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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Daily Cascade
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas "  became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one.
Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.
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Prompt:
“True friendship resists time, distance, and silence.”
Isabel Allende
In your opinion, what is true friendship?
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I really cannot tell how a true friendship starts. In relation to my true friendship, especially the one I have with my cousin, which is still going on while we are both in our eighties, plus those good friendships I've noticed among other people, I came to understand that a personal pick on values and likes and dislikes has nothing to do with it. Possibly because two people are thrown together by fate and they ended up liking each other and kept up their communication throughout a lifetime.
That true friend for life need not be a family member, however. My younger son's truest friend was our neighbor's son across the street. Both kids were in diapers when they first began to like each other. Over the years, their lives took different turns and they live in two different states, now. To this day, fifty years later, they are best friends.
So, I'm guessing that the foundation of a strong friendship has to be based upon respect and appreciation that go both ways. This means accepting the other person for who they are, flaws and all, and valuing them. When such an acceptance happens, trust steps in as the backbone of the relationship, carrying with it honesty and unconditional support. For example, my cousin won't blink an eye before telling me where I've gone wrong, but she'll also support me in my decisions and will help me when I need help. We both cheer each other on with whatever we each do, celebrating our triumphs, and offering a good ear and heartfelt advice during setbacks.
In any case, a true friendship that lasts a lifetime values quality of a good connection over the numerous quantities of other flimsy connections.
Then, also, there may be something else that our eyes and minds miss. I call it fate. Others may call it something else, maybe a quantum something. I sometimes wonder if that extra stuff has anything to do with a yet-unknown micro-emotional-wave or something similar. I don't exactly know. Whatever it is, it is complex, but it is there, because I can sense it is there. And I for one, am very grateful for its existence.
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Prompt:
"We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams."
Jeremy Irons
In what ways and how do you think memories and dreams are related?
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I'm not so sure about dreams taking us forward, unless one substitutes the word "dreams" for wishes. From where I stand, dreams are what our minds conjure up as we sleep.
In fact, memories and dreams are intimately tied together. They are tied with the same threads spun by our minds, although they serve different purposes and have different rules.
I can't talk for everyone's mind, but from where I stand, I think, my mind constantly gathers experiences. Some of those experiences I may not consciously notice, but some feelings stick to me and sometimes drift to the edges of my mind. Those are the ones I minimize or don't face too sincerely. Then, in my sleep they pop up in some weird form, attaching fragments of this and that in strange yet vivid ways, and they combine and mix memories to make a new, fleeting experience.
Also, I wonder if dreams can shape memories. Only because some of my dreams are so real! So real that they feel as if they are truer than what happens in my waking hours. How does something imagined plus something lived add up and come out with such clarity, and sometimes weirdness too, is beyond me. Just maybe, such a dream has tapped into something deeply emotional.
So, I ask myself, "Is my mind always searching for a story, so it makes up all this?" Yet, it isn't the story itself, is it! There has to be a deeper link.
That link has to be something that makes me process myself. Memory is identity building the self. Yet, dreams can be an exploration; an exploration of what I haven't said out loud or haven't faced squarely on my own. Either way, they are both imperfect and shapeshifting.
Still, the enigma isn't solved for me. This is because when I take another look at my dreams, I wonder how my mind knew my young, healthy cousin was suddenly dying at the other end of the world, at the same exact time that she died. At that exact time, she came to me in a dream and said goodbye and said that she had to go away. This wasn't the only occasion. There were other similar dreams, too, that shook me to the core, and I have no explanation for any one of them.
The only thing I can assume is that we are bound to one another with more ties than we know about. Those ties can be physical, emotional, or in some kind of a wave form, which some spiritual paths insist on their existence. Or maybe something even more complex.
Who knows? Certainly not my limited brain and mind.
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Prompt:
"We can just let July be July, let the sun hang in the sky, clear your mind of all the things you're waiting on." — Lily Williams
Let this quote inspire your entry today.
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When I first saw this quote, I thought to myself, "Why July?" Obviously, Lily Williams isn't really talking about July but something much more than the meaning of a month.
When I lived in more temperate climates, July was a month to look forward to. The weather would be quite nice, and also, I could swim in July without the need of a heated pool. Yes, there were some hot days, but we also had the seaside.
However now, in where I live, July means the beginning of the hurricane season and I watch it arrive with trepidation because I can't clear my mind of what I should do to prepare and take precautions for what's next.
So, regardless of my mind's wanderings, I'm taking Williams's words as an invitation to pause and breathe and not to chase, fix, or hurry. Obviously, she has taken July as a symbol for surrender.
Since this world--with ourselves included--measures us by our productivity and our plans, her message here can be: Stop counting and stop waiting. There will always be things unfinished such as the unanswered email, the unreturned call, the plans for tomorrow. In other words, we don't have to shape every moment, every second into something useful.
This is because when we clear our minds of what's next we may just discover what's now, what's here at the present time.
Still, in July until the end of November, my "presence" in the "now" is a shaky one, and I can easily blame it on the hurricanes.
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Prompt:
Let these quotes from 3 very different men inspire your entry today-
“Words are where most change begins.” ―Brandon Sanderson
“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” ―Nelson Mandela
“If you want to change the world, pick up your pen and write.” ―Martin Luther
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I don't think I can change the world, at all, but I'll try to write something that may unite these three quotes. Just maybe, I might be able to pull it. Since I like to begin at the beginning of everything, here it goes.
Way back when, long before we knew about computer screens or books and such, human beings painted and carved on cave walls and stone tablets. This was their form of writing. They did this to preserve what they saw, understood, and felt as meaning, throughout their lifetimes.
The same is true of writing. It is more than ink on page or blocks of sentences on the computer screen. It is our means through which we express truth as we see it while we use our memory, imagination, and education.
Then, education itself offers structure to that writing and sharing. It does this by teaching us to arrange our thoughts, to read symbols, to read carefully others' works, and the most important of all, to question what we are being told. This means for us to learn how to think, wonder, and communicate precisely and deeply with one another. In other words, education turns the words we use into tools for thinking and understanding.
This is because words are power. They stand at the heart of everything. They make the invisible, visible. They can unite people in love or they can turn conflicts and misunderstandings into wars. They can inspire. They can destroy. They can oppress. They can liberate. The wrong word can echo forever while the right word at the right time can change a life for the better.
Words are the core of laws, prayers, promises, and stories. They shape the way we see ourselves and how we see the world. Words let us talk with meaning and understand what we read. When we read, we take a look at another's soul. When we write, we give shape to our own thoughts.
We must, therefore, use words well, but at the same time, protect them, too. We must not use them haphazardly or just to vent off anger. This is because they are more than tools. This is because they can heal or destroy, or they can make or break. This is because they are our very own breath of civilization.
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Prompt:
"Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale."
Hans Christian Anderson
Use this Prompt in your Blog entry today.
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Princess Megan Rose  ,  you just gave us a quote from the hero of my childhood. Still, I have to ask myself, "Is life really a fairy tale?"
Answering this question, "Just maybe," I have to say... unless one becomes hopelessly stuck on the "happily ever after" part. Other than that, life really is a story with potential dragons, magic, adventure, and also hopefully, some imagination thrown into the mix as well.
Yet, most importantly, life means transformation. If you take any fairy tale, it has the lesson of transformation in it. And so is life. In it, we are constantly evolving, learning, accepting, feeling, and growing. No wonder some spiritual people look at life as the "big schoolhouse!"
This is probably why, as tests and exams, demons and dragons are everywhere, external or internal, such as self-doubt, fear of failure, a negative self-image or maybe even a too-positive one. The possibilities are endless.
But then, there is also a sweet side to this fairy tale, such as its magic in the form of the kindness of strangers, the power of love, and our belief in something much bigger than our puny selves. This magic, we sometimes don't notice while we hustle through our hours and days, but it is there, always. All we need to do to see and feel that magic when we accept any imperfections and our own strength.
This is because no fairy tale is perfect. And it is the same with our lives.
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Prompt: "Isn't it good just to be alive on a day like this?" Describe a perfect day.
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I don't know what a perfect day would be like. Then, maybe if one accepts all the ups and downs, any day could be deemed perfect. I think, therefore, whether a day is perfect or not depends on our assessment of it.
Then sometimes, a simple, almost eventless day could seem perfect to some; however, if we had such days one after the other, we would be bored stiff, wouldn't we? This means a perfect day is a subjective experience because what one person considers a perfect day might differ from another's ideal day.
As to the quote in the prompt, I think it is good to be alive on any day. We are alive, according to my thinking, because it is the only thing we know and just maybe, there are a few good reasons in being alive for us to find out.
Some of those good reasons could be: we get to experience the beauty of the natural world; all the people we love who love us in return; we grow and change every day, sometimes in slow increments, other times suddenly and in a huge way; we get to help others as helping others has a built-in satisfaction in itself; then, we may experience the joy of discovery of ideas, people, and best yet, ourselves.
May all our days be perfectly satisfactory!
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Prompt: Strange Phenomenon
What is a strange phenomenon to you? Is it strange because we humans still don't understand it or do you believe there is something mystical or magical behind it?
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A strange phenomenon, for me, would be if we could never ever explain it. This is because what seems to be a mystical and magical myth can turn out to be some misunderstood truth.
A case in point: The Northern Lights, once believed to be spirits dancing in the sky, are now understood as solar particles interacting with Earth’s atmosphere. That false understanding, however, didn’t make them any less beautiful or mysterious, but it only deepened our awe of them.
Then, I wouldn't really call something supernatural if I don't have all the facts about it. That thing could be just an unnoticed fact, such as radio waves floating through our air, as possibly are other such unknown waves.
So are strange phenomena mystical or real? Who knows! "Even those that are truly beyond our natural laws?" one might ask. I would reply, do we really understand or know all the natural laws? Then, what is natural to us earthlings may not be so natural to those who might be living at the outer edges of the universe and even those in other parallel universes, if there are such things.
Still, myth and magic are fun. So just maybe, the real magic lies in our willingness to wonder and imagine.
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Prompt: Maps
With all the latest technological advances, maps are becoming something of the past, since we have other types of navigational tools in our cars. With that in mind, do you still use a map, and do you think maps can still be of use to us?
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I don't think maps are totally disappearing. Just maybe, they are evolving like everything else. As to being navigational tools, they don't offer us just directions but a way of seeing the world in relation to where we are.
Then, there are such things as navigational and interactive maps that are designed for hiking trails, for directions to landmarks, for the possible use of food trucks, and for the use of other vehicles that may be used to move people with the contents of their homes from one city to another. These save time and adjust to detours or traffic in real time. This is important because the old kinds of folded paper maps couldn't tell us anything about real time, could they!
Plus, GPS has narrowed my vision to my immediate route, also. On the other hand, lost to me are the romance of the road-trip maps and atlases, the instant locating of a broader area, how cities connect or rivers bend, and how elevation changes. I recall, way back when, how important that road-trip map was before my husband and I set upon a driving trip.
So now, in hindsight, just maybe, the maps are still there, but in the background. This is because maps are hidden inside the apps, websites, and services we so depend on. I think. now, they are also in the mind of the GPS in my car, not that I have used the GPS in years.
Yet, I still look at some real maps to see Europe, South America, and the rest of the world at one glance, just to remember, maybe, once upon a time, that traveling bug which had gotten under my skin.
While writing this entry, I also recalled those large three-dimensional globes that most of us had inside our homes as if they were a part of us. My sons, when they were little, loved to make ours turn fast and make the whole globe seem to flow into a single blur...as if the entire earth became fluid and we all belonged to the same world.
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Prompt: Monsters
What comes to your mind when someone mentions monsters? In other words, what is a monster to you?
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From where I stand, a monster is someone or something that acts against the accepted laws of people, groups, or countries. Monsters can take mythical, physical, or psychological forms. In fiction, they can be vampires, werewolves, demons, etc., and in fairy tales they shape-shift to lure the innocent with charm before revealing their true nature.
Although, some stories flip the idea and make the monster a misunderstood hero. Remember The Beauty and the Beast? In this tale, the Beast is written to remind us not to judge by appearances or by sweet or sour talk.
Fact is, on the surface, a monster is something that stands outside of the boundaries of what we know or accept as being decent. So, we describe some people as monsters due to what they do, not what they look like. A smiling face might mask cruelty. A charming leader who insists he or she loves peace and prosperity, might rule with manipulation and harm, disregarding all the rules of their country and international laws, plus any understanding of what humanity is.
So, the monster becomes a concept or rather a label for behavior that terrifies, corrupts, or destroys. In real life, therefore, I believe, they are not really human, but only in human form to fool and hoodwink their stupid followers.
They do this by playing or reflecting on our fears and flaws, such as: the fear of the unknown or little known, the fear of losing control, the fear of being hunted and eaten, and the worst, the fear of ourselves, when jealousy, rage, greed, or love of fame and fortune win us over.
Then...monsters teach lessons, warn us about the danger of themselves, and what they can really be capable of doing, and if not always but sometimes...they mirror us.
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Prompt:
What comes to mind when you hear "Waiting for Godot"?
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Hahaha! I remember my uncle making fun of this play. Is Godot coming or not? When will he come? Gosh, he ain't coming! What'll we do, now? Oh, wait some more. He is coming! He has to be coming!
At the time, some said Godot was the synonym for 'God' however, I tend to differ. God isn't that wishy washy with His decisions...unlike a certain politician we all know.
Now, back to Godot! In this play by Beckett, two guys--named Estragon and Vladimir--meet by a tree at dusk. And here starts the weirdness. Why would these two men meet by a tree at dusk? Btw, being in my teens, I had, at the time, thought Estragon was another word for estrogen, but I was wrong. If I weren't, the play would be more fun, come to think of it.
But I digress. Again! Coming back to that Godot character, his second name is probably "Absurd" since the whole play seemed to be. But this was okay, then, for during the late 1950s,anything absurd was hailed as the smartest thing ever created. In the same vein, the idea of the absurd seems to rule the entire play. And it pained me to see online that Broadway would be showing it again this fall in 2025, if World War III doesn't get us all, by then.
"Waiting for Godot will begin previews at Broadway's Hudson Theatre on September 13, 2025."
No wonder there's that number 13 in there, somewhere.
Maybe, with all the waiting and absurdity surrounding our world, we are all trying to give meaning to the meaningless itself.
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Prompt: By Lyn
I'm setting the scene, and giving you the opening line and you're writing what happens next: It's evening and there's a mist rolling in this small town. Begin your entry with-- I've never felt so alone.
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Still Searching... (a story)
I've never felt so alone, until then, while the mist crept in like a secret, winding its way through the narrow streets of Glen Hollow. Glen Hollow is a sleepy little town with one blinking stoplight and a diner that still served its apple pie like it was 1951.
And there I was, again, in Glen Hollow, I walked at the edge of the old bridge...the one the kids said was haunted but adults just called unlucky, while I watched the world fade into grays and shadows.
My boots made no sound on the damp wood of the bridge. The river below gurgled softly, its voice muffled by the thickening air. The wind carried a strange stillness, as if the town was holding its breath.
I pulled my jacket tight and looked back at the trail of warm light behind me: porch lamps, the neon hum of Barrow’s gas station, a few Christmas lights still clinging to the Callahan's Inn. Then I looked ahead, into the fog swallowing the rest of the bridge.
That’s where he’d disappeared.
Ned.
Ned, the only one who ever understood me. The one who knew what it would be like for me...to feel...after him. And this town, now, had pressed its thumb on my chest, just hard enough to keep me coming here, again and again.
Ned, the only one who could make me laugh when all I wanted was to cry and scream. Until five years ago, when he’d walked out into this mist, just like I was doing now, but Ned never came back.
“Don’t go lookin’,” the sheriff had said, avoiding my eyes. “Sometimes folks don’t want to be found.”
But Ned did. I knew it in my bones.
I took a step forward.
The air thickened. It smelled of river moss and something older, stranger—like pages of forgotten books or memories buried too deep. I heard a creak ahead of me... and footsteps.
“Ned?” I called.
Silence.
Then, the mist shifted. Not parted, but shifted. Like something large had moved just ahead of me. I should’ve turned around, should’ve gone home to Florida, and should’ve told myself it was nothing. But I was here and I kept walking.
Halfway across the bridge, I saw something. A shape. Tall, not quite human. Cloaked in mist. And beside it—NED.
Or the shadow of him. Pale, eyes wide, hand stretched toward me but unmoving.
“Ned!” I shouted, breaking into a run.
But the closer I got, the farther away he seemed, as if the bridge was stretching with my every step. The figure near Ned turned to look at me. No face. Just a sense of looking.
Then, everything dropped silent.
Ned was gone. I stood still.
And the mist swallowed everything.
The next thing I knew, I was on my knees at the edge of the bridge, gasping for air. The mist was thinner now. Lights from town flickered weakly in the distance. No one else was there.
Except for something in my hand.
A key. Rusted. Cold.
Tied to it with a bit of string was a note in Ned’s handwriting.
"Don’t trust the fog. But don’t stop looking."
I'd never felt so alone...but now, I knew. Somehow, I wasn’t the only one searching.
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Prompt: What do you want to let go of? Write about this in your Blog entry today.
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Right now, I want to let go of worrying about the World War III. I just hope people and countries do not take sides and let the fights take their own course, and most importantly, let the rest of us live in peace.
Although the idea is still a a hypothetical future global conflict, I don't like my country and other countries in the world taking sides in any squirmish or battle between any other two nations. I think anyone who starts a fight or anyone who instigates one should face a boycott of international relations and even commerce. That should be as far as things should go.
Just imagine what a war could do, involving all of the great powers, as in WWI and WWII, plus the use of nuclear weapons or other weapons of mass destruction. Don't nations know they will be destroying everything and even the planet?
As Gandhi said, "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."
There will be no winners if such a thing would happen, and unfortunately, we the people can do nothing about it.
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Prompt: What does the sky look like today? How does it make you feel?
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Right now, at 12.06 p.m., the sky is clear blue with a fluffy white dot on the horizon, a fluffy cumulus cloud I believe. It looks pretty but like all pretty things it is misleading, tricky, and illusory. The reason is, it is hot out, 95 degrees now and the temp will probably rise more during the next few hours. It goes to show that one shouldn't equate beauty with trustworthiness.
When it comes to trustworthiness, our South Florida sky is a stage for dramatic weather events. Sometimes, sudden ostentatious afternoon thunder storms erupt here with an impressive power. Yet, that's only the beginning of it. The rumble of a passing cloud and thunder is nothing compared to what the coming seasons, late summer and early fall, might bring. Yes, I'm talking of hurricanes loaded with tornadoes inside them. So here in Florida, we start worrying when mid-June arrives. Well, at least I do.
While nature can be theatrical here with all its fury, possibly after July 15, it is also very pretty with the early morning and late evening skies. Sunrise and sunset arrive with humidity over the low-lying land, scattering the sunlight and creating lovely displays of color with oranges, pinks, and purples bleeding into one another.
So right now, it is only midday and the beauty of the blue is out there, above me, but then, I know better. I know not to be fooled by beautiful things, mesmerizing though they may be.
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Prompt: Typos
Does a typo annoy you? And can a typo ever lead to a misunderstanding or maybe even to an idea for a story or poem?
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Since I'm having a tiny bit of a problem with my eyesight recently, in addition to the smaller keyboard of the new laptop where my fingers end up hitting the wrong key, I keep making, no, I keep committing, typos a lot, whereas much earlier, I'd do next to nothing of the sort. Looking over what I write helps, but that's not always possible and neither is it reliable. So, yes! Typos I make annoy me greatly. I can, however, overlook typos in others' writing.
On the negative side, a typo in a cover letter or a business email can hurt credibility. Then, a typo on social media is liable to mark a person for a long time, especially if a typo is a missing letter, such as the missing l in the word public. The worse is when I reread what I write before I send or post it, I might not catch that missing "l" and neither would AI or any other misfiring autocorrect.
As in the word public with the missing l, a misplaced letter, an omitted word, or switched around syllables can turn a serious or a heartfelt text into something nonsensical or downright embarrassing.
Then, what if typos aren't just mistakes but they are sparks for the imagination instead? Just picture someone writing 'grape expectations' instead of Great Expectations! While this could turn Charles Dickens in his grave, another writer could end up with a winning parody. Then, what if we talk about the angles in heaven instead of the angels in heaven? Can you imagine all those angles the residents of heaven may have to contend with?
So, in this light, typos can act as portals opening to strange, funny, or eerie dimensions, to inspire us writers. This is even though typos may frustrate editors and writers themselves. I will, therefore, think twice over any typo I commit, since I have now looked at this situation from both angles, with all the writing angels hovering above me.
Now, what are typos for? Nuisance or opportunity? I think it all depends on the eyes that catch them and what those eyes are willing to see.
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Prompt: Getting Along
What do you think can be done to help people, groups, or countries with different opinions get along better?
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At this point, right now, it seems the bottom hole of the world has enlarged greatly and all the rotten stuff is getting out poisoning all of us. As to the groups and countries, enmity, negative competition, one-up-man-ship and old grudges are leading to all out wars.
The way I see it, while differences in opinion are natural, conflict in all its forms should be avoided. Better results can be had with a mix of empathy, communication, and mutual respect.
But then, how do we do it? First, by not taking sides, especially when a conflict has flared up somewhere or in some group or country or between two people. Second, we can encourage open dialogue without either side fearing being attacked or silenced. People, as well as groups and countries need to be heard.
Then, all listeners, if an open dialogue can be achieved, should try to understand both sides by asking clarifying questions and paying close attention to the details. A warning here, though, if either side feels their perspective isn't respected, the dialogue ends.
Also, even in the most divided situations, there will be something both sides care about. Identifying and pointing our those shared values can usually lead to cooperation and joint effort.
In addition, showing empathy to both sides, to show them what it's like to be in the other's shoes, can soften rigid thinking. Understanding motivations and struggles of the other side may change the view of the opposing side. With international diplomacy, neutral parties who use empathy to both sides are very effective to lessen the tension between nations.
Plus, leading by example can start a worldwide change. Take the recent flare up between two Middle-Eastern countries, for example. Many nations, including ours, started right away to take sides. This is not good for world peace and it will ruin both those countries in question.
Leaders of the world who show respect, patience, and kindness, even toward those they disagree with, can influence others to do the same. Change often starts with one good example. I certainly hope my country will provide that example and bring about a lasting world peace.
After all, when all is said and done, I can only hope, can't I!
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Prompt: Father's Day
Why should Father's Day be celebrated? And who is or was the most impactful father figure in your life? What has he taught you?
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Why? Because it has to do with tradition, gifts, and heartfelt appreciation. This day, today, goes far beyond a celebration and its material gifts. It has to do with the deep love and appreciation for the men who shape their children's lives. This is mostly due to the multi-faceted roles fathers play.
In fact, the celebration and the Father's Day was founded in the beginning of the last century by a woman who was solely raised by her father. Yet, this day isn't for the single fathers who do such a great job with their offspring. It is also for the men who are caregivers and companions, mentors and guides, role models and sources of strength to their children. Such men may not be their children's biological fathers, all the time. Sometimes, it is a male family member or friend who takes on the duty of a father when biological father is not in the picture.
Such men did father me and I am very grateful for their attentions. This was because I was born during World War II and my biological father was away at the time. By the time the war ended and he showed up, he and my mother couldn't get it together, and he moved out. Then, after some time later, he suddenly passed away in an accident. If I put all the days that I have been with my biological father, their count would end up to, at best, being a month and a half. Due to my then age, it is a miracle that I still have flashes of remembrances and even some very good-sized memories of him.
After him, the first person in the family who took over was my mother's uncle who was a doctor and he felt and understood about the empty space in my young life. He asked me to address him as Daddy, and I did. And he was a true father to me in every way possible until he passed away when I was eleven.
Then, two of my uncles who were my mother's cousins took over. Both were wonderful men, but I was more impressed with one of them who was into literature and words and he encouraged me to keep writing. I am always very grateful for these men who went out of their way, to the extent of paying less attention to their own children, at times. I believe I was one of the luckiest orphans who wasn't really fatherless.
So, Father's Day is a multi-dimensional celebration for me as it made me appreciate not only the men in my life but all the dads and father-figures in the world.
Happy Father's Day, Writing.com!
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Prompt: Have fun with these words- subitaneous, reflect, address, wave, fuss, restrict, key, waist, and chronography
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Doing My Best
I write, I try, I do my best
to *address the heart within my chest
then, a *subitaneous *wave rolls by,
I can't stop to worry or question why
I try to *reflect, to still the *fuss
for clocks *restrict what's left of us
I tie a tight belt around my *waist,
to slow the march, to savor the taste
of *chronography and days past,
the hours are *keys for moments to last
so, for the heart within my chest
I write, I try, I do my best
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Prompt:
Friday the 13th is considered an unlucky day in Western superstition. Did you know according to the Stress Management Center and Phobia Institute in Asheville, North Carolina, an estimated 17–21 million people in the United States are affected by Paraskevidekatriaphobia (fear of Friday the 13th), making it the most feared day and date in history.
Are you superstitious? Do you know people who are afraid of Friday the 13th? Do you carry some kind of lucky charm? Do you avoid activities because of the date?
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I don't know anyone who is afraid of Friday the 13th, and I certainly hope I'm not superstitious at all. But then, I grew up with a mother who was extremely superstitious just about anything. Luckily, I had my uncles come to the rescue. They kept scolding my mother and told me not to believe and follow her ways.
One of my mother's superstitions was not to do the laundry on a Saturday. She wasn't Jewish, so that wasn't it. Still, she made such a fuss over it that, to this day, decades after her passing, I feel funny when I do the wash on a Saturday. So, I might be participating in superstitious thinking or behavior, often without even realizing I'm doing it.
Another one was, eating standing up. "Don't eat standing up. Satan will steal your food from inside you." But then, there was a time I had to eat lunch standing up because the school cafeteria would be so crowded that there was no place to sit and they had high tables without chairs for those of us who had to eat standing up. I bet no one had their food stolen from inside them because they had to eat standing up.
The list of my mother's superstitions are endless, but I don't recall her being afraid of Friday the 13th or the number 13 itself. I still wonder about the psychology behind her magical thinking, and if it was hurting or helping her and by extension, yours truly.
As to the origin of superstitions, I'm guessing they are born either from the fear of living or from ritualistic behavior, only because I have noticed that when I don't do what I have set as a ritual, I feel uneasy. Such as in the mornings when I first get up my ritual is bathroom, wash up, get dressed, make the bed, get breakfast. So far I've never had breakfast without making the bed, first. If I step away from a ritual, I feel uneasy. Is it me or my mother's influence, I haven't decided yet.
In essence, I believe that those who favor superstitions too much are suffering from an anxiety disorder, only because I have seen it in my mother and in others like her that those who are the most superstitious are people who worry a lot and become anxious about any new change in their lives.
Then, maybe, most of the superstitions people engage in are perfectly fine, and not pathological. This may be because the superstitions do help people to make them feel they have control over their environment and the events in their lives. This may be a false feeling, but it may help them deal with difficult times and boring everyday lives.
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Prompt: How do you approach self reflection and how has it impacted your understanding of life? Write about this in your Blog entry today.
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Self-reflection for me is like holding up a mirror to better see myself and understand who I have been and who I am becoming. Sometimes, this mirror enlarges the image and sometimes erases parts of it. Still, it helps me to deal with life and to understand my own behavior as well as that of others. In other words, mostly, it is like chewing the fat on myself.
Why do I do it? At first, we were taught how to do it in the psychology class in college. That was an eye-opener for me. It gave me the awareness that I was neither to be applauded for my good sides nor to be blamed for my faults. In that class, I learned that our experiences in childhood, especially during our formative years made us who we are. Even so, no one is to be blamed since it is our own psyche, here, and it is up to us to fix what's wrong and what's missing.
So, since to fix or make better who we are is up to us especially during our adult years, it doesn't help to blame our parents, failed relationships, or even our children for our misery or shortcomings. Heck, I wouldn't touch my children in this. I think both my sons are very good people, and they are especially good with self-reflection about themselves, maybe better than I am at mine, but I might be prejudiced in the matter by a lot.
I think self-reflection, whether done regularly or whenever we feel like it, gives us the insight into what works and what doesn't, and instead of suppressing or ignoring emotions, we end up exploring them to understand their source and hopefully manage them in healthier ways.
Another positive on the matter is that some self-reflection improves our decision-making, because this way, we make our decisions to fit our needs, our lifestyle, and our environment with family and friends. We also become more empathetic, open-minded, and less likely to project our issues onto parents and other loved ones.
Then, in the process, we begin to see what truly matters to us, even if mistakes are inevitable; however, reflecting on them can turn them into learning opportunities. In other words, we can grow from setbacks instead of wallowing in grief or self-hate.
Having said all this, I can think of many people I know who blame other people and events a lot for the mishaps in their lives. Yet, I don't fault them because life is hard and frequently offers hardships, tragedies, and unexpected turns. I believe we all try to deal with our own actions and what happens to us the best we can.
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Prompt: Life
"Life is a song - sing it. Life is a game - play it. Life is a challenge - meet it. Life is a dream - realize it. Life is a sacrifice - offer it. Life is love - enjoy."
Sai Baba
What do you love about life?
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To begin with I love this quote. However, do I do what it suggests? Nope, not all of it and not all the time.
This may be because I am not good at challenges and contests, anymore. Maybe it is because of my age. Nowadays, I shy away from challenges or contests, even those lovely contests here in WdC I used to so love, once upon a time.
Okay, still, I have a love for life, be it dimmed somewhat. Life can be messy, unpredictable or overwhelming, but it has truly precious moments I may tend to overlook. So I stick to those moments like flotation devices in deep water.
Then, there are the sensations, some physical, others imagined: warmth of the sun on my skin, the taste of my favorite food, the sound of my son's laughter, the pretty sight of the first rose on my new rosebush, my cousins' voices saying hello on the phone from all over the world...All these small pleasures echo inside me even after they end.
Surely, writing and reading, and learning something new each day, be it how to cook something or a new word in a language I once studied, help me embrace a new understanding, a new passion, or a new skill. Not only these things give me the satisfaction of accomplishment, but also, they encourage my curiosity for further explorations.
Ultimately, what I love about life is a deeply personal journey of discovery. It's about identifying what truly sparks a happy feeling, what ignites my passion, and what gives me a sense of purpose.
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