Just a Girl Lost 2

Just a girl lost~ Here I share bits & pieces of me, in poetry, prose, music & posts from writers who inspire me.


Leave a comment

Curiousities

 

 

So, I’m watching

The Magnificent Seven

(original version, thank you, very much)

and

I hear the soundtrack.

The soundtrack is vibrant, strong, beautiful.

The soundtrack is westerny, tough, and jagged.

The music was nominated for an Academy award.

It’s a fabulous score.

It’s a wonderful movie.

So, as I’m watching and listening I notice a certain part of the score sounds EXACTLY like something I’ve heard in LoTR: The┬á Two Towers.

Just listen.

Listen to each one.

Advertisements


Leave a comment

The Baby’s Name

I found this in an old book I bought at our Library sale.

IMG_20190306_235225.jpg

Werners Readings and Recitations.

I love old books with old short stories and rhymes and tales.
Niki ­čĺĽ

“MORDAUNT,” she called him.

In a novel book His mother found the name she give to him; I didn’t like it, fer I’d kinda took A sort of notion favor’ble to “Jim”.

But when she looked up at me from the bed, Half dead but happy, an’ she said: “I want That you shall name him after all,” I said: “Why, blame it all, of course it is Mordaunt.”

She knew the way I felt about such names An’ that this was a sacrifice, fer she had often heard me say that honest “James” had just about the proper ring fer me; But though ’twas disapp’intment, still I thought she was the one that had the right to choose, An’ I —there wasn’t any question—ought to reconcile my wishes to her views.

He was so delicate—so teeny small, but smarter than the cracker of a whip.

I don’t believe he ever cried at all; Sometimes he’d pucker up his little lip an’ look at you until you was ashamed of all the sins you knew he knew you’d done.

I often thought he grieved because we’d named by such a name a helpless little one.

An’ thinkin’ that, when we two was alone, I called him by the name I like so well;

His mother would ‘a’ grieved if she’d ‘a’ known, but neither Jim nor me would ever tell. We never told. He’d laugh an’ crow to hear me whisperin’ so happ’ly to him; “Yer name’s Mordaunt, old boy, when mother’s near; but when there’s only me about, it’s Jim.”

We never told our little secret, an’ we never will—we never, never will.

Somewhere off yonder, in a flow’ry land, a little baby’s toddlin’, toddlin’ still, a-seekin’ in the sunshine all alone the God that give an’ then that sent fer him.

Mordaunt’s the name carved on the little stone, but in my heart the name is always Jim.


18 Comments

I am a poet

36244e67edf5d298b7f01176f7ca29af

They say

all poets

at some point

in time

possess and express

in overabundance

one or two

or three or four

of the traits listed

below:

Moodiness

Instability

Insanity

Eccentricity

and

all poets

are very:

Selfish

Idealistic

Intense

Impulsive

Cynical

Morose

Emotional

and

LoveWithEveryFiberOfTheirBeingNoMatterTheConsequenceOrSadnessOfThoseNotInvolvedInTheirPoeticPietyOfLove

and

if it’s true

And

you have these traits

And you live poetry

you might be a poet

Depending upon

the interpretation,

it’s not a bad thing

and

I might be a poet,

too

though

I live in the same world as you

Poetry is my favorite addiction/meditation/recreation/Re-Creation

I adore exploring every beautiful place

in a poet’s universe

I am a poet,

but only in spirit

I’m not like you

You are one of the chosen few

Whose words speak to my heart’s most hidden parts

I cannot pen my adoration to the ones I adore

as elegantly as you do

So, I carry you with me

I invite you into my most secret place

beneath an ancient oak

whose massive branches hang like arms

forming a cradle covered by a canopy of leaves

It’s my secret room I want to share with you

I gently lay you down on a bed of of grass

next to me as I sit in the sacred silence

I open your pages

I read your poems

Your magic is who you are

You paint in colors

that never existed before

Yes, you are a poet

You often lie between the pages

of Sylvia Plath

and Rossetti

or Robert Frost,

as Bukowski

flutters in the wind,

waiting impatiently

for me to finish

I read your last word

I let you slip away into the pages of places

I can only see in the dreams you write for me

I wait to once again taste your poetry

for I am a poet too, in spirit

and

I’m in love

with every poet and poem

whose kindred words

have touched my shore

~

┬ęjustagirllost2


14 Comments

The King of Lies

image

My Love obscene
Condemned to die
by a court of One
a King of Lies
Thief of my thoughts
this Judas Priest
Blackmailer punk
My soul sold cheap
carried his cross
Led on his leash
A genius of insanity
With gifts of dirt
& blasphemies
he buried me
he clipped my wings
Rabid for
a special treat
In recompense for my sin
I lay upon
stripped to skin
His Holy Grail
my bed of nails
His every pain
I bled for him
and
Oh,
how he loved
to watch me die
~

┬ęjustagirllost2

  • image by Lithuanian photographer Algis Gri┼íkevi─Źius.

*in honor of #arielpoets I’m reposting this. The theme @arielpoets this month of January is Betrayal


20 Comments

Happiness

image

If Happiness is simply

a chemical released

in the brain

I want to figure out

how to blast out

that atomic bit

of bliss.

I want to braid

promised pulls

of happiness

in daisy chains

of magic mist.

I want to bury deep 

the winters

of betrayals and unloves.

I want to dam

the daily deluge,

the torrent of thoughts

the Shame, Hate and Rage

that floods my sorry heart.

A cacaophy of my own

and demonic taunts.

See,

I often, often┬ápray“FIX ME! Now! Now! Now, please!”

I beg for miraculous healing of

every epic failing.

I beg to be whole, healthy, productive, serene.

“I NEED to be the ME I’m meant to be

I MUST make up for ALL my selfish,thoughtless, destructive indecencies.

Make me who I’m meant to be, please! please! please!

I plead over and over.

A noble mantra(to my narcissistic need)

prayed with utmost contrition, angst and sincerity.

“I KNOW that You have to answer, don’t You?

I mean,You’ve healed so many people

way worse off and way more screwed up than me,

and I BELIEVE!

See, God, I believe!

So, c’mon, I’m ready now,

I’m so ready now to be healed.”

I plead,

waiting to be freed,

waiting for a miracle, dammit!

It’s not working! I’m still the messed up, old me.

I bet I’m being ignored because I’m not determined enough. I need┬áto beg and whine with more sincerity.

NOTHING … NOTHING, but the buzzing voices of my own vanity.

“I must be unfixable.

I must be too weak.

What was I thinking?

I’m way beyond healing.

Even He can’t fix me.”

I Sink

deeper and deeper into myself & my selfishness

“MY way must be the ONLY way out of this daily abyss of discontent.

This life is all there is & so I’ll make the best of it

until I can figure out how to fix myself.”

It’s so much easier to believe in the god of Me.

I may be doomed to mediocrity, but at least I’m ‘home’ within the familiar confines┬áof my darkened,broken mind. I┬áwill always be my own place to hide. (my own Pride)

I’ll make sure I always have a retreatw here I can pretend I’m leading a ‘normal’, fulfilling happy life.

Keep my dirty little secrets hidden inside.

Retreat into a fantasy world to forget the real world around me.

“I am a martyr, don’t they see? Nobody understands me! I have NEEDS! I┬áDESERVE to be free to be worshiped by others in my kingdom of ME.”

A place where selfishness, fear, apathy,resentment, blame, anger, negativity and eendless self-pity run free.

Where I’m in control because only I know what’s best for me.

Life should be PLEASING me.

Pleasure and Control, insidious beasts eating me up alive.

My passions & desires own me.

A me I create in the image of what I want others to see.

Emotions & feelings drive my insatiable need to be happy.

A blank page desperate for a saviour’s ink.

I’m not real unless they SEE me.

My stubborn pride, my petulant need,

my childish mind keeps me blind to other’s reality.

“FEED ME FEED ME FEED ME because you NEED me!”

I’m dying inside. I’ve become a parasite of heart, soul & mind.

~

And then, through the miracle of Grace,

little by little, day by day,

I begin to FEEL so DEEPLY the pain, sadness & need for love of those around me.Their feelings begin to matter more than my own

I am filled with longing for something I cannot define or explain. A warmth flows thru me.

My cold heart is melting to Love

completely.

I’m healing.

Life won’t let me declare myself neutral

in this war anymore.

I have to decide whether to fly or fight.

I no longer find surcease in my usual distractions

I’m not able to ‘delete’ & bury my conscience & justify

my infantile dissolute vanities.

I used to be able to run away with impunity

seeking out those like me.

Things are different now.

I, who always arrogantly thought myself

so brave & so much stronger than others.

I see only a paper tiger.

A coward afraid to face the truth. I am words, not actions. A fool.

Something inside of me cries out. I’m┬áready to be free. I’m ready┬áto let the emptiness and dark silence┬áwash over and consume me.

I am defiant. I am tired. I have decided with every fiber of my being that

Fear will no longer rule me.

I choose to be happy, joyful & free.

I walk through the valley of humble defeat.

I’m a prisoner of true Love.

I throw myself into His arms in complete, terrified,

childlike, loving trust.

I’m finally ready to let Him Be

and work through me.

I know I have no strength.

I’ve failed miserably.

I know I have to let go of the past.

I have to hold on to now and all that will be.

I’m going in blind, hands tied, Letting Him lead.

I’m dying to Me. It’s not easy. Not at first.

I still grieve the old me.

I have to drag myself across that bridge of doubt & lack of faith.

Without humility & complete honesty, I can’t bear to cross it.

It isn’t exactly how I’d pictured it to be, once I’d waved the

white flag, I’d expected Him to carry me!

So tempting to slide back down that hill into my old ways.

I wanna run & hide again, but I don’t.

I stay and I run, I run, towards & unknown Fate.

I run over that bridge. From night to day.

From comatose to wide awake. No longer lost.

I’ve finally found my way.

And somehow I’ve changed.

I am ready to live the truth I’ve always believed,

yet was too afraid to seek.

That ‘suffering’ of this life will bring understanding,

growth & healing and will lead to a happiness

far beyond what my human nature can ever dare to imagine.

That ‘fixing’ means changing & becoming unbroken

into a divine, unique creation of me as part of the human family.

For, how can we know true peace if we only think of

our own wants and needs?

So, now I pray for wisdom & patience

for hope & fortitude

I pray for humility and gratitude

I pray to let go of all fear and control

I pray for the strength to leap into the abyss

of complete and utter trust, always.

To never falter again. To step out over the precipice

of my fallen, miserable comfort zone

into the arms of an unimaginable

mystical, unthinkable, beautiful

and all possible unknown.

It’s a never ending journey of self-discovery

Self-inflicted tortures of silence & reflection

Looking in mirrors of past pains soul deep

Breaking off dirty, bloody pieces until, suddenly,

like a dandelion in the wind, my soul flies beyond me

no longer imprisoned ready to rise higher.

Uncaged, unfettered, uncovered & free

to allow in a deeper, more perfect level of

all that is truly good & beautiful.

To Love unconditionally my children & my family

To see the divinity in others

To see the exquisite perfection & magic in mundane things

And no matter what trials, disappointments & pain

this life brings, I’ll be able to dance in the rain

I’ve forever changed.

I’ll still mess up again

and slip back and lose my peace, but

I will always know & believe

that Happiness lives

in my Loving the world

outside & inside of me.

~

┬ęjustagirllost2

*photo mine. St. Peter’s Catholic Church Cemetery in Carencro, Louisiana


Leave a comment

When Tolerance of Evil becomes a Virtue it is Time for Intolerance

quote-unlimited-tolerance-must-lead-to-the-disappearance-of-tolerance-if-we-extend-unlimited-karl-popper-35-9-0923

~

A PLEA FOR INTOLERANCE

by Venerable Fulton J. Sheen

46161f6425e4875f340aac94267bf987

America, it is said, is suffering from intolerance. It is not. It is suffering from tolerance: tolerance of right and wrong, truth and error, virtue and evil, Christ and chaos. Our country is not nearly so much overrun with the bigoted as it is overrun with the broadminded.

The man who can make up his mind in an orderly way, as a man might make up his bed, is called a bigot; but a man who cannot make up his mind, any more than he can make up for lost time, is called tolerant and broadminded.

A bigoted man is one who refuses to accept a reason for anything; a broadminded man is one who will accept anything for a reasonÔÇöproviding it is not a good reason. It is true that there is a demand for precision, exactness, and definiteness, but it is only for precision in scientific measurement, not in logic.

The breakdown that has produced this unnatural broadmindedness is mental, not moral.

The evidence for this statement is threefold:

the tendency to settle issues not by arguments but by words,

the unqualified willingness to accept the authority of anyone on the subject of religion, and,

lastly, the love of novelty.

Voltaire boasted that if he could find but ten wicked words a day he could crush the ÔÇťinfamyÔÇŁ of Christianity. He found the ten words daily, and even a daily dozen, but he never found an argument, and so the words went the way of all words and the thing, Christianity, survived. Today, no one advances even a poor argument to prove that there is no God, but they are legion who think they have sealed up the heavens when they used the word ÔÇťanthropomorphism.ÔÇŁ This word is just a sample of the catalogue of names which serve as the excuse for those who are too lazy to think. One momentÔÇÖs reflection would tell them that one can no more get rid of God by calling Him ÔÇťanthropomorphicÔÇŁ than he can get rid of a sore throat by calling it ÔÇťstreptococci.ÔÇŁ As regards the use of the term ÔÇťanthropomorphism,ÔÇŁ I cannot see that its use in theology is less justified than the use in physics of the term ÔÇťorganism,ÔÇŁ which the new physicists are so fond of employing.

Not only does the substitution of words for argument betray the existence of this false tolerance, but also the readiness of many minds to accept as an authority in any field an individual who becomes a famous authority in one particular field.

Another evidence of the breakdown of reason that has produced this weird fungus of broadÔÇÉmindedness is the passion for novelty, as opposed to the love of truth.

Belief in the moral law are considered passing fashions. The latest thing in this new tolerance is considered the true thing, as if truth were a fashion, like the hat, instead of an institution, like a head.

At the present moment, in psychology the fashion runs towards Behaviorism, as in philosophy it runs towards Temporalism. And that it is not objective validity which dictates the success of a modern philosophical theory, is borne out by the statement a celebrated spaceÔÇÉtime philosopher of England made to the writer a few years ago, when he was asked where he got his system. ╩║From my imagination,╩║ he answered. Upon being challenged that the imagination was not the proper faculty for a philosopher to use, he retorted: ╩║It is, if the success of your philosophical system depends not on the truth that is in it, but on its novelty.╩║

In that statement is the final argument for modern broadÔÇÉmindedness: truth is novelty, and hence ╩║truth╩║ changes with the passing fancies of the moment.

Truth does grow, but it grows homogeneously, like an acorn into an oak; it does not swing in the breeze, like a weathercock.

The nature of certain things is fixed, and none more so than the nature of truth. Truth maybe contradicted a thousand times, but that only proves that it is strong enough to survive a thousand assaults.

But for any one to say, ╩║Some say this, some say that, therefore there is no truth,╩║ is about as logical as it would have been for Columbus, who heard some say, ╩║The earth is round,╩║ and other say, ╩║The earth is flat,╩║ to conclude: ╩║Therefore there is no earth at all.╩║

The giggling giddiness of novelty, the sentimental restlessness of a mind unhinged, and the unnatural fear of a good dose of hard thinking, all conjoin to produce a group of sophomoric latitudinarians who think there is no difference between God as Cause and God as a ╩║mental projection╩║; who equate Christ and Buddha, St. Paul and John Dewey, and then enlarge their broadÔÇÉmindedness into a sweeping synthesis that says not only that one Christian sect is just as good as another, but even that one worldÔÇÉreligion is just as good as another.

The great god ╩║Progress╩║ is then enthroned on the altars of fashion, and as the hectic worshipers are asked, ╩║Progress towards what?╩║ The tolerant answer comes back, ╩║More progress.╩║

All the while sane men are wondering how there can be progress without direction and how there can be direction without a fixed point. And because they speak of a ╩║fixed point,╩║ they are said to be behind the times, when really they are beyond the times mentally and spiritually.

In the face of this false broadÔÇÉmindedness, what the world needs is intolerance. The mass of people have kept up hard and fast distinctions between dollars and cents, battleships and cruisers, ╩║You owe me╩║ and ╩║I owe you,╩║ but they seem to have lost entirely the faculty of distinguishing between the good and the bad, the right and the wrong.

The best indication of this is the frequent misuse of the terms ╩║tolerance╩║ and ╩║intolerance.╩║

There are some minds that believe that intolerance is always wrong, because they make ╩║intolerance╩║ mean hate, narrowÔÇÉ mindedness, and bigotry. These same minds believe that tolerance is always right because, for them, it means charity, broadÔÇÉmindedness, American good nature. ÔÇÉÔÇÉÔÇÉ

What is tolerance?

Tolerance is an attitude of reasoned patience towards evil, and a forbearance that restrains us from showing anger or inflicting punishment. But what is more important than the definition is the field of its application.

The important point here is this: Tolerance applies only to persons, but never to truth. Intolerance applies only to truth, but never to persons. Tolerance applies to the erring; intolerance to the error.

What has just been said here will clarify that which was said at the beginning of this chapter, namely, that America is suffering not so much from intolerance, which is bigotry, as it is from tolerance, which is indifference to truth and error, and a philosophical nonchalance that has been interpreted as broadÔÇÉmindedness.

Greater tolerance, of course, is desirable, for there can never be too much charity shown to persons who differ with us.

Charity, then, must be shown to persons, and particularly to those outside the fold who by charity must be led back, that there may be one fold and one Shepherd. Thus far tolerance, but no farther. Tolerance does not apply to truth or principles. About these things we must be intolerant, and for this kind of intolerance, so much needed to rouse us from sentimental gush,

I make a plea.

Intolerance of this kind is the foundation of all stability. The government must be intolerant about malicious propaganda, and during the World War it made an index of forbidden books to defend national stability, as the Church, who is in constant warfare with error, made her index of forbidden books to defend the permanency of Christ╩╣s life in the souls of men.

The government during the war was intolerant about the national heretics who refused to accept her principles concerning the necessity of democratic institutions, and took physical means to enforce such principles.

The soldiers who went to war were intolerant about the principles they were fighting for, in the same way that a gardener must be intolerant about the weeds that grow in his garden.

The Supreme Court of the United States is intolerant about any private interpretation of the first principle of the Constitution that every man is entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and the particular citizen who would interpret ╩║liberty╩║ in even such a small way as meaning the privilege to ╩║go╩║ on a red trafficÔÇÉlight, would find himself very soon in a cell where there were no lights, not even the yellow ÔÇö the color of the timid souls who know not whether to stop or go.

And if we admit intolerance about the foundations of a government that at best looks after man╩╣s body, why not admit intolerance about the foundations of a government that looks after the eternal destiny of the spirit of man?

On all sides we hear it said today, ╩║The modern world wants a religion without dogmas,╩║ which betrays how little thinking goes with that label, for he who says he wants a religion without dogmas is stating a dogma, and a dogma that is harder to justify than many dogmas of faith.

A dogma is a true thought, and a religion without dogmas is a religion without thought, or a back without a backbone.

All sciences have dogmas. ╩║Washington is the capital of the United States╩║ is a dogma of geography. ╩║Water is composed of two atoms of hydrogen and one of oxygen╩║ is a dogma of chemistry. Should we be broadÔÇÉminded and say that Washington is a sea in Switzerland? Should we be broadÔÇÉminded and say that H2O is a symbol for sulfuric acid?

We cannot verify all the dogmas of science, history, and literature, and therefore we are to take many of them on the testimony of others. I believe Professor Eddington, for example, when he tells me that ╩║Einstein╩╣s law of gravitation asserts that ten principal coefficients of curvature are zero in empty space,╩║ just as I do not believe Dr. Harry Elmer Barnes when he tells me that ╩║the cockroach has lived substantially unchanged on the earth for fifty million years.╩║ I accept Dr. Eddington╩╣s testimony because, by his learning and his published works, he has proved that he knows something about Einstein. I do not accept Dr. Barnes╩╣s testimony about cockroaches because he has never qualified in the eyes of the modern world as a cockroach specialist. In other words, I sift testimony and accept it on reason.

I then accept these truths ÔÇö truths which I cannot prove, as was Professor Eddington╩╣s statement about Einstein ÔÇö and these truths become dogmas. There can thus be dogmas of religion as well as dogmas of science, and both of them can be revealed, the one by God, the other by man. Not only that ÔÇö these fundamental dogmas, like the first principles [elements] of Euclid, can be used as raw material for thinking, and just as one scientific fact can be used as the basis of another, so one dogma can be used as the basis for another. But in order to begin thinking on a first dogma, one must be identified with it either in time or in principle.

The truth is divine; the heretic is human.

Right is right if nobody is right, and wrong is wrong if everybody is wrong.

~

Intolerance.pdf

~

quote-the-further-a-society-drifts-from-truth-the-more-it-will-hate-those-who-speak-it-george-orwell-49-88-64

smart-quotes-46884-statusmind-com

~

┬ęjustagirllost2