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Gratitude Project: Day 25: Meaning

October 8th 2009 04:09
We can say that there is a deep yearning for the truth that is part of our nature. It is recognition that life is not what we thought it was, and we are not what we thought we were. In some of its forms it is what we sometimes call a crisis. In a way, our whole culture may be passing through that now, in the sense that our modern world has been increasingly motivated to give people what they want physically, socially, and materially. We are waking up to the fact that physical and social satisfaction does not really bring happiness, well-being, or answers to the great questions of life. It never will, it never can. We need meaning, not only physical pleasure, or security or anything of that kind.


We need time. Time to sit. Time to take it all in. Time to feel the beat of silence.



image by jeneyepher via Flickr used under Creative Common license


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When children discover the excitement of uncovering and happening upon an idea, a feeling, an event, or a circumstance it is a magical moment. They are brought inside a community of their own curiousity. Imagining is the possibility which turns their whole body around from where it might be standing.




Children invite mystery, they invite opportunities for the incongruous, the unexplained, the half revealed, the not knowing, the impending moment, the rear of the hidden, the tension of waiting, the anticipation of surprise, the possibility of danger, the savoring of darkness, the games of guessing, the condition of secrecy. And like explorers on a perilous cliff they lean over its edge looking for what will appear, hanging onto every surge of suspense, frozen in their gaze, as the unexpected slowly takes their breath away.

Magic to the child is what can be believed and not believed, the denying of awe and the accidently accepting of awe, the capacity to judge without judging, to commit without committing, to feel momentarily, a movement luminous in being. It is breathtaking and as adults we need need to hold onto childhood magic and be made vulnerable by the whims of the unknown striking us.


Picture VIA Flickr Caitlin Marie licensed by creative commons
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Fathers have a profound impact on their daughters, shaping their abilities to love and ultimately to venture forth, physically and emotionally. At the same time, daughters both inadvertently and purposefully break down the artificial walls of masculinity that men sometimes build with a purity and power that mothers, wives, and girlfriends cannot.

Regardless of their age, daughters who have meaningful, comfortable relationships with their fathers are generally more self-confident and independent, have better relationships with men, are less depressed, have fewer eating disorders and drug or alcohol problems and achieve more in school and at work. And the easier it is for a daughter to communicate with her father, the more she enjoys being with him and the more she gets out of their relationship.

Thanks dad!


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Every January first, I resolve to live a more balanced life. To save more and spend less. To eat less and exercise more. To listen more and talk less. To be more adventurous and nest less. To pray more and complain less. To finish all of my to do lists. To attain all of my yearly goals.

Seriously...Seriously.... being goal oriented is fine, but sometimes, I can be TOO goal oriented


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I have always been drawn to the good 'ol fashioned humble art of thrift. I am sure that it springs partly from my family's perspective of money (more specially of living out retirement years being beholden to others). Like lots of 60's babies,my young world was populated by adults who lived through the depression; spend enough time listening to stories of yore of apple vendors and pencil salesmen peddling their wares on street corners. and you too might find yourself getting excited when saving the odd dollar here and there.


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In my never ending attempt in self improvement, I must be willing to admit that there is a side of human nature that loves how it feels to feel superior. I think we are all susceptible to being dominated by this self-centered side of our nature, which is extremely fearful of not feeling worth anything unless it is viewed as special or superior to others in some way. Few people are content to be counted among the ordinary, the average. Most want to be counted among the elite: those who believe that they deserve more respect and consideration than others.


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If I had to name my top three most pleasurable things in life, the things I simply couldn’t enjoy life without, I’d have to boil them down to sex, friendship (family included), and food. Not just mediocre sex, friendship, and food mind you. I am talking about exquisite, luscious, totally satisfying sex, friendship, and food. Give me that, as well as music, writing, stimulating conversation, film and creative arts and I am pretty much set. (This post is not about friendship or food.)

I love perfect moments of lust and love. Sex for me is one of those times when I can completely let go of myself and feel entirely whole, perfect, and beautiful, and close to whatever there is that is divine in this world. Perfection is that point of gratitude in the midst of really good, really intense, really mind-blowing sex with someone who I have realized has won his way into my heart and my soul. Great sex sends my spirit shooting heavenward, giddily, recklessly, and exploding in showers of sparkling light. Divine fireworks, making me shine from the inside out


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I hear often how folks have these ah ha moments when they realize that they are not ugly. It strikes me how common that seems to be. So many folks who have expressed either shock at the realization that they were actually seen as beautiful, handsome or arousing to others, or their fears about other’s criticism of their appearance.

Beautiful people appear to enjoy an image-based and/or financially-based prestige which enhances their aura of success, power, and beauty. My guess is that the pressure to maintain this is relentless. Everyone is always telling you to do more….exercising, plastic surgery, or calorie restriction. But just look at the pages of Vogue magazine, there you will see how serious they are about extreme-thin, glorified and extolled in luxurious full color -- the girlish femurs, humeri and sinews of high-paid models all on display. As America fattens, fashion narrows. Because it is elite -- just like the corset. And that is why the Voguish classes are deadly serious about retaining their "stays" -- the ones within


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Addicts are endless sources of entertainment. Think Trainspotting and Requim for a Dream . It's an odd mix of voyeurism and in my view, a puritanical anti-drug zeal. Patheticness, degradation, and squalor are emphasized. Don't get me wrong, addiction is unglamorous in the extreme. The stories I've heard as a counselor; and lives I have witnessed….unbelievable. There can be sadness and loss, loathing and remorse, much less the unpleasant physical consequences of using. And that's just the personal shit; worse is the havoc wreaked on friends and loved ones. Then there are the “others” The most dangerous of all addicts……these folks could be described as creative, bright, fun loving, and bigger than life…..these were the ones I personally knew.

By The Book’s definition, addiction is based in not only some chemical imbalance but also in some sort of undiagnosed (or diagnosed) mental illness… predominately depression or anxiety. In my practice and in my life, I see fear as the cornerstone of addiction or maybe they desire to muffle the truth. Many folks are fearful or feel worthless about who they are and about their abilities and how much better it feels to look elsewhere…in the bottom of a glass, a pill bottle, at a blackjack table, or during soulless sex, instead of sitting in the feeling of having to really own their shit and moving on. I guess most of us are reluctant to shine a light on the dark recesses of who we really are


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The Gratitude Project: Day 16: Time

August 4th 2008 00:25

After my finance's death when I was 21, I was in such a fragile state…. so filled with darkness. I did not know where I was. I was lost. Intellectually I was aware that the bereaved lose many different things with death. Often they lose not only the person, but the self that was in the relationship to that person and in a sense, the self they knew is lost. Prior to this time, I felt invincible and strong. It never occurred to me that there might be an alternative future for me. I was filled with anti-rage…an otherworldly stillness. I was walking underwater in mud trudging through my life. My world melted. I felt like everyone was speaking in far ancient tongues. I was upended and just wanted to be at peace and I was fearful that I would end up with a bitter hardened heart.

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