Quéqu' part en Alaska

Beau Dommage

Cré-moé, cré-moé pas, quéqu' part en Alaska
Y a un phoque qui s'ennuie en maudit
Sa blonde est partie gagner sa vie
Dans un cirque aux Etats-Unis

Le phoque est tout seul, il r'garde le soleil
Qui descend doucement sur le glacier
Il pense aux Etats en pleurant tout bas
C'est comme ça quand ta blonde t'a lâché

Ça vaut pas la peine
De laisser ceux qu'on aime
Pour aller faire tourner
Des ballons sur son nez
Ça fait rire les enfants
Ça dure jamais longtemps
Ça fait plus rire personne
Quand les enfants sont grands

Quand le phoque s'ennuie, il r'garde son poil qui brille
Comme les rues de New York après la pluie
Il rêve à Chicago, à Marilyn Monroe
Il voudrait voir sa blonde faire un show

C'est rien qu'une histoire, j'peux pas m'en faire accroire
Mais des fois j'ai l'impression qu'c'est moi
Qui est assis sur la glace les deux mains dans la face
Mon amour est partie puis j'm'ennuie

Ça vaut pas la peine
De laisser ceux qu'on aime
Pour aller faire tourner
Des ballons sur son nez
Ça fait rire les enfants
Ça dure jamais longtemps
Ça fait plus rire personne
Quand les enfants sont grands

Moving forward

Somewhere, somehow that little girl got there and even though when looking around she does not find anything familiar, she knows her very own spirit got her there thus far.

Even though the mountain seems impossible to climb - oh how summits can be deceiving sometimes - or the tasks might seem Herculean, she knows that once she calms herself down (or is threatened with punishment whichever comes first) she will lift her sleeves up and proceed towards the finish line, exactly like the Chinese proverb says: one step at a time, for it is how the journey of a thousand steps begin.

The thought that you can do it - that you will do it - can be in your heart or in your mind; sometimes it is in somebody else's heart or mind.

Fear, when overwhelming, has a metallic taste, that's when one's just about ready. AT that time, instincts will kick in one more time and take over from where one's nerves gave up.

Able to look around with a smirk and a nod and announce: bring it on suckas!

Currer Bell, British novelist

Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns.

These things and deeds are diametrically opposed; they are as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them; they should not be confounded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human doctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is—I repeat it—a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly and clearly the line of separation between them.

The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external show pass for sterling worth—to let whitewashed walls vouch for clean shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose—to rase the gilding, and show base metal under it—to penetrate the sepulcher, and reveal charnel relics; but, hate as it will, it is indebted to him."

Jug on the table

Не то, что мните вы, природа... ~ F. I. Tiutchev

Не то, что мните вы, природа:
Не слепок, не бездушный лик -
В ней есть душа, в ней есть свобода,
В ней есть любовь, в ней есть язык...
................
Вы зрите лист и цвет на древе:
Иль их садовник приклеил?
Иль зреет плод в родимом чреве
Игрою внешних, чуждых сил?..
................
Они не видят и не слышат,
Живут в сем мире, как впотьмах,
Для них и солнцы, знать, не дышат,
И жизни нет в морских волнах.
Лучи к ним в душу не сходили,
Весна в груди их не цвела,
При них леса не говорили,
И ночь в звездах нема была!
И языками неземными,
Волнуя реки и леса,
В ночи не совещалась с ними
В беседе дружеской гроза!
Не их вина: пойми, коль может,
Органа жизнь, глухонемой!
Души его, ах, не встревожит
И голос матери самой!

Nature is not as you imagine her:
She's not a mold, nor yet a soulless mask-
She is made up of soul and freedom
She is made up of love and speech . . .
................
Observe the leaves and flowers on a tree:
Was it some gardener glued them there?
And is a growing child in the womb
The work of alien, external forces? . . .
................
They do not see and do not hear
They live in this world as if in darkness,
For them, it seems, the stars don't breathe
And ocean waves are not alive.
The sun's rays have not reached their soul,
Spring's never bloomed within their breast,
The forest does not speak to them
And starry nights are always mute!
And, roiling woods and rivers
With unearthly speech,
No storm's engaged them in the night
In friendly conversation!
They're not to blame: how can the deaf
Perceive an organ's sound!
Alas, their souls can not be touched
Not even by a mother's voice!

Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes...

It did not come down like a bolt of lightning or the voice of God. No special sound or visual effects to announce the change. I woke up one day and discovered that I was responding to stimuli in a different manner. The change was barely noticeable, yet my different outlook shifted the paradigms of my world enough to make me feel altered.

I can sort of pinpoint the starting point. I first felt the shift when friends and acquaintances proved me wrong. I mean so wrong that it was embarrassing, so wrong that it made me realize how much I had been staring at my navel, unaware of my surroundings.

I think one of the reasons for the change is that I do not want to be the type of person who cannot see nor appreciate the empathy in others. Surely that would mean an impossibility to offer empathy in return. I'm trying so very hard to be good and act good... What's the point if I'm thinking that everybody's mean?

Another way for me to tell of "The Change" is that I have become more perspicacious. Well, maybe the fact that I am less self-centered matter-of-factly makes me more perceptive... In any case, I do love this new superhero gift. I do not need to be hit on the head so hard any more and that's a little bit of a blessing.

It probably sounds so wonderful and life-altering, but it's not so simple. First, those changes happen on very small incremental stages. I am not sure that others are aware of them, even though I constantly mention how I see things differently and how I feel different. This new reality is so big to me, yet I'm positive that it is still indiscernible to the rest of the world. I wanted to put down "to the average Joe" but I'm not sure it is such a big change. I think that what I'm witnessing is really the "beginning" of change and I'm probably excited by that prospect, but I should stop thinking that it's so darn special... yet.

What if this does not last? How many times have I underwent a new change/outlook/reality etc. only to be thwarted in success because that old sluggishness comes back home to roost? How many times will I go through it again?

The bottomline is that I feel like I am ready to move on to something better and more positive.