#renewal — Public Fediverse posts

A Stray Thunderstorm

A stray thunderstorm visited this morning—

as though it had wandered from the flock,
lost its place in the procession of weather,
and found itself alone above our town.

It arrived without ceremony. No long darkening of the horizon, no warning drums rolling in from the west—only a sudden stirring of leaves, a low mutter beyond the rooftops, and then the rain, falling hard against the windows as though the sky had remembered something painful.

I wondered what makes a storm stray.

Had it broken away from some greater disturbance? Had the wind carried it where it had never intended to go? Or had it come precisely here, to this small patch of earth, bearing a message meant for no one in particular?

We often speak of straying as though it were a failure—a departure from the correct path, a drifting from purpose. But perhaps some things must stray before they can arrive. Seeds stray from their fields. Birds stray from their familiar routes. Thoughts wander from the work before us and discover something hidden. Even grace, at times, seems to stray across the borders we have drawn for it, falling on the undeserving, the unsuspecting, the unprepared.

The storm did not remain long. It spent itself quickly, leaving puddles trembling beneath the trees and drops shining along the telephone wires. Soon, the sun returned, almost apologetically, illuminating everything the rain had touched.

By noon, there may be no evidence that the storm was ever here.

But for a few moments, the morning was interrupted. The ordinary world was shaken awake. The garden drank. The dust settled. The air became new.

Perhaps that is what a stray thunderstorm is for: not to alter the whole season, but to interrupt one morning—to remind us that even a wandering cloud can carry thunder, that brief things may still be powerful, and that what appears to have lost its way may arrive exactly where it is needed.

What Is My Sequel?

We live in the age of the sequel.

Nothing ends anymore.

The hero survives the explosion. The villain’s hand rises from the rubble. The supposedly final chapter contains a scene after the credits. A character who died twenty years ago returns through cloning, memory, the multiverse, a prequel, a reboot, artificial intelligence, or some creative loophole in the mythology.

Perhaps we have become suspicious of endings – whether they are happy or sad.

Or perhaps endings are just bad for business.

If a story succeeds, we do not allow it to finish. We stretch it. Repeat it. Repackage it.

Volume follows volume.

Season follows season.

Universe follows universe.

And somewhere along the way, a single story becomes a franchise.

I wonder whether we sometimes do the same thing with our lives.

We discover a role that works, and then we keep writing sequels to it.

The successful person must remain successful.

The pastor must continue being the pastor.

The artist must keep producing.

The parent must remain necessary.

The activist must always be preparing for the next protest.

The wounded person must keep telling of the trauma.

The admired person must maintain their image.

Even our identities can become franchises.

We keep returning to the same personas because we’ve worn them so long.

People recognize them.

Perhaps we recognize them too.

But eventually a dangerous question arrives:

What if that story is finished?

Not my life.

That story.

That version of me.

That particular adventure.

Maybe one of the great spiritual disciplines is learning to recognize when the credits are supposed to roll.

When “The End” flashes on the screen and the only sound is the film flapping around and around on the take-up reel.

Jesus spent much of his life telling people that something was ending.

An age.

A way of measuring power.

A way of imagining God.

A way of dividing the righteous from the unrighteous, the insider from the outsider, the important from the insignificant.

And Christianity makes an astonishing claim about the apparent ending of Jesus himself.

He dies.

There is no heroic escape.

No secret tunnel underneath the cross.

No last-minute rescue by ninja disciples.

Jesus is dead.

Period.

His body is put in a tomb, and the tomb is sealed.

For a brief terrible moment, the story is allowed to end.

And then comes resurrection.

But resurrection is not quite a sequel.

That may be important.

The risen Christ is continuous with Jesus—wounds, memory, voice, love—and yet strangely different. People who knew him sometimes fail to recognize him. He appears unexpectedly. He passes through locked doors. He eats breakfast and then disappears.

This is not Jesus II: The Empire Strikes Back.

It is something stranger.

Resurrection does not merely continue the old plot.

It transforms what a story can be.

Which makes me wonder about my own life.

Perhaps I have spent years assuming that the future must be a sequel to the past.

Another project.

Another accomplishment.

Another book.

Another song.

Another role.

Another version of something or someone I have already been.

We ask children, What do you want to be when you grow up?

Later we ask adults, What are you doing next?

Almost nobody asks:

What part of you is complete?

What could you lovingly allow to end?

What character no longer needs to return for another season?

What war does not require another battle?

What identity has carried you faithfully to this point but does not need to follow you into the next chapter?

What part of you needs to die?

I find myself wondering:

What will be my sequel?

And then an even more unsettling question:

Do I have one?

At first that sounds frightening.

We have been trained to believe that there must always be something next.

But perhaps the absence of a sequel does not mean the absence of a future.

A seed has no sequel.

It becomes a tree.

A caterpillar has no sequel.

It becomes something that would have been nearly unimaginable from inside the chrysalis.

Autumn does not produce Summer II.

It becomes winter.

And winter, somehow, becomes spring.

Maybe what comes next in a human life need not be the continuation of what came before.

Maybe I am not waiting for another installment.

Maybe I am waiting for transformation.

That changes the question.

Instead of asking,

How do I keep this story going?

I can ask,

What is this story becoming?

There may even come a point when the greatest act of faith is to stop demanding another season.

To leave some characters behind.

To let go of unresolved subplots.

To accept that certain doors will never reopen.

To stop resurrecting things that are meant to remain buried.

And then to stand before the unknown without insisting that it resemble anything that has already happened.

The culture says:

Coming soon: more of the same.

The spiritual life whispers:

Behold, I make all things new.

So perhaps I do not want a sequel.

Perhaps I want resurrection.

And if resurrection is real, then the most interesting part of my story may not be what happens next.

It may be what I become when the old story finally has the courage to end.

New candlesticks, or: My counter

A Sijo

new candlesticks on my counter
small gold birds in Friday dusk;
two wicks catch beneath the match
the old words come too easily;
alone, I sanctify Shabbat
somehow, I've begun again.

W3 poetry prompt

For this week’s W3, I invite all of us to write a poem about doing something familiar under changed circumstances so that it feels like a first time again.

Sijo?

A Korean verse form related to haiku and tanka and comprised of three lines of 14-16 syllables each, for a total of 44-46 syllables. Each line contains a pause near the middle, similar to a caesura, though the break need not be metrical. The first half of the line contains six to nine syllables; the second half should contain no fewer than five. Originally intended as songs, sijo can treat romantic, metaphysical, or spiritual themes. Whatever the subject, the first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “turn,” and the third provides closure. Modern sijo are sometimes printed in six lines.

Let’s write poetry together!

When it comes to partnership, some humans can make their lives alone – it’s possible. But creatively, it’s more like painting: you can’t just use the same colours in every painting. It’s just not an option. You can’t take the same photograph every time and live with art forms with no differences.

–Ben Harper (b. 1969)

Would you like to create poetry with me and have a completed poem of yours featured here at the Skeptic’s Kaddish? I am very excited to have launched the ‘Poetry Partners’ initiative and am looking forward to meeting and creating with you… Check it out!

W3 Prompt #224: Wea’ve Written Weekly

Intro

Dear friends,

Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic’s Kaddish.

You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here’s the ‘tldr’ version:

Part I

The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants read before participating in the prompt.

Part II

The second ingredient is a writing guideline (or two) provided by the PoW. Guidelines may include, but are not limited to: word counts, poetic forms, inclusion of specific words, and use of particular poetic devices.

Part III

After five days, when the prompt closes, the PoW shall select one participant’s poem as the W3 prompt for the following week, and its author becomes the next PoW.

Simple enough, right?

Okie dokie ~ Let’s do this thing!

I. The prompt poem:

‘Private interests, or: Public voice’ by David ben Alexander

He let Qatari money flow,
Let Hamas arm itself below;
They breached the border—his neglect!
His response? The old blame-game show.

And what did Bibi first protect
With every charge that he’d deflect?
He kept his own role out of view—
Truth? State inquiry? He rejects!

He swore victory to pursue,
His “clear objectives”? None came through;
Captives abandoned; loved ones grieved—
The promised rescue? Long past due.

While reserve soldiers felt aggrieved
At what those exempted received, 
Our people split by creed and rule—
His power bargain was achieved.

He let the sharks into the pool,
Then made himself their useful tool;
The courts became their next great wall—
Now, who's the master, who's the fool?

He pressed to make the guardrails fall,
To force the courts to heed his call;
His trial hanging over him—
Who benefits when justice stalls?

With charges closing in on him,
The public's trust grew ever dim;
Private interests; public voice—
The country's situation? Grim.

His survival? There was no choice!
Rewarded acolytes rejoiced—
Who cares how much the people owe?
But—might October end their ploys?

II. My prompt: The first time, again

Sometimes life changes enough that something familiar becomes new again.

Think of something you have experienced in the past, are experiencing now, or imagine experiencing in the future: doing an ordinary thing you have done many times before, but under changed circumstances that make it feel like a first time.

It might be the first meal in a new home, the first holiday after someone is gone, the first date after a long relationship, the first day back at work, the first time returning somewhere after many years, the first night alone, the first journey home—or something entirely different.

Write a poem about experiencing something familiar as though it were happening for the first time again.

Your poem must include the word “again.”

III. Submit: Click on ‘Mister Linky’ below

In order to participate and share a poem, open up this blog post, outside of the WordPress reader. At the bottom, just below these words, you will see a small rectangular graphic with the words ‘Mr Linky’. Click on that to submit.

Submissions are open for 5 days, until Monday, Aug. 17, 10:00 AM (GMT+2)

Last week’s W3 poem

This week’s W3 prompt poem (above), composed by me, was written in response to last week’s W3 prompt poem, which Val wrote:

‘Looking for Sir Swellimpedeedoo’ by murisopsis

Whatever became of Sir Swellimpedeedoo?
I mean after he laid an egg with you know who
She said “cluck around and find out”
Then smacked him on his snout
Claiming he’d never be her sweet baboo!

He didn’t try to hide his lovelorn tears
Nor did he give in to rejection fears
This much is true
He’s crafty with yarn after some beers
In short order knit a love brand new

i’d like to root for

i’d like to root for 
humanity the way george 
carlin roots for the 

big comet, but the point of no 
return just inches closer
.
20260807:2015
y

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Living things endure through renewal, not invulnerability.

Further reading: https://emotusoperandi.medium.com/how-can-i-help-part-1-4142df8a3cf1

#LifeboatAcademy #StayHuman #Soil #LivingSystems #Renewal

Living things endure through renewal, not invulnerability.

Further reading: https://emotusoperandi.medium.com/how-can-i-help-part-1-4142df8a3cf1

#LifeboatAcademy #StayHuman #Soil #LivingSystems #Renewal

Living things endure through renewal, not invulnerability.

Further reading: https://emotusoperandi.medium.com/how-can-i-help-part-1-4142df8a3cf1

#LifeboatAcademy #StayHuman #Soil #LivingSystems #Renewal

Living things endure through renewal, not invulnerability.

Further reading: https://emotusoperandi.medium.com/how-can-i-help-part-1-4142df8a3cf1

#LifeboatAcademy #StayHuman #Soil #LivingSystems #Renewal

Living things endure through renewal, not invulnerability.

Further reading: https://emotusoperandi.medium.com/how-can-i-help-part-1-4142df8a3cf1

#LifeboatAcademy #StayHuman #Soil #LivingSystems #Renewal

What's one small act of kindness or patience that changed your perspective? I'd love to hear your story. #ThoughtOfTheDay #NatureWisdom #PersonalGrowth #LifeLessons #Mindfulness #Hope #Renewal #InspirationalQuotes #Reflection #GrowthMindset
https://stayingalive.in/thought-of-the-day/when-every-ending-begins-to.html

What's one small act of kindness or patience that changed your perspective? I'd love to hear your story. #ThoughtOfTheDay #NatureWisdom #PersonalGrowth #LifeLessons #Mindfulness #Hope #Renewal #InspirationalQuotes #Reflection #GrowthMindset
https://stayingalive.in/thought-of-the-day/when-every-ending-begins-to.html

What's one small act of kindness or patience that changed your perspective? I'd love to hear your story. #ThoughtOfTheDay #NatureWisdom #PersonalGrowth #LifeLessons #Mindfulness #Hope #Renewal #InspirationalQuotes #Reflection #GrowthMindset
https://stayingalive.in/thought-of-the-day/when-every-ending-begins-to.html

What's one small act of kindness or patience that changed your perspective? I'd love to hear your story. #ThoughtOfTheDay #NatureWisdom #PersonalGrowth #LifeLessons #Mindfulness #Hope #Renewal #InspirationalQuotes #Reflection #GrowthMindset
https://stayingalive.in/thought-of-the-day/when-every-ending-begins-to.html

What's one small act of kindness or patience that changed your perspective? I'd love to hear your story. #ThoughtOfTheDay #NatureWisdom #PersonalGrowth #LifeLessons #Mindfulness #Hope #Renewal #InspirationalQuotes #Reflection #GrowthMindset
https://stayingalive.in/thought-of-the-day/when-every-ending-begins-to.html

✮ Long Way Down ✮

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✮ Long Way Down ✮

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✮ Long Way Down ✮

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✮ To That Potted Plant ✮

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✮ To That Potted Plant ✮

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✮ To That Potted Plant ✮

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Stumbling Block

It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

It is time then.

I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

July 29, 2022

Stumbling Block

It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

It is time then.

I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

July 29, 2022

Stumbling Block

It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

It is time then.

I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

July 29, 2022

Stumbling Block

It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

It is time then.

I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

July 29, 2022

Stumbling Block

It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

It is time then.

I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

July 29, 2022

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Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

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Restlessness

A Monday Monday Song

I’ve been thinking lately about what I need.
There’s so much wrapped up in me.
I’m tired of being split in two.
Has the dye been caste or can
I melt into someone new?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

The taste of my life is bittersweet
like this wine-soaked rag they force on me.
I’m caught between earth and sky
I can’t connect to either.
Eloi. Eloi. Why?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

It seems I am always cleaning my temple.
I’m always cleaning house,
trying to throw the money hangers out . . .

An Iaonus Production 8.26.24

Lyrics August, 19, 1996

Restlessness

A Monday Monday Song

I’ve been thinking lately about what I need.
There’s so much wrapped up in me.
I’m tired of being split in two.
Has the dye been caste or can
I melt into someone new?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

The taste of my life is bittersweet
like this wine-soaked rag they force on me.
I’m caught between earth and sky
I can’t connect to either.
Eloi. Eloi. Why?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

It seems I am always cleaning my temple.
I’m always cleaning house,
trying to throw the money hangers out . . .

An Iaonus Production 8.26.24

Lyrics August, 19, 1996

Restlessness

A Monday Monday Song

I’ve been thinking lately about what I need.
There’s so much wrapped up in me.
I’m tired of being split in two.
Has the dye been caste or can
I melt into someone new?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

The taste of my life is bittersweet
like this wine-soaked rag they force on me.
I’m caught between earth and sky
I can’t connect to either.
Eloi. Eloi. Why?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

It seems I am always cleaning my temple.
I’m always cleaning house,
trying to throw the money hangers out . . .

An Iaonus Production 8.26.24

Lyrics August, 19, 1996

Restlessness

A Monday Monday Song

I’ve been thinking lately about what I need.
There’s so much wrapped up in me.
I’m tired of being split in two.
Has the dye been caste or can
I melt into someone new?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

The taste of my life is bittersweet
like this wine-soaked rag they force on me.
I’m caught between earth and sky
I can’t connect to either.
Eloi. Eloi. Why?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

It seems I am always cleaning my temple.
I’m always cleaning house,
trying to throw the money hangers out . . .

An Iaonus Production 8.26.24

Lyrics August, 19, 1996

Restlessness

A Monday Monday Song

I’ve been thinking lately about what I need.
There’s so much wrapped up in me.
I’m tired of being split in two.
Has the dye been caste or can
I melt into someone new?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

The taste of my life is bittersweet
like this wine-soaked rag they force on me.
I’m caught between earth and sky
I can’t connect to either.
Eloi. Eloi. Why?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

It seems I am always cleaning my temple.
I’m always cleaning house,
trying to throw the money hangers out . . .

An Iaonus Production 8.26.24

Lyrics August, 19, 1996

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

https://www.fogolf.com/1306322/hong-kong-private-sports-clubs-must-pay-land-premiums-or-open-doors-as-leases-end/ Hong Kong private sports clubs must pay land premiums or open doors as leases end #GolfClubs #LandPremium #PrivateClubs #Privileges #renewal

https://www.fogolf.com/1306322/hong-kong-private-sports-clubs-must-pay-land-premiums-or-open-doors-as-leases-end/ Hong Kong private sports clubs must pay land premiums or open doors as leases end #GolfClubs #LandPremium #PrivateClubs #Privileges #renewal

✮ An Ache That Pricks Even Thorns ✮

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✮ An Ache That Pricks Even Thorns ✮

Subscribe to keep reading

Become a paid subscriber to get access to the rest of this post and other exclusive content.

✮ An Ache That Pricks Even Thorns ✮

Subscribe to keep reading

Become a paid subscriber to get access to the rest of this post and other exclusive content.

No, Trump Passports Will Not Be Issued To All Applicants—Here’s Why

Topline A commemorative passport featuring President Donald Trump’s image is slated to release soon, though it is not…
#UnitedStates #US #USA #250 #D.C. #international #passport #renewal #special #travel #trump #washington
https://www.europesays.com/3092679/

https://www.europesays.com/people/131887/ No, Trump Passports Will Not Be Issued To All Applicants—Here’s Why #$250 #DC #DonaldTrump #International #passport #renewal #special #travel #Trump #washington

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

A quotation from Twain

I followed their eyes, as sure as guns, there was my eclipse beginning! The life went boiling through my veins; I was a new man! The rim of black spread slowly into the sun’s disk, my heart beat higher and higher, and still the assemblage and the priest stared into the sky, motionless. I knew that this gaze would be turned upon me, next. When it was, I was ready. I was in one of the most grand attitudes I ever struck, with my arm stretched up pointing to the sun. It was a noble effect.

Mark Twain (1835-1910) American writer [pseud. of Samuel Clemens]
Novel (1889), A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, Part 3 “The Tale of the Lost Land,” ch. 6 “The Eclipse”

More about this quote: wist.info/twain-mark/84647/

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #twain #marktwain #aconnecticutyankee #pose #relief #renewal #triumph #eclipse

A quotation from Twain

I followed their eyes, as sure as guns, there was my eclipse beginning! The life went boiling through my veins; I was a new man! The rim of black spread slowly into the sun’s disk, my heart beat higher and higher, and still the assemblage and the priest stared into the sky, motionless. I knew that this gaze would be turned upon me, next. When it was, I was ready. I was in one of the most grand attitudes I ever struck, with my arm stretched up pointing to the sun. It was a noble effect.

Mark Twain (1835-1910) American writer [pseud. of Samuel Clemens]
Novel (1889), A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, Part 3 “The Tale of the Lost Land,” ch. 6 “The Eclipse”

More about this quote: wist.info/twain-mark/84647/

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #twain #marktwain #aconnecticutyankee #pose #relief #renewal #triumph #eclipse