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Posts Tagged ‘Mahatma Gandhi quote’

An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind. 
― Mahatma Gandhi

Men willing to break their own arms
rather than race into fire and death,
war games played without winners.
The news spreads in endless loops
on screens with color but no dimension
while some watchers gasp, yet
others pass a bowl of snacks,
grateful the pain strikes in another
language, continent, time zone.

Human beings willing to reach
beyond a huff or pant. One country
touching another. One person
letting peace stretch beyond a closed
room. We will not let war
cage the world with hate. Or apathy.
Or depression. It will take time, but,
let us discover peace. Together.

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cat on chair

Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever. (Mahatma Gandhi).

As the age of 76 appears in my too-near future, I study acrylic painting. Its layers. Its idiosyncrasies. I tend to find optical illusions without trying. See how this twig seems to come directly from the child’s arm, my teacher says.

Nope, I hadn’t seen that at all.

I take flat stripes of one color and blend them into another with or without water depending upon the stage of development.

White paint makes colors opaque.

Green should contain more than one syllable. College art courses teach about this elusive color. For an entire semester. And more.

A drop or two of black added to cobalt blue brings down its power.

I watch the May leaves on the trees with fresh enthusiasm. The power of reflective light working with shadow.

The power of light and shadow in life. Both real. A memory of intense fear strikes me. Unexpectedly. I don’t deny it, but don’t embrace it either. I add another memory.

My grandson and I are gathering rocks in a wagon. “You won’t live forever,” he says.

“That’s right. So, let’s enjoy the sun today and get some more rocks.”

“Okay. Want to go up the street and look?”

I smile. Why not?

We come back to paint our collection. My grandson blends every color in a messy experiment. Gray. I watch as he explores. Perfection is not the goal. Celebration is.

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Truth alone will endure. All the rest will be swept away before the tide of time. (Mahatma Gandhi)

The bedroom clock is off. Ten minutes slow. I rely on those large bright digits. However, a clock can be forgiven, adjusted. It may be faulty but doesn’t have motives.

Recently I found myself forgiving someone—before I had come to terms with my own feelings about a simple incident. Yes, I believe in forgiveness, but truth needs to be faced first. I can’t begin with the second, higher flight of stairs. I need perspective. How I wish it came naturally.

That pause. That time to breathe and allow myself to recognize this moment, the next, and then the whole. Sure, I’m grateful not to be the hothead who begins with a lash-out. There is less repair later. However, I forget that as a tool for the greater good, rust spots in the mind ruin effectiveness.

Truth. Pure in its definition. Harassed in real life.

The world scene. The government in my own county. The greed, hate, horror, ignorance. People dismissed inside a prejudicial label. Never touched so that they can be viewed without names and lives. Left versus right when the two need to work in the same body.

I watch the injustice and fight despair, give what I can and let truth endure. Eventually. The world’s clock is off as toxic waste is dumped into the earth’s water. The less people have the more they pay. Yet many conned, poor, uneducated individuals honor a man who leads them into further destruction.

Somehow, with the help of hands willing to join, truth endures. I pray not to give up. A fight doesn’t need fists to be real.  The world doesn’t need debate, an I’m-right attitude. It needs integrity.

 

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ice storm January 20, 2012 (2)_LIWhatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it. (Mahatma Gandhi)

Sunday morning. My husband and I celebrate at a different church. With special friends. The minister’s topic for the day combines science with awe. He speaks about the universe. In context with spirituality.

The back row, where we placed ourselves, has little significance compared to the vastness of space, the alignment of the planets, the statistical possibilities for life to exist. Yet, I embrace the moment. Beauty lives immersed in the ugly, the grand, and the ordinary.

This church community is friendly and welcoming. “Hi, I think I saw you here once before,” a woman says, “a while back.” Wow, what a memory. I came last year, maybe. And I will return. On another special day.

Bare trees display the uneven shapes of their branches, while the seasons shift in the same semi-predicted pattern. Known. Unknown. Meshing together.

I notice the shadow

of a branch on brown grass

as if bright-sun shadows

on ground were brand new.

Both spine and chin

live in the same body

yet never face one another.

One planted seed and one kindness

grow in time and

belong to another universe.

 

 

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In a gentle way, you can shake the world (Mahatma Gandhi)

Perhaps everyone has heard some variation of the old joke: What’s the difference between major and minor surgery? If you are having it, it’s always major surgery. Someone I know and love is facing something huge in the next few weeks. I pray for her frequently. However my husband is approaching a simpler procedure with an overnight hospital stay now, this last week in January.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature is in a bitter mood. Below zero temperatures and brutal winds have closed schools. My loving mate is concerned for my safety, so I will be staying in a hotel for the duration. The hotel provides shuttle service.

My sister-in-law, Kris, calls and asks if I want company for a while when my husband is in surgery. I’m surprised and pleased. She works long hours at the hospital. Her gift of time is precious. I have this strange sense something special and unexpected will come from accepting her offer. I have no idea how right-on that omen is.

“I’ll meet you in the waiting room around seven,” she says. Then she calls my cell at seven fifteen, the exact moment when I leave the pre-op area to enter the waiting room. She locks my heavy coat, scarf, and backpack in her office. (Before the day has ended I have a suspicion that my coat and backpack would feel as if it had gained 150 pounds, probably more if aggravation could be measured.)

When my shoulders are free she gives me a tour of the hospital. This is significant since the only directions I know with any certainty are up and down. In the cafeteria she pays for my yogurt and coffee, Starbucks, the good stuff.

Somehow Kris has tapped into the spiritual realm of perfect timing. She calls exactly at the moment my husband is being brought to the Recovery Room and then again as he is wheeled into his room. That evening she appears just when I want something from my backpack before I go to the hotel. It’s uncanny! I feel a strange sense that all is well even though my husband’s recovery process hasn’t yet begun.

The next morning I ask at the front desk of the hotel where I can get some coffee. Transportation to the hospital may be free, but coffee isn’t. However, when I tell an employee at the restaurant that all I want is take-out coffee, something about me must bleed not-here-on-vacation. She gives me a complimentary cup of fresh, hot java. And I feel the blessings continue to flow—in the form of caffeine.

More incredibly timed situations occur. And I’m not sure what part my awareness plays on their sacredness. I do suspect that one goodness can touch another and then another, like ripples on a lake that travel from one shore to another.

I also believe that it is important to send those ripples back from the other shore and bless the original giver. Thanks, Kris. I wouldn’t have made it without you.

angels as ordinary people Optimisim Revolution

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