Thanks to Daniel Caride for pointing us to this poem from an unknown author.

It is called Inner Peace.

If you can start the day without caffeine,

If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,

If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,

If you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it,

If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,

If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,

If you can conquer tension without medical help,

If you can relax without liquor,

If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,

You are probably the family dog!

Pharaoh, 3 months, asleep oblivious to the world!

Yes, we certainly have much to learn from dogs!

By Paul Handover

Passion helps define your purpose.  It is difficult to define or describe a life purpose that you are not passionate about.  If you believe that you have a life purpose but you are not passionate about it, then it is possible that you have been mistaken.  Your life purpose must teem with passion.  You must learn to be passionate about your purpose or, you must learn to put purpose in your real passion.

I love to give gifts–not just any gift, but gifts that touch the heart.  Finding the perfect gift for someone is not always easy.  Often it requires a little more effort on the part of the giver.  Making a gift is a guaranteed way to give someone a one-of-a-kind present.  When we give someone something we’ve made, we not only give them the tangible treasure, but also the gift of our time that we gave to create the precious gift.

I come from a long line of women who were incredibly gifted at creating things with their hands.  I have a lace doily that was made by my great-grandmother; both of my grandmothers made beautiful quilts to give their grandchildren for weddings or graduations.  My mom passed down the value of creating things for others.  She sewed the tiny clothes she took to baby showers and crocheted clothes for my doll for Christmas.  Deep in our hearts I believe we want to make things with our hands—even if we consider ourselves challenged in skill or in time available!  Unfortunately my skill level and available time have been in short supply for many years, so for years I have searched for the simple, the quick, and of course the relatively inexpensive gifts that would be special to my family.  Here are some gift ideas for Christmas or any time of the year.

Cradle and Blanket
When Victoria was two, her Christmas present was a homemade doll cradle.  It is a treasure that has found its way to Victoria’s corner of the attic, saved for the next generation of Moore’s.

1.        Purchase an unfinished wooden cradle from a craft store and paint suitable for wood.  You could spray a coat of polyurethane, which would make it last longer.

2.       Sand the cradle, especially the edges.  Then paint the cradle with two coats of paint.  You can get fancy and paint flowers or even get rub on transfers.  Victoria’s cradle had a heart cut out on the headboard portion, which was decoration enough for me.

3.       Purchase two different coordinating cotton fabrics.  I chose one fabric that had lines so I had help in sewing straight lines on the quilt.  (Look in the quilting area or remnants for an even lower price.)

4.       To make the mattress, cut two pieces of fabric.  Each one should be the measurement of the bed area of the cradle plus 1 ¼ inches extra in width (the narrow side) and 1 ½ inches extra in length (the long side) which allows for the batting and for a half-inch seam allowance.  With wrong sides together, sew around three sides.  When you turn the fabric inside out to show the right side of the fabric, it will look like a bag.

5.       Insert a piece of batting the same measurement as the bed area of the cradle.  Take the remaining unsewn edge at the top of the “bag” and fold it down twice, so the raw edge is not showing.  Pin the folded edge and sew the bag closed.  You’ve finished the mattress!

6.       Next, make a “quilt” by sewing two pieces of fabric together with the same process as above, except without the batting.   These fabric pieces should be the same length as above (cradle area + 1 ¼ inches extra) but the width should be 2 times the width of the cradle area, plus 1 inch extra for seam allowance.  Before you sew the “bag” closed, iron the seams to make it lay flat.   Stitch “stripes” across in both directions, making it look like a checkered board, which gives it a quilted look.  (If your fabric doesn’t have lines, you may want to make your own lines with chalk.)  You have finished your quilt!  Congratulations!

Fleece Blanket
Directions at:  http://www.fleeceblanket.org/No-Sew-Fleece-Blanket.html

This is so great because you don’t need to know how to sew, only how to cut a relatively straight line.  The basic idea is that you have two pieces of fabric, cut fringes around the edges, and tie the fringes together.  I used prints for each girl based on their interests.  I even found fabric that coordinated with the comforter in one girl’s room.  Be sure to watch for sales at your local fabric center.  They often run fleece for 50% off.

Fleece Poncho
Directions at: http://www.ehow.com/how_2049852_make-fleece-poncho.html

A few years back, ponchos were all the rage.  My friend Theresa and I got together to make these ponchos for our girls, who were then 7-10 years old.  I then used the extra pieces of fabric to make ponchos for their dolls and my little niece.  I ended up knotting the fringes, simply because I liked the way it looked.

Red Colonial Cape
Directions at:  click here

I’ve made capes for our two younger girls, but I’ve also made this cape and given it as a gift.  In fact, as I’m writing this, we are returning from celebrating our friend Brianna’s 12^th birthday in Williamsburg.  She was thrilled with the cape.  The pattern requires very little sewing, only connecting the hood to the cape and sewing on the ties.  (I suppose you could pin the ties on, if you had to.)  The fabric I use is red felt instead of wool and I take two small tucks near the center of the back.  You don’t have to take the tucks, but I found I liked the look better.  I use 1 yard of 1 inch red grosgrain ribbon for the ties (cut in half) and a ton of zigzag stitch to attach them since there is a lot of stress on the ties to hold the cape up.  The hood is a little pointy at the crown, but most of the time the girls keep it down anyway.  The capes have been a big hit at our house!

Pearl and Heart Necklace
Directions at: http://www.jewelrysupply.com/index.php?main_page=1/vid_tech_crimping.html

I saw a picture of this necklace in a magazine and it caught my eye.  This is a simple project for those who are already beading or who are interested in starting a new hobby.  (The pliers are a minimal investment of about $8.)  Choose glass beads or other beads to create the look you want.

1.       Purchase, crimping pliers, pearls, 2 or 3 mm silver beads, one clasp (I used a lobster claw),  one “o” ring, 2 crimp tubes, 2 crimp covers, a heart pendant, a length of wire four inches longer than you want the necklace.

2.       Watch the video from the above link.  Attach one half of the clasp using the technique from the video.

3.       Divide the pearls and silver beads into two separate piles.  String half the pearls and silver beads on the string, alternating.  Add the heart pendant.  Continue the pattern with the remaining piles of pearls and beads.

4.       Repeat the crimping step from the video above.  This time, weave the extra wire back through several beads and trim the excess with small scissors.

Since I made an identical necklace for each girl, I added a 4mm Swarovski round crystal birthstone bead as the last bead before the clasp so the girls could tell which necklace was theirs.  No one would ever know that these necklaces were homemade!

Keepsake Cookbook
Recipe Template: click here

Again, there are no directions because this is so simple—time consuming, but simple.  Several years ago I took our favorite family recipes (from moms, aunts, and grandmas) and decided to turn them into the cookbook I always wanted.

To assemble:

1.       Purchase a large three-ring binder (with a pocket to slide in a cover), plastic dividers with pockets (from an office supply store, plastic sleeve pages, and cardstock.  I coordinated the cardstock with the color of the binder.

2.       Enter the recipes into the computer in a standard form.  I saved each recipe under its own name, but all in one file folder.  If the recipe is short, you could add two on a page.

3.       Choose names for the dividers.  I copied the dividers from my favorite cookbook.  Handwrite the name or print if there is a template included.  I used a Dynamo labelmaker.  (Now there’s a great gift idea!)

4.       Print the recipes on cardstock, one side only.

5.       Slide the recipes in plastic sleeves, back to back, one on each side of the sleeve.  The two layers of cardstock make the pages stiff.  I love the sleeves because if you drop food on the recipe, you can easily wipe it off!

6.       File the sleeves in the notebook according to the divider title.

7.       Add a personalized cover.

It was a ton of work to do the first time, but I love having the recipes.  When someone asks for one, I can easily email it or print it out.  One year I printed some of the recipes and bound them in a small cookbook to give my friends for Christmas.  Best of all, when I wanted to give my second daughter a cookbook, all I had to do was print.  It’s a great heritage to pass on.

Name Frame
For a template: click here

Many times in scripture the introduction of a character includes the meaning of their name.  I believe that when we name our children, it is a spiritual act declaring who they are.  Every time we speak our child’s name, we speak who they are.

I was particularly moved when I looked up Victoria’s middle name, LaNelle, her grandmother’s middle name made up by Victoria’s great-grandmother.  From my French studies, I knew “La” means “the”, but I wasn’t sure of Nelle.  I looked it up and found it means “witness.”  Pretty cool for a girl who has a heart for missions!  I stood in the store and cried.  God knew our daughter and put in our hearts the perfect name for her.  She, and each of our girls, have a name frame in their room to remind them of who God says they are.

Instructions:

1.       I bought The Name Book, by Dorothy Astoria, at a local Christian bookstore.  It has meanings of names including the spiritual connotation and coordinating scriptures.

2.       Purchase inexpensive 4×6 or 5×7 frames.  Keep your eyes open for a good deal on frames.  I even found some lovely gold-leaf frames at Dollar Tree—really!

3.       Purchase paper or cardstock in the color of your choice.  This should be based on your recipient.  I often use parchment paper because it looks so nice.  I found a mixed pack of parchment paper (pink, blue, grey, and natural) at Walmart.

4.       Using the template, fill in the blanks for name, language of origin, spiritual connotation and scripture.  I change the font based on the recipient—a fancy script for my dear friends, a more juvenile font for a baby’s room, a contemporary font for a dear friend who likes things a little more simple.  Mostly I use a black font on the parchment, but a colored font on plain white paper/cardstock.

5.       If you aren’t great with computer margins and settings, use the paper in the frame as a guideline for sizing your name page correctly.  Be sure to center the guide paper, trace around the edges, and then trim the name page to the correct size.  Place it in the frame and admire your work!

There are so many ways to customize this gift—frame, paper, font and for whatever style of person you’re giving to—masculine, juvenile, formal, contemporary.  The name frame makes a great gift for a baby shower, if you know the name of the little one.

Small Scrapbook
Capturing and documenting life is important to me and there is no better way than through pictures and videos.  About ten years ago, I made my first scrapbook—which was nearly the last!  It was something I really enjoyed, but my busy schedule wouldn’t allow for such a time consuming hobby.  Two years ago, I discovered a great alternative in Walmart’s scrapbook section—a scrapbook kit: a 10×10 scrapbook with  pages, background paper, precut coordinating paper designs, stickers, and detailed instructions for how to create each page, all packaged in keepsake box that matches the finished scrapbook.  The kit lacks only an adhesive and can be purchased in either a red-or blue-colored theme.  In about an hour your scrapbook can be assembled and ready for your pictures.  It’s a perfect gift for grandparents!

Share Your Ideas
So now you know some of my gift-giving secrets.  If you are confused by any of the instructions, please post your question to this article and I’ll respond with a post so it will benefit everyone else, too.  I know these aren’t the only great homemade gift ideas out there, so post to this article and share your own homemade gift ideas!  May these ideas inspire you to make some of your own gifts, if not for Christmas this year maybe for celebrations in 2010.

Thomas Wolfe famously said: “You can’t go home again.”

And yet, I have a recurring daydream where not only do I go home again, but I stay for a few months. Three months, to be exact.

I don’t know why, but three months seems like the right amount of time. I plucked it from the air, without much thought, when this particular reverie started.

And then came Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, Eat Pray Love, in which she sets out on a journey to reclaim herself and her life by visiting three locations – Italy, India, and Indonesia – for three months each.

When I read that, I figured there must be something in the wind about this three month time frame.

Of course, my imaginary journey takes me back to old places that I’ve known before rather than new places that I’ve yet to discover. In fact, in my mind I set out on a quest to revisit several of my past “homes.”

I RETRACE MY STEPS.

As you read this you might be wondering, “Why? What is it she’s looking for?” I’ve certainly asked myself those questions.

Is it about unfinished business? Getting closure? And what meaning could I possibly make from this?

I don’t have firm answers to these questions, but something has revealed itself to me about what would happen if I put my musings into action:

IT WOULD MAKE A GOOD STORY.

There’s a universality about it. I know this because when I share the “retracing my steps” idea in workshops, people perk up. They sit up straighter. Join the conversation. And they do so no matter if their memories of home are agreeable or unpleasant.

And if people are in a time of transition in their lives, then the idea of going home is particularly poignant.

So, if I was queen of the world I would give everyone who wanted to the chance to go back for at least one night to the place that most fully represents their original home.

I actually did this. Well, okay, I didn’t go for three months. I didn’t even get to spend the night.

But I did go back. I walked the streets of the neighborhood and was amazed at how close everything was – the park, the school, the corner grocery.

And I was struck by how small the house was, tiny by today’s standards. But that didn’t seem to matter way back when, because somehow we managed to fit everyone in. Mom. Dad. Brothers. Cousins, aunties, uncles, grandma, grandpa.

People everywhere. Comings and goings. Yes. That’s what I remember most about that house. Comings and goings.

When I stood in front of the house, entranced, rooted in place, the people who live there got a little suspicious. But they relaxed when I told them who I was, and very graciously invited me inside.

As I crossed the threshold, I felt equal parts familiarity and strangeness. In some ways I still knew that house, in other ways I didn’t. And walking through it, I found myself looking at the rooms from a misty, far-off place:

• The living room where I practiced my first dance steps: A faint echo of Beatles’ music reverberating around the walls.
• The dining room where we all squeezed in on holidays: The memory of crawling beneath the table and laughing.
• The kitchen where I did my homework: Flashback – will I ever understand fractions?
• The bedroom where I plotted my escape: A hazy phone conversation - Guess what? I got accepted to college. I can’t wait to get out of here!

And that’s exactly what I did when I was 17. I got out of there.

But years later, going back seemed important. And as I retraced my steps through that house that I grew up in, I realized that the past changes. There’s not one set version of it. It depends on what we bring to it and the perspective from which we view it.

Which puts me in mind of a quote from John Ed Pearce:

Home is the place you grow up wanting to leave and grow old wanting to get back to.

I do think we all have some sort of homing instinct. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but maybe it does show up more when we’re in the second half of life. And my hunch is it’s there to help us rejuvenate some essential part of ourselves that got interrupted by the rush and routine of adult life.

So how about you? If I was suddenly anointed queen of the world, and I offered you the chance to go back to your original home for one night, would you take me up on it?

**********************************************************************************

WHY NOT START NOW?

Monday through Friday they drive safely, resigned to their daily grind.  They get up, go to work, then come home again.  There’s no rush.  Then comes the four-day weekend, Thanksgiving Holiday, and their brains, whatever exists of them, fly out the window with the fast food wrapper.  For them, there is no Heaven, apart from what can be spared here on Earth.  Each second of bliss arrives once, and then it’s gone forever.  In four days, that’s 345,600 seconds, and every moment lost is a moment of paradise wasted.  Before they know it, it’s all gone, and they return to their weekly chore of earning the next one.  Eventually, there will be no more weekends or holidays, and the passing of this one marks another milestone toward that end.

The speed limit is sixty-five, and everyone is trying to go eighty, following the next car at a distance of a murderous few feet.  Occasionally, two drivers get into a micro-disaster, slowing the rest of the herd to a maddening crawl.  I look in the rear view mirror at the car behind me, cringing every time its headlights disappear below the line of my trunk hood.  My presence has robbed him of several of his precious seconds, and he threatens my life with his car, like putting a gun to my head and demanding that I do the impossible and speed through the car in front of me.  Through the night, our river of headlights winds, snaking up through the Tejon pass like a line of ants returning to the colony.  Over the mountains we pour, gushing like a waterfall into this basin, this sea of humanity that we call the Greater Los Angeles area.  While it may be large, there’s nothing good about it.  It’s the home of Hollywood, selling us fantasy to soothe our postmodern minds.  It’s the pornography capital of the world, the ultimate whore.  It spreads like a lake of lights, hemmed by the ocean to the west and south, and by the mountains to the north and east.  They keep reproducing themselves, not knowing why they are here, not caring where they are going, passing the onus of that discovery ever to the next generation.  It is a place where people are not best measured by the numbers, but by the kiloton of human mass.

In the middle of it all, there lies an open grave, just west of Baldwin Park, a city named for a dead rich man.  Few people know it as a designated mass grave, mostly filled with water at the moment, but ever ready for the fateful eventuality of the big one.  It’s like they expect a big hand to reach out of the sky with an industrial-sized can of RAID and spray our colony, watching us wriggle as we die.  Then we might need a big gaping maw in the ground to put our casualties.  Their grave is already dug and waiting, and they don’t even know it.

The colony is better prepared for death than for life.  Had they been prepared for life, they would not be burning with frustration, watching as the seconds tick by, counting down on their temporary paradise.  Instead, they would be drawing life everlasting from a source that never runs dry, like ants to a cornucopia that is renewed every morning.  Four days is nothing.  They could have eternity.  They would have so much that they need not fight for anything.  What’s infinity plus a few more hours, a few more dollars, or a few more feet along the asphalt trail?  There is no deadline, no scarcity, no limit for those tapped into the eternal source of life.

But they choose, instead, to fight for every last piece of the pie, and every last second of their four days of paradise, until it is over, never to return.

Home Of Countless Cultures, Countries and Characters, New York is World Life in 305 square miles. It’s all thorough, One City, 5 Boros, Associated, With Inter Locking Sub-Tunnels – Ricks

I came from Colombian blood, Was born on the streets of New York City (Queens) and am a Citizen of the World. It’s all relative.

NY has endless stories to tell and endless ways to express them. Here is perhaps one of the greatest examples of how to describe New York. This video was created by Thomas Campbell for a Skateboard brand called Supreme. The year is 1995, the music is John Coltrane’s “Acknowledgment”, the video is black and white, the characters are of all walks of life, the city is the set. New York in summary…

New York New York, Capitol of the World, The City That Never Sleeps, Gotham, The Baghdad of The Hudson, Father Knickerbocker, The Fear City, Mecca, Melting Pot, The City Of Islands, The Modern Gomorrah, The Seat of the Empire, Babylonian Bedlam, The Land of Surprising Contrasts….

Just finished reading Chris Hedges’ article “Addicted to Nonsense” on http://www.truthdig.com/ 

As a practicing counselor I spend a considerable amount of time teaching the client how to pull back the “veil”.  I think that Mr. Hedges is right on with his thoughts about illusion and the society that we are living in.  I do not want to ever take away the possibility or potential for growth from a client, but keeping the clients sight on how he is living in his milieu and how he can take meaning away from that is paramount. 

My work as a counselor can be very saddening at times, in fact, it is often very sad most of the time.  I care for my clients and I always hope that they will find what they are searching  for but I believe that they cannot solve the current distress they are in with the same thinking and actions that got them to this point of distress in the first place.

That is the long way around to saying that living in preparation for an illusory lifestyle vs. preparation and work towards an attainable, sustainable, and meaningful lifestyle is two very different paths.

we’d sit around, hoping one of us would find some meaning and share it with the rest.

eventually, I sold my soul to the devil just to be average.

Image : http://www.flickr.com

We live surrounded by colors, shadow and light. Each tone and sometimes not even notice it, influences our mood, each color has a meaning and intertwines with our mood. There is nothing arbitrary in this world: it's all harmony. Have you noticed? There are days when you feel like black day and feel like color in your life, they flavor a bit by wearing an orange top and lime green scarf, or a mysterious dark red evening gown. You canColors for your wardrobe on your mood, and change them so often as you want, but you can not have the colors of a room so easily. If you decorate a room, it is very important that you choose the right colors.

Interior designers use a color wheel to choose colors and tones that match. You should know that) there are active colors (like red, yellow and orange), passive color (blue, green and purple) and neutral colors (white, black, gray, beige and brown. It isvery important that you know how each of these color groups could affect an area. For example, drawing more warm colors, neutrals, as the name suggests, are … .. neutral and passive colors calm the atmosphere.

You should find a way to balance the tones to the mood that you create long. To use a room full of energy, orange. You want passion – red is the answer. You want to relax – the blue one. So just to see what each color of color are not of equal importancearound the world.

Red is the color of passion for many: a red rose, a red box of chocolates on Valentine's Day, a red heart, but in South Africa, red means sadness. Red is the color most frequently found in national flags. That is because in ancient times flags were usually on the battlefield and red used was the signal for battle. Red is the color of blood – red eggs at Easter symbolizes the blood of Christ, and good luck. Red is lucky in China, where itas a wedding gift color. If you like the red, creating an interior with a Chinese design is a perfect choice.

Green is the color of nature. You find it everywhere: in the trees, grass and even some fruits. It relaxes and inspires. In ancient times, Green was the color of honor and victory. In Ireland, this is still the color of happiness. Choose an Irish theme, if you like dark green. Blue is the color most frequently used in interior design – it relaxes and refreshes, itprovides a sense of security. This should come as no surprise: as you know, is the blue color of police uniforms. If you choose blue for your home, you can not go wrong. But blue is a cold color, so to compensate, with orange or yellow.

Purple is a royal color. In ancient times purple was hard to get – the color was extracted from Purpura snails. This is also the color of inspiration, so if you an artist, a room with purple accents could stimulate your thoughts. Like purpleis believed to help develop children's imagination, is often used to decorate children's rooms.

Yellow and orange are extremely warm colors. They are usually with the sun and tropical fruits (oranges, bananas, lemons are connected). Both have a positive effect, but yellow might be taken as a symbol of jealousy and betrayal, and we do not forget that some time ago, in Spain, executioners wore yellow. Make sure how you can use orange and yellow in the interior: Both are characterized and tendto dominate the space. Black and white are neutral. Both symbolize mourning, each for different cultures. But hey, almost every color symbolizes mourning for some: red for South Africans, blue for the Iranians, purple for women in Thailand, yellow for the Egyptians, Chinese and Japanese for white, black for Europeans and Americans. But black and white are both very elegant and, while you can not paint your walls black, choose black furniture give your interior a feeling of fullnessand strength. White is purity, goodness, peace and loyalty.

relocating.blogs.thaihealth.net

Some people come into our lives to stay. Some arrive only to leave without even a goodbye. Yet some others never arrive even when we wait for them all our lives and wonder why. Over the years I have learned to let go of these phantoms of desire and move on. I have tried to bury those that would have been the most beautiful dreams of my life but were, in the first place, never born. Once in a while I see them smile from the crook of a stranger’s arm. From behind a shaded window. On a passing bus. I steady my gaze and watch them for a moment longer than it would make for a casual glance. I watch them and smile at myself. For having been blessed to recognize these ethereal moments in my life. For knowing now that sometimes it isn’t those that arrive but those for whom we wait forever who make life so sublime.

Is it possible to be real
in a world of mirrors
and shadows?
What does one feel
when love, to feel,
has to be borrowed?

Can we grow yet not
learn lessons of blind
faith to follow?
I’m a man caught in the
crossroads between here
and tomorrow.

What’s a family
if not suffered bonds
of duty and mores?
Can a tree be
saved by not writing
another word?

Does the human race
today need a God
or a soul?
Must you see
the truth only when
it’s too late to know?

Will the body count
stop only if we
were all ghosts?
Do we walk
the war zone only
to reach God’s home?

Are we in the sea
with new paddles,
but no boat?
How can we belong
when you and I do feel
so terribly alone?

Look at the young,
will you still love them
when they’re old?
How much money
does make one happy,
do you know?

Are we going
to hell in circles, or is it
a straight road?
Do you like
the journey, but know not
where you want to go?

What will you say
if you knew
you were to die today?
What will you change?
Would you hope
for a second chance?

Maybe in death,
our lives will be perfect
but then again,
I hate to see
dreams keep me,
so wishfully awake
for another day.

]]> http://asg9008.wordpress.com/2009/11/29/sex-with-your-best-friend/ Mon, 30 Nov 2009 04:23:55 +0000 asg9008 http://asg9008.wordpress.com/2009/11/29/sex-with-your-best-friend/

Disclaimer: Obviously, I’m talking about this from my own personal stand point but I’d love feedback. I’d like to know what other people think or if you’ve been in a similar situation. Opinions? LOVE ‘EM! Feel free to e-mail me or message me on Facebook, y’all!

So… you were in a relationship for a long while. You know almost exactly – if not exactly – what your partner likes: what really gets them going. For some reason or another, you guys break up. It’s up in the air whether or not you’ll ever get back together, but you’re amicable. You talk. You get along. You’re not bitter. You guys are friends. Best friends because you’ve spent the better parts of the last several years really getting to know each other. The question is: could you have sex with your ex and not expect anything more?

I want to say yes. I want to say that I’m just like every sex-mongering young adult out there and that I have a hedonistic desire to quench my carnal longings! Too bad I have FEELINGS. Emotions. A far larger amount of estrogen than my male counterparts. Men are so disgustingly  at ease with being able to separate love from sex and you know what? I’m jealous. I’d love to be able to just coquet around (selectively), or possibly more, with just anyone and not necessarily get attached. Wouldn’t that be marvelous?

It’s sex, man! If we’re both unattached at the time, it doesn’t seem unreasonable. I just don’t know how things will go down. You have sex, then it’s time to go? Haha. That’s different. “Oh! Well… that was great. I guess we should take you back home now…” What the fuck! I don’t know how to handle that. Is that something you talk about prior to ‘the happening?’ This is confusing.

It’s weird. How your feelings are different after you break up. Trust me, it took me some time to get to this place. This place where I’ve realized that he’s probably not the last guy I’ll ever date. We’ve talked about him wanting to (and the prospect of him) being intimate with other women – very attractive women might I add – and it doesn’t bother me; it just makes me long for my own intimacy.

For the past 3 years, he was that person you know? How do you get past that? He seems to be able to do it pretty well and that’s great for him. When am I going to get comfortable enough with someone else? I hope that doesn’t mean that what we had was meaningless (I really don’t think it was) but how else am I supposed to feel?

I don’t want to have sex with him because I want him back or because I think it will get him back. It’s just familiar. It won’t be the same but… I don’t know. I guess I just want to feel like I make someone FEEL something. Honestly, this isn’t as crazy as it may sound. I’m just thinking out loud. I don’t want to mess up our friendship or anything. I’m human, though. Haha.

So, if I think it will mess it up do we avoid the whole situation? What the hell do I do?

Thoughts? Comments? I would make this more focused but I have shit to do. I might revisit this at a later time.

Stay still.

[It’s easier this way.]

Don’t look.

[I don’t.]

Don’t feel.

[I won’t.]

Don’t even breathe.

[I shan’t.]

Yet the same question comes back to haunt me again, ‘For how long?’ I hear it whisper conspiratorially. The deviousness in the voice is unmistakable. I’m trapped in a place where answers are sought no more yet the questions refuse to go. My head’s buried under the dead weight of my present. I can’t think. I really can’t. Maybe I can but I don’t want to. It is better to close my mind and convince myself that I’m fine. I didn’t hear anything, I tell myself. Let me relax for a while. I want to. I just want to not know of anything. Just be and float in the nothingness that flows falteringly through me like a dying river.

Nothingness is not harmless impotence, you know. I used to think so. It is slow poison, eroding life gradually like sewage at once stagnant and seeping. It’s black. It’s white. It boils as it halts, froths as it flows, carrying with it the creamy ejaculated decay of the city. The nothingness has a life of its own, a life that runs parallel to the life I once dreamt of. A hundred million scum of the underground dance on its surface, feeding off its sleaze, bringing alive the darkness, giving the muck a reason to be. It slithers accommodatingly, pleased with itself, taking over the land of the living in a slow menacing march without drum rolls.

I know of a time when it wasn’t there, the nothingness. Yes. Maybe it was yesterday. Maybe it was a long time ago. I can’t tell for sure. Nothing is certain anymore. My thoughts are gelatinous particles interlocked in an elastic row stretching and shrinking as I move back and forth. Memories are bleeding abstractions from an open sore. They are all one and the same, my memories and my thoughts. A frozen moment in helpless passivity. People ask me if I can see the sun from where I live. I tell them, yes. I can see it look down at me everyday, its brows creased, as if a wilting plant and dancing shadows don’t justify its existence.

Where was it before? This nothingness that swallows men and cities alive in the blink of an eye. It buries life under its enormous black belly as it makes its way through the valleys and streets slowly. It’s everywhere now. I gaze in wonderment. The nothingness flows gently through me. I’m in a inescapable trance, I think, hypnotized by the rising darkness from the compressed compartments inhabited by mortal dreams and greed. It seems to have a life of its own. A life form without a soul. It grows and grows and grows, inside of me, outside of me, devouring everything in its wake. My soul is now replaced by a dark molten liquid that clings on to everything yet desires nothing. I’m transmutated into the nothingness of this city. I’m the sewer and the sewage. I’m the little white slush bubbles that burst open their infantile bellies and die between its surface and sunlight. Once in a while, as I toss and turn in my bed, unable to sleep at night, I see fragments of a dream. In the dream I’m a glint of the tireless sun on the dark flowing magma of human excrement on the crowded streets. Then somebody spits into it and I wake up. Involuntarily I wipe the imaginary spit off my face and sit staring at the dark before me.

The day arrives only to turn my broken dream into a living nightmare. I see myself pushed underground in desperation. With a vengeance I’m caged inside concrete pipes. I’m drowned in the vast sea. The watery grave shudders on seeing what it has to hold for eternity. I’m gassed with chemicals, left to disintegrate, die and evaporate. They have made me too powerful to be killed. Death is the end of life. Nothingness is beyond space and time. It is eternity. Eternity is hell, I am told.

I rise as million faces devoid of life walking between the glazed glass surfaces of this city. Over the glittering neon signs, in the sprawling malls and sparkling fountains, inside the speeding cars and air-conditioned housing complexes, I spread as a stain, a virulent strain, a sardonic disease. I breathe in the night with a hundred million beings, the unbearable stink of my being no longer a secret guilt that can be hidden. Oh, how the city wished it could bury me deep down in six feet of mud, concrete or steel. But every hole they dig to bury me is a hole I’m already in. I laugh hysterically. You fools! Nothingness is beyond space and time, I want to scream.

I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow will have no nightmares for me. Maybe nothingness would want to rest for a day and stay still. Maybe I won’t know what to do then. Like now. There’s nothing to do now. I gaze up at the sky. The sun blazes in a circle of white and blinding silver. I hear the sizzle of water evaporating with a violent cry. A brownish black liquid drips from a broken wayside tap. It makes its way towards the polished black of the sun scorched road. Upon contact, the liquid boils and disappears instantly into thin air. It is only a matter of time before the tap runs dry, I know. Just a matter of time.

]]> http://eleanorrouse.com/2009/11/30/experiencing-life-through-you-and-me/ Mon, 30 Nov 2009 02:09:31 +0000 Eleanor http://eleanorrouse.com/2009/11/30/experiencing-life-through-you-and-me/

How could this be? Me? Writing about God all the time? I’m no God expert – I’ve got a million questions! Won’t I scare away potential clients? Shouldn’t I be talking about attracting true love, creating a fabulous career or manifesting the sexy, red, stretchy dress I want for Christmas? 
 
Is this authentic? How could I be so into God? Yikes… that makes me a little different than I thought I was going to be. You see, I grew up feeling shocked and mad that kids in my high school said I would go to hell if I didn’t believe what they did. “Well,” I thought, “That’s not too fair now is it? I’m 16! I’m not perfect, but I try to be a good person. What kind of God would send me and my loved ones to hell just because we didn’t go to your church?”
 
More importantly, why would I want anything to do with that kind of judgment and exclusion? No way! I had enough heartache to deal with as a teenager much less worrying about going to hell.
 
So here I am 25 years later… not totally sure I fit within the Christian church, not really matching the low-key vibration of a Buddhist path, loving the gorgeous Hindu goddesses while knowing nothing about Hinduism, and coming from a family who finds spiritual grandeur and truth in nature. Yet lately, when I sit to write this weekly email about what is on my mind and heart (that I hope will be of some use for others), it keeps coming back to something about God.
 
(Note: if this ever gets too preachy for you or I start sounding like the high school people I just dissed, you are always welcome to send me a note or to simply unsubscribe.)
 
The thing is… it’s all God for me. This whole exploration of the depth and breadth of self, the fullness of life, and the sweetness and heartache of love is completely intertwined with the spiritual aspect of living as a human in the world and on the Earth.
 
This weekend I watched a simple, little, funny movie called “The Answer Man” about a renowned spiritual “guru” who is also a cranky, foul-mouthed, lonely guy. People come to him for the answers that he himself is seeking. It is in an unexpected love for a woman and her son that he begins to feel his authenticity and his connection to God again.
 
From that place, he offers to his girlfriend this beautiful line, “You are here so God can experience the world through your eyes…Through you, He falls in love with the world all over again.”
 
That’s the little nugget I’d love to offer you this week. It reminded me that there is a reason for our being here in exactly our unique form – so God can experience the world through our eyes, our skin, our breath, and our hearts.
 
For every yummy glass of buttery Chardonnay God gets to taste through my lips, you may share a cold Heineken. For every new crush that makes my heart skip a beat, you may allow God to experience a mother’s wide-open love for her precious new baby. And for every ounce of human anger and sorrow God can feel through the New York Times’ Nicholas Kristof’s description of injustice (ala this young man’s health care travesty), your passions may ignite a thousand different responses. 
 
This week, I invite you (and myself!) to try this practice on for size: Let God feel what it is like to be human through you, your love, your body, your emotions and your actions. Notice if and how life feels different and whether little things seem a bit more magical and sacred.  I’d love to hear how it goes.

Fulfillment is truth. We all have desires. And we would not have these desires if there wasn’t something to fill them. We would not desire food if we did not need food, and if there was not food to eat. We can also desire things that aren’t good for us, but our desire for them nonetheless comes from their existence. We would not desire to look more beautiful if more beautiful people weren’t out there to be jealous of. We would not desire drugs if there were no drugs to take. Not everyone has every desire, but every desire comes from its ability to be filled.

Humans have a unique desire to be fulfilled. Not just taken care of, not just experiencing pleasure, fulfilled. Humans want their lives to mean something. They want to have an impact on the world. Some give up and resign themselves to a world with no meaning. But they are unfulfilled. They believe that life has no meaning, but they are not happy with that answer. Some lash out. They are angry for the lot they have been dealt, and scream for attention by having a negative impact on the world. But nonetheless, they have an impact. Some push their desire to the back of their mind. They know that they have not found the meaning of life, but who cares? They continue to live their life not knowing the answer, keeping themselves busy with school and work and friends.

Some search for the truth. And they do not stop until they find it. They have a desire for fulfillment and they will stop at nothing less.

Fulfillment is not happiness. As previously expressed, happiness is passing. And life continues very similarly whether you are fulfilled or not. You still have bills to pay, children to take care of, friends to hang out with. But fulfillment also makes all the difference between a wasted life and a complete life. Some make it to the end and say “This is it?” I think it’s pretty important to find out what we’re all here for before that happens.

Some make it the end and say “That was hard. At times I was miserable. At times I wanted to give up. But I didn’t. I looked for the answer and I found it. And my life is fulfilled. I am ready to leave.”

Top Ten Relaxation Tips to Sooth your Mind and Body during the Holiday Season

During the holidays we are often surrounded with images of people who are happy, in love and enjoying the whirlwind of their lives. However, in reality this time of year can be tiring or bring up painful feelings. Wouldn’t it be nice to get through the season with just a little less stress and a few more moments and calm and peace? The following tips are designed to help you find relaxation during this busy time and also to improve how you are thinking or feeling about the moment and the season.
1. Find Meaning in the Season. Find or reconnect to a purpose, meaning or value during the season. Focus on the positive aspects of the holidays and the season.
2. Muscle relaxation: After a day on your feet, shopping, partying or otherwise extolling holiday cheer sit down and relax your muscles by tensing and relaxing each large muscle group, starting with your hands and arms, going to your head and then working down.
3. Do only One Thing in the moment: Doing just one thing can give you time to settle down in the midst of a frantic or chaotic day. Focus your entire attention on what you are doing now. Let go of the mental list making, worrying, party planning, etc. Put your mind in the present and focus your entire attention on physical sensations, such as walking, washing dishes, or decorating.
4. Give yourself a Vacation: You don’t need to go to Bermuda to take a vacation this time of year. Give yourself a brief break from all the hubbub. Get in bed and pull the covers over your head. Take 15 minutes to immerse yourself in your favorite book, take a long bath, ask your husband to make you dinner, or wrap up in a comfy blanket and watch your favorite movie.
5. Contribute: Contributing can give a sense of meaning and make you feel good about yourself. Give something to someone else, do volunteer work or do a surprising, thoughtful thing.
6. If you’re feeling down, do something Opposite to how you feel. Let’s face it, if your life isn’t picture perfect the holidays can bring up sadness, regrets and other painful emotions. Change your mood and how you’re feeling by engaging activities that are opposite to how you are feeling. Read emotional books,listen to emotional music or go to emotional movies. If you’re down, do something upbeat like call a friend, buy gifts, exercise, flirt with your husband, go out to dinner, take your children someplace special, say “I love you” or think of something you did well.
7. Self Soothe with Taste: Instead of going to a holiday party and grazing on appetizers without really tasting anything, choose one and slow down and really taste it. Or at home have a good meal or favorite soothing drink. Really taste the food or drink.
8. Comfort yourself: Do something nurturing, gentle and kind for yourself. Look outside at nature or at some beautiful decorations, listen to music that you find particularly soothing or sing your favorite songs. Surround yourself with soothing comforting smells, like the smell of pine, cookies baking or cinnamon. Massage your feet, put on a silky blouse or scarf or hug someone.
9. Deep Breathing: Lie on your back, breathing evenly and gently. Focus your attention on your breath, coming in and out and the movement of your stomach. As your breath in, allow your stomach to rise. Exhale fully pushing all the air out of your lungs. Continue for 10 breaths.
10. Clean the house: The holidays often bring extra chores and cleaning. Use them as an opportunity to self soothe, rather than as an additional stress. Divide your work into stages: straightening things and putting them away,then scrubbing and cleaning. Allow a good length of time for each task. Move slowly (3 times more slowly than usual) and focus your attention fully on each task. Maintain awareness of your actions and your thoughts if they wander. Bring them back to full attention on the task at hand.

The thing is to find a truth which is true for me, to find the idea for which I can live and die.

–Soren Kierkegaard

Existentialism is interested in people’s quiet struggle with the apparent meaninglessness of life and the use of diversion to escape from boredom.

Man exists in a state of distance from the world that he nonetheless remains in the midst of. This distance is what enables man to project meaning into the disinterested world of in-itselfs. This projected meaning remains fragile, constantly facing breakdown. In such a breakdown, we are put face to face with the naked meaninglessness of the world, and the results can be devastating.

To existentialism and absurdism!

PS: In better circles, this shit is called ‘Your Candy.’ Go figure.

It’s been a little over a week now since I’ve deactivated my personal facebook account. I did so for several reasons:

1) To stop looking at other people’s lives and comparing myself to them (rather negatively)
2) To keep other people from looking into my life and thus feeling so exposed to people I don’t talk to or care about
3) To focus on other things, to fill my life with more positive action, to eliminate distraction and focus on higher goals.

Well.

So far, upon realizing my absence from facebook, I’ve had more than five people personally ask me if everything is ok (including my parents). It’s as if deactivating my facebook account is some form of modern suicide or at the very least a cry for help. What a sad, strange world this is.

I think it has been a good experience so far. I’m far less bothered about what other people are doing, and far more bothered about what I’m doing (or not doing). This may also be related to the current almost-graduating sense of reflection and attempts to envision the future.

However, to fill the large void in my free time, I admit I’ve begun to fill it with other comparable meaningless activities. My hulu time has drastically increased. It’s funny, I don’t have cable this semester but I think my TV/movie time has been pretty consistent. I wish it wasn’t. TV is such garbage. I’d rather truly live my life than waste my time, mind, and body living through anyone or anything else. That’s pretty much what most television is; simulated living. While in reality you’re sitting on a couch. Rotting. And subliminally consuming well-placed advertisements. Unless by some miracle you’re able to filter in something worthwhile from all the crap.

I’ve also taken a liking to my RSS reader, which delivers daily articles of interest from all over the web right to my browser. I started using this tool in hopes it would help me narrow my interests and eliminate distractions. But I think it’s become a distraction in and of itself. There’s so much information out there. I need a better filter. Or better self control. I mean, do I really care about Adam Lambert’s “scandelous” AMA performance? Um. No. No I do not. The internet is an amazing resource. But there are so many ways to waste your time and essentially, your life, digesting meaningless information.

Time is so precious. Maybe I’m particularly sensitive to that fact right now because I only have three weeks left as a college student and I’m watching time slip through my fingers. Where is it going? What am I doing?! What should I be doing? Surely I can find something more worthy of my time, my life, my attention and devotion than facebook, hulu, and RSS feeds? No?

“Graduation Countdown” is a series of personal posts about my thoughts and feelings in regard to my upcoming graduation from college. This is the second installment.

time is precious right now. i have three weeks until i graduate. this is crazy. it’s overwhelming. i don’t know what to do about it. i don’t know how to respond to this situation. i don’t know how to feel or what to think. do i cry? do i smile? do i scream? do i go out and do a bunch of crazy things while i’m still a college student? i’m trying to use my time wisely. i’m trying not to waste it. but i don’t know what that means. i don’t know what that entails. what do i do?

today i went for a walk. i wish i could spend this time sharing it with all the friends i’ve made over my college years, but that would be impossible. i have no one here to share it with me. i’m alone. facing my past and regrets and facing my future and uncertainty. alone. i guess that’s part of the reason i don’t know what to do. i wish i had somebody here to share this brief period of time with. this fragile, emotion-packed, short-lived period in between the pseudo college world and the real one.

but i don’t. it’s just me. alone with all of these things swirling about my head. there are a lot of people in the world that i’m sure have never been as alone as i have been this semester. there are a lot of people who aren’t comfortable with the silence. the solitude. the itch your skin starts to get when you feel so uncomfortable inside of it. but here i sit. night after night.

anyway.

today i went for a walk. i heard loud noises. like an announcer and a crowd and some music. and i’ve learned it’s always best to walk towards such sounds on a college campus. on previous occasions, it’s lead to outstanding concerts and memorable moments with friends. today it lead to a football game. all by myself. i didn’t have my wallet or my ID with me, so i sat on top of a hill outside the stadium and half-way watched the game. more so, i watched the people around me. middle aged adults walking by all decked out in dawg gear.

i wondered if they had found some kind of sense of community, belonging, or meaning here that i missed that compelled them to come back all dressed in maroon. did it feel good to come back? or did it feel sad? did they feel anything at all about this place when they were my age? or did they feel the emptiness i’m feeling now? are they trying to fill that emptiness years later with expensive logo sweatshirts? or has time filled that emptiness with a nostalgia and rose tint i have yet to understand?

when i think about it, i’ve been in in this town for one year and six months all together. that’s 18 months total. in the grand scheme of things, that’s really not a long time at all. i’m digging through the sand in the back of my mind and trying to scrape out some sense of presence. some memories. some fulfillment. some purpose. but it’s all just sand slipping through my fingers. i can’t seem to grasp anything at all. i hate that.

i should have written more. i should have done more. i should have climbed further out of my shell. things to keep in mind for the future, i guess.

anger. loneliness. cynicism.
things that slip out whenever i write.

Suicide Bombing

Al-Nisa (The Women) Sura 4: Verse 29 (Partial)

“… And kill yourselves not, for God is truly Merciful to you.”

People who are driven to despair are thus reminded to have faith in God’s mercy in the hope that they may be relieved of their suffering. Since suicide is prohibited, anyone who tries to facilitate it, or acts as an accomplice, is also liable to a deterrent punishment that may be quantified by the court while taking into consideration the material circumstances of the case. Commentators have, moreover, drawn a five-point conclusion from this verse as follows:

1. the obvious meaning is that suicide is forbidden;

2. the text also stipulates that ‘you may not kill one another’ nor facilitate suicide;

3. one may not undertake a task which is likely to cause his own death, even if it be in lieu of a religious obligation;

4. no one should deprive himself of the necessities of life to the point of self-destruction; and

5. the text covers cases of self-destruction regardless of the manner in which it is done.

The manuals of Islamic law are silent on the issue of suicide bombing, a disturbing phenomenon of our time that became frequent in connection with Israeli-Palestinian conflict, especially when Israel unleashed a new wave of aggression on the street processions of unarmed Palestinian youth in 2000-1. The aftermath of 11 September 2001 and more recently the horrendous violence in Iraq and Afghanistan, added new dimensions to the incidence of suicide bombing among Muslims.

Suicide bombing in the name of Islam is a ’sociopolitical phenomenon, not a theological one’. And any long-term solution to the problem must also address the causes that have brought so much pain and hopelessness to many Muslim societies.

It would be simplistic to lump the Palestinian suicide bombing with Al-Qaedah terrorist activities. One can hardly deny the genuine suffering of the Palestinian people and legitimacy of their struggle against sustained Israeli brutalities. It would appear equally simplistic, however, to equate suicide bombing with martyrdom and jihad. This is because suicide bombing contravenes two fundamental principles of Islam: prohibition against suicide, and deliberate killing of non-combatants. The argument that proceeds over reciprocity and retaliation is also flawed by the involvement of innocent non-combatants in suicide bombing.

Those who have raised the issue of ‘collateral damage’ in this context have also exaggerated their case, simply because non-combatants are chosen as the direct target of suicide bombing. They are, as such, neither collateral nor incidental.

The Muslim fighter who is motivated by the spirit of jihad enters the battle, not with the intention of dying, but with the conviction that if he should die, it would be for reasons beyond his control. Martyrdom in Islam does not begin with suicidal intention, let alone the linkage of that intention with the killing of non-combatants.

To justify suicide bombing under the banner of retaliation, or as a form of jihad, is therefore questionable, simply because it begins on an erroneous note, which goes against the essence both of just retaliation and justified jihad.

Compiled From:

“Shariah Law – An Introduction” – Mohammad Hashim Kamali, pp. 283-288

We’ve been married for 16 years today. She is my ubuntu. My meaning. I am because we are. I can tell you how much I love her and never get even close to telling you how I really feel. How she makes me feel. How she makes me better than what I am. I can never tell you How I Love My Wife…

How do I love my wife? In so many ways…

I love how I never want to write about my love for her because I know that I can never say it just the way I want to. And how I know that I still wouldn’t be able to say or write it the right way even if I was more gifted than Shakespeare. How words can never tell the story of my love for her. Because words have boundaries.

I love how I travel all over the world and still eat in my hotel room because nothing is worth experiencing without her next to me. How every scene is so much more beautiful and every morsel tastes so much better when she can see it and taste it. I love how she doesn’t get why I eat alone my hotel room.

I love how she holds me and asks me what is wrong when I don’t know how to say what is wrong. When all that is wrong is that the world just got a little bit too heavy. And that all I need is her arms around me to make me feel safe and strong again.

I love how I listen to that stupid Hero song of Enrique and cry because I just want to be her hero. I just want to wipe away the tears. I want to kiss away the pain. I just want to stand by her forever. Because she always takes my breath away.

I love how she has to bite her lip when she laughs when I do my silly South African accents. And how she laughs with no sound and the tears runs down her face. And she’s laughing at my stupid jokes.

I love how she pretends to need me even though she is so much stronger than me. I know she doesn’t climb mountains. She will make the mountains come to her. And that they will just obey.

I love how she speaks with a “little voice” when she gets back from shopping and asks me “Don’t you want to help me carry?” And how I know there will be a little something in there for me.

I love how I try to be funny and tell silly jokes and how I peep at her to see if she is laughing. And how I carry on until I see the beauty of her smile. And the happiness in her laughter.

I love how I used to hate Tom Cruise for taking the best line with “You complete me”. But how I know he didn’t even get close. She makes me. Not complete. She just makes me. Me.

I love how she laughs and shakes her head and says “What am I going to do with you?” whenever I make one of my suggestive comments. And how I do it just to hear those words.

I love how people make fun of me for always talking about my wife whenever they travel with me. How they poke fun at me for missing my wife and always phoning her.

I love how I look at her and compare every girl I see to her. And how no one compares even if they are on the pages of magazines or in leading roles in the movies. 

I love how she is the centre of our universe. How she holds everything together and give meaning to our family. Stronger than gravity or any law of science.

I love how my smile gets bigger the closer I get to home. How I just want to run and laugh because I know she will be there and everything will be just fine.

I love how she asks me to tickle her back and that I have no hope in hell of getting one back. But how I don’t mind because I just love touching her.

I love how she wanted me even though she could get anyone she wanted. And how she stays with me even though she can get anyone she wants. 

I love seeing her walk and watching her when she doesn’t know I am looking. And how I still have to build up the courage to ask her out.

I love how her hand feels in mine when we walk with the girls. I love how I touch her while she’s walking and kiss her on her cheek.

I love how I tell her I love her whenever I see her. Even if I just came into the kitchen from the lounge. I love how she says it back. 

I love how my heart still races when I kiss her when we make out. How her lips make me forget everything that makes me mad.

I love how she had a picture of Sawyer from Lost on her screen and how she doesn’t know I have one of her on mine.

I love how she acts all needy when she wants me to get her some Coke or crisps. And how I love getting it for her.

I love how it sometimes feels as if I am going to burst because our love feels like it is bigger than the cosmos.

I love how she buys me the new Springsteen album even though she hates his music because I overplayed it.

I love how she used to remind me of Sinead O’Connor, but how Sinead now reminds me of my wife.

I love how she is the last person I speak to before I fly off and the first person I phone when I land.

I love how I still get butterflies when she reaches for my hand without her knowing she is doing it.

I love how she eggs me on to go play with the girls even though she knows it will drive her crazy.

I love how she is the first thing that touches my lips in the morning and the last thing at night.

I love how she holds me and looks into my eyes when she tells me that she loves me more.

I love how I know why John was clinging to Yoko like that on the Rolling Stones cover.

I love how she phones me 4 or 5 times a day even if I can only take a call or two.

I love how I know what it means to love someone more than I love life.

I love how I know every part of her body but still don’t know enough.

I love how she completes my sentences and makes more sense.

I love how she puts her hand on my leg when we go for a drive.

I love how she believes in me even when I have my doubts.

I love how I would rather be at home than anywhere else.

I love how I do everything just to impress her.

I love how I know real love because of her.

I love how she loves me.

I love how I love her.

I love her.

I love how I can write another million words and still not tell you how I love my wife.

_________________________________

I can write and write about my baby and never get enough or ever get close to telling you how I feel. Here are a few more about my baby and me:

Quick! Pull My Finger!

She Had To Wee

The Girl I Didn’t Like (or How I Met My Wife)

Ubuntu (or It’s Like Breathing)