.....AND LIFE CHANGED!!!!

As I stare out of my window into the cold misty night I think of you and wish we were together. I gently lay my head on my pillow, holding it tight, trying to remember the sound of your breath, but all I can feel is the texture of my pillow. My mother thinks I’m crazy, but I know one thing for sure... I’m lonely with out you. The next day I wake up to the sound of thunder, which is typically the sound of birds in some countries, often something that comes every morning. As I climb onto the bus and make my way to the farthest set from you, I lie my head against the window feeling the goose bumps suddenly rush up my arm, feeling the hairs stick up as sharp as blades on a razor, feeling the sharp textures of my skin as I look down at my feet.

The bus arrived at school the same time as usual, nothing different, but the feelings the lay inside of me. Slowing dragging myself to the guidance office to get my schedule that hasn’t changed since they day I moved to this school. The woman at the desk stared at me as if I was taken over by a ghost and looked at me in concern. “Dear child how are you feeling today?” she must have seen my face when she asked this question, however, thinking of the appropriate answer to this was a complete blur, so I just told her the same thing I told my mom every morning, “I’m fine, just tired”. My best friend moved schools just last week when her father got remarried to a French woman, and was put in boarding school for the rest of her high school year.

However, for me, I was as lonely as ever, and not having my friend there only made me feel more and more depressed. My brother left for the army to become a solider since school never really worked out for him after our father left us for a woman much younger than my mom. My mother always works and never seems to be home since she has to support me and my younger sister, Angel. And ever since my boy friend broke up with me I have just been very broken lately. Also since my brother and I were as close as doves when they're in love.

My bag suddenly felt like I was carrying rocks as I made my way to first class, then I realized that dragging my feet would give me a tardy so my pace gradually increased. as soon as I made it to the door everyone was seated except for me, which was always the norm for me. I made my way across the room with my bag filled with rocks, hopes and destroyed dreams. My teacher, Mrs. Greene, puts me next to this guy who I'd never met and it was the longest class that ever existed. The teacher told us that group assignments were going to be given and were due on the second semester. The topic wasn’t my favorite but it was something that passed my time and as my mom said, try and make friends. The homework was a power point about the opposite sex character traits and other non important stuff.

To be honest, my life isn’t as interesting as a popular cheerleader or a smart math geek but all I know is it isn’t a happy ending or happy in any shape or form. This guy was named Anthony. I learned a lot about him since it was the guys turn to express a little bit of background information. I know we won't get along. this guy was the captain of the sports team and the hottest guy in school, particularly with cheer leaders. All I know is that I can't do a project about someone who isn’t like me at all. The bell rang finally, my favorite subject - lunch, it was the class where I could sit and eat and no one would ask me how I was feeling.

I sit at the farthest table where no one would bother going. Anthony, my people studies partner, was sitting right in my table, my area that no one ever sat before. First I thought he was insane crazy, but then he spoke with the most in tune voice I ever heard. “hey we should start working on finishing the first part of interviewing about my basic background so we can start yours,” he winked at me. I stared down at him, not wanting to stare at his bright blue eyes that showed thoughtfulness and care. “okay, but I want to tell you my story isn’t as bright and colorful as yours” he nodded at me and listened with great eagerness as I told him my basic background. After that he asked me if I could meet him in the library to start the basic background portion to power point. I didn’t know if he was asking me out, cause if he was the answer would be no. I can't put myself though that again after what happened, but he seemed confident that I would go so I nodded and told him I would.

As I made my way to the bus and then slowly paced to my seat, I saw someone’s feet. I look up and see Anthony. I stare at him blankly. since when was he on my bus and how did he know where I sat? he seemed to have read my mind and said, "I know people and they told me.” I nodded, sitting in the seat next to him. He didn’t seem to keep his eyes off me as I sat in the black metal chair. His glare seemed to pierce mine and something started to melt inside and it scared me. I’ve felt alone most all my life. I never seemed to have someone who cared since they always left me. As soon as I get to my stop I dash out of the bus. little did I know he wrote his number on my left arm.

My mom was home, which was rare, like seeing a lake in the desert. She was home cooking soup for Angel since she was sick with the unexpected flu. Normally when I get home I would cook and then do homework. Since I was cooking I had time before the library.

I made my way slow up the stairs to take a shower as my mother caught something on my arm that I never knew was there. “Is that a number on your arm? i hope it's not Henry, you know what he did to you Cathy, that boy isn’t nice.” I didn’t realize till she gestured to my arm and I told her that it wasn’t Henry’s but a boy that was my partner for homework. She didn’t seem to believe it was for homework but she did believe it wasn’t Henry.

I made my up and called the number that seemed to stay on my arm like a permanent tattoo. “Hello? Who’s this?” he answered on the first ring. “Um, this is Cathy. what time do I mmeet you?” I was so nervous. I don’t know why this sudden feeling burns me inside. I can't like him. I told myself I can't be open to love. He tells me to meet him there at two and then hangs up. I look at the clock, one fifty four, almost two. the intensity is burning. I start walking to the library.

As he and I sit down I stare at his eyes and see myself, the person I wanna be, the person that seemed to be lost inside of me. This seemed to me like a fatherly daughterly love, someone to take care of me, since I've been doing that my whole life - watching out for others. He catches me staring at him and leans down and kisses me. My heart melts and all the sadness seems to be spread away by love.

My mind tells me to pull back but my mouth and heart press on, continuing to kiss his tender lips filling my heart with happiness and meaning. The few days have been a blast and my heart fills with joy every time he’s around me. As the night dies down I think of me and my lover, the one who changed me and brightened my days.

I'm sorry it took me
this long to thank you
for your strength and will.

Regardless of the consequence,
you took a chance. At the time,
you were sitting down to confront
yourself.

You had no idea that your actions
would defend an entire race
Because of you, we are able
to choose our seat in this world.

You anybody Liberty and Justice
thank you for your restraint you
will never be forgotten.

I remember the day I met him, he had such a lovely character about him. His starry eyes, those brown wavey locks. What a man.

I wish he didn't leave. I wish he had listened to me. I know he wanted to do good but then I knew he wouldn't come back.

I remember those winter nights staring at the moon and the stars. I remember that night well. We had a picnic in the near by field, where we could see the moon rise in the night sky. It's light shone so bright, it made the grass shimmer in the wind.

He proposed to me that night. The happiest night in my life.
Then it happened. He had the call. I begged him to stay, I didn't want him to go. Sadly he left the next morning.
That was the last time I saw him. for he was a solider that had lost his battle.

I still go to the field where he proposed, looking up at the moon. I speak to that moon as if it was him. sometimes it feels as if it's answering me.
That love could never been broken.


(I wrote this story when the lives of many people were taken.)

I've just had the most beautiful dream of my life. I had it once before, a long, long time ago, where memories possibly can't stretch, maybe in another life - but I had it once. Maybe when I was a child, smiling as I had it under the blankets that hugged me as I dreamed my way to other worlds I never knew existed. Maybe I cried, or laughed, or beamed till my face hurt. I know I had it some time, though. It might have been thousands of years ago, or in another universe. The dream is always in such a heart achingly beautiful place, and even the greatest artists combined, working for a million years, couldn't create that feeling in my heart that I get when I look at a painting of a snowy forest, with an icy stream, maybe even some purple trees, snow-covered foxes in the distance, possibly a little boat and a magical cave that only I am in, and I know no-ones going to come and take me away, because it's too lonely for that.

Before my dream, I was in my hut in the woods, trying to get to sleep. I tossed and turned, blew out and relit the candle time and time again, lay down on the floor, went out with no clothes on in an icy wind and even danced on the bog near my house since no-one was around, but nothing could curb the uneasiness that I felt when I reentered the silent hut. The clock was ticking anticlockwise, and I told myself that this was just a coincidence, but then again, who knows? It has a one in a million chance of doing so, what are the chances of that happening to me, to whom things never directly happen? One in a trillion?

Finally, just as I gave up, I walked slowly up to my bed, and lay down on it, and I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow. Thank goodness. The door was ajar, and a draft was blowing in, whipping around my ankles, but I didn't care. I was asleep. Then, the fear started. I found myself in a hut just like the one I'm in at the moment, but it was cluttered with furniture and a good way smaller, giving the feeling that you were trapped inside quite vividly to me as I looked wildly around. It was all very realistic. The curtains were so dusty that I could see specks of dust floating in the air, old chairs stacked on top of one another, cobwebs hanging like barriers across the ceiling, spiders the sides of hands in them. I sneezed a couple of times, my throat itching terribly as dust settled on my clothes. Then, since it was a dream and things always move very quickly in a dream, the walls started to close in around me, and I panicked, flinging pieces of furniture out of the way in a manner so familiar to me that I wondered if I'd had exactly the same dream the last time. My arms ached after a while as the walls creaked slowly towards me, crushing whole tables and pianos as I gasped for breath, throwing things out of the way only to have them bounce back at me, grazing my elbows, and yet I couldn't find the little door that I knew would let me out.

"Please? Where's the door? You've got to help me! I'm stuck! I need to get out!" I gasped at a shriveled old kitten on the floor.

The kitten turned towards me and pointed a paw at the wall, and then the walls came so close to me that one wall was on the back of my head and the other was on my nose. I tried to flap my arms to get out of the way, but I couldn't, and I screamed. Then the wall started to very slowly crush my nose, and then the wall opened to reveal the prettiest forest of my life: the one I've been aching for all my life.

A blast of cold air swept across me, realistic as real life, even though in a dream, as I grappled with my senses as the hut disappeared behind me, the walls swallowing each other up. The porch was windswept and in my pajamas I shivered, crossing my arms over one another. My teeth chattered, and soon my hands became numb and my nose and ears hurt, but I didn't move. Lights were strung over the snowy trees that had purple leaves on them, and the same icy stream I've been longing for swung between the trees. The banks had beavers and foxes on them, and I whooped with joy but they didn't care.

It was at this point that I realized that I was naked. I covered my body with my hands, and hid behind a tree. All of a sudden, the forest was quiet. The billowing, howling, whooshing wind was all I could hear, and the cheep-cheep or squawk of a bird taking flight made the place all the more beautiful. My head rested against the bark and I sat down on the wet soil. A rabbit sniffed me and ran away, deciding I was too much of a threat. But I wasn't. I was one of them.

In the distance, I could see a light bobbing up and down between the trees, and with it a beautiful melody was sung out, and I could see people there, and I thought that I needed them to go. But then when they drew closer, I could see that they were full of warmth and love. At that point, I was filled with such loneliness, standing behind that tree in the quiet, away from everyone, that I looked up and prayed to the stars, because everyone knows our ancestors are up there. Then I stood out into the clearing, covering myself.

An old lady came up to me, and hugged me. All my embarrassment for being naked dissipated at that moment. Her walking stick pressed against my waist. Her body was frail and her hug was weak but full of warmth and love. She smelled of soap and grandmotherliness, and when we withdrew she was smiling so widely I could see every tooth in her mouth.

"We're so glad you came." she whispered, and the sound echoed past the trees.

"Why don't you join us?" a young boy asked me.

"I'm naked - I don't have any clothes on! Can I have some clothes?" I stammered.

"Oh, you won't be needing clothes! Come and join us, we're doing happiness tonight."

"And warming hearts."

"And handing out necklaces of happiness."

"Come along and join us," and I walked forwards as welcoming arms spread out around me, as the singing started again, and the path seemed to light up, and the woods seemed so far away, as I sung a tune I never knew existed, as we weaved our way to another world to tell stories to make people happy once again. It faded away, bit by bit, too wakefulness, and once I woke up, all of them had hugged me individually.

When I was back in my room, I wrote a little poem.

It's like an ice age of the heart
a golden sea, a shower of ending rain
and no matter when there's no hope left
I'll be there to kiss away the pain.

It's like a skylight in the sky
Looking up to the sky it makes me sad
that the streams of light I see before my eyes
are unknown by so many people
so far away from me,
they don't have a rainbow in the rain.

When I'm done, I put the quill down, and look at it. It's surely time to go and see Sylvia now. It's most unfortunate that I've slept for so long. She's been very strange recently. Mother died recently, and she's convinced that she can go up there to see her. She's written letters to her, immaculately coloured in with her favourite paints. She spends hours and hours colouring them in, not going over the lines, and she does it with such concentration that it's like she's trying to summon God.

"Sylvia? Darling? Where are you?" I call.
There was no answer.

"Silence!" shrieks Dorothy from the neighbouring hut. "I'm working on an important plan!"

Her plans are not ever important. One of her recent plans was to tell a colleague to dress nicely, sit on a bench by a pond and feed bits of bread to ducks. Then, five minutes later, empty a truckload of loaves all over the ducks and see the reaction, supposedly to crush some of them as a bird social experiment. Another one was to give the address of a local pub to a food supplying company, order six hundred and ten boxes of strawberries, and have them delivered to the pub where a colleague was temporarily working to assess the affects on the employees of the pub. Her most famous one for which she was jailed, was to give children a certain type of herb with which she could control their dreams and have them stand in the road, dodging cars speeding past at a speed limit of nine hundred and sixty six thousand miles per hour, while she cackled like a witch as she observed it. Dorothy was an intensely unpleasant woman.

But now, sure enough, I have to go and see Sylvia.

I opened the door of my hut, and stepped out into the night which was warmer than any night had been so far this year. It was cooler in the hut. I picked up the candle, shielded it with my arms so the glare wouldn't spread out and become too noticeable. I've got to go into the field of hay bordering the woods to see her, in her special place that only her dearest friends can ever go into. It's called the smile. it's in the shape of a smile, and you can see it if you fly overhead in a helicopter, which I once did. It's beautiful. Mostly you can just see farmers hacking away at the ground, but if you're lucky you can see a little strip, glinting, that is the entrance to the smile that you can't see from the ground. It's like I know it out of a book, off by heart, as I slip under the long grasses first, and then into the hay, reaching the little door that no one has ever spotted before.

The little sitar is there - it's been polished. When we first bought it it was on the day that I was born, and my family made me pluck a string every day that was important: my birthday, Christmas, Easter, even the day of the death of a loved one. Sometimes it was just a passing note I plucked, but I always had to do it. Then one day, Sylvia decided to show me her smile place. She asked me to play the notes in order, so with much difficulty in remembering them I did. The first note was beautiful, like the wings of a fly beating a thousand times before it came to rest, the note glided through the hay, but I knew that nobody else would be able to hear it. First, I played them backwards, from now to then, and it had a melancholy tune that I never knew existed, that made my heart ache. Then, when I played it forwards, it was the sweetest melody I'd ever heard in my life, it swooped and soared and I knew that my love for any other music but this had gone forever.

Once I'm in the smile, I sit down and Sylvia speaks.

"Mum wrote me a letter today! It's from heaven," and she passes me a letter covered in dirt. I open it, and it is from hell. How could she think that her mother was in hell?

"She's not in hell! How can you say that?" I gasped.

Sylvia smiles and says, "she ripped up your story!"

"People don't go to hell for something as small as that!" I gasp.

"They do. Your story would have made people happy!"

I'd been painting on canvas when mum had ripped up my story. I'd been painting a picture from our old house in another woods, where the snow covered the branches and the sunlight glinted in as I stroked the cat. I'd heard a tearing sound from behind me, and my book had lain in pieces. I'd promised grandma I'd keep it forever, it contained all the stories she'd written as a young girl. I cried that night, properly, for the first time in ages. I was wracked with sobs. From then on, she only told me horrible stories. Of a little boy who was kept up in a small dome. Her parents were millions of miles away, and the little, frail boy cried, for too long, pitiful tears streaming down his face: he so wanted his parents, his heart ached for it, but no matter how hard he thought or how loudly he screamed he couldn't get out of the dome, till he became old, and his hair grew so long that it took up all the space and suffocated him. I cried for that, too, but only a little.

Remembering it, I start telling Sylvia a better story, of an island so beautiful you'd want to stay there forever. But one day a boy finds a thing in the bathroom, and the plane lands and drops him off there, but the passengers inside don't notice anything strange. Then the snakes eat him up, but while he's in the snake's stomachs he writes such marvelous stories animals come from far and wide to see him.

"That's lovely" she whispers.

"Yes" I whisper back.

"Maybe mum really is in heaven."

"Yes. But we won't get to see her any more."

"D'you think mum can see us? Up there in the stars?"

"In my dream grandpapa can. Why shouldn't she be able to?"

"It's just a dream." Sylvia says.

"No, it isn't. It's a real place. I've told you about my memories, just the feeling of it. I know it."

"Well, then we can find her. The dream tells us it," Sylvia says

"What? How?" I ask her.

"Maybe there really is a heaven on Earth," she says. And then I have hope, that no matter when you're low, there's still some place that you can love and call home.

I found out today that a former friend and lover has Thyroid cancer. She is 33. Her name is not important. Her fate, however, is very important to me. As flip as I can be here on Facebook and on other venues about matters of sexuality, and the opposite sex, I have not lived cavalierly in the world of love. There have not been many significant others. Two ex-wives, maybe a handful, if that, of committed relationships. And very little sexual promiscuity. So this young lady remains on my short list of loves I have shared in my 52 years.

She is the last relationship I have had, dating back to the early to mid-2000s. She was much younger than I; Asian, and a college graduate. Our two and a half years together staved off my upcoming depression and tail spin that began when I was laid off at the newspaper in 2009, the same newspaper where we had met.

We had cultural differences that rivaled the age difference, but we bridged them quite well. She was smart, tough and funny. She was a full generation younger than I, almost 19 years. I took some good natured ribbing from the more troglodytic male cohorts of mine. I accepted it with good humor. They could see, beyond their barbs, that we were good for each other. Our weakness balanced nicely with our strengths. We were much more complimentary with each other than one would guess, given our differences.

She made me feel younger than my age, and a million years old at the same time. She was a breath of fresh air for this tired old cynic. She exuded an alluring combination of innocence and shrewdness. She could be quite girlish, and yet all woman, often in the same hour. She grabbed life by the balls, always with her foot on the gas. She didn't drag her feet with constant reflection and speculation. She got things done. She was a doer, not a talker.

The only reason I am using past tense terms here is because we lost contact shortly after we agreed mutually that our love had run its course. She moved on to a more permanent arrangement. I think her time with me prepared her for the next step. The next man. At least I hope so. As legacies go, I do not have an abundance of them. My hope is that she is one of them.

She has married and has been very happy. Then this medical bombshell landed on her front porch with all the subtlety of a train wreck. She is scared. Cancer at the age of 33 is simply not supposed to happen. Especially to people with her joi de vivre, her spirit, her good soul. But it does.

It is one of the central ironies about growing old, that we experience death on an almost regular basis with each passing year. If we add up the weddings we go to in our first 40 years, with the number of funerals we are destined to go to in the next 40, which number do you think will be higher?

I have read many, many cancer stories on these pages. My sister died at age 48 of bladder cancer. My best friend’s wife passed recently at 64 of lung cancer. He himself has survived colon cancer.

Cancer has touched virtually everyone in some heinous way or other. It has become inevitable, ubiquitous, and as permanent as death itself. Or at least that’s how it feels.

She informed me via email today of this news. I was shell-shocked. And deeply saddened. The limitations of the written word, and I know them well, made my response to her difficult. I simply told her, boldly, that she COULD beat it. That she SHOULD beat it. That she WILL beat it.

I hate being in the cheerleader role. It makes me feel impotent, feckless, and even inconsequential.

The odds are very good that someone now reading this, or this writer, are currently harboring cancer cells that may kill us. Sure, there are forms of cancer that we can control whether or not we get it. Some cancer is behaviorally influenced. But cancer often strikes randomly, lethally, cruelly.

F**k you, cancer.

Leave the women on my short list alone.

Isn’t it bad enough they had to be with me?




...God?   

By Bill Rayburn
Born 1960, M, from London, England, United Kingdom
Author Profile
   
...God?
…G.O.D.?

Been thinking about the big guy (gal?) upstairs lately. Nothing earth shattering. No sudden transformation for me. Just contemplating, dispassionately, why I don't believe in God.

I don't like labels, per se, especially when hung on myself, and I am not entirely comfortable with 'atheist', though by definition, that is probably what I am.

And the key word is 'probably'. Do I believe in God? At gunpoint, forced to reveal the absolute (hate that word) truth, I would honestly have to say, "I don't know".

I was raised a Catholic and remained one, as George Carlin once said so sagaciously, "...until I reached the age of reason". That was about 17 for me. Renouncing my religious upbringing coincided nicely with my sudden independence from my parents and family, as I had moved out of the house into an apartment. I was casting aside a huge portion of my childhood. And shortly thereafter my girlfriend moved in. This was 1978. The Catholic Church was not big on its parishioners living in sin. Nor was my dad. I couldn't have cared less. On both accounts.

There are many reasons I rejected organized religion and, soon thereafter, the idea that there was/is a God. Many of my reasons were intellectual in nature, yet there were still some lingering emotional issues from my eight years of Catholic grade school which had to be considered during my youthful repudiation of all things religious.

For example: I could never get my head around the idea that we should live in fear of God. Whether a precocious nine-year-old, or a wiser, yet still wet-behind-the-ears 17-year-old, it never made a shred of sense. I lived in fear of my father, whom I hated for breeding that type of atmosphere. Did God want me to hate him as well? I surmised he did not.

So that was the first of many rejections I went through regarding the bible and its teachings. The bible was, and remains, the most contradictory piece of ‘literature’ I’ve ever endured. I found it not only baffling and difficult to understand, but ironically, wholly uninspiring.

The 'fear' factor simply brought out my natural instinct for rebellion, prompting me to turn my contrarian instincts toward a God who was presented to me not as a friend, but as an authoritarian figure and, even more disconcerting, a ‘savior’. My attitude also mirrored my unwillingness to buy into what my dad was forcing upon me about the Catholic Church, which was a “believe in it or else” mantra which proved to be ultimately an anti-sales pitch.

I think my rejection of my dad paved the way for my rejection of God. Authoritarian figures have never fit in my world, and the two most unbending, influential icons in my life I rejected before I was old enough to vote.

As I grew into my 20s my intellect grew exponentially and the concept of ‘faith’ found its way on to my rejection list. I chose not to believe in 'believing'. This was the last major hurdle to shedding the yoke of Catholic dogma, a mindset designed to strangle independent thought. Once I wrestled that from around my neck, I was off to much more verdant, vibrant pastures of thought and concept. Religion was not an area where ambiguity and nuance lived. But it was where I lived.

The 1980s was anything but a carefree decade for me. Death and tragedy visited my family; two inevitable aspects of life that most people use their faith to endure or overcome. I did it the secular way. I drank.

Not really. What I did was think. I had long ago given up the Pollyanna idea that life was fair, and that fate only heaped as much onto your plate as you could eat at one sitting. All around me, I saw people who were unable to deal with the more sinister conundrums of life; people overwhelmed by their circumstances, self-imposed or otherwise. From where I sat, life appeared to be absolutely f***ing brutal, and whether one believed in God or not, the potential to be swept under the tsunami of life appeared to be available equally to believers and non-believers. Salvation was for suckers.

Once I identified as lip service what the faithful would offer up in explanation for the tragic events of life, I realized they were ensnared in an oftentimes very elaborate self-deception. Few things could send me sprinting in the opposite direction more quickly than 'denial'.

It’s been my experience that even those deep into their faith are rarely able to find a peaceful place when confronted with the worst life has to offer. I realized their faith guaranteed them no safe haven. Even if they thought it did, their rhetoric usually outweighed their actions. In fact, I saw that religious belief was about buying into the rhetoric. Behind the diaphanous curtain of scripture and biblical contradictions was a quite naked emperor with an embarrassed, almost apologetic grin, staring fecklessly at a machine with no levers or buttons or handles.

But I confess to doing some dancing here myself. The number one reason I have rejected God and religion has less to do with my intellectual pragmatism and distrust in faith, and more to do with simply not wanting to be associated with, lumped into, or perceived as aligned with, people that are ensconced in a force field of fear. So paralyzed by the uncertainty of life and the fundamental paucity of answers to most of life’s big questions, these people latched onto something and someone, based completely on faith.

God is a port in a storm. I understand the need and desire for such a port. But I personally reject it because it is a mirage.

Hypocrisy is also ingrained in the religious experience. Coupled with the fear and denial, it creates an environment in which I cannot live, let alone thrive.

Some key words: worship; fear; guilt; sin.

Who in their right mind would want anything to do with those four pernicious concepts? I know I didn't. I mentioned that fear was my first thoughtful rejection. In addition, Catholic guilt is a powerful weapon used by the church to keep the flock in line, and aligned. In a secular life there are more concrete, direct consequences to human foibles and missteps then ‘feeling bad’.

And ‘worship’ sounds simply wrong to me. Equality and fairness are my personal tenets. There is no room for worship when thinking the way I think.

Should I discuss the concept of sin?

As long as I can start with calling myself a card-carrying pagan, I’ll dive into this pool. I think the 10 commandments are, for the most part, a good idea. They are pretty solid guidelines which, if someone chooses to live by them, will provide civilized society some parameters for human behavior.

But when the commandments attempt to legislate human morality that is where I back out. Like “though shall not covet thy neighbor’s wife”. Harboring thoughts about Mrs. Jackson across the street as she works in her garden in her bikini top is simply not a sin in my book. Acting on it, depending on the marital status of those involved, may be a different story. I do believe in the marital vows and fidelity.

This has been a rambling explanation, which probably explains better than anything my ultimate answer of “I don’t know”.

But faith leaves no wiggle room. There is no part of faith that embraces “I don’t know”. One either believes or doesn’t.

I don’t.

My ultimate goal is to get to the next level, which is simply: I don’t care.

From the very beginning, girl's family objected strongly on her
dating this guy, saying that it has got to do with family
background, & that the girl will have to suffer for the rest of her life if she
were to be with him.

Due to family's pressure, the couple quarreled very often. Though
the girl loved the guy deeply, she always asked him: "How deep is your
love for me?" As the guy is not good with his words, this often caused
the girl to be very upset. With that & the family's pressure, the girl
often vents her anger on him. As for him, he only endured it in
silence.

After a couple of years, the guy finally graduated & decided to
further his studies overseas. Before leaving, he proposed to the
girl:

"I'm not very good with words. But all I know is that I love you.
If you allow me, I will take care of you for the rest of my life. As
for your family, I'll try my best to talk them round. Will you marry
me?" The girl agreed, & with the guy's determination, the family finally
gave in & agreed to let them get married. So before he left, they
got engaged. The girl went out to the working society, whereas the guy
was overseas, continuing his studies. They sent their love through
emails & phone calls. Though it was hard, but both never thought of giving
up.

One day, while the girl was on her way to work, she was knocked
down by a car that lost control. when she woke up, she saw her parents
beside her bed. She realized that she was badly injured. Seeing her
mum crying, she wanted to comfort her. But she realized that all
that could come out of her mouth was just a sigh. she had lost her
voice....

The doctor says that the impact on her brain has caused her to lose
her voice. Listening to her parents' comfort, but with nothing
coming out from her, she broke down. During the stay in hospital, besides
silence cry,..it's still just silence cry that accompanied her.

Upon reaching home, everything seems to be the same. Except for the
ringing tone of the phone. Which pierced into her heart everytime it rang.

She does not wish to let the guy know & not wanting to be a burden to
him, she wrote a letter to him saying that she does not wish to wait any
longer.

With that, she sent the ring back to him. In return, the guy sent
millions & millions of reply, countless of phonecalls,. . all the
girl could do, besides crying, is still crying.... The parents decided
to move away, hoping that she could eventually forget everything & be
happy.

With a new environment, the girl learns sign language & started a
new life. Telling herself everyday that she must forget the guy. One
day, her friend came & told her that he's back. She asked her friend not
to let him know what happened to her. Since then, there wasn't anymore
news of him.

A year has passed & her friend came with an envelope, containing a
invitation card for the guy's wedding. The girl was shattered. When
she open the letter, she saw her name in it instead. When she was
about to ask her friend what's going on, she saw the guy standing
in front of her.

He used sign language to tell her "I've spent a year to learn sign
language. Just to let you know that I've not forgotten our promise.
Let me have the chance to be your voice. I Love You." With that, he
slipped the ring back into her finger. The girl finally smiled.


Treat every relationship as if it's the last one, then you'll know
how to Give. Treat every moment as is it's the last day, then you'll
know how to treasure.

Treasure what you have right now, or else you will
regret one day...

Nurse: "It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am ,
when an elderly gentleman, in his 80's, presented to have sutures
(stitches) removed from
his thumb.

He stated that he was in a hurry as he had an
appointment at 9:00 am . I
(nurse) took his vital signs and had him take a seat,
knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him.

I saw him looking at his watch and decided,

since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound. On exam
it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed
supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.

While taking care of his wound, we began to engage in
conversation.

Asked him if he had a doctor's appointment this morning
somewhere else, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he
needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she
had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer Disease.

As we talked, and I finished dressing his wound,

I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no
longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him. "And you are still
going every morning, even
though she doesn't know who you are?" He smiled as he
patted my hand and said. "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she
is."

I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps
on my arm, and
thought, "That is the kind of love I want in my life."

True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love
is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.

Good friends are like stars...You don't always see
them, but you always know they're there

Girl and a boy were on a motorcycle, speeding through the night.
They loved each other a lot.....
Girl:"slow down a little.. I'm scared.."
Boy: "No, it's so fun.."
Girl: "please..it's so scary.."
Boy: "Then say that you love me.."
Girl: "Fine..I love you..can you slow down now?"
Boy: "Give me a big hug.."
The girl gave him a big hug.
Girl: "Now can you slow down?"
Boy: "Can you take off my helmet and put it on? It's uncomfortable
and it's bothering me while i ride."
The next day, there was a story in the newspaper. A motorcycle had
crashed into a building because its brakes were broken. There were two
people on the motorcycle, of which one died, and the other had survived...The guy
knew that the brakes were broken. He didn't want to let the girl know,
because he knew that the girl would have gotten scared. Instead, he was told
the last time that she loved him,got a hug from her, put his helmet on her
so that she can live, and die himself...

Once in a while, Right in the middle of an ordinary life, Love
gives us a fairy tale...

Message "Life consists not in holding good cards but in playing
those you hold well"