Focus is sharp when we hunt.

When a  child’s born ,she usually cries

As the stimulation of birth  has its price.

Yet we must leave mother’s womb

Then create  a cocoon

Where our psyche a world may devize.

 

Metaphors spring up like  spring flowers.

Similes enchant by the hour.

How rich our own minds  may be

When we perceive all we see.

For relaxed eyes  don’t  enjoy being  narrowed.

 

Focus is sharp when we hunt.

Yet maintained it can too often stunt.

We need a  broad view,

As the owls always knew.

If only we saw back and front!

Use politeness instead of fear.

This is based partly on something I read years ago and partly on my own experience

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Relate to a painful emotion with curiosity,interest,acceptance or politeness instead of fear.

And do the same with people….

Because fear tightens us up and lessens our ability to perceive.And perception is  crucial in decision and judgment.Change your perceptions and you change yourself without force.Will power is force which often cannot achieve our longed for wishes and hopes.Snow will melt and fires will go out.But Wisdom is always here for those who can see

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Can you say “I was wrong”?

 Sydney Harris often used aphorisms in his writings, such as this excerpt from Pieces of Eight (1982):

“Superior people are only those who let it be discovered by others; the need to make it evident forfeits the very virtue they aspire to

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The owl can see with wide and narrow view

The owl can see with wide and narrow view
Focuses that poets and artists 
The broad sweep on the canvas makes a 
Where details and designs can have their space.

What God endowed the owl with such excess;
And all her progeny to enjoy bliss?
Is evolution but a narrow miss?
What  exquisite accident  made this?

Eagles,hawks and owls must kill to eat.
No blandishments nor kindness make them sweet.
What God could make an Eden this deceit;
Where lambs are snatched up while their mothers bleat

So God himself destroys to fill his leisure;
Such fearsome revelations show his measure.

SPINSTER by Sylvia Plath

 

Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious April walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds irregular babel
And the leaves’ litter.

By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover’s gestures unbalance the air,
Her gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower.
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.

How she longed for winter then! —
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock, each sentiment in border,
And heart’s frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.

But here — a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into vulgar motley —
A treason not to be borne. Let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.

And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, eithe