tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77567065421767741472024-03-17T20:02:53.784-07:00.........God I Am = God You Are......... GodSelf Love For Our EgoSelf RealityUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-38727343951543949502023-07-30T06:38:00.005-07:002023-08-17T16:29:41.931-07:00Reflections<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Framing herself, innocent amusement</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>An unassembled puzzle, hopeful dreams</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Authentic dancer in a floral meadow</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Silly faces reflect in her bathroom mirror</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Domination and pain, relinquished control</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Love consumed, her field charred by fear</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Murdered kitty, she tumbles from the nest</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Twisted youth reflects in her kitchen toaster</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Gnawing at chains, she wiggles free</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>With a broken wing, purchased freedom</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Reaching for the door, Michael is lost</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>The child-woman reflects in her hospital window</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Another chance for escape, more determined</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Richard, the paper prince, fades into dust</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Destitute, broken, lost, she surrenders</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Ghosts reflect in her crimson puddle</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Miraculous survival, tempered by loss</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Distant shores, begging in old shoes</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>The wheel weaves another snake</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Love reflects in her daughter's eyes</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Mining barren deserts, searching for wisdom</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Renaissance of spirit, breaking old chains</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Glory be, the White Knight, her saviour</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Trust reflects in her lover's heart</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Courage while facing adversity</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Poise to accept the inevitable</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Knowing that nothing matters</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>My mother reflects her divinity</b></i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-36649499798000641342023-06-19T12:39:00.000-07:002023-06-19T12:43:05.329-07:00Wheels of Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Jl7fSXGsATmEH5bRw5PncSONHmaf-izh5WorJHxduAFuzWbBQ07DEJ993MAqtfOfS-j2qhBQeDhj3JNE15CXALBUE8PHUe48TG-G-FzP4M2XW_r5vrbo2G3ivNHovt7OyBbcBqgpl_KQchDaRLxS10yYBAMPbudKYixlvQ38dBoLWOPRFBwHu_OYjw/s500/Rose.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="400" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Jl7fSXGsATmEH5bRw5PncSONHmaf-izh5WorJHxduAFuzWbBQ07DEJ993MAqtfOfS-j2qhBQeDhj3JNE15CXALBUE8PHUe48TG-G-FzP4M2XW_r5vrbo2G3ivNHovt7OyBbcBqgpl_KQchDaRLxS10yYBAMPbudKYixlvQ38dBoLWOPRFBwHu_OYjw/w512-h640/Rose.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">November frost glaciates the old diamond willow</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Deep within the thicket, a House Finch shivers</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Emaciated, the songbird weakly heralds a sunrise</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Notes ringing off a snowbank are echoes of love </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Surrendering to this moment</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Gratitude for this day </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Hobbled, arthritic kitty cuddles a warm fireplace</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Saddened eyes, adoration for a loving companion</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Peaceful moments birthing blackened skies</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Dream-filled wishes cannot reverse the clock</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Surrendering to this moment</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Gratitude for this day</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Child tortured by the butchery of starvation</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Distended belly, fractured emaciated spirit </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Hollow lifeless eyes, supplications to death</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Final breath, her ultimate heartbeat rendered</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Surrendering to this moment</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Gratitude for this day</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Crystal vase cradles a bouquet of withered roses</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Morosely sullen, pink blooms wilt dull brown </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Garden to glass, refuse bag to the mulch pile</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">A vibrant beauty we loved, admired, appreciated</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Surrendering to this moment</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Gratitude for this day</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Bedridden, a wolf consuming my helpless beloved </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Bloodied teeth bespoiling her weakened flesh</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Within a winter garden, pain governs the spirit</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Blanket this bedevilled woman with quietude</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Surrendering to this moment</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Gratitude for this day</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Deeds, carriage, messengers of her graceful living</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Distant, I admire Mother's resplendent courage</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Profound lessons embroidered by her resilience </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Standing tall, her legacy is a beacon I will follow</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Surrendering to death</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;">Gratitude for life </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Oleo Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Written as a tribute to my dying mother, this poem bends a knee to her resilience, gracefulness and loving nature. Reckoning with her imminent death, I reach for loving gratitude as I surrender to the inevitable. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Within the first stanza, the simile of a House Finch honours our mutual love of songbirds. November represents the winter of my mother's life, whilst the bird's frailty mirrors her struggle with cancer. The songbird's herald speaks of my mother's uncanny ability to reach for love as her vitality diminishes. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span>Mother and I both love cats, therefore the use of a cat metaphor appropriately invokes images of my mother's weakened state. The cat's adoration reflects the abundant love my mother has for her partner. </span><span>Gracefully, even during the wildest of storms, my mother and her partner move toward her death with calm surrender. Mother's unflappable spirit has taught me there is no need to cry for more time. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The African child in stanza three I met in the Sahara. For one hapless week, I embarked upon a futile effort to stave off his death. His emaciated corpse tortured my spirit for many years. To represent a metaphor to my mother, within this poem, the boy is referenced as a girl. As with the child, I must surrender to the weakened state of my mother as well as my utter helplessness to spare my mother from the eventuality of painful final years. Reaching for the African experience, I seek to gracefully accept my mother's physical decline. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The wolf consuming my mother's flesh is a metaphor referencing the rigours of lung cancer. Battling cancer, my mother once told me, "This cancer has a right to live within me; it too is battling for life." My mother wanted rid of cancer, but somehow she found a way to surrender to its presence. Incredible was this lesson. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The final stanza speaks to the awe I feel when witnessing my mother's remarkable nature. Her ability to gracefully surrender to the chaos of life has provided me with many valuable lessons. Against all odds, my mother beat her lung cancer. She survives to this day, but I do see an unassailable frost on the old Willow. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Walking through our lives, we will endure many challenges. When faced with trials and tribulations, fear and love will both reach for our spirit. Our path forward can reflect grace or chaos. Holding gratitude in my heart, I try to replace fear with love. Reconciling my mother's imminent death is so very difficult. Standing at the cliff's edge, I embrace my mother's lessons of gratitude and surrender. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-84101012439918911412023-02-13T21:17:00.005-08:002023-05-05T01:33:45.942-07:00Not This Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0MWAN_cFKAX1OOW3rde1UaD5oEsqPe62fPW918LGO_uDQWiwzycEvMxW_XNPaUAXLfgbBVuJibbn4LXNDEWgtyYT3iEziGIN_pKewFBaXyXCePiGqHB1nONt867R5Rynd8GaGsTp6530_g718NXtStlgyRUS0xGISD46O_6Ph9EJY4V9ixzPu6nS3g/s2560/Grim.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2560" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0MWAN_cFKAX1OOW3rde1UaD5oEsqPe62fPW918LGO_uDQWiwzycEvMxW_XNPaUAXLfgbBVuJibbn4LXNDEWgtyYT3iEziGIN_pKewFBaXyXCePiGqHB1nONt867R5Rynd8GaGsTp6530_g718NXtStlgyRUS0xGISD46O_6Ph9EJY4V9ixzPu6nS3g/w640-h400/Grim.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Falling into a tunnel, the Reaper is at the door.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Breathing is steady as confusion trumps panic.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Clammy skin profusely beads with sweat.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Should I surrender, or do I fight for life?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>The Ego fills my mind with restless chatter.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Who will clean the mess I leave behind?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Images of paramedics loading me in a bag.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Should I surrender, or do I fight for life?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Mother, Hermann, Valerie, I am sorry to go.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Mister Spot, who will care for my little man?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>How suddenly this moment has arrived.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Should I surrender, or do I fight for life? </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>My heart is not pounding. There is no fear.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>With loving ease, the event is embraced.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Why am I not resisting? Can I rise from my bed?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Should I surrender, or do I fight for life?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Hot flashes are contrasted by hopeful reprieves.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>If I fall asleep, maybe a tomorrow will come.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Is sleeping giving up? Must I remain wakeful?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Should I surrender, or do I fight for life?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Concerned, she lays by my side. Are you all right?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Again I spare her with a lie. I'm okay, don't worry.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Her soft breathing is an anchor keeping me alive.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Death is inevitable. I am sorry to be your corpse.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>There is no way back. I am too far down the tunnel. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Relax, let go. Surrender with dignified gratitude.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Nothing is left behind. I am the eternal moment.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Cuddle the dying process. The ultimate self beckons.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Freedom awaits my presence. My death is beautiful.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Her touch is like a mother guiding her child to safety.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Death releases his steely grip. The desire for life lingers.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Tears of joy warm my cheek. Not this night, Grim.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Charm;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-80289801177533566182023-01-11T22:31:00.003-08:002023-05-11T13:54:25.256-07:00Dove’s Freedom<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqTVOQ-US2vG3tsI1Tv53Rr_TnrhB6GDRW1sWBUF8Z4sJl9eBW909qPcouKy4kwAht4KKgXGeCHr8mlW7kG1dvwDoHtim7kbSX3qxSAQ87-cFfX75ByMvbtzjTDA2BPrGECvVJCTm4uC5cDgvdLvfCHuJboHNZI15Udawck9yIFJCg-PWi_8c8PxGZ5Q/s800/Flying%20Dove.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="800" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqTVOQ-US2vG3tsI1Tv53Rr_TnrhB6GDRW1sWBUF8Z4sJl9eBW909qPcouKy4kwAht4KKgXGeCHr8mlW7kG1dvwDoHtim7kbSX3qxSAQ87-cFfX75ByMvbtzjTDA2BPrGECvVJCTm4uC5cDgvdLvfCHuJboHNZI15Udawck9yIFJCg-PWi_8c8PxGZ5Q/w640-h388/Flying%20Dove.jpg" width="640" /></a></div> <p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20pt;">Warm
and cosy, the dove's nest</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Sheltered
from endless storms<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Chains
loosely hanging aside<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Shadows
cast from rusted irons<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Beyond
the aerie, new worlds<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Fear,
the ultimate tether, binds<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Dove
shivers in the cold wind<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Distant
is the uncertain beacon<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Raven parked on a wintery branch<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Bobbing
head spies lonely dove<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Stirring dove spreads idle wings<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Caw
trumpets through dense fog<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Hearkening,
our little angel coos<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Crying,
she trembles a soft note<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Restless,
the raven stirs a response<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Anxious,
she beats a downy breast<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Raven takes flight, soaring on high<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Black
and white share the nest<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Ebony
neb nudges wanting neck<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Love
is the gift of timeless hope<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Raven alights, flutters and returns<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Beak
buried in milky plumage<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Coal eyes, a plea for courage<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Dove
nips at her shackle of angst<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Alas,
her tattered fetter holds fast<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">A
scarlet sun caresses the horizon<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Black
lover tends his snowy lass<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">They
rest beneath Northern stars<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Morning
snow, a twilight blanket<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Raven dusts clean his plumage<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Dove
murmurs at the rising orb<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Preening
avian invite the morn<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Raven lifts toward a yonder barn<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Cackling,
he brokers her courage<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Invisible
hobble is wrestled free<o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 107%;">Pearly
wings brush the heavens<o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-14489376812373945062022-07-16T21:54:00.010-07:002022-07-16T22:16:44.751-07:00Light Shines Upon Me<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkvzDHm6E5qoGvXdxQbocaHczYnsfyHwUK3u0Mxm19gVB8-D3kq-CBjk9GloDC2z9_46KNxlm0Wmr7FFPG5rHzEb3UFObI-uZDJUDHrxfHuNbH9INX5UPlhNNHNcRqbNARUfGQE5AiZEUTkyYpH0N-rqP7ABa2-FmL1BsPZR_sRVIGBPKmpPQqJp4EQ/s450/light.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="450" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkvzDHm6E5qoGvXdxQbocaHczYnsfyHwUK3u0Mxm19gVB8-D3kq-CBjk9GloDC2z9_46KNxlm0Wmr7FFPG5rHzEb3UFObI-uZDJUDHrxfHuNbH9INX5UPlhNNHNcRqbNARUfGQE5AiZEUTkyYpH0N-rqP7ABa2-FmL1BsPZR_sRVIGBPKmpPQqJp4EQ/w640-h480/light.webp" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Standing tall, boulder-like shoulders </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Dynamic energy, a genuine smile</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">The love I find in his eyes</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Light, for me to see</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Oaken arms lift me in the air</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Feet dangling, his exuberant joy</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">The love I find in his embrace</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Light, for me to hold</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Gentle spirit. warm as bathwater</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">A soft voice caresses my heart</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">The love I find in his words</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Light, for me to hear</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Cherishing my beloved mother</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Entwined, their essence dancing</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">The love I find in his gifts</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Light, for me to appreciate </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Capricious cracks in a flawless mirror</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Joy to experience his imperfection</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">The love I find in his blemish</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Light, for me to revere</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">How wonderful, this beautiful man</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Admiration, jubilance, limitless thanks</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">The love I find in his impeccability</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: large;">Light, for me to follow</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-43918472355035752602022-07-01T02:16:00.003-07:002022-07-06T10:13:46.106-07:00Mr. Dressup<p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"></span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz735V1WlqQOnU5XDIIuXgtWLti8ronE8Y-v1-ftdzWO9D4r4INdbJ0Ljc2_I0XKagIMEYqyaQIGfYFLSHe71y991JXclUSCEaxBrH24d0-YPGGmfK3aUNBFZlSWo76HpPCsPS4aXnyGSD/s780/mr-dressup.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="439" data-original-width="780" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz735V1WlqQOnU5XDIIuXgtWLti8ronE8Y-v1-ftdzWO9D4r4INdbJ0Ljc2_I0XKagIMEYqyaQIGfYFLSHe71y991JXclUSCEaxBrH24d0-YPGGmfK3aUNBFZlSWo76HpPCsPS4aXnyGSD/w640-h360/mr-dressup.webp" width="640" /></a></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffa400; font-size: x-large;"><b>Mr. Dressup</b></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Butternut square, he often solicits</b></span></i></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Condoms stain a beige cardigan</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sperm teases his, filthy, red chin</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mr. Dressup, our childhood hero</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tickle trunk empty, needles spent</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Wry, scab encrusted, smirk begs</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Knees bruised, a worker's injury</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mr. Dressup, our childhood hero</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Casey pimped for a dime bag</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Warm, liquid gold fills his veins</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Passed out in piss and vomit</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mr. Dressup, our childhood hero</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Finnegan runs point for a job</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Coombs knifes the shopkeep</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Red Bull and Viagra stolen</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mr. Dressup, our childhood hero </b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Polluted, red, crotchless hotpants</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Eating warm shit from the diaper</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>On the corner, on his knees</b></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mr. Dressup, our childhood hero</b></span></i></p><p><br /></p><p>This poem was written as a literary juxtaposition. I wanted to take a beloved icon of my time to create a themed poem that totally destroys the beautiful vision of his fine work. In no way do I dislike the great work Mr. Dressup did. In fact, he was a favourite childhood icon for me growing up. This poem was fun to create. Sometimes in literature, it is fun to throw yucky poop on something beautiful. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-30450294489028280812022-06-29T09:34:00.000-07:002022-07-01T03:34:53.359-07:00Philo Sophia, of the infinite self...Hail Sophia, Goddess of wisdom, bearer of light!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZAQAbI2dSNCBQEtAQyLSpCrCl2RUQc1ZUHibWYr3V5PAcqu8OWWsxTT4UUAxdSqvZed7GdKiBoITZag198SVxLF1c3mfziWBZ5m6ArG5HAp94vsbdkrse5cj4HzEdyBgFnDrv9064YEZ/s1600/Goddess+Sophia+Satatue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZAQAbI2dSNCBQEtAQyLSpCrCl2RUQc1ZUHibWYr3V5PAcqu8OWWsxTT4UUAxdSqvZed7GdKiBoITZag198SVxLF1c3mfziWBZ5m6ArG5HAp94vsbdkrse5cj4HzEdyBgFnDrv9064YEZ/s400/Goddess+Sophia+Satatue.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
Ancient Greeks displayed an insatiable passion for wisdom, they devoured the intellect with a zeal unmatched in the annals of societal history. Greek inventiveness, coupled with a thirst for knowledge, gave rise to many advances responsible for enhancing the quality of modern life. Where would we be today without Greek contributions in mathematics, astrology, cartography, the arts, medicine, most importantly, philosophy?<br />
<br />
Philo Sophia, directly translates into the love of wisdom, it stands as the hallmark of all that was ancient Greece. From a Greek perspective, nothing was deemed more righteous than the pursuit of wisdom. What treasures drove thousands of Greek philosophers to remain faithful to their Goddess?<br />
<br />
First breath of Sophia's spirit can be discerned from noting the etymology of the word philosophy. Hundreds of years before Christ was to have walked the earth, people of knowledge known as "Sophists" traveled throughout Greece. Encouraged by their role as teachers, these sages of the day were most often found, orating, debating, instructing, and in most cases, arguing with love in their hearts, countless points of philosophical reason. Greeks acknowledged two types of sages:<br />
<br />
Sophists (Professional Wisdoms) were sages which demanded payment for the knowledge they dispensed.<br />
<br />
Contrarily, there were also "Philo Sophists" (Gift Wisdoms) which freely dispensed knowledge as a means of sharing their love of wisdom, freely, to all within the realm. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijnUUfmJypmNjgRoyCmmmNm1evCfrjG_0G73nX7MwW_XY0K1TYFIhyphenhyphenh4P-MaPf4Q_8TTFAThMIq-sbLial6jnxpKkgfvYoAzRrOGmCpN8CEwJQWRW3Kam2KM_gCWCO_FUe_rv0lRVaSPLk/s1600/Goddess+Sophia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijnUUfmJypmNjgRoyCmmmNm1evCfrjG_0G73nX7MwW_XY0K1TYFIhyphenhyphenh4P-MaPf4Q_8TTFAThMIq-sbLial6jnxpKkgfvYoAzRrOGmCpN8CEwJQWRW3Kam2KM_gCWCO_FUe_rv0lRVaSPLk/s400/Goddess+Sophia.jpg" width="400" /></a>Looking a little deeper into the etymological rabbit hole, it is very interesting to also note the definition of Sophist is one who is associated with moral scepticism, as well, specious reasoning. Moreover, a Sophist was known to be a deceiver, a manipulator of logic. Whereas, more often than not, their fallacious arguments served a malignant cause.<br />
<br />
The Greeks were wise to denote the specific role both money, and love, play in ones path toward wisdom. Coining Shakespeare; herein lies the rub. True love can seek only one path. Either we search for physical wealth, or we hunt down knowledge, we cannot attain both. Surely, we can enjoy a comfortable life, whilst gaining knowledge. However, in our heart, the deepest yearning must be one of discovery.<br />
<br />
The prefix Philo translates into "the love of". Greek love of Sophia, or love of wisdom, represented for all citizenry, the key to true personal growth. No person instilled with wisdom, will determine value in money or fame. True wisdom transcends all egoic limitations. The Greeks understood, the discovery of ones true nature is the only valid expression of a bona-fide philosopher. Having discovered a taste for discerning truth beyond illusion, Greek philosophers were compelled to dedicate their lives to advanced learning. Carrying the definition of philosophy forward into the realm of modern online dictionaries, I have teased together, for your consideration, the following compilation.<br />
<br />
Philosophy: The loving pursuit of wisdom, whereby, one affects an intellectual unbiased interrogation of reality whilst maintaining a code of moral self discipline.<br />
<br />
Most people are convinced the domain of philosophy is restricted to the purview of great thinkers, the likes of Plato or Aristotle. We fail to acknowledge Plato, like all children, fumbled through youthful ignorance. Teenage uncertainty, masked by petulant bravado, must have plagued Aristotle much the same as it ravages all teens today. Einstein could not speak until he was four, nor read until he was seven, In fact, for the longest time, his parents thought he was mentally handicapped. Isaac Newton failed at school. Newton was so incompetent running the family farm, his father sent him off to Cambridge, just to get him out of the way.<br />
<br />
Finally, Newton blossomed into one of the greatest scholars of his day. Socrates, regarded as an immoral corrupter of youth, was sentenced to death by his intellectual peers. Dostoevsky, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche and Sartre suffered greatly in their endeavor to philosophically enlighten us from a perspective of existentialism. Investigating the cross section of great philosophers, one discovers more than a fair share of misfits, miscreants and social bumblers. The point I am whittling away at is, deep within each of us, grains of philosophical sand are begging to form pearls of personal wisdom.<br />
<br />
Further to this point, I advocate we are all philosophical beings by nature. Driving home the issue, I ask you to reach far back into your archives of childhood memories. Do you not see yourself as a young child intellectually interrogating reality? Can you see, within the heart of your child self, a loving pursuit of wisdom? Do you not live your life with a code of moral self discipline? Look into the eyes of any toddler, can you not see the philosopher within?
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisG9CWXBf81i8mP4zYj9XmU699c015gBZHp-z2MuSXDoRyYeBiCi5JuydCVMl8x7IbdsaqFOABBd6sdCBGvRwqd6OFYPop8ui4IJt_y5Sp8a5Nprhaef7Piw4r87iUmtJRT3-u3X7_MhST/s1600/Toddler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisG9CWXBf81i8mP4zYj9XmU699c015gBZHp-z2MuSXDoRyYeBiCi5JuydCVMl8x7IbdsaqFOABBd6sdCBGvRwqd6OFYPop8ui4IJt_y5Sp8a5Nprhaef7Piw4r87iUmtJRT3-u3X7_MhST/s320/Toddler.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
If we agree it is the curious nature of young children which lends them to philosophically devour their world, then we must ask ourselves, why does this aspect of our personality become dormant as we age? Unravelling the mystery of inquisitiveness lost, requires we look closely at the thoughts, feelings and emotions residing within our heart. Having affected, even briefly, an investigation into the core of our being, most will discover alien forces have supplanted their desire to seek wisdom. This indictment of our character, harsh as it may seem, does not infer adults are incapable of philosophical thought. Nor does it suggest alien beings have co opted our sense of intrigue. I carefully use the word alien to illustrate the desires we covet appear foreign, or at the very least, in contrast, to what one would consider the natural path of personal and societal evolution. If we agree alien indicates, not of the self, then we must also concur external programming at the hands of our educators, television, main stream media, religion, government, friends, parents, and family verily do represent the signposts we use to define our character and environment.<br />
<br />
Where did that desire for knowledge go?<br />
<br />
We have been trained to believe learning starts and ends with the education system. The farther we delve into post secondary education, the more assured we are of having completed our course of personal discovery. We assume maths, science, English, and a little geography is all that is needed to launch our adult lives. Having graduated with a knapsack full of near useless information, we feel confidence in knowing we have prepared well for our role in the work force. Into the breach we go. Alas, we discover added knowledge must be accrued to ensure we carve out a profitable niche in the consumerist marketplace. Having bevelled out a little piece of success, we arrive at the false understanding that we have learned enough to sustain our reality. Mainstream media teaches us material wealth is our raison d'etre, therefore, as soon as our checklist of success has been acquired, we assume we have fulfilled our need for wisdom. Fancy home, check, a new car, check, spouse and two point five children, got it. Finally, a loving dog in the kennel, while we sit in the holiday sun, aha, I have arrived! Having secured a foothold in society, we then occupy ourselves by seeking to increase our material status with upgrades ad infinitum.<br />
<br />
Where, in this scenario of consumption, do we find a place in our heart for wisdom? What value is wisdom in a heart which has been trained to express an insatiable thirst for material gratification? Does this gluttony represent our true path, or is it an alien construct?<br />
<br />
I charge you to remember, our table cannot feed both children, we must choose greed or wisdom! One child must sacrifice for another to grow, do you not agree, the child you feed is alien? Suckling the alien child starves us all. Avarice is a sin against self, family and society. Choosing to disregard philosophy will always lead to individual and societal chaos. Without knowledge, we cannot come to comprehend who we are, or why we exist. Philosophical pursuit is the only way forward, all other paths will lead to our inevitable destruction. I challenge you to look around your town, city, country, globe. Do you feel chaos is rampantly out of control? Philosophical enquiry can, and will, solve all the problems in our world. The only true course we can take is to demand an answer to three fundamental questions.<br />
<br />
<br />
Define yourself?<br />
<br />
Define your world?<br />
<br />
Define your reason for being?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9YtYTlNiVcgXRoyeUhvummJ1XuBg00p-FEs2QERa1HJpfxjjv_5H52NLjLwyOnPEby42nKDC6bma_RMsfRI0EuUEB8l7GUks0LywjBLD59hGTnWIqA3Ga8_SpBxqX0yl8u1vteCUn_33/s1600/r10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9YtYTlNiVcgXRoyeUhvummJ1XuBg00p-FEs2QERa1HJpfxjjv_5H52NLjLwyOnPEby42nKDC6bma_RMsfRI0EuUEB8l7GUks0LywjBLD59hGTnWIqA3Ga8_SpBxqX0yl8u1vteCUn_33/s1600/r10.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Can you answer the first question?<br />
<br />
Most people, when asked to define the self, will start with a physical representation. By example, one would offer the bold statement, "I am a human man!". Pressed a little further to define self and our human man would likely resort to more detailed description, adding, "I am Christopher, I am 50 years old, I have grey hair." Pushed yet further to define the self, we discover discomfort settles over Christopher's demeanour.<br />
<br />
"Haven't I said enough!".<br />
<br />
Scratching his head, he clutches at straws by resorting to banal and ridiculous accreditation's, "I am a salesman, I am a Canadian!" In frustration he states.
"What more is there?"<br />
<br />
I am not concerned with what you look like, your profession, sex, colour or race. Thus far, the only statement of any merit is that you are a human man. Christopher, the question we need to answer is, what is a human? Please define yourself?<br />
<br />
This is where the rubber hits the road, either Christopher will be left dumbfounded, or he will reach for high school science. "I am primarily carbon and water, however, I also represent, ad minutia, a bevy of many different ingredients, all found on periodic table, so there!"<br />
<br />
I appreciate your biological constituents Christopher, however, if we look at your physique with physics in mind we can just as easily confirm, your physical representation, as Einstein would so eloquently convey, is an illusion. If you maintain your physical description is the basis of defining yourself Christopher, then, reason would suggest, you define the self as an illusion. Are you an illusion Christopher? If we agree you cannot pin your identity on a physical hook, then, I must ask you again, please define yourself?<br />
<br />
Don't feel frustrated by the inability to hit the bulls eye. Being able to answer a question is not nearly as important as understanding the value in knowing the question must be asked. Dip your mind into the realm of philosophical pursuit, you will always find treasure. By way of example, accurately defining the self, takes us down paths which lead beyond the illusion of physicality. Whence we follow our intrigue, we discover the physical self, once considered the be all and end all of life, is merely a signature of energy which has no beginning nor end. Greek philosophers understood the path defining the self must invariably lead the adherent from insanity to sanity.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSLgjdG-ZFXBE_feCXh-2HCqOul_lJtztMAo_t1neou_WYXKfK9-cdeVgcRuzqD4KDb3cnAd9OHwb5-BO2jn-ngXkGVY9lgSBFTf-MjERQpHe931ddRtz4PztUrKrPtHmzVfpMSS0AANw/s1600/Night+Owl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSLgjdG-ZFXBE_feCXh-2HCqOul_lJtztMAo_t1neou_WYXKfK9-cdeVgcRuzqD4KDb3cnAd9OHwb5-BO2jn-ngXkGVY9lgSBFTf-MjERQpHe931ddRtz4PztUrKrPtHmzVfpMSS0AANw/s400/Night+Owl.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
After all, what is insanity, if it not the inability to perceive reality?<br />
<br />
Choosing to define ourselves from a philosophical perspective, we discover our true identity is consciousness. Consciousness is not set in time or space, it is an eternal expression. Consciousness has no boundaries, it is limitless, omnipotent and omnipresent. Nothing exists in the absence of consciousness, therefore, you are the totality of all manifest reality. You are the chair you sit on, the car you drive. You are the moon and the entirety of all creation, you are me. Most people would call you insane if you tried to suggest they are a tree, they would be mortified if you suggested they are a piece of shit.<br />
<br />
They would be wrong! Of course you are a piece of shit, as well you are a rose, you are the sunset we all adore. You are the light many call God.<br />
<br />
From this vista of sanity, you will discover your world is commanded by the insane.
Unfortunately, when you do discover sanity, you find yourself alone, abandoned, trapped in a societal nightmare. Within this ghoulish creation of insanity, you will feel compelled to lovingly guide the mind programmed masses toward paths beyond the corruption of illusion, past the chains of avarice. Standing on your self created rickety dais, you will urge those within earshot to stop, look within, listen to their heart.<br />
<br />
What lessons do we learn when we discover the true self?<br />
<br />
I say unto you all. Whence you have touched your heart, you will find a brother in every star, a sister in every blade of grass, a mother in the earth, a father in the sun. You will reach out to all aspects of this physical reality, knowing, this is who you are. You will demand an elimination of all money, for you will realise money is an abusive tool, capable of only serving chaos. You will insist all brethren be cared for, fed, housed and loved, there can be no exception. You will eliminate the need to judge yourself, others, and your world. You will understand the paradigm of duality and know that all expressions are divine. You will have discovered darkness is the provocateur of light, whereas, all is light, all is love. You will have evolved your spirit, you will have become a Socratic student, fully knowing and accepting that you know nothing.
Can we afford to deny our true nature for much longer? What happens to a society who cannot forge a path to its true centre? <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGycAbPtrbyawHBd1UCTZvSOGEIGyt_w9ei0nXt7p6RnH6cIOswiPzUw62hSvEMKVclT8J40lTg4ZntE3vTk32ny9LCIZ8QlzYh4bvLsuF6MJ2euaJ4P0q76iFlKydX0tarHttr5gkGY4/s1600/Awakening+rebirth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGycAbPtrbyawHBd1UCTZvSOGEIGyt_w9ei0nXt7p6RnH6cIOswiPzUw62hSvEMKVclT8J40lTg4ZntE3vTk32ny9LCIZ8QlzYh4bvLsuF6MJ2euaJ4P0q76iFlKydX0tarHttr5gkGY4/s400/Awakening+rebirth.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Observe the relationship between our lack of knowledge and the maya expressed in our reality. Many centuries have passed since the great Alexandria library was rendered to ashes. The charring of Sophia's physical legacy merely represented the opening salvo of countless abuses against Greek wisdom. Unquestionably, Greek society has turned it's back on the Goddess Sophia. Even if the desire were present, most Greeks are too preoccupied with keeping a roof over their head to find time for luxuriating in philosophical debate. The spirit of Sophia has been steadily bred out of Greek society. Steal wisdom from a society and we release it's counterpart expression, which, in this reality, is represented by an unabated malignancy of consumerism.<br />
<br />
Avarice of greedy fat little bankers have eviscerated Sophia. Holding our hands to our faces, we behold, with horror, the once great Sophia, helpless, drained of life, barely breathing. She is held captive in a pit of inequity that we must all accept culpability in creating! Patrons of Goddess Sophia are difficult to find in today's Greece. The love of wisdom has been relegated to the backseat of a bus driven by the urgency to survive.<br />
<br />
How apropos it is that the fuse presently igniting the keg of global economic collapse has been lit in Greece. Fractal imagery presents to us an iconic lesson as we observe, on this day, the nation which insisted upon a philosophical foundation, should fall to it's age old nemesis as represented by the insatiable greed of ignorant men. Suicide in Greece is rampant! The average citizen cannot envision a future for themselves, their children, or their nation. The exodus has begun. However, countries like England are already pushing back. We don't want your kind here, they ardently state! Stay where you are, we are not your brethren!<br />
<br />
Recoil as they might, soon, English residents, as well as the rest of Europeans, will experience first hand the connection between empty bellies and emigration. Bitter irony suggests my Greek brothers and sisters will never find salvation until they rekindle the damaged relationship with their Goddess Sophia. The love of Sophia was, is, and always will be, the only salvation for Greece. Point in fact, none of us are exempt, Sophia is the only ray of hope left to all humanity! What does philosophy have to do with the salvation of mankind?<br />
<br />
Empty your pockets, fill your hearts, tell me Sophia is your Goddess.<br />
<br />
In Lak'ech, dearest brethren, prosper in truth live with love... Philo Sophia...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-25771508811096185492022-06-28T16:14:00.001-07:002023-10-14T22:56:01.250-07:00Ego... The Beast Within Our Minds...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAAVlPM8Y3bmfYY1sdDt5_ZNz7uDzcOuwWTa0IO-kRwXgq4XCW86TVkgZizo4e1IRmnmjOko_6Yd8mUM4fZzHOE6fryqvY_qA0xyjfp35tBQqjeGRvuO2GN1QR8rLloBwqVsshvwQENYbE/s1600/ego.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAAVlPM8Y3bmfYY1sdDt5_ZNz7uDzcOuwWTa0IO-kRwXgq4XCW86TVkgZizo4e1IRmnmjOko_6Yd8mUM4fZzHOE6fryqvY_qA0xyjfp35tBQqjeGRvuO2GN1QR8rLloBwqVsshvwQENYbE/s1600/ego.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Ego, is an enigma whose philosophical expanse proves one of the most challenging subjects for budding illuminators to effectively sort through. When tackling this topic, the adherent will discover the vast majority of Ego-related literature, as provided by the world of psychology, sociology and new-age funkiness, does little to clear muddy waters. Having sifted through many sources; there are a few valuable references I choose to hang my hat upon, these being; the teachings of Don Juan Matus, Gnostic texts, the philosophy of the ancient Greeks, and the meanderings of a few modern philosophers like Bill Hicks or Timothy Freke, who slightly touch upon the caustic nature of Ego. From the big screen; we can investigate Guy Ritchie's classic movie "Revolver" whereby a fantastic job of illustrating ego at play was constructed. Because Ego plays an all-encompassing role in our lives, I point to these few works as a fantastic place to establish a foothold into the unruly subject of Ego. You may ask; what is the benefit of chasing this old Tiger? Consider this simple observation; in the forest of consciousness, Ego is, by far, the most elusive and dangerous of beasts. <br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>What dangers do we speak of?</b></h3>
<br />
Ego appears to us as a tangible construct responsible for framing the human experience in such a way that we are encouraged to adopt a belief structure of separation, physicality, death, and the little "I". Ego, by confounding our sense of reality and reason, supports the experience of a material world which, in turn, keeps humanity from discovering our true DivineSelf nature as the ultimate, indivisible, eternal, singularity. The experience of time and space are manipulated by Ego, in so much as the focus of humanity most often is unwittingly funnelled into the past or future whilst forsaking the glory of the now moment. We find Ego also serves as the underlying current responsible for transporting humanity into the domain of fear, expectation, hope, and despair. The ego prevents us from breaking through the many barriers of illusion, it hobbles our sense of possibility. Moreover, in the lives of all, the ego acts as the primary catalyst of chaos.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>What is the origin of the Ego?</b></h3>
<br />
This qualifying question of Ego's origin opens for me a Pandora's box of possibility, of which, I may never close. However difficult the query, there are a few interesting suppositions that, possibly, might shed some light on the topic. The Gnostics believed there exist two primary forces guiding consciousness expression; the first being the Goddess Sophia, creator of our universe. Aided by her subservient Goddesses and Gods, Sophia is responsible for guiding humanity toward light and love. The Gnostics believed the unadulterated path of humanity is to express our GodSelf nature. Adherents of the Gnostic philosophy, like us today, needed to explain why chaos seems to represent such a large portion of the human experience. Their conclusion was to point toward the antithesis of Sophia, which they suggested was represented by a force called the "Archons." Their belief structure argued that the Archonic expression represented a ubiquitous force of nature responsible for clouding the collective mind of humanity, in so much as we are unable to identify with our true nature as Sophia's GodSelf progeny. Gnostic texts paint a compelling picture of good and evil constantly at odds in a race to gain the seat of consciousness.<br />
<br />
Closer reflection of Gnostic assertions leaves me with the realisation that the force of Sophia represents the greater GodSelf "I", while the Archons are akin to what we would consider the Ego, or the small "I". Gnostic truth, in my opinion, maintains that the Archons, like everything in our universe, originates from the Sophia creation. Archonic service to Sophia enables humanity the ability to experience duality so that we may observe choice as the fundamental core of how we manifest consciousness in the material world. Investigation into their philosophy could lead one to assume Ego, at the very least, represents the antithesis of love. If we are to accept the Gnostic rendition of humanity being subjected to ethereal benefactors, in addition to, nefarious assailants, then, we certainly will ascribe Archons the role of God busters. Ego's part in the cosmic dance is somewhat easier to pin down than its origin. However, if the Gnostics were right, then we can believe the presence of Ego to be an indivisible part of consciousness, eternal in nature, very much a function of our 'perceived' reality.<br />
<br />
Much like the Gnostic assessment, we find Don Juan Matus expressed Ego in terms of a separate being responsible for twisting the way humanity sees consciousness unfold. Matus used the term "Fliers" to describe what one would assume is the antithesis of our true GodSelf nature. Below is a quote from Don Juan Matus clearly describing, to his protege, the predatory nature of the Fliers. <br />
<br />
<b>" <em>I want to appeal to your analytical mind. Think for a moment, and tell me how you would explain the contradiction between the intelligence of man the engineer and the stupidity of his systems of beliefs, or the stupidity of his contradictory behaviour. Sorcerers believe that the predators have given us our systems of beliefs, our ideas of good and evil, and our social mores. They are the ones who set up our hopes expectations and dreams of success or failure. They have given us covetousness, greed, and cowardice. It is the predators who make us complacent, routinary, and egomaniacal."</em></b><br />
<em><b><br />"In order to keep us obedient and meek and weak, the predators engaged themselves in a stupendous manoeuvre; stupendous, of course, from the point of view of a fighting strategist. A horrendous manoeuvre from the point of view of those who suffer it. They gave us their mind! Do you hear me? The predators give us their mind, which becomes our mind. The predators’ mind is baroque, contradictory, morose, filled with the fear of being discovered any minute now."</b></em><br />
<em><br /></em>
Matus could not be more precise in his description as he offers Carlos Castaneda a purview into the alternate or Egoic Self. Like the Gnostics, Matus unequivocally defines the Fliers as separate beings, acting as infiltrators, manipulators, and deceivers of the higher human expression. Don Juan leaves little doubt as to the role Fliers play in striking down any attempt a sorcerer's adherent would make toward exposing their domain or understanding their modus operandi.<br />
<br />
<u><b><span style="color: red;">Don Juan emphatically instructs Castaneda that, of all his teachings, nothing is more important to the man of knowledge than the subject of Fliers. </span></b></u><br />
<br />
Speaking about the origin of the Fliers, Don Juan suggests they have always been part of the greater landscape of humanity. Furthermore, Don Juan indicates the tapestry of illusion, as conveyed by Archons, represents an inescapable function of consciousness. Matus speaks of seeing the Flier overtake an infant child, his visions reflecting upon the disquiet of knowing the child's true sense of reality has been hijacked, never to be freed unless the child learns the sorcerer's way of knowledge. <br />
<br />
To me; the most exciting part of Matus's revelations defines exactly how the Archonic parasitic presence dominates the mind of all humans. The aforementioned quote represents only a small slice of what Matus offers as a clear, unequivocal, peek into the predatory mind which we all unwittingly use to filter our reality. The best way I could illustrate the gist of the Matus revelations is to suggest you acknowledge that all you see, think, and feel, is filtered through the Archon mind. What you describe as your mind, your experiences, your thoughts, feelings, and emotions, are not your own. You only think they are! Paint a composite of the "I" you see in the mirror, you will be directing attention to your Archon.<br />
<br />
You think this Archon is you, but it is not!<br />
<br />
By the example of the Matus assertions, readers of the "Yaqui Way of Knowledge" discover many exciting revelations as the author, Castaneda, moves beyond the unveiling of his own personal curtain of Archonic deceit. Under the tutelage of Matus; Castaneda discovers a strikingly different reality, one which very few people are privileged to entertain. Castaneda soon learns the natural laws of the universe no longer apply. Space, time, and physicality take on new meanings. Like Alice in Wonderland; all is not as one would expect in this menagerie of spiritual bliss.<br />
<br />
Doors open to expose newfound powers of perception, and all life unifies as one for Castaneda. The wolf, coyote, and eagle become his true brethren as he imbibes their spirit running through canyons, and soaring high above the desert below. Miracles of the GodSelf bring to light bizarre abilities Castaneda never knew existed. Casteneda learns how to be in two places at once, to travel thousands of kilometres in seconds, and to discover full harmony with all living beings. Take heed to the lessons of Matus, you too will come to accept that the essence of your persona is, a mirror of lies, a betrayal of your true nature. More to the point, what you glean as the 'real' you is in fact a very pale reflection of your potential as a God-released being. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgDy9jpQZL23OC4VJ784FTiOVQfAgRcBgGGfWg_-M58M5ZaJi8Dg6pbmoaFa_YjZfO4AIhutMaVvP4zeLbPHBV0l_I9ZyOqADx1WAWoM7igtlJro9bCuvJQINBhsWFXlKfcEQObFauMAW/s1600/dove.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgDy9jpQZL23OC4VJ784FTiOVQfAgRcBgGGfWg_-M58M5ZaJi8Dg6pbmoaFa_YjZfO4AIhutMaVvP4zeLbPHBV0l_I9ZyOqADx1WAWoM7igtlJro9bCuvJQINBhsWFXlKfcEQObFauMAW/s1600/dove.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b>Against the Grain:</b><br />
<br />
Although both the Gnostic texts and the great don Juan seem to agree that Ego represents an actual entity responsible for separating humanity from knowing its proper role as a GodSelf singularity, I find myself both agreeing and disagreeing with their analysis.<br />
<br />
I agree ego prevents humans from knowing their true identity. However, I beg to differ when we attempt to establish Ego as a physical entity existing separate from the GodSelf. There are a few reasons to explain my conviction.<br />
<br />
Firstly; most importantly, the crux of my own philosophy balances on the theory all manifest reality is a singularity. Therefore, nothing whatsoever can exist separate from unity consciousness. Although the Gnostic definition of the Archon presence as a function of Sophia's divine plan tends to agree with this theory, Matus, it would appear to suggest otherwise.<br />
<br />
Secondly; it stands to reason that if a Gnostic teacher, or in this case, don Juan Matus, wishes to identify a certain facet of consciousness, then this aspect must be separated for identification. Matus, like many sorcerers and philosophers, exposes the mechanics of our persona as a way to define, for the benefit of all, how Ego manifests control. Logic would suggest, the most effective way to qualify Ego would be to expose it as existing separate from the greater whole. If this is the case, possibly Matus and my own theories, although appearing separate, are in accord.<br />
<br />
Thirdly; our reality expresses itself as a duality. Therefore, inherent in consciousness, we must be able to discover an opposing force to GodSelf realisation. Ego, I believe, is that force. In my humble opinion, Ego is a natural, and essential, part of consciousness. The ego represents an integral aspect of human evolution. Therefore, it must be considered a unified partner in the reality experience. Similes and metaphors are often needed to assist in constructing a complete picture of esoteric reality. I believe don Juan and the Gnostics used Fliers and Archons as a viable concrete path toward expressing Ego in terms spiritual initiates could reflect upon, defend against, then gain knowledge from.<br />
<br />
Be it separate from the self, or part of the greater whole, we can all agree on one truth, Ego dominates our expression of reality, Ego manifests fear, hope, desire, lust, it promulgates greed, envy and dovetails with spirit in the, most beautiful, dance of consciousness. Ego truly represents all of the base emotions we experience daily, yet, its presence is understandable, necessary to drive the vehicle of choice.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>Ego in Our World:</b></h3>
<br />
However we align with his views, don Juan Matus has succinctly and eloquently defined the role of Ego. Simply stated, we are God, a singular, eternal expression of love. However, the role of Ego is to trick us into believing ourselves to be fleshy mortals. Cohabiting in the material world, fighting for survival, while racing against an inevitable expiry date, we believe our existence is limited. In light of the chaos we experience, who could deny consciousness is caught in the web of Ego's illusion. Don Juan was a phenomenal sorcerer, just from one small excerpt of his teachings we can glean a wealth of knowledge about Ego. Let us take a closer look at what he has to say.<br />
<br />
<b>"<em>I want to appeal to your analytical mind. Think for a moment, and tell me how you would explain the contradiction between the intelligence of man the engineer and the stupidity of his systems of beliefs, or the stupidity of his contradictory behavior."</em></b><br />
<br />
How do we account for the contradiction of man's intelligence, juxtaposed, to the collective behaviour of mankind? We know the nature of the atom, over 100 years past scientists, using the double-slit experiment, exposed the truth of our reality. Einstein clearly stated, "Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one". Knowing the material world is illusory should have completely changed our way of life, it should have created a flood of scientific truth all pointing directly at the GodSelf and unity consciousness.<br />
<br />
What happened?<br />
<br />
Over millennia, countless philosophers, sorcerers, and spiritual practitioners have illuminated a clear path for all of us to follow. Do we heed their wisdom? No, we instead choose to fumble along in the darkness, absolutely refusing to open our eyes. We consider ourselves an intelligent race. Yet, we somehow deem it proper to accept over one billion of our brethren will starve to death, and over 3 billion will subsist on less than three dollars per day. We are the only species that act as cancer upon the planet. Is it not odd that we seem oblivious to this destructive path? Our consumptive insanity is ubiquitous throughout all facets of reality. The land, water, air, plants, animals, even our brethren, all succumb to the destruction of Homo Sapiens. Ponder seriously some of the following queries.<br />
<br />
Does this Archonic reality represent the true nature of humanity, or, is there something more we can aspire to? Is there some great power we have yet to consider or develop?<br />
<br />
<br />
There seems no end to the stupidity of human expression. No foreseeable abatement to the destruction of our world. Moreover, no semblance to our obviously true GodSelf nature as conduits of unconditional love. Why is this the chaotic reality we choose? <br />
<br />
<br />
Contradictions in human expression abound. Yet, we seem incapable of processing the real reality hidden beneath this contagious exterior. I ask you, is it not be reasonable to assume scientific knowledge alone should have directed us toward love and unity consciousness? <br />
<br />
<br />
Does it make sense that we all envision a more compassionate world? However, somehow, our collective choices continually take us in a completely different direction.<br />
<br />
<br />
Why do you think we all want love but find it almost impossible to grasp? <br />
<br />
<br />
There is an elephant in the room, ironically, no one seems capable of acknowledging its presence. Imagine, your neighbour is a murdering fool who destroys everything he touches. This neighbour visits your home, steals the silverware, rapes your daughter, stabs your wife, then walks out the door after lighting the curtains on fire. Responding to the mayhem, do you invite him over for dinner the very next week, or, do you immediately put a stop to the chaos, correct the damage, then take care of your family? I concede to you, this scenario seems ridiculous on a personal scale. Yet, globally, you must realise, week after week, we are choosing to have the neighbour over for dinner?<br />
<br />
Matus urges us to remember Ego is not just the little voice in our head, it represents much more than a few untoward thoughts.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyaC7ePCFR7xrAztEeniMDx9486GL8AWCfj_ArHr1ySJ7mKjfFWd1CmUYtb9mnNPPQawCy7JLbcbfPl2SuGSY7uI9HC4NdhsJ-KapWTQ2mKh-nLWSBJjzqgnjW4SlIC-bh2nfQbUbISGc/s1600/ego+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyaC7ePCFR7xrAztEeniMDx9486GL8AWCfj_ArHr1ySJ7mKjfFWd1CmUYtb9mnNPPQawCy7JLbcbfPl2SuGSY7uI9HC4NdhsJ-KapWTQ2mKh-nLWSBJjzqgnjW4SlIC-bh2nfQbUbISGc/s1600/ego+2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>We fail to see the Godself reality hidden behind the physical plane of Ego. Against the teachings of modern-day science, we trust our world is solid, separate, molecular. Egoic expression traps us in a physical shell, ego leaves us shackled to a very limited reality. In the absence of Ego, we would be free to experience any reality we wish. How would you like to experience the world through the eyes of an eagle, a wolf, cat, or bask in the lifeblood of a large oak tree?</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>Ego causes us to see all manifest reality as separate little bits and pieces. The illusion of separation makes it impossible for us to comprehend that our brethren are truly not separate from ourselves. Imagine how the world would be a completely different experience if we all understood the true nature of unity consciousness.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>Humanity is confused about time. Ego has us believe past, present and future are all different aspects of beingness, when in fact, time, like consciousness itself, is a singularity. Imagine how much more beautiful our world would be if we could comprehend the immortal nature of our true selves.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>What if we lived in a world no longer limited by the sense of a singular body? We are omnipresent GodSelf beings. We are more than capable of being in many places at once. Time and space, as fed to us by Ego, give us the impression of solidity, this is not our true nature.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>We call ourselves humans. Yet, the truth of the matter is, we are Gods. This little "I" syndrome, presented to us by Ego, destroys our ability to love without condition. Hobbled like a prize pony, we know not of the sensibility of sharing and caring for all our brethren. Know thyself! There is no other more beautiful, more sacred, more deserving of love, than you!</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>Look out the window of your world. Humanity is driven by fear. Ego is the derivative of all fear. Move away from the illusions created by Ego, you will determine fear has been dispatched in favour of unconditional love. How would your world change if love became the only basis for all your decisions? </li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>Judgment is contagious in our world. Imagine, if we could all jettison the need to weigh good against bad. Ego prevents us from knowing that the brother we hate, is none other than a reflection of ourselves.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>Ego coops the unified GodSelf mind, then replaces it with the false self of Ego. However, Ego, like all visitors, can be asked to leave. We are so confused into believing in the little "I", we never touch the true self, never know the glory of our primary identity. Remember what Matus said; "<em><b>They gave us their mind! Do you hear me? The predators give us their mind, which becomes our mind."</b></em></li>
</ul>
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
<ul>
<li>Death, need, desire, greed, all rule human expression. What if we could transcend these concepts? What if we knew ourselves to be eternal, omnipotent, omnipresent, unified as a singular beingness that chooses to only embrace love? What if we knew our enemies as yet another reflection of God, another reflection of our own self. </li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
<b>Beyond The Beast:</b></h3>
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
<b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYnAbaXaj9U0d89N8Nl5WXc_NgpoEY80taD6Qi66KxXNiK0hXZCTn4kT6OdIuZgNprv6vy6Vf0YnDvgIig0387J4QacEwq03UHqzDUAPXVakMCcdhav-PQcAR205vMbMz-4W7Eis7-A13/s1600/love+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYnAbaXaj9U0d89N8Nl5WXc_NgpoEY80taD6Qi66KxXNiK0hXZCTn4kT6OdIuZgNprv6vy6Vf0YnDvgIig0387J4QacEwq03UHqzDUAPXVakMCcdhav-PQcAR205vMbMz-4W7Eis7-A13/s1600/love+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
</b></h3>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
We need not be handcuffed to the realm of Ego. Collectively, we can transition beyond Ego. The path toward sanity is easier than one might imagine. Scientific footholds can be learned, knowledge can be accrued, reason can be applied, logic can be embraced. However, is this enough? To answer this most important question, I can offer two points of view; the master sorcerer Matus and yours truly. <br />
<br />
Don Juan Matus proved the Ego can be harnessed, tamed, and ridden. His "Yaqui Way Of Life" illustrates the results that can be realized if one is truly dedicated to the path of what he called "The Way of the Warrior". Matus shows us the beauty of a sorcerer's world. Castaneda's books unequivocally illustrate that don Juan Matus lived his life under the rules and actions of an impeccable man. Reading the Castaneda series leaves you breathless, tearful. Most importantly, it emboldens you with love. Therefore, if it is your desire to know Ego, I suggest you start with the gift of Matus's love, then, set your sights upon being a spiritual warrior, a person of impeccable behaviour.<br />
<br />
Exposing my personal battle with the beast is guaranteed to benefit you much less than the teachings of don Juan. Nonetheless, it is certainly worthy of mention, as my path may be more akin to what you are facing this day.<br />
<br />
For most of my life; I never knew what Ego was all about, never even knew of its existence. The movie Revolver does a great job of presenting Ego, especially as it places, front and center, the need to know thy enemy. We see the main character being released from his inner turmoil the minute he becomes capable of identifying his EgoSelf.<br />
<br />
Like the fictional character in Revolver, ignorance of my EgoSelf, left me defenseless to combat the awful side effects of Ego's attacks. How could I know there was a demon lurking within my mind? The beast just had his way with me! It was my master! The little monkey coloured my world with fear, all the while, stripping love from every corner of my reality. By the time I was twenty, I knew love was the missing ingredient in my life. Life for me was horrible. Without the ability to lovingly connect with others, I felt abandoned, cold, homeless. To overcome this loss, I set my sights on learning what love was. Moreover, how was it maintained, why it was so inexplicably elusive. Looking for a definition of love, I found myself traipsing across hills and dales of spiritual wonderment. Puzzling together impressions of love, inevitably, pushed me in the direction of Love's antithesis, which, as I have been intoning in this essay, is Ego.<br />
<br />
From my humble, yet personally enlightening, experience, I advocate your first step in fighting the beast is to know your enemy. We can only defeat the things we know. Ignorance breeds fear, fear paralyses all action. The moment you accept within your heart that there does lie a beast, this is the turning point where you finally begin the path toward emancipation from its grasp. Having accepted the truth of your reality, you then must reach for all the information which may shed further light on how your inner demon dominates your reality. The more you know of this enemy, the better armed you will be to counter his threat or even defeat him in battle.<br />
<br />
Once you have learned enough to wage war on the beast, then you must establish a game plan for combating the endless attacks on your psyche. Personal experience has afforded me a small toolbox of fixes for battling Ego. Knowledge truly is power, I would advise you to never stop searching for more information on how Ego works. Truly, you will never know too much about Ego. Another wonderful tool I found was my observer self. If I consider there are three voices in my head, I would call these voices, my EgoSelf, GodSelf, and ObserverSelf. All three are very real; all three perform a function in my personal dance of consciousness.<br />
<br />
Ego runs the show by taking up most of my daily thoughts. I allow it to dominate the expression of my reality, as a result it does. Waking up in the morning, I am transfixed by the world of Ego, I see physicality, separation, need, and the clock ticking on the wall. <br />
<br />
My GodSelf is a powerful benefactor, it clears the darkness. Whereby, it allows me to expand my world, beckons me to bask in my true identity by embracing unconditional love in lieu of the fear peddled by its nemesis, Ego. The problem with my GodSelf is that I rarely ask it to take over control of the reality that reigns. Due to its cameo appearance in my life, my Godself fulfills the role of stabilizer, akin to an emergency relief pitcher, trying to save the day by striking out Ego's heavy bat. However minimal the appearance of my GodSelf may be, it plays a critical role in allowing me to capture, embrace, and covet my true identity as a loving being who chooses to unconditionally accept all manifest reality. Reflecting upon an old saying, I would not trade all the tea in China for the loss of knowing that my GodSelf reality exists. <br />
<br />
The third player in my mind is the ObserverSelf. The Observer is my watchdog, it needs to be fed regularly. I feed my Observer by asking it to work. Its duty is simple, it must constantly be in contact with my conscious higher self so that it can act as a filter sorting out the constant horriblising Ego promulgates in my mind.<br />
<br />
I always deal with mental chatter from Ego. My observer is like the alarm bell that rings when carbon monoxide is detected in a building. Without that vigilant alarm, I would perish to the wiles of an unseen killer. When Ego pushes me around, my Observer is responsible for making sure that, before the smell reaches my nose, I am already aware that the shit has hit the fan.<br />
<br />
For example, if I find myself in a funk, all worked up over how I am going to pay the bills or feed my family when I have just lost my job. Ego will pound at my head and heart making me feel powerless, desperate, needy. This is not just me tearing at an old scab, this is my EgoSelf abusing the privileges I have afforded it. The Observer is vigilant, he knows this is an attack of Ego, he acts at my behest acting as a beacon, steering me toward the safe haven of my GodSelf spirit. My Observers steadfast presence, once again, allows me the chance to catch a breath so that I can transcend the maya presented by Ego.<br />
<br />
For those of you who have never established an ObserverSelf as part of your working psyche, it must be nigh on impossible to envision the benefits gained by its presence. From my perspective, I cannot grasp how I could have ever managed Ego without my trusty ObserverSelf ally.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAtguxg4goo4Be1r8GpUhbzUKb-4pISWlGgJVq2Kvtv12lO2ZNn3hPRU597NoNRaNV-SQzcLzWWYzSfyisFvJLP-sVjaW5m_LhJ4OJhAsDFyYB6DpZw_EaP5XxNrbZOgTATqAqbWYFUrJ/s1600/boat.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAtguxg4goo4Be1r8GpUhbzUKb-4pISWlGgJVq2Kvtv12lO2ZNn3hPRU597NoNRaNV-SQzcLzWWYzSfyisFvJLP-sVjaW5m_LhJ4OJhAsDFyYB6DpZw_EaP5XxNrbZOgTATqAqbWYFUrJ/s1600/boat.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Possibly, the greatest ally in my struggles against Ego, is the knowledge that there does exist another GodSelf reality.<br />
<br />
Moreover, that I can choose to dwell in whichever house I desire. I have known what life is like when I allow EgoSelf to run amok, unabated. It is not a pretty sight. Conversely, I know how life can be expressed when seen through the eyes of my GodSelf. The brilliant, unabated, bliss of the GodSelf is truly inexpressible. If nothing else has been gained, these gifts of experiencing the two contrasting realities have taught me that I can exercise choice.<br />
<br />
Prior to knowing Ego, I was a victim to its contrivances. I was lost, blind, hopelessly defeated by its presence. Identifying the beast represents a single aspect of fighting the battle. One needs the knowledge of the GodSelf to understand the contrast. For, without that knowledge, one cannot entertain the alternative. We have been mentally programmed by society to believe in lies. Our societal masters know this truth will emancipate the human race, it will free us from the bonds of ritualistic debt slavery. The powers that be have deliberately constructed a world of fear, competition, consumerism, and ignorance. They are counting on distractions, lethargy, and ignorance to keep us in check. They think we will fold under the weight of oppression. This is not our destiny. We are more, we are GodSelf beings. Knowledge has shed light on my true beingness, it has afforded me the most valuable of all gifts, the gift of choice.<br />
<br />
<b>Grace, serenity, and courage</b> are also tools that cannot be under-emphasized.<br />
<br />
<b>Grace</b> is needed to allow me to accept that, although I have been duped by corporate masters who have conspired to enslave humanity, I cannot debase myself with thoughts of anger, retribution, or hate. I have also needed a heaping helping of grace to accept my faults. Without grace, I would never be able to come to terms with the obvious reality that Ego, is still the prime driver of my present-day expression of reality.<br />
<br />
I am no don Juan Matus, never will be. However, this is not important. What matters is that I try my best each day, then, accept the results, love, and cherish the Self. My goal is to live the life of an impeccable man! This is my destiny as I have chosen to be a spiritual warrior. I have discovered the battle will never end. My EgoSelf is a great part of who I am today. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume, EgoSelf will be a lifelong partner. Ego is nothing to be ashamed of. Ego is my teacher, it constantly demands I better myself. By presenting maya, ego asks me to reach for greater realms of reality, pursue, without pause, a path toward unconditional love.<br />
<br />
<b>Serenity</b>, like all aspects of emotion, is a choice. Ego will always create strife, it is up to me, and my ObserverSelf, to always seek balance, to observe, then choose my true nature. Serenity will enable my ability to embrace all actions which promote love. There must be a place of peace within the self. I have found the thoughts of a running river most quickly allow me to balance. For you, there may be another source of serenity. Whatever, or wherever, it is, as spiritual warriors, we need respite from the chaos.<br />
<br />
<b>Courage</b> is another tool in the box of sanity. Not just ordinary courage. I have found the courage of a lion is essential for any chance at embracing unconditional love. EgoSelf heaps fear into my psyche daily, hourly, hell every minute is not an exaggeration. It takes an inordinate amount of courage to continue to love myself, my friends, acquaintances, and especially my enemies. EgoSelf sets me up for failure on a daily basis. I fall, get up, then dust myself off, Over and over, I reach for a well of courage that insists I stand again to rebuff its accusations. EgoSelf will never stop visiting my home, I must have the courage to steadfastly resist its directives. <br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
</h3>
<h4>
The House You Build: </h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5Ry2rcKXOD6Eig19qUo4Zm5KUo_1DmRguYg-gVvMr7lNmEmFrrAlEKpCg155e1QuC_9mnCgPJ3dhE8pJ8lyELKMeeDS-FfLppZdEht3XFb9meWYeNEpxsKGQn84JlLqkRL5BakF3VY7R/s1600/Love.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5Ry2rcKXOD6Eig19qUo4Zm5KUo_1DmRguYg-gVvMr7lNmEmFrrAlEKpCg155e1QuC_9mnCgPJ3dhE8pJ8lyELKMeeDS-FfLppZdEht3XFb9meWYeNEpxsKGQn84JlLqkRL5BakF3VY7R/s1600/Love.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
There are two homes that I can create for myself and family. The EgoSelf wishes for me to live in a house built of fear. Society, believe it or not, also wants me to live in this same seedy domain.<br />
<br />
Point of fact, I do live in a hovel. My home is littered with the decaying matter of slain beasts. I struggle to beat down all comers, to conquer my fear. All in favour of embracing, love, unconditionally.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Does this make me less of a beautiful person?<br />
<br />
Does this mean that my true GodSelf reality is unattainable?<br />
<br />
The answer to these questions depends on which one you ask. My EgoSelf would complacently suggest.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><b><i>Don't worry amigo, all is in hand, you will never dwell in peaceful love, it's just not meant to be.</i></b> </span><br />
<br />
My GodSelf knows only unconditional love; therefore it would state the obvious.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;">Damn idiot all is love, stop searching, stop judging, just BE what you are, be love.</span></i></b><br />
<br />
My ObserverSelf would flatly state.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: lime;"><i><b>Dude, I am overworked and underpaid here. Go ask your GodSelf, he has nothing better to do than slap some sense into your silly head</b></i></span>.<br />
<br />
This I have learned. Every moment of the day, thoughts run through my mind. Each thought will be infused with emotions and feelings which will directly impact my experience of reality. Each thought might be best described as a physical brick in the construct of my world. My Observer is needed to filter my thoughts so that I can be aware of what is running through the mill.<br />
<br />
Each thought based in fear will certainly make grander the mansion EgoSelf has created.<br />
<br />
Each thought based in unconditional love will allow me to construct a house build on the tenets of GodSelf love.<br />
<br />
Ask anyone what house they wish to live in! To a person, they will choose love. You know what we all want. Now, look around. How many homes of love do you see?<br />
<br />
The house of love will never be a mansion, unless, I deliberately choose to manufacture bricks of love. My most popular choice, if I am honest, is to accept that I presently construct bricks of fear. Without first admitting the error of my ways, I will never seed the path of change in my crazy world. I accept my faults, I love myself, then rededicate all efforts to the task at hand. One brick at a time, I choose to build love. Every single step toward unconditional love, is a giant leap for mankind. It matters not how many steps I take in my life. What is important, is that I choose a direction, then remain relentless in choosing love. This, my dear friends, is what it means to be a man of honour, compassion, and love. The great don Juan Matus would then refer to me as, a man of impeccability.<br />
<br />
In Lak'ech, dearest brethren, prosper with knowledge... live with love...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-4880355867899449922022-02-14T13:58:00.001-08:002022-02-14T14:00:59.674-08:00Moments We Share<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcNHjRtnsEyvB2TbVD-G67JmN_7sxU7s7w7v2XWNt32qIZGo1ML5Ma8MFlG1SRYrc4_QGDfiVP3ClaKufS-LVl6XSsRWVp8WuTWIAdh2kqRxPpHUurs_EOPzBmxlaOj8adlunII0NKYmgG3vqDB8-pnCfg8QB1THf-eeEAZ6uNy2Whx5MN4XgqbHMfoA=s505" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcNHjRtnsEyvB2TbVD-G67JmN_7sxU7s7w7v2XWNt32qIZGo1ML5Ma8MFlG1SRYrc4_QGDfiVP3ClaKufS-LVl6XSsRWVp8WuTWIAdh2kqRxPpHUurs_EOPzBmxlaOj8adlunII0NKYmgG3vqDB8-pnCfg8QB1THf-eeEAZ6uNy2Whx5MN4XgqbHMfoA=s320" width="317" /></a></div><br /> <span> </span><p></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Moments We Share</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span><b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Hours slip by, the phone finally rings</span></i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Your soft voice, music to my ears</span></i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The communion of our loving spirit</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Anticipation</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Forest walks, serenely holding hands</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Playful banter, coastal treasures shared</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The nature of our loving spirit</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Gratitude</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Games played, teasing competition</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Victory dances, poking at fun</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The joviality of our loving spirit</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Excitement</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Sweet kisses, warm embraces</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Sharing breath, touch, emotions</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The tenderness of our loving spirit</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Affection</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Ocean strolls, seashells collected</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Rocks stretch my cotton pockets</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The playfulness of our loving spirit</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Gaiety</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Sexual abandon, stimulating pleasures</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Desire intimately expressed with joy</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The passion of our loving spirit</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Sizzling</span></i></b></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-41937492574703892752021-09-15T00:50:00.016-07:002024-01-06T04:15:49.648-08:00Chapter 4 Broken is, Broken Does<div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdJFmFq6h0vrxNcGFXWXpFdwTqK6nWROoRterJx1OruIHf8zf0DOCafOMQbFo-p7if3PMYeCneZs_PHvnaQe8S50i51_xFKdU1Svfr02rB3IieMlpfGk-IRy796fjKrInqdmbONRgcNg5v/s640/Coins.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdJFmFq6h0vrxNcGFXWXpFdwTqK6nWROoRterJx1OruIHf8zf0DOCafOMQbFo-p7if3PMYeCneZs_PHvnaQe8S50i51_xFKdU1Svfr02rB3IieMlpfGk-IRy796fjKrInqdmbONRgcNg5v/w640-h360/Coins.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Jumping ahead to a seven-year-old, Christopher, a transitional part of my life and story unfolds. Two eventualities related to the transition of this story gift me encouragement. First, moving beyond the reckoning of my formative years, I can scrape the mud of tragic abandonment from my boots. Second, from this point forward, I grab my memories confidently by the scruff of the neck. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Thus far, I have borne my stories from a compilation of dated conversations with Doreen knitted together with sketchy childhood memories. Drafting a loose variation of each story I relate to, I attempt a faithful rendition of events. Implying if my memories were strong or weak, I tried to give you a helpful tool for identifying when I took literary liberties. Accurate details play an important role in storytelling; integrity must be the most essential element of the writing process. Tiresome has been the challenge of not having the memories to offer a definitive firsthand palette from which to paint my past. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">By this time in my life, I knew Doreen as my saviour. Understanding the uniqueness of long-term foster care, I valued her and the Dos Santos family. Assessing my emotional state at this age, it is fair to suggest that I had never been better adjusted. Calmed was the deadly emotional riptide that once carted me out to sea with impudent regularity. Smooth as the sailing had become, and fear remained a steady undercurrent that stretched my emotions thin. Thankfully, my spirit was no longer regulated by the daily rage of emotional storms. Beyond being dominated and consumed by my fears, a light of normalcy shone at the end of the dark tunnel. Martin could finally talk as loudly as he wished. Sudden movements no longer sent me scurrying under my bed. Exceptionally pleased with my progress was Doreen. Successful in her bid to coerce me into the bathtub, Doreen was impressed by my courage.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Within the community and school environs, I developed my first childhood friendships. Insecurity, bitterness against the world, and distrust of adults were some of the burdens that still plagued me during the innocent time of my seventh year. Emotional torment that once streamed out of me with the ferocity of a fire hose now sedately trickled like the flow from our bathroom faucet. Rich as my progress had become, the Vultures pecking at my brain still found ample occasion to roost for a meal. I knew they would never leave, but I was thankful the chaos was subdued. Musings aside, another story awaits recording.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p class="ContentPasted0"><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><b><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Small Change:</span></b><span style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Plated for afternoon brunch, dollops of irony are best served on a chilly day. Stewed within this next story is an ironic juxtaposition. Contrasting a measly fifty-cent allowance against the emotional undertow of feeling undeserving, a lifelong struggle begins on this portentous day. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Children and adults alike love a Friday afternoon. Elevating the pre-weekend excitement, I amused myself with a favourite game. When Old Man Winter slowly yields to spring, new entertainments fill a young boy's agenda. Having finished school for the week, I was outside in my billy boots and a light coat. Melting snow mixed with light rain fills roadside gutters with flooding water. Playing the important role of a riverboat captain, I amused myself as the balmy spring air caressed my cheeks.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Gauvin provided an indiscernible grade; so flat was the street that I could hardly manage a few feet on the bicycle without peddling for power. Fortunately, launching tiny wooden ships along curbside river routes required far less gravity than was needed to keep my bike in motion. Seasoned river captains know a sailing route can always be created from melt waters racing toward sewer grates. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Facing our home, from right to left, Gauvin Street slightly dropped at a gradient of less than three degrees. When spring runoff was favourable</span><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">, I would dedicate at least an hour to captaincy. The famed canal I manufactured extended between two roadside sewers. I named the two ports Lake </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Titicaca and the Sewerville terminus. Fabricating a ship to navigate the waterway was all about striking a balance between flotation and ergonomics. Bulky ships would get caught up on the slightest of obstacles. Green wood or water-logged sticks always perished in the river depths. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Running a seaworthy course was a job well suited to a popsicle stick. Svelte, buoyant and racy, the popsicle stick was the ultimate sailing vessel. With half a dozen popsicle sticks in my pocket and the balmy Friday afternoon sun at my back, I prepared for the first race. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Extensive preparations were required before launching the inaugural vessel of the 1968 sailing season. The first task was to manufacture a series of three boulder rapids. Each boulder formation needed to be cleverly designed as a fiendishly treacherous obstacle. The next call to action was the creation of three iceberg alleys. Moulding hardened snow into tight racing chutes would challenge the sailing skills of even the most adept river captain.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Painstakingly completed were all the Gauvin Street obstacles. Building a dam was the ultimate step in course preparations. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Time was finally at hand for Captain Dos Santos to guide the first two vessels from Port Titicaca to the launching site. Cheering, the imaginary crowd leapt with excitement. Quickly rising, lake Titicaca inflated behind the immovable dam. One inch raised the teetering boats, two inches elevated the vessels off the lake bottom, and three inches caused a stir of bridled anticipation. Upon achieving the requisite four-inch lake depth, Captain Dos Santos ordered the engineers to open the floodgates.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Whoosh roared the canal waters. Carried along the raging river, the two ships hurled toward Boomtown Boulders, the first obstacle of the deadly race. Careening off a huge rock, the Bluenose spun around, then sat immobile. Laughing ecstatically while sweeping past the hobbled ship, Captain Ahab sneered at the unfortunate Captain Dos Santos. Righted by the rushing current, Dos Santos quickly relaunched his Bluenose. Back and forth, the sailors perilously battled the raging waters. Bouncing off glacial chutes and avoiding tricky boulders, Captain Ahab enjoyed clear sailing. Everyone could see the Ahab victory was all but assured. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Only a miracle could enable a race win for the fabled Bluenose. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Imminent as victory appeared, Ahab knew better than to count his sea turtles before they hatched. Strange and unusual racing events had often snatched victory from Ahab's grasp. As if on cue, a rogue wave ferociously struck the Ahab stern. Captain Dos Santos was gaining on Ahab, but the speedy schooner was hard to catch. </span><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Miraculously, out of the Heavens, a two thousand foot tall size 6 black and orange Wellington boot slammed into the Ahab stern. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Surrendering to the powerful force, the once invincible Pequod sank to the river bottom. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Screaming, Ahab vowed revenge. Speeding past the floundering Ahab, Captain Dos Santos sailed the undefeated Bluenose toward the finish line. The crowds cheered with excitement as the Canadian vessel crossed the finish line in first place.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Having defeated the Pequod, the Bluenose sailed back to Lake Titicaca, where Captain Columbus had prepared the famed Santa Maria. Stirring crowds were agog with excitement in anticipation of the second race. Billed as the sailing event of the century, Columbus could not wait to strike the first blow across the Bluenose bow. Unfortunately for Columbus, a blue 1967 Dodge Monaco was spotted on the horizon. Martin was home from work. Running to greet him, I arrived by his side as he exited the car. We shared a big hug and then walked to the house together. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">When a little younger than seven, I would beg Martin to walk me to the house like a robot. Hanging on tight, I would attach myself to his leg. Martin would swing his powerful leg in an exaggerated arc while I cooed with delight. Riding Martin's leg was immensely fun. Offering the same gate as a mechanical horse ridden at the town mall, the motion made me giggle with delight. Unfortunately, the days of riding Martin's leg had passed; I was a big boy, almost eight years old. Thankfully, I was not yet too old to hold his massive hand. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Many eventualities conspired to make Friday the best day of the week. Top of the list for us kids was the allocation of our weekly allowance. Martin's Friday routine would involve a couple of shots of whisky or vodka with Doreen. Martin and Doreen would spend the next half an hour sharing their daily events. Soon after their chat, Martin would call us children to the kitchen. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Answering his summons, we all knew an open wallet would be in his hand. I will remember the sight of Martin's brown leather wallet. Every other Christmas, one of his children bought Martin a new wallet. I recall buying him a Christmas wallet on two separate occasions. Presented with a clear plastic top, the wallet impressively occupied the cardboard gift box. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Highlighted in all its glory, the newly purchased wallet was a sight to behold. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Improving on the fabulous presentation, a sticker proudly announced the item as genuine leather. Nothing fake for my Pops. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Examining the wallet further, the manufacturer tucked artificial credit cards in the left-hand slots. Each credit card was owned by a Mr J. Smith. Mr Smith must have always known his card number because, without exception, his credit card number was 0000 1234 5678 9012. Impressive as all this was, tucked in other slots were glossy photos of beautiful people Martin would never meet. Knowing how many wallets Martin received over the years, his dresser drawer must have been chock full of wallets in every colour imaginable. Although Martin never used the gifts, I do not think his children hesitated to eyeball the next genuine leather Sears candidate. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Reaching into his worn brown leather wallet, Martin gave Debbie and Marty a one-dollar note. Cathy and I received 50 cents. Incapable of fully appreciating the purchasing power of money, I felt sorry for Marty and Debbie. Never would I trade four shiny coins for a solitary paper note. Pocketing my treasure, I jumped for joy. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">My allowance made a super day infinitely better. In fact, if I was not so distracted by pleasure, I would have assimilated the look of consternation Martin flashed in recognition of my exuberant thanks. Unprocessed intelligence does not bode well for a foster child looking to win the game of fostering survival. Early in my childhood, I learned to pay close attention to the hidden messages in the eyes of everyone I met. It would not be long before I came to regret my careless lack of attention to Martin's quizzical look. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Skipping to my bedroom, I jumped on my bed to inspect my new riches. Bearing the etching of the great Bluenose Schooner, I loved the dimes more than the other coins. The nifty polygon shape and beaver etching made the nickel my next favourite coin. The caribou-clad quarters were nice, but only the commemorative centennial quarters were regarded by me as special coinage. Regardless of what coin I held, the most exciting discovery would be if it were minted in 1961. Coins minted the year of my birth were always put aside. Having adequately inspected my allowance, I tucked the silver carefully into my pocket and raced to the hallway closet. Grabbing my coat and boots, I ran out of the house to play my favourite Friday game, Flash.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Flash was a wonderfully exciting game. It did not last long, but like an amusement park ride, it never failed to entertain. We have all had the sensation of being watched. Discernibly palpable, the feeling sits right at the back of our necks. Like a whisper preying on your senses, the feeling of being watched begs you to look about. Struck by this sensation, I spotted Martin as he stood in front of the living room window. I was idly amused to see him watch me play. Heartily, I waved a greeting. Casually, he responded. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Moving along with my game, I never gave a second thought to my audience. Hovering above Port Sewerville, I spied the murky depth below. Laying down on the sewer grate, I held my dime perfectly flat and then dropped it into the void. With a subtle splash, the dime struck the watery grave. Swaying back and forth, it emitted bright silver flashes as it danced to the sewer bottom. Clear sewer water would gift me five or six bright flashes of light before the coin disappeared into the murky depths. Unfortunately, the muddy spring water reduced my reward to two quick dashes of light. Disappointed but not entirely deterred, I debated tossing the next coin. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">One of the best parts of Flash was the attempt to make one coin land on top of another. Without seeing the sewer bottom, the game was a shallow version of its true glory. Unable to stop, I reached into my pocket to secure a nickel. With great precision and intent, I let the silver flasher fall. Unfortunately, the coin failed to land flat. Slicing into the dirty water, it bit into the murky depth without providing a single flash. Unhappy with the utter failure, I reached for my quarter. Quarters were the best flashers. Quarters that landed perfectly flat would deviate three or four inches left to right. Flashing brightly to their destination, the Caribou-faced coins always offered the best entertainment. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Soon after dropping the silvery coin, I saw Martin tearing out of the house. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Open coat dancing in response to his hurried pace, he rumbled at me like a freight train. Boot buckles left undone, the flaps of his goloshes flopped about in search of forsaken mates. Steaming like an old kettle, Martin raced my way. His reddened face and angered look left me utterly confused. Quizzically, I looked behind me to see what caused his obvious distress. Nothing I saw relieved my concern. Perplexed by the state of unnatural affairs, there was nothing I could do but remain by the sewer motionless. Frightfully attending the drama of Martin's animated and furious approach, I cowered. Towering over me like a giant, Martin stared me down. Within this utterly confusing moment, I knew I was at the source of Martin's anger. Never had I been at Sixes and Sevens with Martin. Being a cautious child, I knew when the metaphorical hammer blow was imminent.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Hand on hips, Martin shone the light of his despair directly in my eyes. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Did I just see you throw your allowance into the sewer? <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Probing sentences are always an enigma for children. How does one proceed? Lying would exacerbate the outcome but furnish a slim chance of not getting caught. If I failed to lie, then immediate ruin was assured. What to do? Rolling the dice in my head, I ceased on my only hope and lied. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">No Dad. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">I did not throw my allowance into the sewer. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Chris, do not lie! </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I saw your every move from the window. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You know I was watching.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Damn, his clever trap had slammed shut on my lying tongue. Trick questions are not fair play. Caught in a lie, there was nothing I could do but lie again. In for a penny, in for a pound. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Stammering, I hesitatingly responded. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">But, Dad, I did not throw my allowance into the sewer. My feeble rebuttal landed on deaf ears.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Then empty your pockets, he quickly replied. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Obediently, scared as a scalded cat, I emptied from my pocket the remaining nickel. Holding the lone nickel out for Martin's consideration, I carelessly blurted. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">See, Dad, I still have my allowance. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Snatching the coin from my hand, Martin turned a deeper shade of red. Where is the rest? Your allowance was fifty cents, Chris, not one nickel! Growled Martin impatiently. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">The rest fell into the sewer by accident, I awkwardly stammered.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">The gambit was lost; I had no recourse but to accept my comeuppance. Grabbing my wrist with steely power, a single motion saw Martin lift me in the air. Then, in a blur of events, he swatted me hard in the ass. When I regained footing, I tried to run. My spinning legs were useless against his powerful grip. Blackened horribly was my wonderful Friday afternoon. Martin ruthlessly dragged me to my bedroom. Lying in bed crying, I tried to solve the riddle of why my day had gone horribly awry. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">What was wrong with playing Flash? It was a terrific game. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Would I ever learn to be truthful? </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">During the 1960s, spankings were an acceptable tool in the administrative arsenal of many parents. Contrary to traditional child-rearing techniques, Martin was not of the mind to spank or berate his children. Managing our unruliness, Martin was consistently calm, patient, and nurturing. When necessary, Martin was forceful, but he never haphazardly wielded an overpowering nature. Martin hit none of his children, nor would he scream or diminish their stature. The reliable course of his gentleness made the swat on my behind ever more painful. My heart ached much more than my rear end. Disappointing Martin would always lay a burden on my shoulders that I was desperate to remove. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Half an hour after being sequestered in my room, Martin appeared. Remarking on his broken look, he was clearly upset by our encounter. Martin looked me in the eyes and sincerely told me how much he regretted his violent response. He explained how his frustrations had taken hold of his senses and admitted his actions were unacceptable. Asking for my forgiveness, he held his arms out for a hug. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">We talked about respecting the value of money and how hard he worked to care for our family. Patiently, Martin reminded me again of the importance of never lying. Unfortunately, the die had been cast. For the next twenty years, I habitually resorted to lying as a survival mechanism. During our conversation, Martin said something that will forever stick in my mind. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Everyone makes mistakes, son. How you handle yourself in the aftermath of mistakes will define you in the eyes of others.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">We spoke for another few minutes, laughed at our stupidity and made peace with our transgressions. Martin never grounded me, nor did he dispense further retribution. One would suspect the lessons I learned that afternoon would have ended the sordid ordeal. Such was not the case. When the subsequent Friday arrived, I refused the allowance Martin offered. Over the following month, Martin casually urged me to accept the weekly gift. Politely but steadfastly, I refused to take the offerings. He would joke, reminding me that as long as I did not throw my allowance in the sewer, it was mine to do with as I saw fit. Nothing Martin would say affected my choice to abstain from partaking in the weekly ritual. After weeks of pressing coins my way, Martin respected my wishes.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Somehow, this little ordeal ballooned into a decision to never take a penny from Martin. When Christmas approached, Martin would give all the children money to buy presents, but I refused to indulge. Chores around the neighbourhood, shovelling sidewalks and mowing lawns allowed me to earn plenty of cash. When all was said and done, I found earning a wage was far better than waiting for an allowance. Often, I had money stashed away while my siblings waited for their Friday allowance to arrive. Being an innocent child, I failed to see how my stance had nothing to do with independence, self-sufficiency, or a desire to prove myself. Hidden within my choice was a profound lack of self-esteem. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">I was worthless. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I deserved nothing.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Sitting at my laptop this evening, serenaded by crickets, I understand why I will never be entirely free of the emotional current of unworthiness. Climbing Mount Everest or swimming across the Atlantic would be easier for me to complete than finding a way free of the unworthy human stigma. Ever-present, the current of unworthiness consumes all modules of my life. Broken relationships, failed business ventures, poor health choices, torched friendships and constant self-depreciation. Until my last breath, the beast must eat. Long before my fifty-cent lesson, the beast was gnawing at my self-worth. However, this coin-tossing episode was the singular incident that allowed me to give the animal a proper name.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Unworthy me!</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Inescapable is the irony of how a small amount of change triggered a cognitive connection with feelings of unworthiness. What might appear an insignificant life event was a portentous signpost pointing to my false identity. Properly introduced, the beast and I could get to the business of self-sabotage. Sitting on my back porch, fingers lightly tapping my laptop keyboard, I see an image of a little boy moulding a snowball in his hands. Rolling the ball across the snow-covered field, its presence grows until it is unmanageable. Unavoidable is my reckoning with the mighty beast. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><b><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The Birthday:</span></b><span style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Burdened with self-depreciation made bonding with family, friends, or acquaintances impossibly challenging. Riddled with angst, anger, and distrust, I cannot imagine how anyone could have been oblivious to my diseased nature. Operating within the darkness of my pseudo-identity, forging childhood friendships always proved a more difficult proposition. Appropriately, having only nurtured a handful of friends, each relationship was as rare and valuable as a Stanley Cup win. My first stab at a friendship, one I coveted dearly, blew up like an autumn firecracker. Hurtful was the loss, so much that even to this day, my heart stings. His name was Tan Comas. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">In what they affectionately considered the south shore of greater Montreal, the French-speaking town of Chambly was rather quaint. Within the confines of our subdivision, Doreen allowed me a play area extending a three-block radius from our split-level bungalow. Contained within my region of play, there lived only two English-speaking families. Fortunately, the Richardette and Comas families both had children close to my age. Tan Comas was a few months younger than me, while Lyle Richardette endlessly reminded us he was one year our elder. Off and on, I would find myself in the privileged company of these boys. Likely, at least in the beginning, they also coveted the chance to be my playmate. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">More often than not, we located an old tennis ball for street hockey or baseball games. When a tennis ball proved unavailable, other pastimes like hide and seek, tag, bike riding, fishing, or fort building would keep us entertained. Rainy days drove us indoors, hopefully at a friend's home. Boiling summer afternoons would have us scrounging up enough coinage to play at the local pool, Piscine Chambly. Piscine, the French word for swimming pool, made us howl with laughter. Have a fun time swimming, but no pissing in the piscine. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Ha, ha, ha, stupid frogs! </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Punctuating our youthful social calendar were big event days like Christmas, Easter, Halloween, or a birthday celebration. From my perspective, as a child forever searching for a best friend, the birthday party was the most daunting of all calendar celebrations. Being invited to a boy's birthday party represented assurances he and I were bonafide friends. The invitation card itself was a prize worthy of considerable note. Clearly etched in my mind is the only invitation I ever received. Closing my eyes, I can see the envelope as I type these words. Pristine white, the envelope was sharp as the crease in my Sunday pants. Within the envelope, a colourful card bedecked in finery. Tan's seventh birthday was right around the corner, and I was invited.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Wow! <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Reaching into my tickle trunk of memories, I recall lying in bed clasping my coveted prize. The seductive noontime reverie, to which I now relate, proved a solitary moment three to four days distant from Tan's fast-approaching birthday. Rain, passionately drumming upon the window pane, did not provoke within me a grievance as it would normally. For, in my little hand, was an invitation envelope. By design or coincidence, Mrs Comas had not sealed the envelope. The eventuality of an unsealed invitation pleased me greatly as it granted me many opportunities to reopen the envelope as if for the first time. Slowly releasing the contents for animated review, the invitation card reads as follows. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Christopher Patrick, we cordially invite you to the birthday celebration of Tan Comas. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Beyond those magical words, the birthday date, time of arrival, and departure time filled the card. This was my first birthday celebration at the home of a genuine friend. Believing I was through the moon with excitement would have proved a considerable understatement. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Even though all of us kids knew the special event was soon to arrive, I was damn sure I would not be invited. During the preceding year, my naughty behaviour forced Tan's mother, on many occasions, to request I leave their home. Most English-speaking parents in the subdivision had suspicions about the little Patrick / Dos Santos boy. The word about our community suggested little Christopher was a wayward foster child. He was a handful most of the time, a terror if left to his own accord. My sullied reputation translated into me missing out on many birthday celebrations. Yearly experienced was the pain of expected invitations that never arrived in the post. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Past disappointments made the colourful little card vigorously clasped to my heart even more special. Adorned with fancy balloons, twisters, tooters, and sparklers, the card was a sight to behold. Not to mention the appeal of elegant writing with nifty words like cordial and celebration. During the special childhood moment of seeing my name written in such a style, I knew I was consuming the emotional candy reserved for good boys. Mixed feelings prevailed as my surname reads Patrick, not Dos Santos. Still, within the joyful moment, all that really mattered was the undeniable fact that I was an invited guest, cordially invited at that. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Each weekday leading up to the big Saturday afternoon event passed slowly enough to make me want to scream. Eventually, with no favours bestowed by the God Chronos, Tan's birthday finally arrived. True to form, Doreen faithfully illustrated careful admonishments, demanding good my behaviour. Doreen's persistence convinced the prevailing cowlick in my hair to yield to her will, and with my church clothes pressed sharp enough to slice bread, the inaugural big-boy social affair appeared.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Arriving at Tan's home, Doreen motioned toward the styled black doorbell. My heart was pounding, and I was grateful Doreen firmly held onto my sweaty hand. With bated breath, I attended to the creek of the sturdy Oaken door. Thankfully, Doreen had gifted me with the opening greeting. Well-practiced, I was ready for whatever might transpire. Confidently, I blurted the greeting in a single, breathless sentence.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Hello, Mrs Comas. Thank you for inviting me to Tan's birthday party. Please accept this present for Tan. The gift is a pack of swell Hot Wheel cars. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Sincerely smiling, Mrs Comas accepted the gift and graciously thanked me for attending the party. My senses burst for the reward of entry to her home; awkwardly, I waited for the pleasantries to be exchanged between the two women. The requisite goodbye kiss and hug for Doreen meant I had passed all the pre-party tests. Finally, at long last, ushering me into the hallowed halls of party land, Mrs Comas stood off to the side of the open door. Like most houses in the 60s, their three-bedroom bungalow had a finished basement. Passing through the living room, Mrs Comas ambled down the narrow hall with me in tow. Almost immediately, I could hear the din of celebration; my heart leapt into my throat. With Mrs Comas at my back, we navigated the carpeted stairs leading to party land.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Hello everyone, for those of you who have never met, this is Tan's friend, Christopher Patrick, announced Mrs Comas. Wow, a proper introduction, followed by a few echoes of my name. Thrilling was the feeling of being an important guest. Tan advanced toward me with a big smile heartily pasted across his face. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My eyes were agog with joy; filling the room was, at the very least, a dozen children. Some kids I knew from school, others from the neighbourhood. Possibly another five or six children I had never met. Judging by the copper-tone shade of their skin, I suspected the outliers were family members from the exotic lands, unknown. Rounding out the party posse were elder children and a smattering of adults. More than just your average birthday party, this was a monumental event. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The birthday room, bedecked with celebratory furnishings, resembled an array befitting a storybook page. After weaving through a few bodies, I discovered an ample goody station ornately blessing the glass-topped rattan coffee table. Bowls of chips and delicious candies book-ended a more cerebral collection of sliced fruit and sandwiches. Almost as an afterthought were unidentifiable meats haphazardly loitering on the platter. More enticing were the sausage-tipped American cheeses effectively skewered by multi-coloured toothpicks. Sweating more profusely than my hands, the meat offerings were suspected fodder the adults were better off consuming.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Ornate paper plates accommodated children who wanted more than their tiny hands could manage. Taking centre stage, in a fancy faux-crystal bowl, was a punchy concoction of unknown origins. Fascinated by the savoy blue colour of the beverage, I happily accepted the bright paper cup proffered by the old gentleman whose toothy smile left me a little uneasy. Pockets filled with the goodies I could not hold, I realised this was the classiest affair I would ever attend. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Many party games punctuated the multiple raids I made to the goody table. Pin the tail on the donkey, Kerplunk, and musical chairs, to name a few. Parents really should not include musical chairs as a party game. Rubbing my bruised shin, I thought it might have been a good idea to avoid the musical mania. Mingling about the room proved fun. This birthday party was an epic adventure well beyond my wildest dreams. Between the plethora of goodies, gloriously entertaining games, and smiling children, everyone was having a terrific afternoon. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Sidling away from the densest part of the room, I spied a new Singer sewing machine. I knew the model well; Doreen owned the same item. Eaton furnished many Canadian mothers with a new, jet-black Singer. Proudly, I would like to share the surprising eventuality that I did not touch the sacred sewing machine. Doreen had taught me to never risk playing with women's toys. Walking the nifty, turtle-shaped pin cushion across the sewing machine table, a wonderfully exciting idea popped into my mind. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The first balloon went off like a firecracker. Sharp was the report, causing many to laugh. Bolstering my confidence were the hurrahs of the festive party faithful. Soon after, the second and third balloons ruptured in quick succession. Enrapt in the devilish game, I missed the few investigative heads that turned. Still, nothing to worry about. Smiles all around meant I was onto a good thing. The mood remained jubilant as I headed for the next unsuspecting victims. When balloons five through nine expired like the rat-a-tat-tat of a Tommy gun, a quiet permeated the room. For the briefest moment, no one knew what to expect. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Penetrating the uncomfortable silence was the wail of two little party girls. Obviously, they were distraught by the wanton destruction of their fairground balloons. I refer to them as fairground balloons because they were helium-filled. In the late 60s, only rich children were fortunate enough to gain a floaty balloon. They were the type of balloons I would see at the fairgrounds. Balloons children would furiously petition their mothers to buy. Mrs Comas had ensured each child would go home with a floaty, or so she thought. If I close my eyes as I type, I imagine Mrs Comas going to sleep the night before the party. She dreams of smiling children skipping from her home with a grab bag of candy and a floaty balloon. The entire neighbourhood would speak of her birthday coup de grâce. Like a puff of smoke, Mrs Comas's dream had just evaporated. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Turning our attention back to the screaming girls. Soon after a couple of adults pacified the anxious lasses, three sharp pops echoed through the room. The gravity of the escalating situation had entirely escaped me, an omission soon remedied by the pointed finger of a little boy perhaps two years my junior. Desperate to silence the little rat, I slashed at his cheek with the needle. Crimson was the trickle escaping from his ivory-white skin. The savagery of his incredibly violent shrill drove the final nail into my coffin. Indeed, I have never heard a child scream with such absolute conviction. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Deposited in a swirling toilet bowl of despair, the party scene appeared as an oscillating slow-motion vignette. Many probing hands violated my freedom of movement. With pace and alacrity, someone deftly disarmed me. Immediately after the pin was snatched from my hand, it was ceremoniously elevated in the air. Why the foreigner opted to raise the pin high was anyone's guess. He was jubilant as if he held a glorious torch. Perhaps the pin was evidence held up for all to witness. It could be the pin was proof that they had put the tragic ordeal to rest. Either way, the ceremonious pin was like the star of David, a beacon for all to follow. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Ushered closely behind the now parading pin were multiple adults. Two more large foreigners hastily marched me up the stairs. Past the kitchen, directly to the vestibule, like a sac of rotten spuds, they carelessly deposited me next to the coats and boots. There was no mistaking the desperate state of affairs in which I was catapulted. This closeted location meant I was going home. Catching up to the magnitude of my actions, I did what any little boy in my position would do. Pressed closely against the heaped pile of shoes and coats, I hid under my jacket and wailed relentlessly. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Peeking over my makeshift blind, I could see Mrs Comas. With fingers trembling, she stabbed relentlessly at the rotary phone dial. Shaking her head, Mrs Comas began dialling. Clearly, I heard the echo of a perfectly reasonable refrain. "I knew inviting that boy to the party was a bad call! She told me it was a bad idea, but I refused to listen." Who she was of which Mrs Comas referred, I did not know. Was it Doreen who cautioned her? Regardless of who issued the warning to which she alluded, I did sympathise with her sentiments. What were they thinking, inviting me to a party? The playback of Mrs Comas frantically forcing the rotary telephone dial reminds me of a crass but appropriate exchange from the movie Natural Born Killers. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>Once upon a time, a woman was picking up firewood. She came across a poisonous snake frozen in the snow. She took the snake home and nursed it back to health. One day, the snake bit her on the cheek. As she lay dying, she asked the snake, why have you done this to me? And the snake answered.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Look, bitch, you knew I was a snake.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Leaning against the back of the closet, I knew there was no coming back from this egregious offence. Sitting on my haunches, I waited for the bombs to drop. Having been in similar situations, I knew pleading or proffering lame explanations would be futile. The soft echoes of Doreen's voice resonating through the telephone made my position painfully clear. Samplings of their conversation had left no doubt of how utterly scathing was the review of my incorrigible behaviour. Fifteen minutes after the phone was cradled, I was standing on the stoop with fresh tears staining my reddened face. I was ashamed when Mrs Comas recounted my wicked deeds. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Having travelled similar roads, I knew repentance and subservience were my only chance to defuse the smoking adults. Within the moments of my reckoning, I am convinced Doreen and I were consumed by an equal serving of shame. Doreen squeezed my hand white as we shuffled out of the Comas' abode. My last half-hearted echo of regret fell on deaf ears. Sheepishly reviewing the scene, I turned to look at Mrs Comas. </span><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">While Doreen was tugging me down the cement stairs, I caught sight of Mrs Comas's eyes. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Watching the nasty urchin leave her property invoked the satisfied look of relief I knew would be present. Silently, as in a slow-motion movie, Mrs Comas and I exhaled. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Closing my eyes as I type this sentence, I can almost see Mrs Comas standing by the kitchen sink. She frantically scrubs the stench of my presence from her supple caramel hands. The walk home proved quietly menacing. Doreen steamed with passionate anger. Boy, oh boy, she sure blew hotter than an old locomotive. Rounding the Gauvin Street corner, she abruptly stopped, bent down and turned me to face her eye to eye. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">What would possess you to do such a horrible thing? </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Fair play was the question posed by Doreen. I did not begrudge Doreen's anger and confusion. In fact, I had the same question running through my mind for much of the previous hour. I did not orchestrate my actions that day from a position of intent. Much like the storied snake, I merely exhibited natural behaviour commiserated with that of a damaged child. Entirely incapable of identifying with my psychological profile, I had no prayer of suggesting an excuse that would speak to reason or logic. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Pondering Doreen's valid but unapproachable question, I idly nudged dried oak and maple leaves hugging the roadside curb. My response was what one would consider patentable child speak. Woefully shrugging my shoulders, I counted my shoelaces and stammered an answer known well to parents around the globe. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">"I don't know, Mom." </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Within these moments of re-enacting the event, I am handcuffed to express the true motive for my actions. Turning the idea about in my mind during my morning shower, I searched for additional insights into the mechanics of choices made that fateful afternoon. Sitting at my laptop, an idea percolates. Envy was an emotion that always directed me to chaos. I sourly envied the smooth life of well-behaved children like Tan. Good boys were liked, treated lovingly and gifted with countless joys. Nasty foster children struggled to be admired by other children. Rarely were kids like me included in games or respected by peers. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Hosting a birthday party with lots of guests, swell games and exotic foods perfectly illustrated the rewards befitting a good boy. Outcasts, like myself, were the proverbial peeping Toms relegated to standing in the snow drooling over riches they would never realise. I was incapable of creating a good boy persona. Subconsciously facing my shortcomings made me feel powerless. Popping the balloons was my way to capture the power, love and attention I so desperately craved. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Once in my childhood, I was fortunate enough to host my very own birthday party. Doreen wanted the event to be a special occasion. Tirelessly, Doreen worked to ensure that many neighbourhood children attended my tenth birthday. Surrounding me with a group of young playmates would have proven a risky decision at the best of times. Having me as the centre of attention was like tossing gasoline on fire and hoping it would not ignite. The event went surprisingly well until Martin entertained the children with impromptu golf lessons. Golf balls were soon dancing around the backyard. Martin was savvy enough to ensure I had the first lesson. When he started teaching the other children, I boiled with intense jealousy. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">In my mind, the other children were stealing my spotlight. Martin was my foster dad, and every special moment should be mine. Within a few desperate moments, without foreplanning, I quickly set right the perceived injustice. Standing proximal to the child stealing Martin's attention, I deliberately cocked back my club and swung through the golf ball with vigour. Holding his bloodied face, the poor little boy writhed in pain. Can you imagine the fallout of such a heinous action? Yes, the boy hollered like a stuck pig. His eye swelled bigger than the golf ball he had been addressing. Indeed, Martin knew I had constructed the malicious act with a vengeful heart. Just like the balloon incident, I felt hurt, insignificant and unloved. Incapable of communicating or identifying with my pain, I concocted an uncalculated act of bitter defiance. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Unravelling the chaos of my childhood, there were many similar chaotic events. Each time my insecurity was exposed, or if my self-esteem was threatened, the undeserving child snarled with malevolence. I constantly found myself in a pickled state of upheaval. During each nasty event, I was bamboozled to furnish an excuse for my wicked behaviour. The tail was wagging the dog, and this poor mutt had no idea why life went sideways or how to prevent the next debacle. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">There is a good reason why the courts offer latitude when judging if a child can know their mind or control their actions. Should we juror emotionally challenge children with the same vigour as healthy children? Each of us views the world through a unique lens. When judging foster children, the gavel must compassionately fall? Psychiatrists are capable of comprehending the nuances of social deviance. Professional caregivers know broken children have a hard time adapting to society. Laypersons often cannot appreciate that a child could be incapable of avoiding their malicious deeds. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Damaged children are not capable of colouring inside the lines of societal expectations. Although this snapshot of a child out of control is not a revelation, I suspect few people comprehend the depth and scope of the many challenges faced by foster children. Whenever I am disgusted, confused or insulted by the actions of a wild child, I try to remember their path has been difficult. Compassion, realised in the heat of a moment, can help me withhold askance looks, silence accusatory whispers, or retract the pointed finger. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">When witnessing the chaos of others, I hope the deadly look of relief will not sparkle in my eyes as they take leave of my company. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Addressing parents, natural-born or foster, childcare workers, and CAS administrators, I beseech you to respond quickly and effectively to antisocial or sociopathic behaviour. Instead of asking why I did such a terrible thing, Doreen might have directed the same query to my CAS care worker. Guidance from a child psychiatrist would have gone a long way toward offering me a chance at a well-adjusted childhood. Conversely, in the absence of support, left to my own devices, I stomped on every pretty balloon that crossed my path. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Unattended, the weeds in my garden did not wither then die. They wildly flourished. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Foster children, severely scarred, often suffer on so many different levels. During my childhood, I see stepping stones invariably leading to an empty field on the outskirts of town. Fear of abandonment manifested unrelenting pain. Sharp was the knife whittling away my self-esteem. The more worthless I became, the faster I raced toward social chaos. Darkness begets darkness as the diseased mind reflects outward the fear, disorder, and anger existing within. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Socially unacceptable behaviour pushed me to the fringe of society. Fearful my company would corrupt their children, neighbourhood parents ostracised me. Fingers pointed, whispers met wanting ears. My reputation promulgated my role as a social pariah. Compassion requires effort and love. Supporting needy children is a choice we all can make. Some people can understand bedevilled children, but most do not. Experience has taught me that ultra-compassionate individuals are a rare breed. Within our community, playgrounds, and schools I attended, my vile behaviour invited scorn, ridicule, and ostracisation. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">How else should Mrs Comas react? No one would or should begrudge her reaction to my misdeeds. Any mother would want to cast aside a devilish child ruining her son's birthday party. Hurt by my actions, ridiculing my behaviour and hating me was a normal reaction from Tan's perspective. Why should anyone want to befriend a nasty boy? Perplexed by my actions, what else could be expected of Doreen? When children misbehaved, admonishment and penance were the norms. Parents would never entertain a dive deep into the psyche of their child. Even the mention of psychiatry would scare parents. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Living with the sharp end of the stick pointed my way, I held no grudge. I understood all too well the relationship between my behaviour and the quality of my life. Storylines of a lost child bereft of friends were my norm. Reasonable reactions to my behaviour were school hall whispers, pointed fingers, and disgust in the eyes of those who wished me gone. Experiencing the ramifications of my party shenanigans did not cause me to vilify my accusers. Contrarily, I sympathised with their position. Every morning, the bathroom mirror reflected a disgusting little imp. Trust me, I hated the impish brat more than any child or adult who suffered my rudeness. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Sure, as tears wet my eyes, I knew that popping all the floaty balloons would make Tan hate me. Yet, if a metaphorical balloon were to be popped, someone would discover the requisite pin in my sticky little fingers. The pattern of continually scuttling any chance at making friends left me feeling dirty, damaged, and shamefully out of control. Nothing in my childhood proved harder to manage than the utter helplessness and disgust I felt when the proverbial windup duck crashed into the wall. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Child-rearing has become more liberal than fifty years past; seeing their children caught in the raging storm of chaos, parents are more inclined to seek professional psychiatric help. Relative to mental health, proactive evaluation and care are essential. Spiralling into the depths of self-loathing was absolutely beyond my control. Actions and deeds fueling the ugly journey were a force majeure. Obviously, I could not self-diagnose my psychosis, nor could I magically will myself toward mental health. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Like it or not, capable or not, parents and caregivers are the frontline weeders. Simply put, we cannot expect any good to arise from forcing lost children to tend their own gardens. When I next encounter the axiomatic balloon popper, my checkered past will afford me the compassion to resist the knee-jerk reaction of repulsiveness. Instead of disgust, I might choose love and embrace the wayward child.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><b><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Mr Neville: </span></b><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">For children who fear abandonment, there are many instances, small and large, that heighten their desertion tremors. The events I am about to recount imprinted me with a lasting legacy of fear. Standing on the soapbox of good intentions, a person of power and community standing was haranguing me into obedience. Replicated often over five years were similar versions of this event. I was eight at the time of this torturous incident. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Being naughty at school ramped up the dreadful threat of being abandoned. Throughout my childhood, I was forever getting into classroom trouble. When disrupting the class, as I often did, the Catholic school penguins would rap my knuckles with the metal edge of their wooden rulers. Mr Buckley, my home form teacher, would throw the chalkboard eraser at my head. Unfortunately, his horrible aim would further spike his ire. Feeling inadequate, he would tie me to my desk with my sweater or insist I stand in the corner with my nose touching the wall. When I really irritated Mr Buckley, he would lock me in the coat closet until class ended. To this day, I am claustrophobic. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Irksome as were the repercussions of my classroom tomfoolery, if the scolding stayed in the classroom, I was not too upset. Few things were more fearful than being sent to the principal's office. Mister Neville, the principal, was large and robust in stature. Matching his powerful build was a booming voice and stern visage. His intimidating nature instilled fright, but his words cut deepest. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Being directed to Mr Neville's office instigated a ritualistic response of cause and effect. When Mr Buckley sent me to see the principal, I knew precisely what horrors the next hour would offer. Like a movie watched many times, every word and nuance of the event was easily anticipated. The only difference between a movie and a visit to the office was that I could turn the movie off before it scared the Bejesus out of me. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The ordeal begins with a stern look from Mrs Bautista, the wrinkly old secretary. Sucking her teeth, then shaking her head, was the ritualistic behaviour preceding her tired welcome. Oh, you again, Christopher? Take a seat, and I will call you when Mr Neville is ready to see you. Punishment was a game Mr Neville knew very well. Before announcing me into the office, Mr Neville always let me stew for fifteen minutes. Stone-jawed Mrs Bautista ushered me into the Neville lair. Even seated at his desk, the man struck an imposing figure. Pointing to the chair, he simply nodded. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Mr Neville did not care why I was there. My presence alone assured him I had again snapped the end of Mr Buckley's judicial tether. Standing tall as a giant, Mister Neville slowly removed his black leather belt and nodded in the desired direction. Naturalised by routine, I simply bent over the wooden chair. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Similar to the brown hue of the United Parcel Service logo, the cushioned seat had a woven fabric of sandy beige contrasting with a poopy shade of brown. Thin lines of black thread crisscrossed the weave. Almost thirty years later, I saw an identical fabric covering a chair at the local Value Village. Sentimentality urged me to purchase the chair for a sawbuck. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Etching the woven tapestry to memory, I dutifully attended my lashing. Never four nor six, always allocated were five stripes. Over the years, I wondered if five was Mr Neville's favourite number. One unfortunate day, I mustered up the courage to ask. Ten is my favourite number, he growled. Sternly, he looked at the chair and then nodded. Unable to speak for Mr Neville, I assure you my pertness was worth the extra five lashes. I never had the guts to inquire about his thoughts on the matter. Harsh, as was the fiery end of his leather belt, the sharp lash was nothing compared to his hard-hitting admonishments. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Wagging his big fat finger from across the desk, he barked more than spoke. Pushing each word at me with his index finger, he said. Christopher, there will come a day soon when devilishness will land you in a Montreal boarding school. Trust me, Christopher, a boarding school is the last place you want to live. Sly as a fox, Mr Neville knew the mere mention of institutionalised living would scare the daylights out of any foster child. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Firing up the metaphoric frying pan under my arse, he reached for the phone. Before his brain told his hand to grab the telephone receiver, I knew this was the next chapter in our sick movie. Crying defiantly, I frantically pleaded with the man, Please, please, please, Mr Neville, I beg you not to telephone my mother. Regardless of my heated entreaties, my howling never prevented the process from unfolding. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Often, Mr Neville and I faced this crossroads together. Each time he threatened me, fear paralysed me into believing Mr Neville's admonishment would come to pass. Seeing Mr Neville reach for the bulky black telephone caused my heart to skip a beat. Desperately doubling down on my only bet, I begged tirelessly until I knew Doreen had picked up the telephone receiver. Realising my doom, my heart sank like Ahab's famous ship, the mighty Pequod. Beaten into submission, I was a helpless spectator to their conversation. Closing off the ordeal was a demand that Doreen should pick me up from school. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Doreen did not own a driver's license or have access to a car. Consistently, she would petition her friend, Margot Rowan, to help retrieve me from school. The retrieval process usually took about half an hour. Another difficult thirty minutes would have to be spent under the glare of</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> the ornery receptionist. When, at last, Doreen presented herself, I experienced a strange mix of agony and relief. Well-versed in the exercise protocols, Doreen nodded to Mrs Bautista as she quietly occupied the seat adjacent to mine. Together, like two peas in a pot of boiling water, we uneasily attended the invitation to visit with Mr Neville. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Blubbering, as respectful as possible, I listened to the grave exchange between adults. When the conversation ended, I was ever so relieved to not hear the phrase, boarding school. With my hand held firmly in Doreen's grasp, we made our way down desolate hallways to the visitor parking. Head down, streaming salty tears with each step, I begged Doreen to please take me home. Years later, as a young adult, I divulged to Doreen how Mr Neville used to harangue me with boarding school threats. <o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p class="ContentPasted0"></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">When Doreen learned of the abuse, angry tears welled up in her eyes. Within the revealing moment, I deeply felt Doreen's pain. She had tried hard to make me feel safe, cherished, and a loved family member. Knowing Mr Neville undermined her efforts hurt Doreen deeper than I expected. Conforming to the expectations of my teachers, family, and friends was never attainable. Failing to make the social grade always left me feeling helpless and alienated. Children often cannot appreciate how impactful their struggles are to their parent's peace of mind. When Doreen and I spoke of Mr Neville, I finally comprehended how burdensome it was for Doreen to witness my emotional challenges. Although I felt alone growing up, Doreen was always by my side. Whenever I struggled, Doreen quietly shared my burden.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-20395040495443562122021-07-13T22:07:05.265-07:002024-01-06T03:06:45.998-08:00Chapter 3 Weeds and Termites <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Mu74GpzUhxYvCxI2PF93W1x_tU2U6942G7NM4QGE_soNIKZmQg7ZUi3D2wNjpXgcE0L3S0hzEzWfa-fYSGtm6OB4n4VrcCPFHhz0cgLCCN8e0U-syZy1ft-zxMEaeTVCbJwNRLigmHRM/s225/hhh.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Mu74GpzUhxYvCxI2PF93W1x_tU2U6942G7NM4QGE_soNIKZmQg7ZUi3D2wNjpXgcE0L3S0hzEzWfa-fYSGtm6OB4n4VrcCPFHhz0cgLCCN8e0U-syZy1ft-zxMEaeTVCbJwNRLigmHRM/w400-h400/hhh.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Approaching the newly constructed Chambly home, the noontime sun glares through the car window. Navigating the neighbourhood streets, Margot eases the car left onto Gauvin Street. Turning into the subdivision was unsettling as partly built homes littered the streets. Reeking of unfinished business, the neighbourhood mirrored my feelings of being incomplete. Contrasting the well-worn subdivisions I had experienced in Toronto, this small French community would take time to feel like a hometown. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Big city communities led me to expect lavish green lawns as an essential surround for any legitimate bungalow. Overshadowing a proper lodging would be a variety of aged gnarly trees. Flourishing shrubbery hugging the well-appointed building would be the ultimate description of a bonafide residence.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Arriving at my Quebec home for the first time, I recall the unease sticking in my side like a Hawthorn needle. Although these memories are clear, they likely reflect a somewhat skewed rendition of the event. Idling down the street, the royal blue 1965 Ford Galaxie swayed like a boat as it navigated the corner. Unkempt, the street view offered little to inspire hope. Screaming senses alerted me this was not a respectable neighbourhood.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" />Partially completed homes dotted a newly paved street. Some houses were roofless, whilst others were shells surrounded by skids of building materials. Burly workers, arms loaded with materials, peppered the various active building sites. Spiking away from Gauvin was a dirt road surrounded by empty lots, cement holes, and partially erected skeletons. Confusing was the presented spectacle of housing mayhem. There were no lawns, trees or shrubbery to pacify my expectations. Would one of these violated monstrosities be my new home? Answering my fears, the farther down the street we travelled, the more complete the dwellings. Just as Margot turned into the sunken driveway at 859 Gauvin Street, Doreen announced our arrival.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Exiting the vehicle, a cement walkway granted a narrow path from the driveway to the front door. Unadorned with sod, the barren dirt yard would require another two months before warmer weather invited the laying of sod. It thrilled me when the sod truck off-loaded its payload of fresh green turf. Within one afternoon, our yard transformed from a muddy mess into an emerald-green lawn. Funny how innocuous events can become valued; I will always cherish the exciting metamorphosis from brown to green.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Occupying the centre stage of our front yard, a scrawny Red Maple swayed in a light breeze. Unkind with my appraisal, I deemed it was an illegitimate candidate for shadowing the home. Google Earth imagery confirmed, fifty years later, that my assessment was ill-considered. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Slightly closer to the house, two Silver Birch trees clung to life. Belittled by the brilliance of the Red Maple, the Birch appeared as an afterthought. Scavenged annually by leaf miners, I admired the resilience of the Birch and championed their underdog cause. Dwarfed by the home, the juvenile shrubbery inadequately fulfilled the role of a cosy adjunct. Oddly enough, the single welcoming part of the experience was the cement stairs, landing and wrought-iron railing. I often wondered why battleship grey paint became the defunct cement coating to jet-black wrought-iron balcony railings.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Conformity never appealed to me; I would be the gaudy neighbour splashing a rainbow of colours about the property.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Entering the home, I was pleasantly surprised to discover a beautiful, well-equipped abode. Doreen guided me to my bedroom, and then we unpacked my brown leather valise. Everything is its place, a place for everything. My trusty suitcase always gifted me comfort. When I think about my attraction to that old carrier, I realise the neatness did not attract me as much as its role as a faithful partner. Beyond anything I owned, the old suitcase was my most dependable friend. Living with constant change, it is natural for a lost child to afford great value to long-term belongings.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Immediately after entering my new home, Doreen and I enjoyed two hours alone. It would be late afternoon before the Dos Santos children returned from school and Martin from his day of graft. Toys and teddies kept me company while Doreen busied herself in the kitchen. Left to explore my new surroundings, I soon arrived in the fenced backyard. Unlike the sterile front yard, the lack of sod did little to hide the playtime potential of our spacious backyard.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Have you ever wondered why backyard is a single word and front yard is two words?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Centre-left was a beautiful Weeping Willow that would eventually grow into a stately giant. Framing the rear of the property, a straight line of five handsome poplar trees towered. Strong, svelte and trimmed, the Poplar trees reminded me of dependable sentries guarding our home. Dotting the yard were smidgeons of shrubbery, while a big leafed Maple finished the array of backyard flora. Pleasing, as it was, to have time alone in the yard, my reprieve soon ended when Marty, Cathy, and Debbie raced home from school.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Excited to see me, they lavished attention, but I shrivelled with fear. Wisely, Doreen urged a slower, less frantic, welcoming approach. Arriving home, Martin was excited to give me a big hug. Unfortunately, his deep baritone voice and imposing stature provoked me to scurry with fear toward my bedroom. I was pleased to note no one followed to offer me solace. Doreen visited an hour or so later. Towing the aroma of a scrumptious dinner, she was a welcome sight. Enrapt by the tantalising smell, I was easily lured to the dining room for a hearty dinner.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Playful banter, love, and warmth enjoyed during the evening meal did much to break the ice of my apprehensions. Years later, Doreen reminded me of how it took about two weeks for me to warm up to the family. Unfortunately for Martin, it would be an additional three or four months before I stopped flinching every time he loudly spoke or reached to offer a hug. Being a proud man, Martin would brood and puzzle over my unfounded fear of his presence. Adjustments to my new home were slow but steady. Like the newly sodded lawn, we were growing together.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><b><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Legacy of Abandonment</span></b><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Reacquainting myself with Doreen and the entire family proved an awkward ordeal. Being reunited with a family who had abandoned me was a very disquieting experience. One would suspect I should quickly embrace them, but such was not the case. Seeing Doreen at the airport had triggered in me post-traumatic stress from her earlier abandonment. Consuming my inner peace were images of the frantic moment Children's Aid Services removed me from Doreen's home. Doreen and I wailed in unison as the care worker dragged me out of the house. Pouring additional fuel on the flames of my anxiety was how the sight of Doreen at the airport terminal had revived painful memories of my dear Tatty. Clawing at my restless heart were recollections of my ultimate dream of family life. The same dream that had been hideously transformed into an inexorable nightmare.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Perhaps the most burdensome challenge preventing me from adjusting to the Dos Santos family was the trauma I endured over the six months before arriving in Quebec. Fostering records defined my seemingly unstoppable decline into the bowels of childcare Hell. Moving to over fifty different homes within the short span of half a year had destroyed what little self-esteem remained. The foster transcripts can be read, but words will never articulate the psychological destruction of serial abandonment.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Defining my emotional state, fear is the single word tapping me on the shoulder for attention. Most people would be incapable of understanding the impact of fear on my childhood. Without the context of experiencing my life, how could anyone adequately frame my sullied psyche? How do you describe the debilitating fear of abandonment to someone who never walked in your shoes? Comprehending the entire range of pain suffered by children who endure multiple foster placements is impossible. Like an onion, we can peel back many layers of the child's personality before identifying what resides at the core.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Touch your childhood memories. Do you recall the emotional cadence of an average day? Like most children, you probably failed to appreciate the many beautiful gifts bestowed by your loving family. Each morning, you awoke to two nurturing parents. During the day, you must have felt safe, loved, and appreciated. Your bedroom was likely similar to a pair of old slippers. Strewn about the floor of your room, I can envision toys, teddies, games and countless reminders of your wonderfully stable life. Seated at your dinner table, I see smiling faces and the smell of your mom's cooking. Gifts of love must have been everywhere throughout your beautiful home. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Laying your head to rest, you probably never once thought how wonderful it would be if your family were still there in the morning when you awoke. From my perspective, your greatest gift was being a natural-born son or daughter. The beautiful legacy of a united family. The safe haven where children thrive in the bosom of a loving nest. Healthy children experience fear as singular events like a scary movie, bicycle falls or a lost baseball glove.<br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Growing up, I coveted the good fortune of friends. In my world, almost everyone had a mom and dad. Some children I knew had lost their fathers to divorce or death. But everyone I knew had a mother. Waking in the morning as a foster child on the move to a new home left me with hollow, empty feelings. Strange faces replaced the mom and dad I desired. The bedrooms I slept in were borrowed; bereft of personal history, they resembled Motel rooms. Children inhabiting the new foster homes were not my siblings; they were transients passing a few days acting the role of my fraudulent pseudo-family. My experience of a backyard, neighbourhood and friends was a sterile, lifeless imitation of what entitled children enjoyed.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Shuffled to two foster homes a week created a world of instability and falseness. My life unravelled like a scone of wool batted about by a cat. Puzzle pieces that never meshed were incapable of producing a coherent family image? Wool scones that never find a needle knitting a warm cardigan. Worthless and shallow was the pantomime of pretending at the ideals of a happy family. Falseness, walking on eggshells, fearful my words or deeds would expose the Devil within. Of course, in the end, the Devil always has a say. Inevitably, I would forfeit the game, and the government would dip into the shrinking list to find me a new home.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Fear is experienced by healthy, well-adjusted people as a fleeting emotion. The average Joe sees his fears as unsavoury guests whisked out the door after an evening meal. Spared from inconsolable grief, trauma or tragedy, emotionally healthy people have difficulty picturing how their fears could become full-time companions. <span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Fear was not just an emotion I could discard; it was a tangible entity. Inescapable as a nemesis, my fears followed me like shadows. Spawning from the loins of my fears were demonic pixies named Anger, Hate, Self-Loathing and Greed. Buzzing about my head, the pixy offspring formed a surrogate family controlling my thoughts and actions. Gnawing, they persistently nattered unpleasantries into my ear. Most children experience guilt, hate, anger, and envy as passing psychological speed bumps along the smooth road of sound mental health. Damaged foster children encounter fear, chaos and anger as a way of life.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" />My demons were inescapable.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Ubiquitous, omnipresence, omnipotence, my fears became my God.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The psychological heritage of serial abandonment elicits challenges far too complex for any child to comprehend or manage. Dealing with serial abandonment is an impossible ask of any innocent. Incapable of distancing from my fears, my salvation was unapproachable. Somewhere in the backyard of my brain, a deep hole was dug. Buried within the pit was the total of all of my fears. Renting prime real estate in my chasm of fear were Tatty and Doreen. I knew the pit dwellers well. Daily, I shovelled out the cavity multiple times, then supped on the iniquity. The extensive fostering difficulties of the previous six months led to my emotional frailty. Meeting Doreen at the airport invoked an onslaught of Tatty memories. Stinking in the pit was a swirling melange of unbearable chaos. Never had a new placement upset me so profoundly as the renewal of relations with Doreen. Trapped in the courtyard of foster care, I had no choice but to play the survival game to the best of my limited abilities.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span><b><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The Open Door:</span></b><b><span style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></b><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Pushed to draw a concise perspective of foster care, I would design metal government gears grinding children through a sterilised machine. Ever-changing environments teach the foster child to value and appreciate stability. Approaching the six-month anniversary of Doreen's care, I was physically and emotionally thriving. Walking past the kitchen calendar reminded me of an imminent visit with my CAS worker. Entirely predictable was the quarterly assessment orchestrated by pleasant CAS professionals. Expected were the planned interview questions and the smiling face of the attendant care worker. Routine allowed me to derive success in playing the foster game.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Assessment meetings included an afternoon off school, a burger lunch, and a milkshake. Underscoring the pleasant treats was the seriousness of being tested. Failure to pass the exam surely would find me unceremoniously dragged from the Dos Santos home. Resolute with willpower, there was no damn way I would give them cause to rip me from Doreen again. Observing my care worker fill his pad with notes reminded me that life-changing results could arise from our cat-and-mouse review.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Gather information, Christopher, and play the game to win.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">There was more to winning the foster game than keeping my valued place in the Dos Santos household. Significant attention I paid to parsing truth from lies. Early in my life, I learned obstruction and lies were the currencies adults gambled in their service to my well-being. People always quiet their misdeeds with inventive justifications. Describing me as a good boy when I knew myself to be devilish was their way of keeping me safe.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Irrespective of their motives for deceit, obstruction and lies, their actions appeared to me as reasonably assembled rules. Rules were not altered mid-game. We all were consistently fake, ultimately disingenuous. Seeking to probe the details of my birth parents' desertion, the prospect of speaking with my care worker excited me. Suspecting the truth about my parents was being hidden, I was determined to unravel their illicit story. Digging for nuggets of my past was as unproductive as panning for gold in a raging river. Desperate to unearth a historical treasure, I probed any crevice I thought would yield a profit.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Consider being a little boy disheartened by an inability to ferret out the story of your birth parents. Would you not demand truthful, undiluted responses to satisfy your inquiries? Remarkably, within the stories painted for my appraisal, not one brushstroke of my checkered past was revealed. Children's services workers could easily have explained my fostering situation, but they evaded my pleas when I pressed the topic. Instead of truth, they chose denial, concealment and circumvention. Ontario CAS policies ensured my past remained a mystery. Considering their unaccommodating responses damaged my psyche, I dispute the soundness of their choice to conceal my history.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Parents often cannot comprehend a child's capacity for astute reasoning. Availing themselves of vibrant imagination, we find simple living serves children well. Immersed fully in fantasy or playtime, the child easily remains seated in the present moment. Contrarily, we adults tax our hearts in regret of lost opportunities. When not winging over the past, adults beg the future to answer unfulfilled desires. Thriving in the present moment, children embrace a carefree attitude.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Adults might better assess the emotional needs of children if they were to spend time in the child's sandbox. Relating better with how children experience their world might teach adults that lying will never protect the child. Underestimating my potential to assimilate distressing news, care workers hid details of my birth parents. CAS regulations intimate children are incapable of handling the truth. Whereas I advocate that honesty must be a prime CAS directive. Possibly, the sweet spot of responsible care lives somewhere between full disclosure and the utter hogwash they shovelled my way.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Abandoned children deserve your honesty!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Please tell us what happened!<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Memory suggests my age was five when I initiated the challenge to learn about my birth parents' disappearance. In the light of child development models, probability dictates I vocalised my concern shortly after my inaugural abandonment. Impossible it is to imagine a forsaken child would not wildly fret over lost parents. Answers to my birth parents' queries were scantily portioned, trite, and short-sighted replies. Considering my emotional stability teetered precariously in the balance, I cannot fathom why their deceptive stance persisted. Weighing the devastation caused to me by their subterfuge, it is inconceivable the CAS would find just reason to advocate a nondisclosure policy. Adding insult to injury was their dismissiveness. Cruel were the many flip responses tendered by care workers and foster parents. Several of their replies stick firmly with me today. By recollection, I paraphrase a typical exchange.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Christopher, your parents loved you very much, but circumstances forced them to foster you.</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Did my mommy and daddy not want me anymore?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Of course, they wanted you; you're a wonderful boy.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Everyone loves you, Christopher; we have your best interest in mind.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Look forward, and do not reach for the past. You are happy with the Dos Santos family, right?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Always remember, Christopher, you were not to blame.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Can you imagine dealing with similar drivel as official responses to why your parents are missing? Satisfying a child with such vacuous nonsense highlights an impossible agenda of desperate officialdom. Unfettered by obstructive adults, their deceit only further dedicated my resolve to learn the truth of my fostering history. Determined was my investigation, so much so that I eventually reached a landmark discovery. Accomplished espionage is a requisite tool for any foster child wishing to sift truth from a sack of lies. Searching for ways to unveil my past, I soon realised accurate information was a rare and powerful commodity.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">If you can't see past their lies, Christopher, you will lose the game.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Hovering over my laptop today, I share clear memories of a shocking revelation unearthed by my proclivity for spying. Clandestinely attending a private conversation between my foster mother and the CAS care worker, the proverbial locked door of their silence was left partially ajar. Sitting on the steps leading to the basement of our family home, I had positioned myself to eavesdrop. Eagerly consumed were the crumbs of their conversation. Blessed with a modicum of good fortune, breached was the subject of my birth parents. With bated breath, I strained to capture every syllable.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Panning my stairway hideout, noticeable was the contrast between the avocado-dyed semi-shag stairs against the beige pile carpet of the landing. For good cause, details of the carpeting strum memory chords. Our vacuum was too bulky for Doreen to use on the cramped stairs. An affront to Doreen's high standards of cleanliness, the unattended dirt proved irksome. To solve the problem, Doreen assigned me the weekly job of cleaning each stair by hand. You can imagine how tedious was the hand brushing task; pure relief when the sixteenth step surrendered to my probing fingers. Doreen insisted all family members contribute to sprucing up our home; we willingly answered her call to action. Duty aside, I found cleaning the stairs a most despicable chore.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Tarnished was the wrought-iron railing securing safe passage from the stairway descent. When spying on living room conversations, the intricate railing design was a welcome distraction during my silent attendance. Painted powder blue, my foster parent's bedroom abutted the hallway to the living room about twenty-five feet distant. The kitchen entrance was roughly ten feet left of my secreted stairway position. Book-ended on the right by the vestibule and left of the dining area, the living room remained comfortably accommodating. Point of note, hidden from my view, was Doreen and the CAS worker seated in the living room.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />From the top of the ninth stair, if I stood on my tiptoes while holding the railing, I could glimpse the coffee table's edge. In this position of reconnaissance, the living room was entirely out of sight. Standing upon the seventh descending stair, my little face warmed the wrought-iron railing. Painting a portrait of my spying would have you illustrate my head five inches above the hallway landing. Mimicking a satellite dish, my open ear strained desperately to capture intelligence.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Velvety soft was the floral-patterned love seat and settee proximal to our teak coffee table. Proudly, Doreen would tell visitors the table originated from her homeland of British Guyana. Occasionally, a smile would crease my chops as the plastic settee cover awkwardly moaned under the shifting weight of Doreen or the care worker. Quaint was Doreen's penchant for refusing to remove the plastic protective wrap adorning our newly purchased couch. Speaking of a time when a new furniture purchase signified a significant event, Doreen's plastic penchant warms my heart. Have you ever noticed a plastic-clad couch decorating a 1960s living room? If so, perhaps your heart warmed as is mine.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Millennial children wishing to share a loving moment with their grandparents need only ask them about plastic-covered settees. If engaging in a conversation about the protective covering, allow me to furnish an interesting aside. Research exposed how local furniture manufacturers used plastic to cover the new sofas. Apparently, back in the day, manufacturers used twelve-gauge, heavy-duty, clear vinyl protective sheeting. Designed for showroom applications, the sheeting proved a competent fabric protector. Conscientious purchasers, like Doreen, would insist the vendor deliver the couch with the sheeting perfectly intact on the seats, backs, sides and armrests. Who knows how common was the demand for clear vinyl sofa covers? However, I will attest to seeing the penchant displayed in many homes throughout the sixties and early seventies.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Speaking of armrests, I remember Martin's mother, lovingly known as Do Do, had crocheted beautiful armrest covers for our matching sofa and loveseat. Four intricately designed covers, an esteemed Christmas present to Doreen in recognition of the exciting news of our new sofa set purchase. Compelled to grant the covers their rightful home, Doreen toiled with the uncertainty of how to best proceed. Vexed was Doreen that the covers constantly slipped off the unaccommodating vinyl. Deepening her anxiety was the reality that, considering the vinyl cladding, the crocheted gifts were redundant protectors.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />In the end, Doreen buckled under her sense of appreciation for Do Do's toil and loving consideration. For many years I watched a provoked Doreen suck her teeth as she straightened the covers anew. Doreen's choice to prevail in the face of logic taught me a valuable lesson about honour and respect. By the way, do you remember crocheted armrest covers and sofa backs? If not, ask your grandma about similar traditions. Given the opportunity, she can still teach a lesson or further a smile.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Caught in pleasantries of the past, I have digressed. If you indulge me, we will return to the espionage at hand.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Doreen and my care worker exchanged obligatory pleasantries. Soon after, their interview evolved in earnest. As near as I can recollect, their discussion accordingly follows. Banal updates of my behaviour encourage the conversation to crawl at a snail's pace. Doreen's tendered evaluation offered a mixed bag of sweet compliments spiced by a few salty concerns. Apparently, I was getting along well with her natural-born children. The natural-born descriptor always proved a barb to my tender heart.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Was I unnaturally born?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Chris is sleeping and eating well. He finally stopped wetting the bed, and I happily discarded the plastic mattress covering. Doreen's concern aroused as she remarked upon my fear of water. Perturbed, she lamented the need to bathe me in the kitchen sink with a hand towel. Martin's powerful presence still causes Chris considerable anxiety, she flatly stated. Doreen paused as if attending to the worker's suggestions. When advice was not forthcoming, she rambled along. Doreen happily asserted how my stable behaviour should endorse September's kindergarten attendance. Stimulated by the excitement of Doreen's revelation, I ballooned with joy.<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Picking at the green woollen loops of shag carpet, I nearly lost hope the interview would yield news of my obliterated past. Resembling an old slug crossing a garden path, the conversation sauntered along. Undoubtedly, the slug was worth following, but I desperately wanted it to arrive at its destination. With my hope almost entirely dashed, their exchange steered toward a favourable purpose. The following paraphrased conversation, flowing from clear memories, is likely accurate enough to earn quotation marks.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Chris persists with questions about his birth parents. What do you suggest I tell him?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Just keep giving Christopher a positive image of his birth parents. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Let Christopher know they loved him.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Please don't go into any details about their history.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />I really don't think he will let this issue drop. Admonished my foster mother.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />All Christopher requires is a little more time to readjust to your wonderful family. The more Christopher feels your family is his future, the less likely he will reach for his past. Christopher's behaviour is progressing amazingly, Doreen. You should be very proud of your many accomplishments.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Confirming suspicions Doreen was towing an official party line, I felt cheated, angry and confused. Powerlessness is a feeling I believe most children deal with regularly. However, in that horrible moment of deception, I felt more like a pawn than a person. Transformative to my character was the shock of learning the people I trusted most were liars. People who said they loved me were hiding why my birth parents gave me away. How could they steal the memory of my parents? Knowing the details of my past, Doreen schemed to hide my history. How many times had she danced around endless questions about my parents? Doreen coyly brushed me aside by acting like she never knew the answers. How could I ever trust her again? Processing the deceitful conversation left me heartbroken. Silently braving the situation, warm tears dampened my cotton dinosaur tee shirt.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" />Don't provide details about his birth parents, Doreen!<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />What bloody details were they keeping from me?<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Quickly, as the conversation steered toward my birth parents, it returned to dullness. For the next ten minutes, their exchanges droned. Captivated by internal chaos, I idly picked at the brown corduroy highway of my Kmart pants. Wiping away the steady flow of tears, I was careful to not sniffle or give away my secreted position. Oblivious to the balance of their discussion, I slipped into a trance-like fog. Agonisingly, I stewed at the disagreeable prospect of knowing there was no one I could trust.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Snapped from my stupor by the collective groan of shifting plastic, I assembled my lost senses. The meeting concluded; the care worker prepared to take his leave. Scurrying down the stairs, I launched onto the old settee and curled into a tight protective ball. Perhaps two or three minutes later, the heavy footfall of my foster mother spiked my angst. Slightly moaning, the bannister railing announced Doreen's imminent arrival. Grasping my building blocks, I pensively awaited the changing cadence of her steps. Her footfall moving from stairs to landing betrayed her arrival in the basement. Fearing I would reveal reddened eyes, I pretended to be sound asleep. My foster mother paused upon seeing my blushed face. With absolute stillness, we both tended to the moment with caution. Loving was Doreen's pat on my warm forehead. Without so much as a whisper, Doreen retraced her way to the staircase. Holding intact my breath, I listened as the bannister rail and stairs creaked under her weight. Pondering the moment, I knew my blushed face had betrayed eavesdropping wiles.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Clasping hand to mouth, sobbing lightly, I held my breath until the bannister creaked no more.</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" /><b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Two Plus Two Equals Three:</span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br /></span></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Armed with confirmation the adults were lying to me, I confronted the dubious task of reconstructing my past. Lying in bed that fateful night, my favourite faded blue horse print flannel PJs kept me company. Perplexed by the undesirable revelations of the day, logically teasing the knot of my original abandonment, I tried my best to understand the enigma. Irrespective of how hard I tried, I could not solve the story of why I had no birth parents. What details had the CAS been keeping from me? What could be so horrible that a lie would protect me more than the truth? Care workers lied all the time, but Doreen always spoke the truth. What could have compelled her to betray my trust? Compiling the scant evidence available, I synthesised the intelligence into what I determined were the facts. For many months, often repeated, care workers and Doreen always assured me of two specific truths.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />First, my parents loved me dearly.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Second, my parents had no choice but to get rid of me.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />In my mind, this quandary was not too hard a puzzle to piece together. Adding two and two, I confidently arrived at three. Inconveniently obvious was the answer to the most important question of my life. After teasing the dilemma until my head hurt, I decided only one of two scenarios could be possible. Either someone stole me from my parents, or the government took me away because I was a terrible boy. Considering the CAS was complicit, the abducted child theory seemed extraordinarily unlikely. Bitter was the glaring truth that screamed for an immediate reckoning.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My unacceptable behaviour left the government no choice but to take me from my birth parents.</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Sitting up in bed, I reached for a memory of Doreen describing how my unruliness had forced CAS workers to place me in countless different homes. From what Doreen told me, the six months before moving to Quebec, my average stay in a foster home was only three days. Adding up the carnage of the first forty months of foster care, I realised the government had taken me from well over one hundred foster placements. Foggy memories reminded me of how my unruly behaviour had provoked the need for care workers to find me a new foster home. Armed with such a checkered past, could anyone fault me for arriving at a mistaken explanation for my abandonment? My birth parents had never abandoned me; the government had taken me from them. Saddled with this heavy burden, the agonising trek of irrational rationalisation persisted.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Solitary and savage was the evening of impassioned accountability. Drowning in a sea of disturbing memories, I watched imaginary films of Christopher wreaking havoc in various foster homes. Punctuating the shows were vignettes of disgusted foster parents hovering over me with fingers wagging. The killing dagger was always the mental movie of Doreen crying whilst the worker dragged me from her Quebec home. Looking into my heart today, I revive the inconsolable pain of stewing over my newfound truth.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />No one to blame but me. My abandonment had always been self-inflicted.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />With greater regularity than the garbage bin, they deployed me from the foster home to the curb. Sublime was the cold truth that if potatoes were served the day I arrived at a foster home, the odds were good that I would be in a new foster home before the potato peels were curbside trash. Even though Doreen loved me, it would not be long before my behaviour would demand the government take me from her loving care. Knowing my destructive behaviour forced the government to steal me from my birth parents, how could I ever expect to be anyone's forever child? Identifying behavioural chaos and bearing witness to my well-documented history of inevitable failure, tears further stained my flannel PJs. Sliding into a pit of grief, I curled into the tightest little ball and then sobbed.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />From that night forward, I was too afraid to ask why I became a foster child.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Maybe it would have been best if I refused to consume the fruit of my espionage. Ignoring my ugly identity would have been much easier than dealing with the beast. Suspicions rejected could have fed the deniability of my newly defined character and circumstance. Hiding from the truth would have been easier than accepting the blame for systemic abandonment. Should I face my demons or run away from my dysfunction? Either action would forever alter my identity. Dutiful children deserved loving birth parents that I did not. Martin and Doreen had three proper children, each far more deserving of their love than me. The writing was on the wall; I needed to quickly mend my disgusting character. Left to my accord, destructive thought forms inevitably contributed to my self-appointed status as a worthless human. Throughout the lion's share of my childhood, I waited for Doreen to step into my bedroom with chilling news.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Don't worry, Christopher. We love you, but we have to give you away.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">It's just the way things are.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Please, dear child, remember it's not your fault.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Reflecting upon that pensive evening, two questions picked at my craw. How could anyone imagine lies would serve a child better than the truth? Why can't CAS policymakers realise the value of disclosing the unedited story of foster children's histories? Obscuring the past erodes the foundation of trust needed to support the child. Denying children their history will encourage them to fabricate a new version of reality. To the Canadian Children's Aid Society, I quote Doreen's wisdom.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />"Put that in your pipe, then smoke it."<br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Describing the development of my false identity underscored the root of my psychological dysfunction. Portentous was the night I conjured images of an unworthy boy. Sewn as a tiny seed, a mighty Oak of self-loathing would grow. For CAS workers advocating obscuring the truth, consider how sharing the truth would have prevented my descent into self-deprecation. Deceitful adults forced me to shoulder the blame for serial abandonment.</span></span></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Their lies, fertile soil for the planting of weeds.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Every journey incorporates a single first step. Each tree is born from a tiny seed. Spying on Doreen's conversation led me down a woeful garden path. Sprouting within my heart was a dark, false identity. Seeds of self-loathing would assuredly thrive. Flourishing weeds and invasive species were planted in my garden. Eradicating the pests would require a lifetime of dedicated effort. Complete was my departure from self-love, and inevitable catastrophic crashes followed.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Free the blood, paint the gutter red with despair.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Self-loathing is a most wicked companion.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Part and parcel of the human condition might be the affliction of an inner voice. Like termites taxing the foundation of a stately old mansion, my hateful mind consumed my spirit. Good fortune could have invited love to check the infestation of my foundation; unfortunately, that ship had sailed into the black night. Embracing unworthiness, the love gifted me remained untouched. My foster family tried in vain to share their loving sentiments. Well-intended as these gifts were, I never learned how to access the balm. Parents should stay connected with their children's emotional state. Good communication can ensure children fully welcome the love liberally dispensed by parents. Regretfully, a lack of psychiatric guidance prevented me from realising I was worthy of love.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Often, I have read about how the loss of a single parent can destroy a child. Common knowledge implies the first five years of a child's life are critical to their emotional development. By the age of three, I had lost both my birth parents. Before my fifth birthday, I thrived with the love of Doreen and Tatty, only to have them both stripped from my life. Distilling Doreen's stories, over one hundred foster families abandoned me before the age of six. Psychiatrists have assured me each departure from a new foster home added another tier of trauma. Layered are the psychological wounds. Like descending stairs, they lead me to a dungeon of horrors. Revolving doors of abandonment utterly destroyed any chance I might have had to lead a life of normalcy.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />The psychological rigours of my past compel me to wonder if there is a way to spare other children from a similar fate? Knowing a cure-all elixir cannot eliminate the problem, we still must ask if we are doing enough. Today, I would love to tell you I have answers to this dilemma. Unfortunately, insurmountable is the task of breathing love into all foster children. There seems to be no path the CAS can chart to prevent the cycle of serial abandonment. Institutional residency of children is not a viable solution. Nothing can replace the wholesome dynamics of family life or replicate the loving bonds created by a nuclear family. Regardless of how tall is the mountain of superior foster care,<o:p class="ContentPasted0"> a </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">dedicated focus and innovation must lead to an improved fostering experience.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Citing my case study, I am convinced that psychiatric guidance would have helped immensely. If only a professional voice was there to guide me from the skid of self-depreciation. How my life would have changed if I knew myself worthy of the love everyone so liberally gifted. Psychological profiling would have identified my social obstacles. Healing pathways could have been laid for me if only I knew the truth of my abandonment. Seeing the beast that consumed me, a psychiatrist could have empowered me to release my false persona. Unburdened by the weight of being responsible for my birth parents losing their son, I might have had a chance at a better life.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />If afforded a luncheon with the head of the CAS, I would first inquire why I never received psychiatric counsel. Canadian tax dollars invest billions toward meeting the physical needs of foster children, yet they dedicate very few resources to address the mental health of these lost souls. Having read their websites, I know the stated CAS mandate illustrates a desire to strive toward excellence.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Why is psychiatric guidance not the cornerstone of the foster care program?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />What would it take to ensure all foster children knew they were worthy of being loved?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />How can we better communicate with foster children?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Hindsight makes it easy for me to lament the shortfalls of my childhood. Images of what could have been are still occupying my attention. My regrets urge me to challenge parents to equip their children with the knowledge they are deeply loved. Telling our children we love them does not guarantee they will feel loved. Tilled with a tainted plough was my emotional garden; a similar fate does not have to befall future foster generations. Flourishing weeds of my self-hate drove me toward chaos; we can strive to teach foster children how to grow flowers. Termites liberally fed on my spirit, but we can teach the next foster child self-love.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The I Am Reckoning:</span></b><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Bantering crickets kept me company as menacing Octopus arms, formed by the branches of our old weeping willow, cast grim shadows upon my bedroom wall. Interrupting the cricket din, a crotchety black cicada hurled a loud shrill. Responding to the insolent cicada, both the crickets and I retreated. The ensuing silence left me entirely lost in thought. Inhaling the moment of peace proved satisfying. Restless with the stillness, the gabby crickets soon regained command of the starry night. The late summer evening was possibly a little too warm for my flannel PJ ponies, yet I was verily comforted by their prancing presence. Two days removed from my tortuous spying mission, I struggled to come to terms with my new identity.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />The bedroom closet door, slightly ajar, caused me endless disquiet. Undoubtedly, those nasty resident gremlins were busy plotting my demise. Every boy knows an open wardrobe door is a portal connecting the netherworld to the monster staging ground under his bed. Having constructed their camp, the ghouls will begin preparation for the brief journey to the waiting neck of a child in slumber. Most nights, sleep would not come unless I mustered sufficient courage to secure, then gremlin-proof, my closet door. Ominous as was their presence that desperate night, in the grip of self-deprivation, I hastily demoted closet monsters to the role of backseat tyrants. Enrapt by the chore of puzzling out my new identity, there were more troubling concerns afoot than paying cotton to the dues of octopi, ghouls, or gremlins.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Like a fat old steer chewing his cud, I ruminated over the many revelations of the previous day. The shifty commentary secretively shared between Doreen and the CAS worker did not inflict the fatal wound. Curled up in my PJs, rerunning the conversation through my mind, guilt pressed most upon my leaking heart. Life-changing and irreparable was the psychological damage caused when I understood that my wretched behaviour was responsible for the government taking me from my birth parents.<span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Crossroads of consciousness, the birth of dysfunction.</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Lying in bed, tracing my finger over the faded blue pony patterns, I stewed like a soggy carrot in Doreen's crock-pot. Termites gnawing in my mind left a sawdust residue pointing unmistakably at my new identity. Somehow, my brain sold its false bad-boy narrative to my heart. Soon after my deeds became common knowledge, the co-conspirators visited the print shop. Boldly stated in brash lettering, gauche as circus banners, the great I AM reports for this sad-sack six-year-old read as follows;</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">I am a bad boy!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Everything is my fault!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Nobody loves me!<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Does every child experience a realisation so profound it changes their identity? Alone, curled up on the bed edge, my self-esteem quietly and uneventfully spilt onto the bedsheets. Processing these newly minted emotions of self-loathing proved physically distressing. Drawing memories near enough to taste, I easily recall the pain of ruminating on ugly thoughts. During that fateful night, waves of dispirited affirmations began pecking at my sense of peace.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />You're not good enough, Christopher!<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />You don't deserve a real mommy and daddy.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />You're bad!<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />You're just like garbage!<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />No different from making a stew, the longer I allowed I AM affirmations to simmer, the more potent the broth became. Vigorously stirring the cauldron of self-hate, I discovered it was becoming difficult to breathe. Reaching for a metaphor to help you better connect with my experience, images of a drowning boy would suffice. Desperation, fear, hopelessness, and shame were blended emotions that created a whirlwind of despair within my heart. Smothering were the thoughts running roughshod over my sense of self-worth. Looking back, I see why breath was so hard to find. Within the revelatory moments, guilt began consuming what remained of my innocence.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Guilty as charged, your honour; this boy ruined his family.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Foster children shuffled between multiple homes receive care, not love. No one would expect a foster parent to love a child placed in their care for one week. Pushing foster parents to their limits, I could almost taste their dislike. Natural-born children have parents who love them unconditionally. I knew the road from disliked to loved was an impossible journey. Only good boys deserve love. Emotionally charged affirmations, like plastic bags wrapped around my head, suffocated the old Christopher.<br class="ContentPasted0" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Through the window of my imagination, I was drawing my final breath.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Pushing back the covers, I jerked myself upright on the bed. Chest heaving, tears sufficient to float a popsicle stick. Sweaty, hot, and scared, I did not know a new Christopher had just been born. Slowly, my breathing returned to normal, and my racing heart calmed. Sweat and tears I wiped clean with the aid of the little blue ponies. Collecting my senses, I heard the bedroom door creak. Due to a lack of bedrooms in our home, my foster brother and I shared the bed until Martin could construct a basement bedroom for young Marty. Rarely was I awake so late; obviously, I had been chewing my cud for quite some time.</span></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Holding the covers to my neck, I attended to the inevitable rush of cool air. To this day, I love the sensation of cool air filling the vacuum created by covers briskly raised and then lowered. Marty soon surrendered to the Sandman; I softly exhaled. Wonderful was my big brother sleeping next to me; monsters never came after me when he was by my side. Distracted and comforted by my brother's gravity, my mind stilled. Auspicious as was the night. Having solved the dilemma of my past, sleep did quickly arrive.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Waking the morning after my epiphany, having further supped on my destructive insights, I feared my tenuous place in the family had become brittle as an eggshell. Slinking toward the breakfast table, I secretly reflected upon how significantly my identity had changed. Idly gazing at my toast and eggs, I felt scared and ashamed. My newfound truth was inescapable, my guilt assured. Reaching for the focus button, I will now attempt to articulate the intensity of those dirty feelings. Hobbled by a lack of words, I expect I will fall dreadfully short of hitting the mark soundly enough for you to feel my pain.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" />How do I describe to you my broken heart?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Hoping to benefit you with a better glimpse into my emotional tenor, a descriptive metaphor might serve me well. Drawing your attention to a dog whose misadventures invoke stern reprisals from his brutal master, I ask you to look into the dog's eyes. Within the metaphor, you more than recognise the look of the dog's fear. You taste the foulness of the beast's dread. Undoubtedly, like any compassionate soul, you feel for the unsettled animal. Few of us find difficulty connecting seeds of causality to the demeanour of an abused animal.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Similar to the abuse rendered upon the dog, the seeds of my psychological deflation were well and truly sewn within my spirit. Held by the chains of an impossible choice, the dog and I will always cower and flinch. Branded by the legacy of our past, the lost mutt and I submit under the demon's spell. Quietly cowering at the breakfast table, I felt like the entire family knew of my filthy secret. Desperately, I wanted everyone to stop lying. If only Doreen would point an accusatory finger my way.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />You are a horrible child, Christopher!<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />It is your fault the government took you from your loving parents!<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />How could you do that to your parents?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Lit by truth and with my evil behaviour known by all, maybe I could breathe again. Riding the wake of my nasty boy epiphany, magnified were fears of my perpetual abandonment. Images of a little boy carrying a tote bag of hidden fears will always haunt my serenity. Battered, the bag has earned the well-scuffed look of a soldier's drab green duffel. Within the sack, I carry a load of insecurity clawing at mouldy seams. Filled, the shabby green duffel overpowered me with the weight of diminished self-worth. Reflecting upon my youthful posture, I see how my body shrunk and curved under the significant burden of emotional baggage. Heft a fifty-pound sack of sugar, and then you can relate to the weight toted by the broken child. <br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Further to the framework of personal strife, I notice how people struggle to maintain a positive identity. Even blustery sorts bathing in confidence have self-worth precariously teetering in a balance. Answering the chatter of our inner voices, is regular self-appraisal not a common habit of all people? Appraising our worth, do we not all open the box with a hammer? Irrefutable evidence confirms how all humans are adept at manufacturing chaos. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">People fortunate to live relatively free of mayhem will still contrive fear-biased false narratives. The voice in everyone's head barks. Heartily consuming their fears, people fail to notice how the chaos they dread rarely finds cause to darken their doorstep. For this confused foster child, doubt and fear were well-acquainted companions invoking an inevitable psychological transition. From the crumbs of a continental breakfast, I always managed to scrape together an emotional banquet of fear?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Midnight Moon, we see the little boy wearing Billy boots and PJ ponies. The child is busy tending his garden.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="ContentPasted0" />Preeminent weeds, like the realisation of not being worthy of love, the understanding I did not belong, or the bad boy persona, were identities heartily owned by my childhood psyche. Reviewing the extent of my psychological damage, there were two barrels to the emotional shotgun. I loaded the more familiar barrel with boomerang shells. Each box of shells comprised nasty events uncomfortably replayed from memory. Daily, I shot myself with memory reels confirming my wickedness. Triggering the vignette would be an event, a stern rebuke, a loud noise, or a fast movement. Most often, emotional flagellation was the endgame of my recurring memories. Bedtime proved the demon hour; the memories attacked with ferocity. Alone in my room, I would self-deflate. Sufficiently agitated, I would rewind a movie for my false identity to consume. Greedily feasting upon the popcorn of my past evilness, I would reaffirm my unworthiness. Crystal-clear memories repeatedly played until I emotionally bled to sleep.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">I loaded the shotgun's second barrel with invisible ammunition. </span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Absent of the tangible memories that striped like a whip, the invisible ammo was </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">seemingly benign, but the damage caused was far from minimal. Ammunition, like the tragic loss of my birth parents or the mental and physical damage inflicted by foster parents charged with my care. Caregivers who left scars that would never be supported by ugly memories. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Would it not be unduly naïve to imagine that all foster parents capably dealt with a dreadfully unmanageable child? What happened behind the closed doors of my foster homes? What emotional price did I pay for carrying the burdens that never etched pathways into my memory banks? Supporting the supposition of occulted abuse, Doreen often remarked upon my visceral childhood fears that she viewed as signposts of abusive trauma.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Tearfully, Doreen described me as the most scared and broken child she had ever fostered. Almost anything would make me wince, cower, cry, or scream. My fear of water was so intense Doreen had to give me sponge baths in the kitchen sink. Loud noises would send me into hiding for hours. Fearful of making me cower, Martin had to manage his deep baritone voice. Fast movements within the periphery of my vision always made me flinch. Never would I know how impactful was the invisible ammunition. One afternoon, I asked my psychiatrist what he believed was the more damaging barrel. Formed in a simple observation was his flat reply. "Does it matter?"<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Deeply buried trauma, roosting in the back forty of my mind as an insatiably feeding psychosis.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Trauma, whether recalled from memories or untouchable horrors of which I cannot even guess, I am sure each scar was another brushstroke painting my emotional development. Steady doses of chaos, nurtured by unabated insecurities, created the inevitable tapestry of my social dysfunction. Often, we sternly judge when witnessing an unruly child exhibit destructive, abusive, or sociopathic behaviour. Rarely do we take a moment to consider their deeds and carriage could be beyond their control. Gifted with the capacity of clear thinking, how easy it is to judge the chaos we witness others spew. Living free from the disgrace of psychological disorders, mentally healthy people rarely grasp the causal process of the delinquent's outburst.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Referencing my childhood, the best Google-aided self-diagnosis I might conjure would identify a case of mild disruptive behavioural disorders with symptoms of borderline sociopathy. For me, the most debilitating issues were low self-esteem, chronic insecurity, distrust, trauma re-enactment and antisocial behaviour. Most who knew me would believe I had a conscience. However, in my heart, I knew my conscience was entirely self-serving. If I appeared contrite or penitent in the light of a heinous act, it was more in service to mitigate my penance than profound remorse or even idle regret.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />Not having the skill set of a psychiatrist, I can only relate to personal experiences of psychological dysfunction. Behavioural delinquency, clinically defined as a malaise of human psychology, was an entirely academic consideration that a little boy would have no prayer of grasping. From my simple perspective, I could only relate to the feeling of being broken. How different my childhood might have been if a psychiatrist sat me down to explain the causality of my destructive behaviour. What if you asked me to identify the most irksome part of childhood? What response would you expect? Would it surprise you if I emphatically pointed at my inability to control the regularity or outcome of my unruly episodes?<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" />I did not know why I did nasty things. They just hatched out of me.<br class="ContentPasted0" /><br class="ContentPasted0" /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Broken, hanging onto a thin thread, what sordid future awaited this sadly dysfunctional six-year-old boy? Carting a wagonload of guilt, incapable of self-control, would love miraculously transform this defective child? If well-adjusted living was not in the cards for me, what tragedies would the storms wash ashore?</span><o:p class="ContentPasted0" style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </o:p></span></p></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-50873831556247182922021-05-26T21:32:00.000-07:002021-05-26T21:32:00.887-07:00Dove Seduces Raven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHIyEyarG3JrOjMH_KVKf47A4kUAeaUWTCVczBgHKGf3xp_xFrTIJsZ598wLmO-Shbus1Hx4pWhd4Nn_NTDA3w71uBqNapQTjKh2oIpib9ysofj7x4pDtQwryCnj76VwhdsMaTpqbp_Ih/s2048/Raven%252Band%252Bdove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1381" data-original-width="2048" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHIyEyarG3JrOjMH_KVKf47A4kUAeaUWTCVczBgHKGf3xp_xFrTIJsZ598wLmO-Shbus1Hx4pWhd4Nn_NTDA3w71uBqNapQTjKh2oIpib9ysofj7x4pDtQwryCnj76VwhdsMaTpqbp_Ih/w640-h432/Raven%252Band%252Bdove.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><b>Dove Seduces Raven</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Morn beckons a cooing Dove</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Wings aflutter, the Gods do blush</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Grace personified, she charms</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Raven sits upon a fence in awe</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Snow-white belies waggishness </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Entreating bottom wiggles a call</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Proudly ample breasts gesticulate </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Raven sits upon a fence in awe</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Hitherto an invite remains uncast</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Eyes aflutter, vivaciously glowing</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Wings excite, breath soon quickens </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Raven sits upon a fence in awe</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Dreamy melodies spill from the vale</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Songs enchant the daybreak mizzle</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Ebony crown cocked to assemble</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Sultry ballad bewitches Raven</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Plumage prinked to coy perfection</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Coquettish flirtation pricks senses</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Invitation coerces, the heart aflutter</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Seductress lures a provoked Raven</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Spell cast under a midnight moon</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Her gaze dancing across the heath</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Swooning casualty reels transfixed </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Moonlit debauchery captures Raven</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Desire sincere, a feathery caress</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Besotten lovers hungrily consume</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Spirits entwined, they rollick</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Entranced Raven utterly surrenders</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Decades expire, never do they part</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Night cuddles day, union inevitable</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Black wing cradles ivory petticoat </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Spellbound Raven utterly surrenders</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Snow paints old the forest floor</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Perched in service, inamorato fawns</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Beloved contentedly sweeps a wing</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: medium;">Mesmerised Raven utterly surrenders </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-29506032732399891852021-02-22T20:23:00.003-08:002021-02-22T20:30:47.397-08:00Blind Rabbit<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLIbvrt8Y6XyYqxKQTnW2w5tGuSQCHPNppKUqPG7jBofQI5xHYZ8Z4FQBYyU2H3YZFeVxdyWu5zLRMOWLYBxarcBMIT-41f7-1ry4RxQWqyNdrOT4Vwo-ee66-H5SftmaWxH4F-lKRUtE/s940/Were-rabbit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="940" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLIbvrt8Y6XyYqxKQTnW2w5tGuSQCHPNppKUqPG7jBofQI5xHYZ8Z4FQBYyU2H3YZFeVxdyWu5zLRMOWLYBxarcBMIT-41f7-1ry4RxQWqyNdrOT4Vwo-ee66-H5SftmaWxH4F-lKRUtE/w567-h434/Were-rabbit.jpg" width="567" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>'Blind Rabbit'</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Daybreak invites an inquisitive mind</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Misted mirror clouds faithful identity</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who animates this befogged apparition?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;">Blind</span> geezer grasping spectral <span style="color: red;">Atomic </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Noontide respires in phantasmagorical art</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ego bends the knee to unfurled reality</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What must be this atypical luminary? </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;">Rabbit</span> bounds towards cosmic <span style="color: red;">Quark</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Twilight visions synaptically dance </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Warren turnpike exacts a cerebral toll</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Where terminates the labyrinth maze?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;">Searching</span> truth, confusion <span style="color: red;">Unleashed</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Midnight shadows restlessly flitter</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fire affixes light upon dreamy halfwit</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When do sparks frisk an empty mind?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;">Wisdom</span> streaks athwart <span style="color: red;">Wormhole</span> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pedagogue moon contemplates self</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cosmic fragments are scattered afoot</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Verily, beingness unburdens the mist </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;">Within</span> the Blind Rabbit lies <span style="color: red;">Divinity</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cockcrow hour excites the dilate psyche</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dewy perspectives bark at idle intellect</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who gnaws crumbled osseous matter?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;">Discovers</span> gospel, foolishness <span style="color: red;">Animates</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Midday Philosophy naps in the sun</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Conjecture roils over an iron cauldron</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What magic splashes this weary cook?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;">Singularity</span>, universe ultimately <span style="color: red;">Integrated</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dusk calms this spirited interrogation</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Peace lounges upon a single white sheet</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Where two is found, is a lie not born? </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;">Champions</span> of the cause, arenas for the <span style="color: red;">Blind </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Witching hour harkens consolidation</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tasty brew concocted from ignorance</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When can this Jester rest for the night? </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;">Love</span> acknowledges the fractured <span style="color: red;">Rabbit</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;"><i><b> Blind Rabbit Searching Wisdom Within, Discovers Singularity Champions Love</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;"><i><b> Atomic Quark Unleashed Wormhole, Divinity Animates Integrated Blind Rabbit </b></i></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-66400094367508762432021-02-14T19:09:00.005-08:002021-09-28T23:31:36.913-07:00Ocean of Love<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Qf0b2IhXy6ysly3TZNgnGEN0gdANN45oqQZkAYjPBNd-kISTl0JI-oBmzWFJl6agf4bIxu7jjDruJEs-Ai6jc6GDMmHUoPfjw34AYmu3muDT-6IaGVh8yLIRZHxO1WaLV6MWKnXRXkvY/s900/ocean-of-love-mojgan-abolhassani.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="900" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Qf0b2IhXy6ysly3TZNgnGEN0gdANN45oqQZkAYjPBNd-kISTl0JI-oBmzWFJl6agf4bIxu7jjDruJEs-Ai6jc6GDMmHUoPfjw34AYmu3muDT-6IaGVh8yLIRZHxO1WaLV6MWKnXRXkvY/w640-h406/ocean-of-love-mojgan-abolhassani.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><h1 style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit;"><font color="#ff0000" size="6" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;">Ocean <span class="markmgcxxmv6m" color="inherit" data-markjs="true" data-ogab="" data-ogac="" data-ogsb="" data-ogsc="" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">of</span> <span class="marklq4dnnd7y" color="inherit" data-markjs="true" data-ogab="" data-ogac="" data-ogsb="" data-ogsc="" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Love</span></font></b></h1><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: inherit; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: inherit; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: inherit; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: inherit; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></div></div></div></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: inherit; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: inherit; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Walking eternally upon a vast desert floor</span></b></i></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Dare I imagine <span class="marklq4dnnd7y" color="inherit" data-markjs="true" data-ogab="" data-ogac="" data-ogsb="" data-ogsc="" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">love</span> attends my call</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>What spirit might enable the next step</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Searching, when the ocean cannot be seen</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /></b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Mirages appear, then quickly fade to dust</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Images <span class="markmgcxxmv6m" color="inherit" data-markjs="true" data-ogab="" data-ogac="" data-ogsb="" data-ogsc="" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">of</span> the mind, breathe life, cast hope</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Slowly, a sense <span class="markmgcxxmv6m" color="inherit" data-markjs="true" data-ogab="" data-ogac="" data-ogsb="" data-ogsc="" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">of</span> possibility arises</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Dreaming, when the ocean cannot be seen</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /></b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Mantle photos speak to another journey</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Reflections in a mother's eyes tell a tale</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Morning mist whispering a soft serenade</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Hoping, when the ocean cannot be seen</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /></b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Passing souls foretell <span class="markmgcxxmv6m" color="inherit" data-markjs="true" data-ogab="" data-ogac="" data-ogsb="" data-ogsc="" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">of</span> deep waters</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Youthful fancy, candy upon the tree</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Park bench for two, sunshine and smiles</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Harkening, when the ocean cannot be seen</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /></b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Darling, your open heart brings <span class="marklq4dnnd7y" color="inherit" data-markjs="true" data-ogab="" data-ogac="" data-ogsb="" data-ogsc="" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">love</span></b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Light casts away bitter dry darkness</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Joyful tears begin to fill the valley floor</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Swooning, when the ocean cannot be seen</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /></b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit;">Swimming in the bliss </span><span class="markmgcxxmv6m" color="inherit" data-markjs="true" data-ogab="" data-ogac="" data-ogsb="" data-ogsc="" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">of</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit;"> a fresh new world</span></span></b></i></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Deep, bottomless, unimaginable pleasure</span></b></i></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Hard to envision desolate sands lie below</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Sparkling, when the ocean finally appears</b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-20724657514241645232021-01-22T19:41:00.002-08:002021-01-22T20:28:24.557-08:00Tragic to Magic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bJAqZ1B4goxWRVb2bWP5e-dZIsox2Ys6M3x5iGvxT-LpeuTlbiEAUHFWHM147-D7NSL7CKM_Rs_y0E_qBWJt5OlHERdzx0VLO6669l9LBtx7nWmZvyGofDhiVGdO2NJU96AkRylj7xvv/s1600/Mother.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="852" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bJAqZ1B4goxWRVb2bWP5e-dZIsox2Ys6M3x5iGvxT-LpeuTlbiEAUHFWHM147-D7NSL7CKM_Rs_y0E_qBWJt5OlHERdzx0VLO6669l9LBtx7nWmZvyGofDhiVGdO2NJU96AkRylj7xvv/s640/Mother.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Satisfy; font-size: x-large;"><i>Mother</i></span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lamb prances through fields of clover</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Kitty follows emboldened with delight</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Amity cleaved by unspeakable horror</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Coal dust sprinkled within a child's heart</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tragic</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
One, then two, have become forlornly lost</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Blood paints red the bathroom with love</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ichor drips from womb to executive blade</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pen dances across a Lilly white contract </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Devastation</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Broken in spirit, she spies foreign lands</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Quilt patched anew with threadbare linen</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Larvae blanketed within Godlike leaves</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sunlight trumpets the benevolent Monarch</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Emancipation</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Painstakingly, freedom is knit from truth</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Disquiet prevails until a frog she doth kiss</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Army man brandishes her golden sword</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
United by pneuma, steely dragons are slain</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Unification</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Winter frost cuddles the moonlit garden</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Festooned upon the vine are blackened fruit</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Blue bags peppered with lumps of coal</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Upon the battlefield, her soul is rendered</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Surrender</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Truth fluently dispatches the heart of fear</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Love prevails beyond the darkest night</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This witness bows in sight of light divine</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mother guiding her son toward God</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Magic</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVszqXxUVISP3CaQUjGPjk5_Jtp6KwIuD_-ZBIE9QxZl12beLGYX0TrjrBk0qF12LTEnd1_BCt9EOYwrfG6h6vWyyTENZG5kWj3sjZunBRJ1nmn_gcCoo4pYzcdj24Snz88fiXe9bZBolM/s1920/mother+4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVszqXxUVISP3CaQUjGPjk5_Jtp6KwIuD_-ZBIE9QxZl12beLGYX0TrjrBk0qF12LTEnd1_BCt9EOYwrfG6h6vWyyTENZG5kWj3sjZunBRJ1nmn_gcCoo4pYzcdj24Snz88fiXe9bZBolM/w640-h426/mother+4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<b><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Satisfy; font-size: x-large;">Son</span></i></b></div></b>
<br />
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">Bleating babe, crimson mother drains</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kin amble forth, empty pockets proffered</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ink-stained covenant, state proxy severs</div><div style="text-align: center;">Love tore asunder, lost lamb fractured</div><div style="text-align: center;">Tragic</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Blackened angel flees to adventitious lands</div><div style="text-align: center;">Infant reared by treasurer's golden coin</div><div style="text-align: center;">Abandonment, the rental child thrashed</div><div style="text-align: center;">Renunciation, a horse saddled to Hell's gate</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Devastation</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Self-loathing strikes a befouled heart </div><div style="text-align: center;">Mirror shards reflect thirsty demons </div><div style="text-align: center;">Chainsaw flashes hungry teeth, a pause</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sunbeam challenges the murk</div><div style="text-align: center;">Emancipation</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Epiphany of love, a journey commences</div><div style="text-align: center;">Raven innocent, breathes upon a cold stone</div><div style="text-align: center;">Compassion dressed for the grand ball</div><div style="text-align: center;">Love holds fear to the bosom</div><div style="text-align: center;">Unification</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Agglutinated self by gritty willpower</div><div style="text-align: center;">Assembled mass polished, then dusted</div><div style="text-align: center;">Broken doll gifted motherly wisdom</div><div style="text-align: center;">Spirit emboldens a weary waif</div><div style="text-align: center;">Surrender</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Fearful cries dispelled by grace</div><div style="text-align: center;">Together, they reach for tomorrow</div><div style="text-align: center;">Peaceableness, tranquillity, adoration</div><div style="text-align: center;">Son cuddles mother's grey hand</div><div style="text-align: center;">Magic</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-78160653188173639012021-01-13T03:50:00.006-08:002023-06-19T22:40:31.520-07:00Dove's Journey<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgjtb6fUpyNFMJX70U9KOBtm6_0mMn1L5GMEb2dQ58wOyIay36GHN5y0f2gJQZwuX-610Qil0tXUY6SzzKSo6fN0wOj5GTJxjqf5-vBy4e7J8r9pr2RbLas8HN8QkOGHQr3nNEappJWeo/s1920/Dove+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgjtb6fUpyNFMJX70U9KOBtm6_0mMn1L5GMEb2dQ58wOyIay36GHN5y0f2gJQZwuX-610Qil0tXUY6SzzKSo6fN0wOj5GTJxjqf5-vBy4e7J8r9pr2RbLas8HN8QkOGHQr3nNEappJWeo/w640-h360/Dove+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 36px;">Dove's Journey</span></h1><h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 36px;"><br /></span></h1><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">My Love, you were a happy child. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Innocence suckling nature's bosom. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sweet squeals launch a carefree pixie. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Perfection is embodied in a babe's spirit. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Gleeful energy, drawing a hunter's eye. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Fangs salivate upon the porcelain doll. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Bolt launched from the beast's quiver. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">A wooden needle protrudes from the heart. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Invisible fetter from sliver to stone. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Enslaved Dove forced to perform. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Animal slakes his ghastly hunger. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The inevitable consumption of purity. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Survival requires Dove to closet truth. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Stalkers feast on the ravaged puppet. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Crimson stains on the pearly dress. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Courageous, she emerges tattered. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Enter Raven, passionate plea extended. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Dove discovers shelter from a storm. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Love, gifting her a moment of respite. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">One season free of salacious teeth. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Raven must depart for distant lands. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Dove reels, as lustful huntsmen clamour. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Turmoil ensues, a nipping of heels. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">She escapes, and freedom now beckons. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Mate is found, nest firmly built. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Safe with family, yet unease rings. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Images of Raven wrestle her calm. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Abandoned heart, an empty echo. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Autumn leaves curry frosty soil. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Nest soon she finds empty. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sunset reveals Raven's shadow. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Dream or reality, she reaches. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The vision of beauty, a long-lost melody. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Tears rendered, love never forsaken. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sated spirit peacefully basking. <br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Dove embraces her Raven. </span> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></h4></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-23738630520864298642021-01-13T03:45:00.005-08:002022-12-30T20:25:01.397-08:00Raven's Journey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilfXtElvVt6vFElYsPq9RF1jEOgh_GAIPmCCfei9L8tN0nNpgv815YDFuesLCxcmKEaqh24S3Yi8S2JEkCWd-dVZrjQ4rghv62y6tSM0k33OiDu9vpsSr0rKQAfte_S030c5f9O5CCDo7j/s1920/Raven+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilfXtElvVt6vFElYsPq9RF1jEOgh_GAIPmCCfei9L8tN0nNpgv815YDFuesLCxcmKEaqh24S3Yi8S2JEkCWd-dVZrjQ4rghv62y6tSM0k33OiDu9vpsSr0rKQAfte_S030c5f9O5CCDo7j/w640-h360/Raven+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Raven's Journey</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My Love, you were a happy child.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The lone toddler of a hopeful couple.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Smiles, laughter, bathing in the abode.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Perfection is embodied in a babe's spirit.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fragile, the nest teeters in a spring gale. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">His delinquent father was lost to shackles. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mother drops her crimson cleaver.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A wooden needle protrudes from his heart.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rejected waif tossed to a filthy curb.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Civic stooge vends forsook nestling.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Desertion destroys the imp's frail psyche.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The inevitability of purity consumed.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over one hundred nests did he dwell.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Persona spirals into abject depravity.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The mirror reflects an iniquitous beast.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Courageous, he emerges tattered.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Enter Dove, passionate plea extended.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Raven discovers shelter from a storm.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Love gifting him a moment of respite.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One season free of salacious teeth.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Broken, he deserts a weeping Dove.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Shattered, tumbling into the abyss.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ebony crockery shards need sweeping. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He escapes, freedom now beckons.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The maternal hand returns a loving touch.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mountain journey must he travail.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Familial nest uneasily occupied.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Abandoned heart, an empty echo.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">November blanket of ivory white.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Eternally searching for innamorata lost.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cyber signature sparks ineffable hope.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dream or reality, he reaches.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A vision of beauty, a long-lost melody. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Joy untold, holding dear a lost muse. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Exhalation, love within the nest.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Raven embraces his Dove.</span></div><br /> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-42070804630443704692021-01-13T03:30:00.006-08:002023-01-02T01:49:27.764-08:00Dove Imbibes Raven<div class="separator"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWgXuUfvgY8V6iQ4hTYnYEZogW6eVeGEONt5SLqG4eju7_YRlxsktCFJOCG-gz13_olmxmqCHCXvVu44IQ50Dmq8JEPebbnJ_Be88JcpzN3Pe3mzX-qac_cSPjrHG4OTj-0qCx6I9eXoS/s776/Dove+and+Raven+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="776" data-original-width="570" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWgXuUfvgY8V6iQ4hTYnYEZogW6eVeGEONt5SLqG4eju7_YRlxsktCFJOCG-gz13_olmxmqCHCXvVu44IQ50Dmq8JEPebbnJ_Be88JcpzN3Pe3mzX-qac_cSPjrHG4OTj-0qCx6I9eXoS/w470-h640/Dove+and+Raven+2.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Dove Imbibes Raven </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Dove Imbibes Raven </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">My Loves, you were happy children</span></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Carefree treasures gifted to the world</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Futures rife with untold potential </div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Perfection embodied in a babe's spirit</div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Stolen from the Dove, innocence, joy </div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Pneuma wrenched from her being</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Staked to a tree, abused, molested</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Wooden needle protrudes from heart</div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Raven weaned from a granite bosom </div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Alone in the cold night, destitute</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Broken child grasping the emptiness</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">The inevitability of purity consumed</div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Dove buries pain, a rancorous legacy</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Raven immolates identity in disgust</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Tentative steps in search of freedom</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Courageous, they emerge tattered</div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Dove to Raven, passion extended</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Raven and Dove shelter from a storm </div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Love gifting them a moment of respite </div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">One season free of salacious teeth</div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Dove cowers, Raven acquiesces, they part</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Lovers reel, barking dogs voraciously feed</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Two worlds spin wildly out of control</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">They escape, freedom now beckons</div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Separate lives they forge from plastic </div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Secure, yet profoundly unfulfilled</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Visions of the other gnaw their peace</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Abandoned hearts, empty echoes</div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Harvest moon cuddles a winter sky</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Divinity paves a road to unification</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Tenth-hour bell peals an invite</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Dream or reality, they reach</div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Vision of beauty, a long-lost melody</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Blissful fusion, Dove captures Raven</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Raven bows, lays bare his heart</div></span><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Dove and Raven finally embrace</div></span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-58720822334966702282020-12-25T02:50:00.001-08:002020-12-25T03:07:59.841-08:00Psyche Prevails<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4d1lkrDXm5ced33ia_AYv6rArnX7pq3dyE1Y7bq421c-PmNEdswKzPLBtmdvj-PSrcHvAAoCPmZjmAZvsVedyvJJj0bMyhBRJvMny2MDhGy9C-lOOAqoaoRGnDfO1LqGNxWzCMG8MDcCq/s1701/Eros+Psyche+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1701" data-original-width="1394" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4d1lkrDXm5ced33ia_AYv6rArnX7pq3dyE1Y7bq421c-PmNEdswKzPLBtmdvj-PSrcHvAAoCPmZjmAZvsVedyvJJj0bMyhBRJvMny2MDhGy9C-lOOAqoaoRGnDfO1LqGNxWzCMG8MDcCq/w361-h441/Eros+Psyche+%25282%2529.jpg" width="361" /></a></span></div><span style="color: red; font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><br /><i><br /></i></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i style="color: red; font-family: "Berkshire Swash"; font-size: xx-large;">Psyche Prevails</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Standing upon the cusp of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You see Zeus nibble an ebony sky<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Golden chains adorn his fiery neck<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Held out a gilded basket of riches<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i> </i></span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Standing upon the cusp of tomorrow<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You see Eros tumble from a metal steed<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Pricked by his mystic arrow he swoons</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Charmingly he casts an amatory gaze </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Standing upon the cusp of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You see Psyche bathe in a locus amoenus</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Unwittingly she is nicked by Eros's bolt</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Magic weaves the venery of a lover lost</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Reeling into the chasm of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You witness Venus holding a cup of bile</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i> Aglaura and Cidippe devilishly scheme</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Forlorn the piqued lovers tied to strings</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Reeling into the chasm of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You witness Eros in unabated slumber</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Enchanted he is by the will of spheres</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Knowing not his mind he wanders lost</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Reeling in the chasm of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You witness the damnation of Psyche</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Tribulations afoot lovers are forestalled</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Decades of tragedy she must now endure</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Surviving the riptide of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You beseech aid from motherly Ceres</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Weigh she must the lover's hearts</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>White glove falls upon a stone floor</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Surviving the riptide of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You beseech the idle Eros to awake</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Bestirred he flees in bewilderment</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Agony in witness to a shattered vase</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Surviving the riptide of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You beseech Charon to accept payment</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Dreams unfettered Psyche gives chase</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Entreaty to Ceres the glove returned</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Lovers embrace the dawn of tomorrow </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You cheer Ceres's release of provocation</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Hermes convokes the Gods to rejoice </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Resplendent is the gala in praise of love</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Lovers embrace the dawn of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You cheer Eros his defiance of Venus</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Quiver tossed aside he interlaces Psyche</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Resplendent is the gala in praise of love</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Lovers embrace the dawn of tomorrow</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>You cheer Psyche resilient determined</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Arms outstretched she consumes her Eros</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Berkshire Swash; font-size: x-large;"><i>Resplendent is the gala in praise of love</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-88594998726933901502020-05-14T01:43:00.000-07:002020-05-14T01:41:02.138-07:00Wild Rose Cherished<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFd8KS2cEFqH1AKOTC9hQPg8OQiwjtRYhMi68yxiXd9RRxwRj2AoTY3_DQZxyJ8OyN4npywJmDfIgERmhP9JuGQ7JArD26Hlv3608CQt0q_14GokQn9sEx7x-0E7BL_qhZA5YXpRY8akB_/s1600/Alberta+Wild+Rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="450" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFd8KS2cEFqH1AKOTC9hQPg8OQiwjtRYhMi68yxiXd9RRxwRj2AoTY3_DQZxyJ8OyN4npywJmDfIgERmhP9JuGQ7JArD26Hlv3608CQt0q_14GokQn9sEx7x-0E7BL_qhZA5YXpRY8akB_/s400/Alberta+Wild+Rose.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<b>Wild Rose Cherished</b></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Emerging from moist soil, a solitary seed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Sinewy woody shank, nubile thorns take form<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Held in the arms of a light breeze, tiny leaves dance <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Her beauty hidden<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Slender hip, a tightly wound promise <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Growth denied, an old Oak casts shadows <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Reaching for sunbeams, dreams unfulfilled<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Her beauty forestalled<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Peers bloom, their petals flourishing with life<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Persistent is the Oak, torment diminishing spirit<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Bud withering, love abrogated by decree<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Her beauty denied<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Summer sun, a new arc is cast<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
First embrace, beams nurture the soul <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Life springs anew, sipping sweet rays<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Her beauty thrives<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Violet petals part, a solitary flower embraced<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Glowing with love, the new day commences<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Warmth invigorates, begging your touch<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Her beauty realised<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Walking along a garden path, her hand I gently hold<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Peering into her eyes, her lips I tenderly kiss<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Intoxicating her presence, inspiring her essence<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her beauty cherished<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-27741286455938181642020-05-14T01:41:00.001-07:002023-05-29T13:36:04.357-07:00Rose's Winter Garden<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjgNV1FlPcTAixsOmQ_TpQQ67WtqHyNwO-U-cdhD3z0Q-FJdTNVQtW4RKrrS1dep38kPdbSRJEsu0sx8Tf3tVbFkD5aUaf9dl5VlgbDWbELSYFq-zAD9KtV83AUE_0gwWC7eaxNdmgZJK/s1600/Winter+Rose.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjgNV1FlPcTAixsOmQ_TpQQ67WtqHyNwO-U-cdhD3z0Q-FJdTNVQtW4RKrrS1dep38kPdbSRJEsu0sx8Tf3tVbFkD5aUaf9dl5VlgbDWbELSYFq-zAD9KtV83AUE_0gwWC7eaxNdmgZJK/s320/Winter+Rose.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Floruit her beauty, an invite for morning bliss</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rosehip bursting, the caress of a springtime lover</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Entangled with vigour, flush excitement for another</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Anticipation of summer, petals invite the first kiss</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Cheeks aglow, lovers embrace the summer breeze</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dreamy sunrise, dancing feet muted atop meadow grass</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Effervescent bubbles, love painting the champagne glass</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Forested frolic, commitments abound with careless ease</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wishful plans astir, joyful the tumble from a garden bed</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Cuddling the summer solstice, nary a whisper of frost</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Caressing her soft skin, unimaginable the ultimate cost</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lion's month, quicken of arousal whilst love is fed </div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Autumn approaches, nature dons her golden dress</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Garden fence sways, morning breath speaks of chill</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dancing birds depart, dusts of snow discover Rose still</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Vibrancy cedes to pastel, love lost yet slow to egress</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Old man brushes the garden white, the last petals fall </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dormant becomes the stem, resting 'til the dawn of spring</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Footfalls in a snowy garden, another lover soon to sing </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dance anew dear Rose, thrilling has been nature's call</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-37141618634267755502020-05-14T01:30:00.000-07:002020-05-14T01:25:13.315-07:00Rose's Raven<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSduxKryjvvgfVq6C7j7X3exZchV3JD5WHnLUfbseRsW5dDRXHhVGGunCFQUJsJr4fyBcN8wJ6OXbnvbK5Wg5JtJKGgdJYOVzNxT8Kd2TTjCBSorHFnK_pMSDzW7r1Pxx7VGbWQPY9dHnY/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="352" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSduxKryjvvgfVq6C7j7X3exZchV3JD5WHnLUfbseRsW5dDRXHhVGGunCFQUJsJr4fyBcN8wJ6OXbnvbK5Wg5JtJKGgdJYOVzNxT8Kd2TTjCBSorHFnK_pMSDzW7r1Pxx7VGbWQPY9dHnY/s320/raven+rose.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Winter holds sway, silently she combs Death</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Frozen is the barren bed, lamentation of swans</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dark starless night, the cold wind keening</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rose tumbles</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Love a dream lost, her August songbird long rusted</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Years spill forth, hope dashed by winter storms </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Old Man holds fast, garden gnomes retire</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rose yearns </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
White blanket relents, earthen eyes flutter anew</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sprout sips from a golden chalice, she stretches</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sunlight kisses foliage, duvet gently unfurls</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rose stirs</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Garden denizens frolic, bees caress pistils bright</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Stem scant with leaves, floret tightly wound</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Life flourishes, yet no bloom does she share </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rose withers</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shadows cast long, no lover has she found</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nourishment enough, her thirst never slaked</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Raven knits the wilted bud, a red dash trembles </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rose retires</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
First snow cuddles, the curtain call of a lost year</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yearning stirs the November moon, restlessly she weeps</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Desire prepares a meal of despair, fasting is essential</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rose acquiesces</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-17241633311860659982020-05-14T01:20:00.000-07:002020-05-14T01:18:59.149-07:00Ode to Rose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UEo5_SiYCkKtncBIGT7iJR50Ofu06Nft94ZuE7C-DZ5QXQ279Q72UdXrautAiNoaoFj8v0knuOJAfXIKFrQCoET-udf8RzAfc3jrjhuhRgZVvMw4Mwjp0HGzpQrkCDCR1jiq3Bu6Mmbh/s1600/Heaven+and+Hell.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UEo5_SiYCkKtncBIGT7iJR50Ofu06Nft94ZuE7C-DZ5QXQ279Q72UdXrautAiNoaoFj8v0knuOJAfXIKFrQCoET-udf8RzAfc3jrjhuhRgZVvMw4Mwjp0HGzpQrkCDCR1jiq3Bu6Mmbh/s640/Heaven+and+Hell.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Paternal beast rages, babe writhes under a dampened sheet</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Words draw blood, hidden scars speak a whispered tale</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Eggs shells bark underfoot, her fragile heart he doth assail</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Festering sufferance of damnation, self-love cowers in defeat</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Emancipation a beck and call, her savior upon a white steed</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Freedom recedes like fog, her father's scion did she marry</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Trapped in the viper's pit, vitriol fangs Rose must parry</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Violent tongue deflates spirit, battered spine a fragile reed</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Courageous dragon, last firesome breath melts golden bands </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Porcelain shards gathered, self-esteem a ghost to capture</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Years steadfastly knit her autumn, spirit mends the fracture</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Seeds of Rose resewn, velvet petals caressed by silken hands</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Life flourishes upon the vine, a seasonal play nurtures her soul </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Floret bursts vibrant joyful tears, the morning dew welcome</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Butterfly released by a peaceful heart, perfect the outcome</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Head resting upon lily-white sheets, Rose's heart finally whole</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Empty chalice greets new dawn, spirit shimmers resplendent </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Man of gilded armor tendered, her champion she does find</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Golden rays colour the garden eternal, Rose's spirit refined</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Death holds out a withered hand, self-love glows evident </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-51595993167935019192020-05-14T01:05:00.001-07:002020-05-14T01:05:16.049-07:00Butterfly Rose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdR43Git4hciScbcroqnZhZ8VDu3JB-O_yBCfmpYeHkDt0bUXTvs-DZ5cim0QJJXNVHmbzQ_1h-TQ1mzSh5wTREneO31EccZEB2LJR2FBkdWpQP7ZlhWa9ASmdcSpOOM7q5-cVR0cdeUs-/s1600/Rose+Butterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="713" data-original-width="900" height="505" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdR43Git4hciScbcroqnZhZ8VDu3JB-O_yBCfmpYeHkDt0bUXTvs-DZ5cim0QJJXNVHmbzQ_1h-TQ1mzSh5wTREneO31EccZEB2LJR2FBkdWpQP7ZlhWa9ASmdcSpOOM7q5-cVR0cdeUs-/s640/Rose+Butterfly.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<b>Red Petal Flutter</b></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b><b>Fear Dancing in Arms of Love</b></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b><b>Butterfly Rejoice</b></h2>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7756706542176774147.post-56223391209219079062019-12-27T22:44:00.001-08:002023-09-01T23:18:33.832-07:0024<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXZlmj9iMXIHYd50c05_T2XmOFC6r0BsSL_mG0jwMgsuYJnYIkWEZIOITcwAvwoZezrQKsXLAVw4omH-vla6D_DzNh-nND3zwykATvB5j01_ER-sW29vWnKzQEHk7unUd1GU0vFpqd8y9/s1600/heart.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXZlmj9iMXIHYd50c05_T2XmOFC6r0BsSL_mG0jwMgsuYJnYIkWEZIOITcwAvwoZezrQKsXLAVw4omH-vla6D_DzNh-nND3zwykATvB5j01_ER-sW29vWnKzQEHk7unUd1GU0vFpqd8y9/s320/heart.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Single, is a different experience as retirement nears</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Sorrows without solace, none to wipe your tears</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Stirring in the night, no warm body do you find</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Life, shared with no one, you can lose your mind</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Good fortune blessed me one fine spring day</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">I spied my dearest in the home aisle at The Bay</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Bedazzled by her beauty, I was helpless to adore</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Her name Sealy, friends knew her as ... Twenty Four</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Quickly, my lady proved a celebrity about town</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Casting a spectacle in her bright red gown</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">People's obvious stars made my heart soar</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">How I love my sweet darling ... Twenty Four</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Gliding across the dance floor, we caused a stir</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Dapper was my tux, dazzling she was in fur </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">The Cabernet chilled, two glasses I did pour</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">How I am falling for my dear ... Twenty Four</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Pastor Bill cautioned it was too soon for us to wed</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">The church replete, no space for another head</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">With vows exchanged, our eternal love we swore</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">My beautiful bride, the adorable ... Twenty Four</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Honeymoon travel tickets required a full name</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Raising our eyebrows, we played their game </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Sealy / 24 Ounce / Down Filled / Machine Washable</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Of course, everyone knows her as ... Twenty Four</span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2