Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Think for Your Own Damn Self!

When I have completed the final entry I will place a "Finished" word here!
Viktor E. Frankl's "Man's Search for Meaning" was one of the most profound books of my life. I have not read it in years, but I remember how it moved me and how it made me think and change. My first reading was when I was about 30 years old . . . (never mind what year that was!)

The book is about Viktor's experiences in the concentration camps . . . how his life went from comfortable psychiatrist with a home, family and friends . . . to nothing but the skin on his back. It describes  how a person can go from here to there and how this person can keep from being destroyed by others,  while maintaining the personal integrity necessary to live the life they choose from inside. That is how I remember this book.  Let's see if my memories suffice . . . or if something new will come from the new reading.

I bought many copies (over the years) and handed them out to people and didn't think I had another copy . . . yet, I just found one on my shelves of many books. So I am determined to read this small yet most meaningful book and record my sentiments and thoughts along the way, here on this post. I also wish to reflect on this book's thoughts through the prism of today and today's issues:

Step by tiny step we learn that
we can be changed;
      we can become accustomed,
to the horrors surrounding us,
and accept
the dawning of our own destruction,
and we wait
to see what other steps to take.. .. ..
                                      there are always more
as we head toward that inevitable
and dreadful dusk. . .
but we are
for we are never alone .. .. ..
          no, we accept the status quo
because there are others 
by our side.

and yet for those who
leave the beaten track
and look from beyond
                  the chasm
to see another story.. .. ..
they see
a million billion strong,
men, women, and children.. .. ..
choosing to dig their own grave
without a question,
not looking into any other face,
not daring
for questions may be there . . .
And the horrors reflected from
within each other's eyes.

" . . ..  We did not know their meaning. My imagination led me to see gallows with people dangling on them. I was horrified, but this was just as well, because step by step we had to become accustomed to a terrible and immense horror." 1946 (ibid.)

We reach a point in our small existence
When we realize, we are all we have,
that there is nothing else
to haunt us
or redeem us;
nothing promised
from the beginning,
but a mere moment,
and a slim chance
to survive .. .. ..
We realize that this is all we have,
it is here.. .. ..
within our hearts
beneath our bare flesh
nestled below the white bone
and in the skull, a treasure,
a reality we construct
from the meanings 
we realize
as we grope through life.

"Thus the illusions some of us still held were destroyed one by one, and then, quite unexpectedly, most of us were overcome by a grim sense of humor. We knew that we had nothing to lose except our so ridiculously naked lives. . ." 1946 (ibid.)

I think; I dream; I hope .. ..
that we can all be understood .. .
and when we truly try to understand each other.. ..
there is knowledge . . .
and when there is knowledge .. ..
there is love . . . 
and when there is love .. .
there is inner peace. . .
and when there is inner peace . . .
there again, we truly try to understand each other . . .

But it all begins with the openness of communication
Hearing and speaking . . . 
July 10, 2010 

"A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth--that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love.  I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way -- an honorable way -- in such a position man can,through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, "The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory." "  1946(Ibid.)

"We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms --to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.

Dostoevski said once, "There is only one thing that I dread: not to be worthy of my sufferings." .. .. ..It is this spiritual freedom -- which cannot be taken away --  that makes life meaningful and purposeful.

If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death human life cannot be complete."  1946 (Ibid.)


Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Down by the Shore!

So, when we walk down by the shore
along the tides of the deep green sea
I sing to you of how they ebb
and how they flow for ever more
like a road across the way . . .
to fly is open across the span
above the balmy airs
of the deep, deep restless sea,
and the wings of the albatross,
like the sail of a traveling cloud,
flows on that endless stream,
and with that drift
will float our fears
away to lands of dream,
and as alone we shed our tears
like frozen time they are swept away
by the salty foam
of the cold and august sea,
and the wind and the rime
on this edge of time
will cast its mold on the floating plain
of the spaces between
each song of a wave
and the golden light
of the brightest sight
will show us our vision and way . . .


I have played these songs quite a bit over yesterday's afternoon. I felt that  the entirety of this album's music is perfection itself and of excellent quality. Each of the tunes had a unique sound yet the flow was marvelous.
I love the way the music in these songs plays around your head . . . it had a way of creating some magic there . .. brightening your day … uplifting your mood . .. what could be better than that? I thought all these melodies were well thought out, carefully crafted and lovingly composed. This is a brilliant album.
Free music for professional licensing

Monday, June 28, 2010

Is there a familiarity there?

Is there a familiarity there?
A friendship or something of a deeper quality?
home is that comfort we feel
wherever it may be . . .
that loved for whatever we are . . .
that held close feeling - that is so rare . . .

if i share enough of myself that i lay bared and naked before the world,
if i expose the deepest heart of me -
all the longings and the loves,
all the history
every nuance and every atom
no dark or hidden corner left unveiled. . .
if you can see into my heart and soul . . .
and still love me
then that is love.

the mirror of what i am
reflects the person of you
witnessing the strength and dignity
and each value that the other has to give . . .
do you see yourself in me?
can you see truth where i stand?

if i love you
is that enough?


Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Ephemeral as a Stream in the Forest

The sun rises with promises to keep
and the westering hills
are folded within golden reflections
as if beneath the skirts of a wise goddess;
and the hills and the sun in quiet reverie
plan for the day ahead.. .. ..
while the clouds scuttle in small groups
across the open plains of blue,
Seeking shelter in some castle keep
upon a mountain peak,
while white water swashing in the valley floor
tumbles down the slope
like elfish water babies playing
and reflecting the sun
with an inner light
so bright . . .
like stars in a deeply patterned night.. .. ..
and the little diving birds
splash relentlessly in the creek . . .
calling to each other as if they were friends
on a weekend outing .. .
in the woods . ..

The way to the valley
is cloaked in a deep lushness of verdant
and White Wolf slinks through
like smoke
to reach the refreshing waters . . .
warmth already at play in the air
drifting through on damp currents,
and the birds scatter
alarmed but full of the grace of the winged ones . . .
White Wolf watches with her silver eyes.. .. ..
she wonders at the majesty of such tiny creatures . . .

She dips her head to drink from the
singing waters,
her face reflecting
the undulating ripples of light
that mask and then reveal
her beautiful thoughtful eyes.. .. ..

They glisten as she thinks
about her children
and their ways,
each unique
and with a special gift,
to impart to the others in their pack,

each one with a song
of their own;
each life
a precious gift
to this earth . . .

And she hears a drum beat . . . clear down
in the heart of the earth . . .
as she moves swiftly up the valley
and over the ridge . . .
the earth begins to tumble and slide
while trees plummet and fall
down to the valley floor
choking the small stream like a dam . . .
and the birds are silent . . .
the world stops, stunned . . .
the sun is dimmed by the dirt drifting
on the tides of the air . . .
and the smell of fresh soil
is prevalent throughout the morning's shock . . .

White Wolf stops and sits
to watch a growing pool
become a small muddy lake
in the middle of the forest . . .

and then
she continues on her way .



And so . . . I found this little moppett in the hallway all alone . . . the students were gone for the summer and I started to walk past her as two men were arguing over a rolled-up carpet . . . but I wanted . ..I needed her picture . . . so I back tracked my steps and took out my camera to snap a few shots . . . all the while listening to these men argue over the cost of this carpet . . . the younger man describing what he needed the carpet for and why he couldn't take it at that very moment and the other man kept quoting prices and those kept going up . . . I felt as if I was in a surreal landscape with this strange, magical, fragile and broken little doll staring at me and I wondered what creative brain could have designed such a creature . . . When I was done with my pictures I looked over at the men who had decided at that point that it was most fun to include me in their argument . . . (the crazy lady taking pictures of the figurine), while still arguing over the rug.  I walked over to the carpet and looked at the large sign taped to its outer face . . . "FREE-PLEASE TAKE ME!"

Edit:  I just wanted to add, in case you are worried about this little doll, that I adopted her (else she would have been thrown out in the trash) and she resides in a secluded spot for the summer in my classroom . . .  she will come out to enjoy the computer lab antics when summer is over . . .. M^^W

A Day and another Day . . . Like a River Flows. . . Under the Changing Sky!

My road today, so beautiful . . .
I walk,
staring at the trails of the sky,
not watching my own feet
my own path . . .
I hear a call, a small sound
and look down
to the sidewalk, and see a mass,
a movement,
I was walking, squashing, stepping
all over the colonies
of ants as they cleaned house
after the end of the rains,
in preparation of the summer . . .
I apologized and asked them
to pose for my camera - "too busy
and sorry," they exclaimed and continued
with their business . . and they
ran to and fro . .. beyond my ken .. .. ..

so I moved on . . .
I continued down my path
to discover other interesting views .  ..
a smiling face . . .
and a tree with some strange fruits!
What oddities in life to notice
as one travels through their day . . .
no need to despair
because this world is always
eager to entertain the appreciative traveler. 



A very soothing album . . . I am listening right now . ..  very nice!

Plus - I love the picture of the sky . .. but NOT the pole and wires in the way . . . so I think with some gimp play I will make a magical change . .. or maybe not ...

Thursday, June 17, 2010

My Dream of You

I dream of you,
my eyes blink slowly shut
and there you are in
my memories of you.. .. ..

I see us dancing
in the stars,
way beyond in a flash of blue,
holding each other tight
we gaze into
each-other's smiling eyes .. .. ..
I will have that look on your face
for a hundred thousand years
as long as I have my dreams
and my memories of you

I hear your voice
in quiet moments;
I can hear you sing of
your love to me
in the early spring
while the birds listen too.. .. ..
I will have your voice
for a hundred thousand years
as long as I have my dreams
and my memories of you

I will taste your kisses
in my lonely moments,
and feel you touching me
in the cool of the night
under a full white moon.. .. ..
I will have your kisses
and your sweet touch
for a hundred thousand years
as long as I have my dreams
and my memories of you



We are lifted up as the music plays
it moves us through our dreams . . .
and touches our hearts as we hear
beauty expressed on the piano . . .
and as something comes alive
in our souls,
the joy withering demons leave
and we are lightened and something
in us dances to the symmetrical melodies
as they ride on angels' wings
and flow around us like crystal lights . ..
in the colors of the rainbow . . .
Free music for professional licensing

Tuesday, June 15, 2010



This child is always so delighted to share her computer art with me . . . She dances up to me, "Ms. Wolfsong, come here, close your eyes . . don't look, I want to show you something, I have a surprise." and she takes me by the hand and leads me, carefully, to her computer, scolding me all the way . . . don't look . . . . she will do this perhaps fifteen times before I ask for a break . . . and then I feel guilty  .  . .

Yes, I am sad to say goodbye for the Summer Break . . . but I am worn out, and I too, need a rest from all this education.  . . Learning takes a lot out of you.

Monday, June 14, 2010

A Little Music!

Music soothes me
when I feel traumatized . . .
and I am wounded most every day. . .
Music calms me
when I feel anxious . . .
and I am often apprehensive. . .
Music lifts me
when I feel low . . .
and my wings are clipped too often . . .
Music joins me
when I feel joy . . .
and I am happy, always . . .
Music includes me
when I feel creative
and I write poetry today . ..

Be drawn into the life of a tear.. .. ..
drama, pain,
despair.. .. ..
and ultimately a release
of tension,
as the tear finds its way out
to begin its journey,
and slowly fades away
as it travels
while calm begins to prevail.. .. ..
peace follows the salty trail
of the tear .. .. ..
a little sorrow still
and then
a gleam of sunshine.. .. ..
relief to the weary soul
while the tear
is only forgotten.

This poem was written for the music,
as creix asked me if I would write something about it. 
The poem belongs to him.

This is powerful, attention grabbing music . . . stunning drum; 
percussion . . . vocals . . . mesmerizing, 
spare dark poetry . . . in my mind a vision . . .

the dark moments in our world . . . our lives,
the things that stand out, like monuments destroyed,
evil that slips into our midst,
a dark wall of smoke,
a flow of black oil darkening clear waters . . .
killing . . . .death
how do we move through that darkness . . .
ever becoming more jaded,
apathetic to the warnings around us . . . are we listening . . .are we listening yet?
Do we see the darkness descending on our world . . . . yet?
the beast, the power of oil . . .
What will we do when we can no longer move through 

the smudge that we have made . . . of our world?
Where will we go . . . .?


A couple more really nice albums I enjoyed over the weekend:

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

The Unknown


I walk along the unimproved roads .  .. a puddle gleams,
a child's bike
frozen in a dropped state,
neglected gardens as
posers denied the elegance
of a mansion, dreamed .. .. .. as
birds are reflected on the windshields of cars
sitting rusty and broken.. .. .. and
tall sentinels,
shadowy trees, scratch the belly of the sky while
the painful clouds stretch low
seeking deformation.. .. ..
a sigh
a breath of a wind blows small white petals
scattering them
at the gnarled feet of shrubs.. .. ..
and the hunch-backed crow
complains to me
as I walk along a mossy stone wall
holding back the meandering trekker
creeping along the backbone
of the road,
weary of that crow's vocals
compressing the air within its range,
she sits on the wire
flitting and wobbling,
black marble eyes shine in the waning light
gleam like a live coal from within the living beast.. .. ..

---I have held you
I have spread your wings
and the winds ruffled your ebony feathers.. .. ..
I have touched your sharp beak
with my cold lips,
your voice stretched and hollow,
your claws scrabbling to catch hold,
your inner fires pound at your chest
you breath---

the strict walls hold me back
with an airlessness of a vacuum
designed for hollow space
a membrane, a shell as thin as a microbe,
designs undiminished by time
or rumpled by the toe of my boot
as I scrape it on the dirt of the old road
drawing lines
going nowhere
a cat flits by
stops to gaze at me from beneath a leaf
and a crow watches a story unfold. . .

--I have held you
I have clipped your wings
and your cry was not diminished
by the colors beneath
the swirling skirt of approaching night
you have heard my song
and you see it as the neon beam
reflected in your mirrors
and your stillness disconcerts me
as I whisper something into your stygian belly--

the road heaves beneath my wary feet
and I am as slow and lethargic
as a reluctant mist moving across a landscape,
I float like down pushed slowly by a wispy breeze
and the silent hum of insects drown my thoughts
as the divagation of this lost road strums at my soul.. .. ..
A weary crow stands at the crossroads drinking from  a puddle . .
muddy waters dripping like tears from a black beak
join forces in a group of waters

--I have held you
as you wept for all your loss
I have touched your breast
and felt your heart beat
I have tasted your fires and
I have whispered my secrets to you,
I have fed your desires--

The walls create ceremony beneath their ambiguity
denied straightness, repellent of light
they refuse honesty
and crooked against the wayward road
they split their ways
at the gate with no welcome
where the darkness puddles
beneath the spikes of cast iron
and a delicate green vine
splits the blackness
into fractions of time.. .. ..
a crow with a broken wing
pecks at the heart of something
by the side of the road. . .

--I have held you
I have touched your tears
and felt the weariness of your soul
I have spread your wings
lifting you high
to glide on cold currents and
you slide through to the early light
of the morning's clarion call
I see you fly
splitting the air with you voice--

I plod along the unimproved road
and see an end,
I hear distant laughter
and the breeze ruffles through feathers
as black as hell,
and as smooth
as the lies of a fallen angel .. .. ..
deep in the bottomless  wells
harshly riddled with lost time
and a gate pushes through them
leading to a place where fires burn
without consuming, hungerless . . ..yet destructive
where a crow, alone, guardian of my dreams . . .

--I have held you
I have felt your bones
and I have set you free to wander
yet you came back to me
and you called my name . . .
I followed you through a gate
splicing time
through that rough wall
and you chose the pathway
when it split off from
that unimproved road. . .

I continue on, slowly trudging . . .
and the crow called my name
into the wind. . .
where the sound of her voice
faded into the unknown
and became as lost as I.


I am actually going to explain this poem . . . to the extent that all the main characters which appear in it . . . are me.
I am the trekker, the unimproved road, the old stone wall, the gate and I am the crow . . . that is all..dreams are often thus, explanations of ourselves . . . to ourselves.

This poem is dedicated to Cv?vC just because he loves the dark and edgy in life . . . and he is so very encouraging . . . 

Just a little addition regarding the crow in the poem . . .  I originally wanted to describe my wanderings through the unimproved roads on which I meander in my walks (there are so many of them) and of course the poem turned into something so different and became a deviation through the unimproved roads of my soul . . .  but I also wanted to describe a particular crow in my walks who took a strong dislike towards me . . .  every morning for several weeks I would see her . . . she would fly to a certain perch and scold me strongly about something . . . I would look at her and give her a greeting and a smile and she would scream more fiercely in her language . . . Eventually she took to attacking me . . . swooping down over and over grabbing at my head, my hair would fly up to meet her as her wings displaced the air over my head . . . other people could be around and she would ignore them so I know it was me that she had a hatred for - something . . . if crows hate . . . but they are considered the more intelligent of the birds, so it is possible that she had a dislike for me.  After I wrote my poem I saw her once more . . ..  and that was it . . . a violent attack at my head . . . and since then I haven't seen her at all . . . it feels like it means something profound . . . I am not sure what . ..  , BUT I do miss her .. .. .. I do!  

Sunday, June 6, 2010

StarChild 2

to dream of a clear dark night
with bright light from space
singing through
like angels
glancing into eyes
that sparkle
there they dance and laugh
in communion
with the spirits
and through the spaces
in your dreams
they weave memories
of faded hopes
come true
and all the laughter
you created
ring like silver bells
in fields of starlight
all reflected in the river
of time as it wanders
throughout the spaces
of your mind.

This poem is dedicated to PM . . . in hopes that he can feel the joy in my words.  :-D - With LOVE!

REGARDING the Picture: The child jumped into the photo I was taking in the cafeteria at her school . . . she sparkled so much I wanted her in a starfield I had found on the Hubble site . . . and I Gimped the whole thing together . . . not as easy as it sounds when you forget that you can't use alpha channels with jpeg pictures and I struggled til I remembered and then the picture fit so nicely . . . like a puzzle.

P.S. I showed the picture to the child in question and she did NOT seem impressed - LOL! I love it!! These funny funny kids. As a matter of fact, she just rolled her big beautiful eyes at me, sighed, and complained about some computer issue that was plaguing her. 

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

The Goodness of Rain

walking with the intemperate rain . . .
somehow it feels cleansing
this evening;
splashing through like the
clumsy beast I am . . .
my hair hangs wet and
strings of water
peel off from my wrists,
my feet fly
with fins
through impermanent ponds
reflective as enigmatic mirrors
and sprinkled with ambient light
from some secluded wary star . ..
I stumble to a halt
and find a line of fungi
littering the trail
like fugitives
from some disaster .. .. ..
leading to a nest
of mushrooms
each holding a slug
busy recycling these ephemeral
creations.. .. ..

in perfect order
in perfect peace.. .. ..

oh you.. .. ..
on that mountain top
of old,
speak to me
of the meaning of life. . .
and I will find it yet,
. . .in the valleys of mud
and in the slime of the slug.


Just an addition here: the very next day I walked by these very same clumps of grass and all the mushroom cities were gone . . . as if they were never there . . . I was astonished but so glad that I was able to catch them with my camera .  ..perhaps they were magical places . . . I suspect they were.

Here is some extra lovely music to warm the bones of the most damp Oregonian (probably me) and gives visions of dry heat and desert sands and mysterious histories . . . bright lights, warm tones and amber shades . .  . ah - I feel the molds and mildews receding from my existence . . .beautiful!


Some very exquisitely relaxing NewAge music . .  . beautiful.