It is so very hard to admit even to ourselves that we are lonely - it is far easier to "invent" a myriad of problems that we buy into and encourage others to do the same. How many "problems" would actually be simple to solve for ourselves yet we experience a form of mental block and instead are diverted to asking another for assistance. It's little wonder our society is broken. Only when we aren't emotionally starving for real companionship can we have good relationships of every sort. So, when we are brave enough to feel the loneliness instead of allowing our brains to distract us from the pain, we can then begin the process of solving loneliness on a personal and social level.
One morning, in social study class, the teacher explained the term, “Dysfunctional families.” Marshall sat up in his desk. That description fit his family perfectly. All the hype through the years about happy families at Thanksgiving and Christmas left him empty, sad. Those two holidays were even worse for his family, and he dreaded them to heart sickness. He knew exactly what would happen. His dad would drink even more. More than once, his dad brought drinking buddies home for “thanksgiving dinner.” This “thanksgiving” dinner was a “usual” meal, with the exception that his mom said a prayer. Why? What did she or any of the family have to be thankful for? How could his mom be thankful for such confusion, and yelling and screaming? How could anyone thank a God who allowed such misery? When he was younger, Marshall had to stay at home for the long nights of discontent on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Now that he was older, he could grab his coat and hit the streets. It was cold out, and his jacket was thin. However, it was quiet in the downtown park.
Photosynthesis means light-making, for "photo" means light, and "synthesis" means making, the same way one could synthesise music. And so, what is the light making? Sugars, right? And what do plants give out? What helps us to breathe? Oxygen, right? So we already get it that plants need light, that they make sugar and oxygen.
And so, what is it that plants are making the sugar and oxygen from? Well, they need water, right? And they take carbon dioxide out of the air -that's how they help to fight global warming. So we also get it that they are using water and carbon-dioxide.
So, you already know it, you just need to let yourself realise that you get it. They plants are making sugars and oxygen from water and carbon-dioxide and using light energy. And all that happens in those little green blobs called chloroplasts - the blobs that make plants green!
There comes a time when "pushing" one's ideas that could save our world becomes morally the right thing to do. And so, if you have the time, I urge you to read my book, "Nexus. A Treatise in Defence of Love as Mankind's Answer," so that we can rescue each other and our planet from the trouble of our current era. There is a link to a free version and a Kindle version from my bio (bio-link below).
The pin board is wood from the floor of an old beach hut, the wood made soft by time and sea-water laden air. Upon it are the thoughts that lift my soul, bring me positive brain chemistry and the hope of a brighter tomorrow.
Waking up can be really harsh, especially if your dreams are better than reality. The saddest part of it is, though, that eventually even the memory of your dream will fade - if you are even lucky enough to remember it that is. Then you're left with this lonely feeling of detachment, left to explore in the empty void of emotions, the only proof that you ever had the dream to begin with.
He watched the sunset at the horizon, spreading its largess into a grateful sky. Rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, crimsons. Bob's spirit soared at the sight as he was transported into a timeless existence, ready for the protective blanket of night and new dreams.
When I wake up, I bet I heard my mom yelling at me for sleeping in. But then the reality takes over my dreams. Mom's not here. The reality hits like a stab in the stomach. All I can do is take it in.
My roommate greets me with a grin in the kitchen. Some Spanish show is blaring on the TV. My dishes are still in the sink. Those have been there for so long because no one has told me to do the dishes. I sigh turning on the faucet. Growing up is all about responsibilities.
It's not doing your dishes because you'll lose your access to wifi for an entire day otherwise. It's doing it because you won't have anything to eat from otherwise.
Waking up early is not about pleasing your mother and giving her a reason to let you go out. It's about running errands that your life literally depends on.
Curfews are not for your parents to stop worrying about your safety, but you worrying about yours.
Having a job is not about saving money, it's about spending it.
I curse myself for choosing to grow up so fast all the while doing my grown up responsibilities.
"Oh, I'm going out to the party tonight. You coming?" My roommate shouts to make herself audible over the noise from the TV.
"Heck, yeah," I say.
Did I mention growing up is having fun and being free?
A widowed wife. A mother of two. Living in a country of chaos. She lives in a scattered pile of concrete held together by fractured planks of wood. Trying to survive in a country that wants everyone dead. Seeking refuge in any broken, run-down house that is still standing. Living every moment of her life in constant fear of death for herself and her children.
Cleaning isn't simply about creating the sort of space you deserve, it's about the ability to take control of your life with a steady consistency, to become reliable for yourself. After all, that comes before the care of others, regardless of how much you desire to do so.
I originated from a cruel place. Was raised among barbaric conditions, and faced brutality. And finally, I learnt callousness. I became stone-hearted. But when my little bundle of joy arrived, a thing me and my wife made, when she came- my daughter; everything changed. She reminded me of love and bond. I couldn't let her into the world of viciousness. She was soft, and breakable, like the snow. She was was gentle, and she was my world. I knew, that if she ventured into my dark world, she would hate her own existence. I desired my daughter to have a life of positivity and satisfaction of living authentically on purpose. She was the melody of my beating heart. She gave me hope for the future. She was my life, my world- I decided, she would live a good life.
There were days Leon would return from his long photographic expeditions, wet with heaven sent rain. He'd be wearing the greatest smile a person ever wore, radiating with that joy inner passions bring. Then after some chatter he'd be enveloped by his processing room, taking all the time he needed to bring out every detail to its finest glow, until he emerged triumphant, the man and the camera, a master and his lens.