ice Cream, did I not? Yes, I did and they do, but they do not serve just the plain old dish with a few rainbow sprinkles; they create masterpieces of confection worthy of the Louvre.

Admittedly, the sundae should have been the entire meal, but in all honesty, it was an afterthought, and in spite of my vociferous protestations, my charming coworkers select the perfect dessert prepared especially for me.

Peanut Butter Overload. (and yes, it is everything it’s name promises it will be) Chocolate ice cream, hot fudge, liquid peanut butter, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup pieces, peanuts and, in case that isn’t quite enough sugar to put you into a coma, whipped cream with three….THREE…cherries. (feel free to insert orgasmic sigh here) Heaven Help Me!

Thirty minutes later, I am officially buzzed without having ingested even an infinitesimal drop of alcohol, but we have to get back to work, believe it or not. Into the car we climb (and I actually manage that miraculous feat without incident), and off we go. 15 minute drive, Easy Peasy, right?

Wrong.

I cannot honestly tell you what set me off. In my state, it may have been anything, but I start giggling. It’s a cute little giggle, really, and it’s as infectious as any giggle could be. Unaware of the joke, my coworkers join in and before long we are all laughing, which is ridiculous, since no one knows what we are laughing at, which makes me laugh all the more; curls bouncing, tears coming, cant-catch-my-breath mirth that has a predictable outcome. Everyone else laughs too, until we are all breathless and teary-eyed.

Honestly, I have no idea how we got back to work, since my friend driving the car was crying so hard she couldn’t possibly see the road, but make it back we did and, after sitting in the parking lot for another five minutes catching our breath we finally dismount and adjourn to the office.

Not amazingly, (after the queue for the loo diminished) although the morning had been taxing, we now felt refreshed, rejuvenated and (I’m looking for another R-word)…revitalized; sugar and caffeination not withstanding, (since I was the only one thusly intoxicated.)

So the next time you are feeling peckish, feel free to find a little luncheonette and enjoy a bite with your crew, but be sure,

be Absolutely SURE,

that you have yourself an UTTERLY SPLENDID GIGGLE.

~Morgan~

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Wonderful Image found on Pinterest

Translation- Journey to Elysium- #Books and #Acting

06 Thursday Jun 2019

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Translation

Some people love to read. They devour books in days, feasting upon them, one after the other like a box of chocolates left open in a room filled with hungry people. They are the speed readers, capable of interpreting 1000 words a minute; they turn pages like a camera snapping pictures, but do they truly enjoy the beauty of the written words? Do they share the emotions of the characters and grasp the subtle connotations being so generously offered by the writer or do they simple read, following the Get it, Got it, Good, Moving On mentality.

Believe it or not, I don’t read a lot of books. I tend to be a slow reader, painfully slow. I read to myself the same way I would read aloud to someone else, with inflection, with emotion, and often I re-read passages several times to be sure I understand what is being said or not said, shown or not shown, felt or not felt, it’s the writer in me. Therefore, I do not often read the book when there’s sure to be a movie coming soon, anyway. There are, of course, exceptions. I have read Tolkien’s glorious trilogy; I’ve perused many of the historical reenactments of Philippa Gregory, and I’ve savoured the challenges of Dickens, Austin, and Poe, but more often than not completing one book takes me, on average, a year. Particularly because I detest abridged versions; if I cannot sink my teeth into the sumptuous banquet the author has created, in its entirety, and relish each delicious morsel, then I’d really rather not, thank you.

Some of us take days and others take months to absorb what’s scribed upon the page; it’s a form of translation and at the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter how long the process takes. Perception of an idea, ideal, symbol, or suggestion: this is the desired outcome, the goal of all authors, but there are many forms of translation and many levels to reaching the ultimate objective.

A book can sit on a dusty shelf in a library, patiently waiting to be picked up. It can be deviated into a shadow of its former self by one company or another, reducing it into bridge notes. It might be fortunate enough to be adapted into a performance worthy of the stage or it may achieve the dubious distinction of being made into a movie.

Translating a masterpiece of words, phrasing, sub-text, symbolism and point(s) of view into film is a daunting undertaking that I cannot even begin to fathom and would never take on, not for any inducement; however, having said as much, there are those individuals who prefer this painstakingly complex ordeal over the actual reading of said work of genius and I give them credit. Granted, there are far fewer remarkably stunning adaptations than there are second-rate disappointments, but this is the danger inherent in translation. Often, simply too much of the scope and magic of the original is lost in the conversion, for whatever reason: low budgets, creative differences, mediocre photography, deficient acting.

A perfect example of the blunder of taking an extraordinary book and slapping it in front of a camera with seemingly little forethought is the 1990 film Lord of The Flies. I LOVE the book, to me, it is unquestionably a magnum opus and I’ve read it more times than I care to mention. The intoxicating descriptions and profusion of symbolism throughout are enthralling. They are also the essence of the book, but when it was adapted for (this particular) film, those composing the translation seemed to pay little heed to the book’s all important imagery.

Simple things, like the colour of the characters hair, were disregarded. In the book, the protagonist, Ralph, is blond…and for good reason: he is the representation all that is good, light, and right in society. The book’s antagonist, Jack, has red hair and is described as quite unattractive…again, for a purpose. He represents all that is dark, savage and unbridled in the world. Two significant representations, but in the movie they are reversed. In fact, nearly ever symbol of the book was inverted or ignored in the movie and the result was utterly, devastatingly disappointing.

But for all the travesties of injustice that exist, there are also tour de force demonstrations of the exquisite magic that is possible when masterful and insightful directing, collaborative production, skillful artistry, breathtaking cinematography, and incomparable acting unite. When the final translation of a single idea, conceived in the mind of the author, takes on physical, emotional, and spiritual manifestation through the eloquence of an actor who is fully committed to the embodiment of the charade, all else pales by comparison.

For a book, and, often, for me, this is the moment Valhalla opens, the instant when Elysium comes into view, this is the Attainment of Utopia and the Achievement of Enlightenment. When the supreme privilege of witnessing the brilliance of perfectly executed translation brings us to the Gates of Heaven and we watch the magnificent spectacle in awe and adoration.

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~Morgan~

The Time Capsule- #thoughts on #love #life and #time

20 Monday May 2019

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time capsule

Love Blossoms
Touches
Reaches
And Transforms Forever
The Heart that Opens To Its Tenderness.

I wrote those words when I was a senior in high school, filled with hope, expectancy, and the clairvoyance of youth.

Back then, I used to carry a tablet around with me from class to class in which I would jot down snippets of songs, (duran duran and dépêche mode, mostly, with some Sammy Harris thrown in for good measure) scribble fragments of poems, or draw elaborate patterns out of the initials of some fleeting fancy. When one tablet filled up, I would start another, filling it to bursting with the musings and, often, the ‘confusings’ of my mind….and thus my blogging career began, long before I knew the word, long before there was such a word.

By the time I graduated I had filled four tablets, each containing 120 pages of memories, hopes, dreams, rhymes, reasons, treasons, and insignificant “doodles”. I saved them for a while where I could pull them out from time to time and reminisce, but after a year or so they ended up in a box in the cellar, locked away, secret, a time capsule treasure trove awaiting rediscovery.

Warp ahead several years (never mind how many!). As time and light bend around us, pulsing in the intergalactic void of the wormhole, we hear sounds from other times in my life, which we are passing along the way. Laughter, Crying, Shouting, Singing, Slurring (just occasionally!), Whispering; vestiges of the passage of time and the journey into knowledge and awareness that have ultimately brought me (and us) to this day.

When the spinning stops (no, I swear we didn’t have any vodka along the way…) you will find me in a small room filled with boxes, where I am overturning years upon years in search of words. (Un-poetically phrased, I am looking through a box of memorabilia and memoirs for a few things I’ve written that I want to share, but the latter sounds so much more enticing, doesn’t it?) Suddenly I stop and a broad smile curves my lips. I laugh, although no one is there except me (well, and you of course) and nothing funny has been said. I had forgotten, but here they are, all four tablets, still intact: 480 pages (give or take a few that the dog, cat or ferret may have eaten!) of a bygone moment in time.

Most of the next hour is spent turning pages, remembering, (or not) hearing old songs, smiling about lost loves, and raising a skeptical (or shocked) brow now and again. Ah the brashness and rashness of Youth! All the things I wanted to do, hoped I’d have, places I dreamed I would go, people I longed to meet; locked away in a prison of pages and ruled lines, trapped and disregarded. Then I stumble upon the poem (above) and I stop, amazed. NICE! I think to myself, I DON’T REMEMBER WRITING THAT. But OH how true it is.

Love Blossoms In the Heart, Mind, Body, Soul.
Love Reaches into you, finding that place you’ve forgotten or ignored for far too long.
Love Touches the place that is lonely, hurting, lost, sorry, sad, angry, guilty, fearful.
Love Transforms Forever in a gentle, unforced, patient manner; only when you are ready for it and only when the time is perfect for it to happen.
The Heart that Opens to Its Tenderness; opening like a time capsule filled with memories just waiting to be rediscovered.

~Morgan~
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Lovely image by : http://www.erasofelegance.com

The Meaning of Life- #Thoughts on the #HumanCondition, #Life and #Writing

16 Tuesday Apr 2019

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I need some BnV!

Excuse me??

Yes, you heard me, I need some BnV. I don’t honestly think I can live without it. (Book and Volume that is.) (Yes, that’s what BnV stand for)

I must confess since I began writing this blog, (which, if I continue confessing I wasn’t entirely sure about starting off with,) I have found myself wanting to write more and more and more and more, found I have far greater inspiration than I’ve had in years, and found an unparalleled sense of accomplishment in “seeing” (so to speak) that others find my particular form of creativity (or madness, whichever you feel is more relevant) enjoyable, interesting, amusing or, at the very least, frighteningly intriguing. (Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience with your blog?) Well, let’s face it, BnV does have a certain indescribable quality about it that makes you scoff, shake your head, and yet, come back for more. (yeah, it has that affect on me too!)

But to come back to my original point, although I’ve been writing this blog since 2013 (I know, kinda insane, huh?) I have rediscovered in the past 30 days (or so- I wasn’t counting, exactly) such pleasure in writing again that it’s hard to put into words….which is a bit of a conundrum given that writing is, after all, the crux of the issue here.(here being WordPress..or whatever blogging platform you choose to use) I’ve often wondered how writers can lock themselves away from the rest of the world, eat little, talk less, and simply immerse themselves in their craft, letting the world go on without them, little caring, little worrying (maybe), but I no longer wonder about that. Now it is me (or, to be grammatically correct, should that be I?) who finds herself wishing she could do the aforementioned: forget the world, the job, the tedious responsibilities of life (though not the cat!), lock herself away from all resort (rather like Ophelia) (sorry, Yes I still insert Shakespeare into almost any conversation, but don’t let me deviate into Shakespeare… just yet!) and write until I come up gasping for breath.

Without BnV, where would I be? I admit that sounds a bit dodgy, perhaps risqué. My apologies for the double entendre (I think)(it’s just so catchy, really), but in all honesty, I sometimes feel that compelled, THAT enticed….to write, that is, and to hope that whatever it is I am saying will either make someone out there in the byzantine blue smile, chuckle, or have one of those OH! moments. (or, at the very least, that said hypothetical person doesn’t run off screaming like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.)

Admittedly, I knew this before, but just as many things in life, losing sight of what we love is so easy to do.  So easy, in fact, that, now I’ve rediscovered this passion, its rather an epiphanic realization (that my writing means more to me than most anything else), but there it is in its undeniable, inexorable splendor. Sure, I’ve heard it said since I was a child that finding your passion and pursuing it is the only way to truly be happy working through the salt mines of life, but I’ve also heard it said, over and over, again and again, as I am sure many of you may have, that I should get my head out of the clouds and concentrate on the serious matter of getting ahead in the world. Making it big, securing the future, having a reliable, steady 9-5’er that will pay the bills, put food on the table, yadda, yadda, yadda.  So who can blame me that it took this long to have the aforesaid epiphanic insight? (yes, I just like “saying” that word!) Well, the only person who can blame me is me really, since I’ve known since I was 10 years old that writing was what I loved to do best.

Ok, so you’re probably wondering about now what my point is? Well, as I said in my very first post,(go ahead and re-read it, I’ll wait for you) I’m far more likely to natter on endlessly about nothing in particular than anything specifically, so in reality I don’t truly need a point right now; however, you are in luck because I do, actually, have one. No drum roll please. No tympanic reverie necessary. No triumphal horns pealing in proclamation; no, my simple and unadulterated point is just this: (ok, I agree, I adulterated it quite a bit in the last few paragraphs, but let’s not be mean spirited…) that I think Curly from the movie City Slickers put it best:

One thing

Curly (Jack Palance): Do you know what the secret of life is? [holds up one finger]
Curly: This.
Mitch(Billy Crystal): Your finger?
Curly: One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don’t mean sh***.(Well, this is a PG-13 blog after all)
Mitch: But, what is the “one thing?”
Curly: [smiles] That’s what you have to find out.

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Rediscovery of what you’ve forgotten you remember is a journey with a happy ending as soon as you begin.

~Morgan~

Listening for Miracles – An Exploration of #Music and #Spirituality

20 Wednesday Feb 2019

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Depeche Mode is one of my all time favourite bands…hands down, no contest, don’t have to think twice about it. Love Dave Gahan’s delicious baritone, love the synthetic, tribal quality of the music, love Martin Gore’s tremulous tenor, love his gift with words…. but this particular song has always made me sad. Not because of the obvious reasons though, not because the girl dies or because the poor mother is grief-stricken, (sorry, spoiler alert!) but because Martin, David, and perhaps more than a good share of the audience, doesn’t seem to hear the Miracle contained in the lyrics.

First, if you are unfamiliar with the song, Blasphemous Rumours, then you should take a moment to listen to it before continuing on…(just a suggestion, really)

Sad tale? Yes. God vindictive and unfair? Not likely. Why not? How I can possibly say not? Look at it from another angle:

Sad Girl is lost, alone, hurting, who knows why, we aren’t told. She thinks life is too hard and doesn’t want to go on trying, so she makes the ultimate final attempt, but she doesn’t succeed. (“Thank the Lord for small mercies”..to quote the song.) She fails at failing.  It takes time to recover, years, but she comes to the ultimate realization that LOVE is all around her; beautiful, joyful, ever-present, guiding, protecting…like a parent who cares unconditionally, or a best friend who never gives up on you, or like your most precious pet, who adores you unreservedly. She finally understand this LOVE and is Happy.

Suddenly, her time is up. No one can control our finiteness, life is brief. It seems like such a tragedy, especially since she only just found LOVE, but it’s not a tragedy, it’s a Miracle. Had she died without realizing how much LOVE is around her, inside her, watching over her, caring for her, she may never have been happy and she would have died, alone, bitter, lost forever in that pit of despair.(because I believe we go on afterward into what we value, create and share here on earth in this life….but that is another post altogether) …yet because she failed at failing, she succeeds.

She heard the Miracle.

So yes, very sad song, but not for the reasons you thought…

~Morgan~

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Exceptional music written and performed by Depeche Mode.

Sleeping with the Enemy – Thoughts on #Perspectives

18 Monday Feb 2019

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spider

Sleeping with the Enemy

Let me begin by saying that I am arachnophobic. Always have been, always will be. I’m that person that goes into an unparalleled fit of screaming, shaking, and running in the opposite direction whenever those creepy-crawly eight legged monsters are around. I’m the person who wakes up in the middle of the night and strips her bed to the bare bones to make sure there isn’t one or millions of those hairy, spindly, multi-legged freaks somewhere amongst the covers. Or under the bed. Or on any of the coordinating furniture. Or lying in wait on the drapes until I go back to sleep, so it can then descend on me in the darkness of night to send me into the aforementioned paroxysm. I’m also the person who once had to single-handedly dispatch a gargantuan, tarantula sized, octoplet-limbed creature of terror who had taken up residence in my bathtub!!! (insert frenzied shrieking here!)

Fast forward now, from that ghastly day, to this morning where you will find me (hypothetically speaking) lying in my bed, dreaming sweet dreams without care; dozing the morning away because it’s finally a Saturday and I don’t HAVE to get up early. (and the congregation shouts AMEN!) I wake up, lazily search for the clock, realize it’s not even 8 AM, smile triumphantly, roll over and promptly resume my reverie. My mind drifts aimlessly through wisps of dreams still clinging to my memory; lingers over musings of hazy imaginings and teeters on the pinnacle between conscious thought and transcendental hyperbole.…until, at last, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling… you know the sensation…trying to remember what planet I’m on.

My thoughts shift from mystical to rational, (darn it!) I begin to strategically plan out my day, workout and the subsequent primping and preening that follows, breakfast, errands, financial concerns, laundry…yeck! Oh To sleep, perchance to dream! (sorry, snuck some Shakespeare in there on ya!) But this fair thought, now ended; I must rouse myself to the full and stumble on…( that part’s not Shakespeare, that’s me being “poetic”. Shakespeare always merits Italics) So, up I get and up gets the cat (his name is Little Orange Pooz, but that’s yet another post). I turn to make up the bed and then I SEE IT! A black, fuzzy, eight-legged beastie fully the size of a quarter (OR for my British friends, a one pound coin) sitting on my curtain just above my pillow !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Typically, this is the instant where the heebie-jeebies take over, the moment when rationale goes out the window and an inescapable spasm of insanity runs riot over me. I stare in dismay, but to my utter bewilderment and astonishment, I neither freak nor flee. Rather, although I have no comprehension of why, I stand there, LEAN CLOSER, and gaze at this little furry monster more intently. I can see he’s not moving; he’s almost curled up, and for half of a fleeting second I almost smile!!! He’s sleeping! Is he dreaming? What does a spider dream about, I wonder paradoxically. Does he dream about dropping down from the ceiling in the middle of the night onto unsuspecting, sleeping young women to send them into riotous fits of irrational fear all for the sheer hilarity of it?

Who cares!!!! I shake myself…it’s a spider!!! In any other situation, I would instantaneously grab the nearest shoe and start screechin’ n’ swingin’! But, instead, I find myself walking calmly (albeit briskly) to the laundry cupboard, retrieving a duster (a long handled one to be sure!), and returning to the scene of the crime to patiently coax this denizen of hideousness onto the fluffy fibers of his waiting conveyance so I can carry him (once again, at a BRISK pace) to the door and deposit him on the first green growing thing I can find.

Ok….what’s the deal? How can this be? What alternate reality did I wake to this morning that would find me inquisitively regarding and then effectively sparing the life of my lifelong nemesis and archenemy? Is there some lucid explanation for this, otherwise, inexplicable deviation from the norm? I spend the next several hours musing over the possibilities. It could be simply that I hadn’t yet had a sufficient intake of caffeine, was still half asleep and not thinking clearly. Or it could be, perhaps, that I was so surprised I didn’t have time to think about it, really, completely. Or my body could have been taken over by aliens in the middle of the night and I was under some form of extra-terrestrial manipulation!

No, I guess not.

I guess the most likely, if least appealing, explanation is that I’ve changed somehow, in some way as yet not quite realized, or at least not quite realized until this morning, and I’m left to wonder… Is it possible that change isn’t as tedious and complicated as we always think it will be? Perhaps, every now and then, change comes quietly, when we least expect it, like a furry, not so little, spider tiptoeing into our room without us even noticing it. Curling up beside us while we’re not paying attention, it lies, waiting to be discovered and, ultimately, it transforms us into someone we barely guessed we could be.

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~Morgan~

Thank You

01 Friday Feb 2019

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I wanted to take a moment simply to say Thank You. You are amazing and I truly appreciate YOU more than you may ever realize.

You have made my non-descript little blog far more than I ever could have hoped for, far more than I ever dreamed.

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Thank You for continuing to visit and enjoy what I share.  You are a treasure for which I am thoroughly grateful.

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~Morgan ~

A Better Place – #Thoughts on #Humanity, #Utopia and #Politics

24 Thursday Jan 2019

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I don’t talk politics publicly.  It’s one of those unspoken unspeakable rules…one of the three things you never talk about socially…but every now and then you have to speak your conscience, don’t you?

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil was that good men should do nothing.”- Edmund Burke

I agree.  I also think you can easily add ‘to remain silent’.  If someone was being beaten and you stood by and neither said nor did anything to stop them, you would be as guilty as the aggressor, wouldn’t you?  It’s within the nature of human beings to respond, to react; at least, I still have hope that it is, but I can certainly understand why so many look at the world today and shake their heads with despair.  I do.

We are all unique and have different strengths and individual natures. My nature, as many of yours, leans very strongly toward empathy and compassion.  When a child cries, I immediately need to know if they are all right.  When someone is hungry, I want to give them something to eat.  When an animal is mistreated, my entire spirit weeps in agony.  There are So Many Innocent victims who suffer in silence because they can do nothing else.

But surely we can, can’t we?  I know we are surrounded by violence and hatred and despicable acts I can barely comprehend, but are we not also surrounded by people of a similar nature and spirit as our own?  Are there not just as many longing for some good in this world as there are those who are aggressors and violators? Where does it end?  If we want Peace, do we not need to become Peace? If we long for Love, should we not first Love?

I say all this as a preface because what I really mean to say is that I look at our government and feel such anger. I watch their inaction in monumental proportion and rage against the cold machinery of it all.  I listen to each side trying to prop up their greed and dishonesty with even greater deceptions and avarice while I long for just one good person to stop doing Nothing.

What would it take for ‘one representative of the people’ to say “I refuse to let this continue.”

What might it mean for one to say, ‘If hundreds of thousands of Americans are not being paid because we cannot find a way to practice democracy and come to a compromise, than neither shall I take pay.”

How much good could it possibly do if we stood together as a community, rallying round each other in support of one another, rather than finding offense in everything someone may or may not say or do; rather than faulting them for perceived wrongs or disagreeing with them simply for the sake of feeling stronger, more powerful, bigger?

AH Utopia.  The Dream within the Dream.

Or is it a dream? Why must it be only a dream?  Why can’t it be more?  Why, in this hour of chaos and calamity, can we not stand shoulder to shoulder as a people and Demand Change?

Perhaps because until chaos and calamity hits our own front door, we are free to look away, shake our heads and say whatever we feel like saying against the absurdity of it all.  Perhaps, until one of our very own is affected personally, goes hungry, is denied the basic necessities over an argument that, in reality, is merely a show-piece for posturing and pretense, it is too easy to employ apathy.

If we could feel the pain of a stranger as deeply as we feel the need of a loved one, the world would truly begin to be a better place.  If we want Peace, we need to become Peace. If we long for Love, we first must Love.

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~Morgan~

Rain- #NaturalWorld #Meditations

16 Wednesday Jan 2019

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Rain.

It is a beautiful thing. There are so many types of rain, really, and I couldn’t tell you which sort I prefer more (unless we are including the fluffy, white, frozen variety that I love most of all, in copious quantities, as frequently as possible.)
Silver Greenery

There’s the light, misty kind that I tend to envision whenever someone talks about Great Britain. That type of drizzly, foggy rain that hangs over the landscape, penetrating every crevice, enveloping whatever it touches in a hazy shroud, and leaving ten thousand beads of incandescent diamonds in its wake that sparkle and scintillate when the light reappears. (Sounds divine, doesn’t it?) Oh, it’s also that deceptively inconsequential form of rain that doesn’t look like much until you walk out in it without your brolly.
Mists

There’s the freezing drizzle, or frizzle; that sinister variety of rain that usually arrives overnight and surreptitiously transforms the garden path, car park, or the front steps into a skating arena suitable only for Olympic athleticism. It’s that quirky classification of rain that warps and blurs everything into unrealistic, Photoshop-worthy deviations of reality that makes most of us grab our camera’s (ie. Phones) to record and share the surreal, Dr Suess-iness of it all. This category of precipitation doesn’t initially impress either, so you generally disregard it until you have to go out and then promptly wind up on your…..
Winter's Icy Grip

There are many classifications of thunderstorms as well. Those that pop up in the middle of a sweltering, summer day just long enough to make us all run for cover; the kind that create a lot of noise for 20 minutes and then disappear into a haze of steam. There are those that roll overhead in the hiatus of evening, fast and furious, full of sound and fury, (signifying nothing?) that do little more than make a mess, generally. And then there are those magnificent, cacophonous, tempests that jar you from sound sleep in the middle of the night with ear-splitting thunder and shocks of lightening that leave you wondering if you couldn’t hide under the bed with the cat.
Lightening

There’s also the awe-inspiring, stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks kind of rain that makes you stare out the window in astonishment, forces you off the road in your car because you can’t see one inch ahead or behind, and makes you wonder for a fleeing, transitory moment if there isn’t an arc being built someplace nearby that you perhaps ought to be booking passage on: those torrential downpours of cats and dogs (and monkeys.)
pouring-rain

Then there’s the steady, pervasive, day-long kind of rain that sweeps over the earth, softly falling hour by hour, never flooding, never rumbling, never wreaking havoc. This is the kind of rain that looks like a painting by Monet or Van Gough; that smells so sweet you inhale the scent of it deeply and can’t help sighing. It’s also that sort of precipitation that makes you want to pull off your shoes like a child, go out and splash in the puddles.
Gentle Rain

Much like life, we can’t control the rain; what kind of rain it is, how hard it falls or for how long, but we can control how we respond to it so that we neither wind up soaking wet wishing we had protection from the rain, staring in dumb-struck wonder at the rain fearing what might happen next because the unanticipated variability of the rain caught us completely off guard. Rather, we can stop to enjoy the rain, whatever its form, inhale deeply, and allow ourselves to be refreshed and renewed before we plod on.

Rainbow

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~Morgan~
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Photos 1 and 3 taken by me 🙂

Other Beautiful original photos found on Pinterest.  Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographers.  Thank You.