tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132256182024-03-13T21:32:58.294+00:00Universal MindThese are tidbits of information that come to me from the universal mind. Some come in dreams, and some in daydreams. I am compelled to write them down. I have discovered that these clips come at odd times and mean something later on.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-77392192890022039332014-04-19T20:48:00.001+00:002014-04-19T20:48:11.746+00:00If You're LuckyIf you're lucky
Someone will come into your life
To re-introduce themselves in a new way
They will show you that you ARE worth something
The grass will seem greener
The flowers will show their most vibrant colors and scents
Your skin will clear
You'll shed some extra pounds
Your hair will do what you want it to
The rain will feel like a caress
You will develop a green thumb
You'll have that garden on your porch
Every song you hear will make your heart sing with meaning
You will be energetic and strong
Your passion will burn day and night - almost embarrassing you publicly
You will never feel alone
If you're really lucky
That person will stayApollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-41565977659906256752014-03-31T00:23:00.000+00:002014-03-31T00:23:02.625+00:00beginagainagainagain
Something I wrote, as
grandfunkpunk
Jun 26, 2000 (a true experience)
One night I woke up in another house. Not my
house or any house I had ever lived in. It was dark
outside, save for an eerie glow. Sort of like a dark
warehouse with those hanging florescent lights. Not really
light, not really dark. When I came out of the room I
had been sleeping in, I noticed the front door was
open. There was no one inside that I could sense. I
walked out into the warm summer evening and faced the
open fields of wheat and shadows of mountains in the
background. There was a very minimal breeze. Only enough to
know that the air was really air, and not something
more liquid. That this was a real experience and not a
dream. Then I looked toward the sky. I saw no sky at
all. I saw what appeared to be an upside down
airfield. With lights on the runway and everything.
Different colored lights. They began to move. Not like
disco lights or anything, just in patterns � like an
airport. Just when my mind began to register this awesome
sight, I heard a flute being played inside the house. I
turned and wandered back in. The music was slow and
trance inducing. I suppose I was the snake in the
basket, because I followed the sound back to the very
back of the house. In that room, there was a light
like the sun was shining. It was very daylight in
there. Sitting, cross legged on the floor was a naked
man with black hair � not really long hair/not really
short hair. He was playing a wooden flute. Then he
stopped. He told me to turn around. He did not �say� to
turn around, with words, I just knew to turn around �
like telepathy or something. So, I turned and walked
out the door and was outside again without having to
walk through the house. I was outside � in the
daylight. The wheat fields were gone. It was all just tall
green grass. Beautiful trees. The air was more clear. I
could see forever. Haze did not block the view of
mountains. It was as if I were seeing with hawk eyes. There
were no manmade noises at all. Only animals. The house
was gone. It was only me now. Just me in the grass,
with the wind and the trees and the earth forever and
ever around me. And I was naked, just as naked as
everything else. Then, I heard the flute again. I waded
through the grass that smelled so sweet. Then very
suddenly, I was upon a lake. I could see to the bottom.
Huge colorful fish swam about, along with snakes and
salamanders. There was the man playing the flute across the
lake. When I looked at his face, he stopped playing
again. He said with his mind, �Welcome to the
beginning.�Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-90225458064222786872013-09-29T01:04:00.003+00:002013-09-29T01:04:27.116+00:00My Name is MudMud is an art. The vibration of the soil as it’s forced through the water is something that stirs you inside. It combines with your own vibrations, so you’re actually working together. It starts in the palm of your hand, and travels to the outside of your fingers and up your arms and shoulders, and spreads throughout you, like love. It loves you, just like everything else you can touch. Even if it stings. That’s just that thing’s way of loving you. If it refuses to touch you, then it’s just afraid of you. You can’t be afraid to touch it, first. Some people are just like mud is, most of the time; still and waiting for you to touch them. To pick them up and mold them into something you can use, or just touch them for the sensation of joining to them. Maybe they think they feel like mud, because they’re sad, or feeling worthless. But if they’d only realize that mud is the basic foundation of so many things, they would see themselves differently. Maybe their idea of mud is all wrong.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-46051621453452108592013-03-19T00:37:00.001+00:002013-03-19T00:37:25.053+00:00clothes basket time machineToday, I noticed that my clothes basket is cracked. The one I got when I moved out of my parents' house. The one that represents my freedom from a crazy life, and my entrance into my own self. Now, I wonder if I hadn't let anyone else use it, would it still be cracked? Is it time for a new clothes basket? Or is it time for a new me? I'm a little sad.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-55156081180388217592012-12-27T00:31:00.003+00:002012-12-27T00:31:50.959+00:00Doodle with the Paint Thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnhWhbpwBmkW9iOUK3MSc_3f92Ab65dt4diP-jxuKUuLQC7bUISle2AzFgv8TaAzZIeC891g_e6EKttEkd6sN2sJF_r1sYoNoT19t-lxR6DOwSIm7xIcaKUgprjjW-JKSQh7-/s1600/city.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnhWhbpwBmkW9iOUK3MSc_3f92Ab65dt4diP-jxuKUuLQC7bUISle2AzFgv8TaAzZIeC891g_e6EKttEkd6sN2sJF_r1sYoNoT19t-lxR6DOwSIm7xIcaKUgprjjW-JKSQh7-/s320/city.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-28920905378391670712012-04-01T08:55:00.002+00:002012-04-01T12:57:13.126+00:00Cakes, etc.<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255); font-weight: bold; font-family: webdings;">This morning, during coffee time, I StumbleUpon a site with a slide show of the 50 most beautiful wedding cakes. It is a sad day, my friends, when cake is judged mainly for its beauty. A melancholy day for me, indeed, since wedding cake is one of the joys of my life - or was. As jaded as I am on the institute of marriage (bitterness, guilt, a sense of inferiority, where this is concerned, so just don't go there), the cake is the thing that makes the word "wedding," in general, tolerable for me. Oh, I have recently been to a wedding where the love permeated even my evil dark lord-ess humbug of marriage reality. But, when it comes time, at the reception; after the dinner, after the drinks, every sound stops when the toast goes up - the anticipation as the happy couple cuts into that cake. Every guest wonders how they will present it to one another. Will they smash it into the face? Will they gingerly place a small bite on the tongue of their partner? WHO CARES!!!?? Gimme some of that soft, vanilla-almond, melt-in-my-mouth, creamy, buttery frosting sensation! It is the highlight of the whole event.</span><br style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255); font-weight: bold; font-family: webdings;"><br style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255); font-weight: bold; font-family: webdings;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255); font-weight: bold; font-family: webdings;">But, wait! Screeeeeeeeetch! Who put the brakes on traditional frosting? Who came up with the evil "fondant" that puts cake in jail? Where is the code to break into this stuff? Where does it go, after we've wasted a full three minutes rolling all the special, shiny dots and dribbles that have hardened into a fortress? Is this the result of others like me, perhaps? Symbolic of breaking down the walls of fear, doubt, reluctance, suspicion and cynicism? But, stop it! Wedding cake is one of the very few things I kept faith in. Whoever says, "Nothing good is ever easy," is misinformed. I sink and melt together with traditional wedding cake frosting. It is good. It is heavenly. I don't care if your cake is crooked. I don't care if the colors aren't exactly right, or if you have a scene of Atlantis or the Second Coming on there.</span><br style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255); font-weight: bold; font-family: webdings;"><br style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255); font-weight: bold; font-family: webdings;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255); font-weight: bold; font-family: webdings;">In my world, there will be no fondant. True artistry is in the flavor and texture of food. If it's pretty, it's certainly a bonus. Like everything else in my world, what counts is the truth of it all - what's inside.</span></span>Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-11213634242727491862012-01-21T09:34:00.000+00:002012-01-21T14:34:50.223+00:00Same<span style="font-weight: bold;">Nothing new to report, here. The weather is strange, though. Foggy, and in the 40's. An unusual number of tornadoes, for this season.<br /><br />I awoke somewhere around 5:00 a.m., today. Rude, as I'd promised myself and announced to everyone within earshot, that I was going to sleep until I was ready to get up, today. My body and my mind obviously have different ideas about what "ready to get up" means. The brain went straight to the job issues. Lovely.<br /><br />There are a zillion things I need to do, today. A priority would be to get my car worked on. Another would be to do some laundry and grocery shopping. Something I need to do, but is not urgent, is to color my roots and get a hair cut. I so wish I could find someone who can cut my hair in a style that I don't have to screw with to make it presentable.<br /><br />At around 8:30 p.m., or somewhere within 2 hours +/- that hour, I have to pick up my eldest son from the school. He's on a trip to TN, for an ROTC drill meet. At least I think I have to pick him up. He mentioned something about his dad going on the trip, if he didn't have to work, but that was never confirmed. I love the communication.<br /><br />The other adult in this house is still asleep. The day is getting away, and I still haven't showered or eaten breakfast. I need to get on it.<br /></span>Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-38614987554845430892012-01-16T20:17:00.003+00:002012-01-17T01:45:07.111+00:00The Truth Is...I could tell you that I have an idiot brother,<br />Who doesn't eat anything but boxed mac n cheese,<br />Or that my aunt was an eccentric movie star,<br />Who would only wear pink and sequins.<br />I could say that I have a house in Canada,<br />That I go to, for secret weekend assignments.<br />A place where you can look out the window<br />And see the clouds beneath the treetops.<br />I could tell you that on New Year's Eve,<br />It is my tradition to eat sand crabs, from Spain,<br />And they taste just like dirt,<br />But they have spiritual significance.<br />I potentially might maybe have an extra bone<br />In each ear, that makes my hearing ultra keen.<br />So, I can hear conversations from next door,<br />Through the walls, sometimes.<br />And speaking of walls, there might be some<br />Top secret documents pasted behind the drywall<br />In the back of my bedroom closet,<br />Behind the gray and black portions of my wardrobe.<br />I might have a chip in my head<br />That tells me when there is a sale on at Spencer's,<br />And it might tell me a lot of other things, too -<br />Such as which dogs at the pet store are sickly<br />And which ones will be hardy and loyal.<br />Maybe one year, I lost both of my pinky toenails<br />In freefall accidents - but I didn't bump my head.<br />Perhaps the light bulbs in my home emit<br />A certain spectrum that makes it possible<br />For me to see inside your mind<br />And know your soul's wishes.<br /><br />But, no.<br />The truth is, I did very little, today.<br />And I have a vivid imagination.<br />The honest truth is just, I love you.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-20189011981412243522011-09-09T08:12:00.004+00:002011-09-09T12:27:04.465+00:00Lot<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:courier new;">Yesterday, I went to the drugstore to drop off a 'script. When I returned to my car, a dude was sitting in an old, beat up, black Toyota pickup. He was gray-headed, though almost bald. Rough looking. Whiskers. Smoking a cigarette. He looked mad, and guilty. By the time I was behind my driver's seat, and looked up again, there was another dude, about my age (mid-forties, maybe younger), standing beside his driver door, talking on a cell phone. The truck dude was obviously listening in on the call. I get a feeling somebody's physician quit writing pain killer 'scripts; and now he's using up his buddy's. Highly likely. Sad. Not only that the guy is potentially hooked on narcotics; but that he seems so miserable, and not proud of himself.<br /></span></span></span>Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-64019179073084930182011-08-12T12:36:00.003+00:002011-08-13T00:16:19.947+00:00ConstantWe are not digitally enhanced.
<br />Our spirit comes, unedited,
<br />Even if we have been physically remolded.
<br />One can sense the energy.
<br />
<br />True, some wear blinders,
<br />Either subconsciously or not.
<br />Deception is a cruel use of energy;
<br />Tainted output.
<br />
<br />Positive forces frighten us, though.
<br />Looking at the light too long
<br />Makes one apprehensive;
<br />As if we undergo an endurance test.
<br />
<br />How long can we keep this goodness?
<br />When everything we see dies,
<br />Or drifts out of our visual range,
<br />It feels like we are undeserving.
<br />
<br />Nothing, yet everything, "belongs" to us.
<br />How can one realize, we are what we lose?
<br />We are the adored pet, family member,
<br />Icon, or object that passes into another frame.
<br />
<br />We are that movement, that change.
<br />Being stuck, clinging to a moment,
<br />And how things seem to be,
<br />Doesn't allow flow, progress, growth.
<br />
<br />So, this moment, I will let it be.
<br />I will hold all in the palm of my hand,
<br />And feel the changes, and wonder
<br />Why I even have to try.
<br />Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-49395577231648350442011-06-20T23:02:00.002+00:002011-06-20T23:12:31.375+00:00What It's LikeAsk me what it's like to dress down, not to draw too much attention. There are so many reasons. Not that I care what anyone thinks; but I care that how they think will affect others. I can't be distracting folks, making them ask questions in their minds, and amongst others. I know too many people. I know how they feel, because it's how I'd feel. I don't want them judging. If I dress up, take what I want, it has to mean that someone else can't have it. So, let them think they have it all. Maybe they'll be quiet. I just want them to be quiet.<br /><br />Ask me how it feels not to wear perfume, or lipstick, not to wear a mask. To be exposed, so I can hide. Is this me? Where am I? What are they?<br /><br />Ask me, "What is your passion?" The search for truth is my passion. But look around. Everything is what it is. The truth is, no one can be true.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-53372899922541780602011-06-18T15:02:00.001+00:002011-06-18T15:03:18.496+00:00SueSaturday morning<br />On your call list<br />All about you<br />I don't exist<br />My whole life<br />I'm no good daughter<br />Mother or wife<br />I won't resist<br />I don't existApollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-80017788969583679202011-05-02T12:05:00.002+00:002011-05-02T12:25:43.752+00:00Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Blowhard?Who is afraid of a country that sits on it's ass, posting and re-posting news that's been heard, read and imposed many times over?<br /><br />Anybody notice that you can't go anywhere or read anything without seeing a button or tab for a social media network? Ever think about WHY?<br /><br />While some are busy doing nothing to produce anything positive, or to take care of their own, there are still those out there who feel it's their purpose to rid the earth of what they honestly believe to be useless wastes of air and land. Those joiners and followers are making it so very easy for them, playing into their hands. Showing them how right they are about this country.<br /><br />Some of us joined the social networks, so we could be...well...social. What does that mean, really, anymore? I thought it was about loving, caring, helping people. Friends. Alas, it seems that some are not in it for the compassion, but for the opportunity to hear themselves talk, or to read themselves writing something that's already out there. To cluck, cluck, cluck, like a bunch of hens about the egg so-and-so just laid. Like there has never, nor will ever be another egg.<br /><br />To thank a political leader in this country for something that it has taken countless individuals to accomplish, shows a real lack of insight. As a U.S. Citizen, you have paid those fuckers to do this job. It came out of your earnings. They didn't do this as a favor. They sit on expensive furniture, and eat expensive meals, pretty regularly, and you pay them to do it. Who's paying you? What are you doing?<br /><br />In this country, we are supposed to have choices. Choices about what to watch, what to read, what to do with our time. I do not watch "Idol," and can't imagine why, even if I did, I would want to read about every thing that was happening on said show, as it was happening, on a fucking SOCIAL NETWORK. I would watch the fucking TV, that someone paid for, that is probably not in many ways at all recyclable, that probably causes fucking autism.<br /><br />I guess it must be comforting, on some level, to people who hate real life so much, to sit around on a social network, clucking...about...fucking...nothing. I guess that way, they won't notice when someone who's actually done something, out of some sort of PURPOSE drops a big fat fucking bomb on their neighborhood, to delete their consuming, bullshit ass.<br /><br />When, when, when will people realize that to balance that hatred, there has to be a collective of LOVE? Stop advertising for the maniacs.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-62474045528371419512011-02-22T21:34:00.003+00:002011-02-22T21:56:37.677+00:00House PostAlmost two months after I resigned from my job, I am finally feeling like my house is MY house. After living here for just over eight years, I have finally found some peace in this dwelling. It is more to me now than just a place to sleep, do laundry, eat, bathe and check my e-mail. Even though the serenity is limited to alone time (i.e. the times when kids are at school, and the husband is sleeping - he works nights; and when the husband is at work, and the kids are in bed), it's still there. My brain took two whole months to settle down.<br /><br />I worked in the financial field for ten and a half years, and none of it was ever comfortable or peaceful for me. I'd come home, and be thinking about work, while still having to run a household. It is also my responsibility to manage the finances at home, so I literally have been a round-the-clock financial person for that long. It has always fallen naturally to me, to do the finances at home. For whatever reason, perhaps my attention to detail, I attract people who can't keep a check register and/or have a poor concept of money. While working, and trying to raise a family, I was also schooling myself for the financial licenses. That took about seven years, having to do book study, between helping with homework and trying to be a wife and mother. All that, and still the job only paid enough for me to just stay out of the poor house. Enough was enough. I needed to get ME back.<br /><br />I haven't felt at "home" in my own house, since about 1998, when my ex-husband and I started living in separate rooms - a trend that exists in my current home, with my current husband. I don't seem to have the wifely instinct. How can a person have any domestic capability, when their brain is always "working"? When any vacation time taken for the actual paying job, is spent with in-laws, on their schedule. When there is no meaningful connection or conversation with a partner, no time for friends, or no quality time alone.<br /><br />Two and a half months to finally figure out, again, what it is I like to do. Me. There's a me. A me who's pretty decent. In retrospect - like WAY retro - I was pretty cool. I didn't know it then, but I was.<br /><br />Just in time to start looking for another job. I'm going to take my time about it, this time. Every job I've ever taken has been done in desperation for money to pay bills. Never was there a conversation with me about what I WANTED to do with my life. Never was there a college fund, to set me on my path. It is up to me, in the end, to take responsibility for what I do. So, this time, I'm taking it slow. I'm not going to settle. I refuse to be pushed into doing a job that makes me so uncomfortable that I feel like throwing up all the time, just so I can make money to pay bills, because I have a family to feed, clothe and house. Because, really, I just made myself sick doing that. The blood pressure, the meds, the stress. Forget about it. Fagetaboutit. I gotta make this ME feeling stick. I gotta make the serenity feeling stay, or at least be very readily accessible. It's up to me.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-38080513088423818472011-02-04T15:15:00.002+00:002011-02-04T15:20:42.200+00:00Haunted<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnResvaUpM75nOHHoaQL9x0w62E3nu3lbIZwkunrPzUU5XoYafNRJImH4b_wwhjHiP6Xo4XlsUXnRq8eS-9qgAUGguZ0BjNvCs2Hai-U_485lDze1EaOUMOSdflLQNq3oi5DCS/s1600/doodle020411.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 388px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnResvaUpM75nOHHoaQL9x0w62E3nu3lbIZwkunrPzUU5XoYafNRJImH4b_wwhjHiP6Xo4XlsUXnRq8eS-9qgAUGguZ0BjNvCs2Hai-U_485lDze1EaOUMOSdflLQNq3oi5DCS/s400/doodle020411.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569854413736471122" border="0" /></a><br />What do you do, when there are black holes in your past, and suddenly in your early 40's, you begin to remember them being the equivalent of a V.C. Andrews series? What happens to you? I'd be interested to know how this manifests itself in others. With me, it's been a lifetime of unexplained phenomena, like ghostly experiences, rages, depression, sleep walking, repeated failed relationships. Here's the upshot ^Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-15833734293180171562011-01-19T16:23:00.003+00:002011-01-19T22:05:02.409+00:00A Yammering Bit of Prose<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family:courier new;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I started writing this just to see how many words I could actually write, as my word processing program has a tool that counts the words in your document. Up to <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> point I have (32) words.<br /> I've always been fascinated by words. It's probably because they are symbols, and the human mind craves symbols. That's what your dreams are made of; pictures of things are actually symbols of different aspects of your life, and in your dreams, you use these symbols to create and solve scenarios that you consciously don't want to or have the required atmosphere to do. I believe that most of our incapability to do this in our waking life is due in large part to having to deal with life, which is - ironically - what makes all the symbols we use to deal with our emotions, which are - ironically - created by all those situations in life that make the pictures. It's a huge circle/cycle that we do each day. Our brain uses everything we feel emotionally, see, touch smell, hear and taste to help us function without whacking off someone else's head that contains a brain doing the same as ours. The difference being that we are not all on the same time frame as far as our brain symbolism process; thus creating conflict. There is a reason we don't connect to the "mainframe" of consciousness like we probably did before humans actually existed as we do today, but I haven't deciphered that part of it, yet. I do know if we did that there would be no war, famine, etc. Unfortunately, certain humans contain personality traits (mostly in my opinion created by a lack of using their brain symbolism [hereinafter referred to as "brains"] to its optimum capacity) that just irk other humans (the ones who DO use their brains). The only explanation I have for this utter faux pas of creation is that we also have a spirit - or soul if you will. We all know that there are good spirits and bad spirits. We all also should know that good and bad are very relative terms and we all have our own ideas (or symbols) as to what those terms mean. This is largely created by our physical makeup, but I think we also inherit soul or spirit traits from our ancestors. Some psychiatrists or other doctors of the mind may call it a chemical disorder. Well, that may be true as we are all made up of chemicals. But what makes the chemical disorder to begin with? And, isn't the term "disorder" here also relative?<br /> I suppose in some countries it may be perfectly fine to just chop your neighbor's head off for mowing at a ridiculous hour on a Saturday morning. Perhaps some countries don't een recognize Saturday at all. I've also heard that it's considered and insult in some Asian countries if you DON'T belch loudly at the end of a meal. How completely absurd! But, burps are also relative. I mean to say that if someone lets one rip during a church sermon or a board meeting, it isn't the same at all as if he or she were to say a loud, "WHAAAAWWWWP!!!" in the middle of an outdoor heavy metal concert, right? (This is all surely uninteresting to most. However, I've <span style="font-style: italic;">now</span> written 556 words; incredible.)<br /> So, now that I am pretty sure I've figured out one of life's little mysteries, what to do with it? We certainly can't make others think as we do, or symbolize as we do. Do you ever wonder or care to wonder what the original symbolism was? Well, I've read and tend to believe that it was probably all just a big, white light in the beginning, and there were no other pictures or sounds. As a result, I imagine there were no problems with belching or not belching after a meal or during a sermon or meeting.<br /> I imagine there were no problems with persons jingling their coins in their pockets as they paced back and forth across the floor in front of an otherwise productive individual, causing them great distress in that they could not rip that obnoxious bowel sphincter's head off of his neck and throw it out the second story window of an old building. There are probably people who can work under such conditions. I am not one of those people, and I tend to think that there is something wrong with me that I cannot concentrate on my intentions while there are others about. Then, I think that there would be something wrong with me if I weren't forced by my nature to pay attention to that person, as that person could be carrying a pistol and happen to be inclined to use it. Or, that person may actually have something interesting and beneficial to share with me verbally. Or, perhaps their pants may fall down and they'd be wearing their mother's undergarments. I may be overly observant, but SOME people might appreciate that if I, while they went about their business unawares, were to save everyone's life at work by noticing a grenade flying through the window and landing on the office floor, and screaming, "GET DOWN!" or something like that. Yes, we all have our flows, but they are just as relative as everything else in the physical world. This is little comfort.<br /> What I want to know is, where are the minds of the under observant people? What are they thinking, and why isn't their adrenaline pumping into overdrive when what's-his-name is pacing and jingling coinage? I wish I could just tap into that chemical as needed, instead of having to visit some doctor and paying them hard-earned (or distracted-earned) money and having to swallow a pill daily. Who can remember to do that - what with watching for grenades and for the pants to fall down off of jingling pacers? Really! I have important things to look out for. How can I be expected to add yet another chore - another symbol - to my daily routine? The pill would be one more thing to dream about.<br /> What does a pill symbolize? Well, it could be any number of things, depending upon its size and color, and also the context of the pill dream. For instance: A large red pill. The pill represents a cure, usually. So there's a remedy needed for whatever other symbols the brain happens to be using. It being large would tell me that the cure was sorely needed. The pill being red would tell me that it was in direct correlation to my health or emotions, or that I was digesting a warning delivered to me in the forms of a pill that I could "swallow." Has anyone ever tried to warn you of something and you just wouldn't listen? Hence the term "It was more than I could swallow." Taking the pill in the dream would possibly represent ingesting the advice of a loved one or close friend without actually having to consciously admit it. Yes, without dreams, how could we live at all? We would surely go bonkers in little time.<br /> If you've ever been truly sleep deprived, you will know what the beginning of bonkers is like. Bonkers, of course - as all else is - being relative. There are people on this great big rock we call Earth that have practiced, since before anyone really knows, religions that use sleep deprivation, as well as fasting, as a means to create an altered state in which they can more readily experience the spirit world. There are those among us, also, who like to take LSD to get similar effects. LSD is costly (and can land you in the hospital or the clink); less food is less costly; less sleep is usually free and becoming more and more abundant from what I have heard (but also could land you in hospital or clink under certain circumstances). The key is moderation, caution, and common sense - common sense being the very thing our dreams are made of.<br /> I've heard some folks say the don't dream. Well, I will tell you right here and now that when folks say that to me, I want to run the other direction very fast. If they're not dreaming, they're either crazy or dead. I've enough things to watch for in regular life (grenades, strange underwear), without having to deal with crazies or zombies. Sometimes I think I do actually deal with crazies and zombies in my capacity as customer service person...but they're "always right?" (1,430 words).<br /> Let's just go back and analyze that term "common sense" for a moment. Okay, let me do it, then. Common - other words for common: ordinary, everyday, shared (among others). Sense - other words for sense: intelligence, meaning, feeling (among others). Just look in your thesaurus for all the things these words mean, and you will see that we all share a common knowledge of some sort. Some use it, some don't. I like to think I do. If I could only get some of that quick and easy calmness chemical to flow freely through my common sense, I'd be just about perfect, I think. There are people out there who do have this ability. Those are people who lose their driver's licenses and keys often. Perhaps being calm inhibits your short term memory. Maybe we're all overworked, overstressed and under-entertained. That would be a logical explanation for this particular mar in the human psyche. I say we go to the afternoon siesta system. We could stay up later and party more if we were more rested throughout the day. It would prevent burnout, or at least delay it in a big way.<br /> Of course, there are some people who ingest so much caffeine during their waking hours that they get nothing accomplished besides pacing in front of the desks of otherwise productive individuals.... See what I mean? It's the big cycle/circle. You could point your finger nine ways to Sunday and still you'd have it turn back around and point you right in the nose. It's really a lot to think about. There is no reason for anyone in the world to ever be bored. If they'd spend time contemplating these things, they'd worry less about other things. Then, like me, they'd have huge piles of laundry and dirty floors.<br /><br />Samantha Shirreffs<br />Saturday, October 2, 2004<br />(1,740 words)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><br /></span></span>Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-4080589326575533172011-01-06T16:59:00.003+00:002011-01-17T00:41:02.145+00:00Pool<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm993neIanWSl27SftJxbCpr5IfYvXSg8X4n7jqeufHf63dFCBSt6aMrmWS23-HfGhdIsX_hVU3bAV0Ig0ufkdwWefn4kCC60zzwsjtsdH3RKvqY3zqbABLNYoFXe4aTi-ibtn/s1600/pool.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm993neIanWSl27SftJxbCpr5IfYvXSg8X4n7jqeufHf63dFCBSt6aMrmWS23-HfGhdIsX_hVU3bAV0Ig0ufkdwWefn4kCC60zzwsjtsdH3RKvqY3zqbABLNYoFXe4aTi-ibtn/s320/pool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562948386611582930" border="0" /></a><br />I am reclined on a strapped deck chair,<br />Aside a postage stamp pool.<br />Here you come, through the aluminum gate<br />With your easy stance, your crumpled hat,<br />And your beautiful, amazing, unequivocal smile.<br />You've unknowingly encapsulated me.<br />I feel naked and cocooned, all at once.<br />I join you in the water,<br />Staying out of your self-made lane.<br />I decide to watch your blurred figure<br />Through liquid lenses.<br />The way your eyes look bigger and bigger<br />As you get closer -<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"></span>A grade school metamorphosis film flashback -<br />Makes me laugh.<br />I choke, being forced to remember<br />Laughing under water<br />Doesn't work.<br />There is your gaze, again,<br />And we are so at ease,<br />And yet<br />So tightly wound.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-45662465632922322202010-10-31T12:44:00.002+00:002010-10-31T12:58:52.442+00:00DreamsNight before last, I dreamed I was at a party on a huge lawn. There were vendor tents. It was dark, and the tents and table areas were lit with candles. I was talking to a couple in their '60's. We were discussing stars. I looked up into the sky, and there were so many tight clusters of stars that the sky was almost bright.<br /><br />Last night, I dreamed I was living in an apartment complex. The doors were inside, like a hotel. We had a neighbor who was about 3.5 years older than me, and single. The walls in his apartment were made of plexiglass. His bed was surrounded by a 3-foot plexiglass wall, and immersed in water. He was in bed, I was kneeling beside this wall, talking to him about his birthday, and asking him why he was single. He had blond hair and blue eyes. Suddenly, we were in a garage, and he was Jack Black. He was sitting on a stool, and I was sitting on the concrete. The feelings here were intimate. I was distracted by a car pulling into the neighbor's driveway across the street. It was a '70's model car, aqua blue, and an elderly person was driving it. They pulled into their garage and closed the garage door. For a minute there was no more sound or activity. Then, something made me look over again, at the garage. I noticed flames around the old car. I ran over to an open door beside the garage door, ran in, opened the driver's door, and there was the old lady, gasping and whimpering, on fire, clutching her purse to her chest. I pulled her out, and we were suddenly back in my garage. I rolled her and patted her, all the while uttering calming words to her. Under her dress, there was more fire. I was afraid we would have to strip her to get all the flames out. I guess finally I got her taken care of. There was never any explosion from the burning car across the street, so I suppose that was also extinguished.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-17777808362229384762010-10-17T12:27:00.000+00:002010-10-17T12:29:17.471+00:00GOSSIP - My Sermon for the Masses<span style="font-weight: bold;">I am frankly bored with so many "Christians" (one in particular) gossiping and causing hurt. Don't thump your Bible at me unless you plan to READ and UNDERSTAND what it's telling you! All of it, not just the parts you pick out that please you. The church is full of more hypocrites than any other place, which is why I quit attending (and I used to be very active in my church). I don't want to hear other people's stories from you, anymore. If you truly believe, get on your knees to beg forgiveness of your God, or you are going to that place you call hell. Remember, he knows your heart. Better hope he doesn't show up at your door while you're in one of your hen sessions. How's that for a sermon?</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Leviticus 19:16 – “Do not go about spreading slander among your people. Do not do anything that endangers your neighbor’s life. I am the Lord.” (NIV) Proverbs 11:13 – “A gossip betrays a confidence, but a trustworthy man keeps a secret.” (NIV) Romans 1:29 – “They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice. They are gossips.” (NIV) 1 Timothy 5:13 – “Besides, they get into the habit of being idle and going about from house to house. And not only do they become idlers, but also gossips and busybodies, saying things they ought not to.” (NIV) Matthew 7:1 – “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.” (NIV) Proverbs 18:8 – “The words of gossip are like choice morsels; they go down to a man’s inmost parts.” (NIV)</span>Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-44437857416088001002010-10-04T14:21:00.003+00:002010-10-04T14:34:03.485+00:00All I Need<span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >When I feel a need,<br />I feel conflict and confusion,<br />Because I cannot understand<br />This need.<br />Why - when I'm fairly healthy,<br />Have wits, some gift of talent -<br />Do I need anything?<br />Answers elude, but I seek<br />From the beginning.<br /><br />I recall a roof, a bed, meals,<br />People, pets, a yard, neighbors,<br />Sunshine and shadows, leaves,<br />Flowers, grass, breeze,<br />Deep blue and black infinite sky.<br />Strong arms used to hold me,<br />Carry me.<br />Later - and often then -<br />That strength was used to control,<br />To push me, launch me.<br />And still, on rare occasions,<br />Comfort - and this was confusing.<br /><br />For the first and only time,<br />At age thirty-four, I heard,<br />"I love you," from this man<br />Who was my father.<br /><br />Almost any man can train himself<br />In his body, in his mind.<br />These are good qualities,<br />But they are common.<br />Providing, guarding, holding firm -<br />Fine accomplishments.<br /><br />However, a man who gives his love,<br />His heart and soul, openly,<br />Unselfishly and often,<br />Does what he's put here to do.<br />There is no braver or necessary thing.<br />And there is no child, wife, sister, friend,<br />So blessed as the recipient.<br />For it is the base ingredient<br />In a wholesome life,<br />The ultimate motivation and<br />The strongest foundation.<br />A man who shares this way<br />Participates in creating universes,<br />And in so doing finds his connection<br />To his source.<br /><br />That is all I need.</span>Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-91144726728934731262010-06-02T19:48:00.001+00:002010-06-02T23:53:12.765+00:00Yard<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPhfNRfGXsVoxCqmcnmYhQz2DEMXqnF5eLOLmPnlUXLxsVvBUwk81HH6uw96t1Xsyt0jnfS9ZJhyphenhyphen9jymPC6cbEqSTdzWA3jlSOOzAGmR11VHvOEWFKlvVE7gLtgoXjf_fSSMJ/s1600/lawn+at+dusk.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPhfNRfGXsVoxCqmcnmYhQz2DEMXqnF5eLOLmPnlUXLxsVvBUwk81HH6uw96t1Xsyt0jnfS9ZJhyphenhyphen9jymPC6cbEqSTdzWA3jlSOOzAGmR11VHvOEWFKlvVE7gLtgoXjf_fSSMJ/s320/lawn+at+dusk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478328604440420210" border="0" /></a><br />Let's go out on the yard<br />for a romp<br />for a bit<br /><br />Let's go out on the yard<br />though it might<br />itch a bit<br /><br />Let's go out on the yard<br />in the dusk<br />waning light<br /><br />Let's go out on the yard<br />'cause we must<br />'cause we might<br /><br />Oh out on the yard<br />where it's green<br />where it's damp<br /><br />Take me out on the yard<br />where our figures<br />make a stamp<br /><br />Oh, out on the yard<br />where the gard'ner<br />will mow<br /><br />We were out on the yard<br />and now<br />they all knowApollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-42477839899637938412010-06-02T19:31:00.000+00:002010-06-02T23:31:33.590+00:00hiccupOh, um....forgot what I was going to say. Sorry.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-56430014231792808362010-05-20T22:34:00.000+00:002010-05-21T02:34:56.175+00:00Ripper<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFwGektVSd9MqavsgWJMCCFolmaBRVhr1L6W4u01oSJDrPH_tX9DnfYAOruNmn6K_YH-ht-vdzvqJD6Luxr2-cb3QujDqzbgZvuhNxpC7-PjYeJ9mRz8GlAdHPJW0uFCxRAG6T/s1600/moonlit+street.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFwGektVSd9MqavsgWJMCCFolmaBRVhr1L6W4u01oSJDrPH_tX9DnfYAOruNmn6K_YH-ht-vdzvqJD6Luxr2-cb3QujDqzbgZvuhNxpC7-PjYeJ9mRz8GlAdHPJW0uFCxRAG6T/s320/moonlit+street.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473546097983777138" border="0" /></a><br />3 a.m., and streets are quiet;<br />all but the "plink" of water dripping<br />from the bridge into puddles<br />I can see in the moonlight.<br /><br />That light shines in veins<br />on the black walkway,<br />and if I were dreaming<br />I'd think I hit the mother lode.<br /><br />It is mid-spring,<br />a comfortable evening,<br />albeit humid -<br />which makes me shiver.<br /><br />A lone cicada<br />in a tree outside a shop<br />shakes out a maraca beat,<br />but no one joins in.<br /><br />I'm unsure why<br />my heart is pounding so,<br />when all I seek<br />is peace.<br /><br />A ridiculous longing<br />grips me,<br />and I half expect you<br />to walk out into the moonlight.<br /><br />But, I know I can't conjure you,<br />so I stay under the bridge,<br />reluctantly experiencing<br />solitude.Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-89515115318229161452010-05-02T20:11:00.002+00:002010-05-03T00:14:32.137+00:00Clover<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Q26R2wPttzF-KevjYC_T7-rVDCUgYyF7pYGbAFYfLcIk0evvxVTXVQKOAsTC1y6yqiGxJrNyJ9Igm6xKGJ9dlx7aS1W207nFSTPfhQ3IgyIotpErqbIAz9VlSq5rumvzfndk/s1600/cloverfield.bmp"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Q26R2wPttzF-KevjYC_T7-rVDCUgYyF7pYGbAFYfLcIk0evvxVTXVQKOAsTC1y6yqiGxJrNyJ9Igm6xKGJ9dlx7aS1W207nFSTPfhQ3IgyIotpErqbIAz9VlSq5rumvzfndk/s320/cloverfield.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466826978317030066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I always think of you.<br />Today, it was a field of clover and low clouds.<br />I could smell the rain in those clouds, and instantly, tasted the raindrops from your lips.<br />I caught the perfume of the clover, and felt those blossoms there, beneath us.<br />Our legs akimbo, the breeze on our skin, our fingers entwined.<br />I heard the lapping of the lake against the shore, the water fowl gathering in the reeds.<br />Their families are growing, and I'm recognizing the babies getting older.<br />Soon they'll have new ones.<br />It's another season we've loved each other.<br />This one ever so slightly different from the last, yet still giving hope.<br />I will keep feeling you in the breezes, seeing you, hearing you.<br />You are in my heart.<br />It is steady, even in excited anticipation.</span><br /></span>Apollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13225618.post-83764394188212446482010-03-07T21:00:00.000+00:002010-03-08T01:58:48.380+00:00SeaSaltSeeSalt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA6tpFbtaRPC44mKy70NCBOCNeLeL45O5kB5LaUTgHk_8PU6zVe_09x0KyNMW0uLTOWRAS4PA0_24awulPjaaXyFIC-1rPNOWuyRvWx1gChBCOdOoNMfWydDivHLQIH9zg89uF/s1600-h/Salt+in+the+Sea.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA6tpFbtaRPC44mKy70NCBOCNeLeL45O5kB5LaUTgHk_8PU6zVe_09x0KyNMW0uLTOWRAS4PA0_24awulPjaaXyFIC-1rPNOWuyRvWx1gChBCOdOoNMfWydDivHLQIH9zg89uF/s320/Salt+in+the+Sea.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446071294187175954" border="0" /></a>You came crashing down<br />Took my breath and stung my eyes<br />A cleansing brine<br /><br />I remember the taste<br />Remember the sound<br />As you came crashing, down and down<br /><br />As I recovered<br />Began to dry<br />I felt you sticky, on my thigh<br /><br />Another wave rolled in<br />And we crashed in two<br />Spread out, splashed back into you<br /><br />Amazes me how we keep balance<br />On ever-shifting sands<br />By holding hands<br /><br />In ever-rolling waves<br />Powerful you, powerful me<br />In the sea salt seeApollo's Mermaidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16619340596199856564noreply@blogger.com26