Mystical experiences of Blaise Pascal

Coping With Emotions – Coping With Emotions with Distraction

Who would make a better lover than a dentist?

The line of your lips is finely made,
as suffering accepted has transmuted pain
into a sculptor who
has given you much beauty;
yet the pain has shaped too
the eyes setting,
as if a slight question waits
in the back of your mind
asking,is this right?
and I perceive this and how you may suddenly tremble
with a memory too piercing;
yet how you love
the world so broken,
so humane
so vulnerable
so strong.
what are you saying to me?
I gather you ask me this:
Is it good to be alive?

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die.
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee

photo copyright Kate 1000 Dec 2011

Loneliness as a Mentor | Mentoring and Recovery:

‘via Blog this’

winter flowers

Winter weather,frosty skies,
See white geese and silver stars.
Two cooing doves with collars red,
Watching out for seeded bread.
From the sun ,low in the sky,
Light falls slantwise to my eyes.
Trees bud though invisibly,
Nothing that our eyes might see.
Bulbs shoot up from dark cold soil
Where worms and beetles quietly toil.
We take for granted air and sky,
Love the birds we see fly by
But who loves the worms and slugs
And those creatures known as bugs?
So in our dark. cold winter time,
Praise these creatures in the grime.
Without these worms ,our crops would die.
No cornfields for us to lie,
‘Midst the poppies bright red flowers,

Revelling in soft summery bowers.
Praise the snails and bees and ants
For these and spiders,let’s give thanks.
Yet summer lightness needs the dark.
From darkness come life giving sparks.
Enrich darkness with our gifts.
Look not always to the swift.
Slow and patient like these worms………………………..
Nature’s lowness is my theme.

by

I loved her for her dark blue eyes,
And her Le Creuset pot.
I loved her though she was naive,
As she was very hot.

I loved her curly golden hair.
I loved her home made jam.
But most of all,I loved her brain
And how she dealt with spam.

I loved to lick her bright pink lips
I loved to bite her ear.
But most of all,her innocence,
Which made me pull her near.

I liked to lick her face as well
I liked to touch her hair.
But it proved far too difficult
For she was rarely here.

I looked at all her photographs,
I looked at all her posts.
She has twenty boyfriends now,
Whom does she love the most?

I loved her breakfast coffee pot,
I loved her tea as well.
She fed me on her buttered toast,
The rest I shall not tell.

I was happy,I was sad.
Whatever should I do?
She has run off with a tramp
They met outside the Zoo.

She sent me a love letter once,
And now she sends a card
I wish that she’d leave me alone
Jealousy’s so hard.

My heart has got   so painful now,
I’m sitting in the bath.
The water is as black as coal,
And still I’m filled with wrath,

The final  leaves   loosen and glide.

The birds ride on the winds broad back,

They know no fear and nothing lack.

The air is filled with such small treasures,

My happy heart this wonder measures.

The clouds are deep and dark and grey

What   rain storms will they fetch our way>

The sun appears and gives a glow

Of yellow to bare branches low.

Red berries are still there like flowers

Upon  the holly’s pointing tower.

Sharp thorns protect the smallest birds,

And from inside, chirrups are heard.

Later on the blackbird sings,

And so much sweetness nature brings.

As I turn my mind from in to  out,

I feel salvation for my doubts.

I know that I’m part of the whole,

And with all life I share my soul.

In this peaceful place I rest,

And with love’s eloquence I’m blessed.

There’s singing in my inner heart.

Like bees   to flowers,my fears depart

•  

    I am now very happy,extremely happy,with my bike.

• But after riding it and having coffee in a small yet delightful coffee jar [yes,instant service[
  talking to an old acquaintance I suddenly felt very odd.
  Everything looked strange.
  Was I about to have a funny turn?Whatever that means.
  No,I didn’t have a hangover [if only]
  or a adverse reaction to heroin,lsd,cocaine or codeine or tea.
  I decided it was the heat in the shop and me having a coat on..
  On coming outside I had a freaky feeling… that
  I should go home.The bike was great.As I approached the main road
  and the pavement I tried to go onto last Sunday
  I said to myself,No,you’re not going up there ever again,Kathryn!
  Then what happened?
  My front wheel turned right,I crossed the road
  and there I was,
  riding on the pavement up to the zebra crossing.
  Who’s in control here?
  Have I been invaded by some other unearthly creature?
  I then got on my bike,thank you Norman Tebbit,
  and rode to my front gate.
  What’s this ?
  A message from God?
  Do I have dual or even triple personalities living inside me?
  I’m afraid I can’t tell anyone at the moment.
  But I have an appointment tomorrow with my doctor
  so I guess the blood tests have come back
  He only took 8 phials this time.
  What luck,he left me some blood behind,otherwise I’d be pinned up
  on the wall like a drying bunnch of herbs.
  Or maybe he’d have put me between the pages of a heavy book
  and made me into a dried flower.
  No,flower ,not flour.
  Then he could have made me into a calendar for 2012
  or a wall hanging.
  It’s cheaper than a funeral and your family can
  see you hanging there ,smiling distantly in your best dress/bib and tucker etc.
  Anyway,I’m still here
  but instead of wheezing my chest is mioawing now.
  I might frighten someone,I hope.
  So in the morning,I suppose i’ll have to take a wash at least.
  Maybe I should soak in biological detergent and put
  myself through a cycle in the washing machine.
  I’d feel ashamed if the doctor thought I was dirty.
  But how clean do you have to be to be really clean?
  Standards keep changing and you know I normally only wash on Sundays
  to please the lord ie my husband.
  He likes me natural.He says makeup makes me look worse,my hair looks better uncombed.
  and what’s wrong with having twisted feet,anyway?
  As long as I’m smiling,he’s happy
  .I might be dead,but hey,I’m still smiling,Lord!
  PS Just a virus,~I believe.I’ve never seen one yet but t

cries out like a bugle

playing “The last post.”

The eyes of the lost   ask me to tell

what is unspeakable,

but I have nothing

except to ask why bugles are not played for you

at Remembrance Ceremonies.

Were you not soldiers too

fighting for the right to breathe?

The “right to life,”

As you dragged yourself off the  truck

Not quite believing but

Yet ,yes,believing,.paradoxically that

Soon  you would be silent amd still.

Your teeth carefully taken for gold”

Yes,they were green alright

Recycling was very important to the Nazi..

One might almost say they were the pioneers here..

So was hygiene. They practised so well

How to wash theiir hands clean from guilt,

So much soap they needed

So they could play Mozart

and tenderly touch their children

Then sleep on clean linen enjoying such dreams.

Soon the world would be perfect.

all in order,all tidied away,

Unique ,complete, orderly ,dead..

Yes, death of everything w as the real final solution.

All packed away in boxes,

Waiting for the Resurrrection.

How far is it to heaven from where we started?

Wiould Jesus like to meet you now,,to greet you,

So pure,clean and perfect?

You have cut out your own heart with the breadknife

Because it troubled you so,beating like that.

When you were only doing your duty.

Doing what men have to do.

A dove flew up as the agnostic man comforted the  frightened boy

And hand in hand they died right there

At the foot of the Cross.

Which you revered,I believe.

But it was your son there hanging

 So,who are you?