Tarry a While

I am a horrid Travel Companion. I frustrate and fluster my partners. While they are eager to hurry and see more and more of whatever there is to see, I am compelled to tarry. It is my way. My right-brain dominated senses cannot take in the essence or nature of a setting or sight in fleeting haste. I must dwell in that set of stimuli in order to process it all. Then, and only then, am I able to appreciate, ingest, and celebrate what is offered.

It is so, for me, with every element and aspect of life. I do not recall having ever been totally sated with any indulgence in experiential foreplay. I have an unquenchable desire for the prolonging of every exchange of sensory awakenings. The climax of an experience spells an end to the magic of the arousal. And, be it physical. Intellectual, or ideological, I thrill in the adventure of every aspect of each unique moment.

So, please save yourself the exasperation of my company if you are inclined to hasten toward something beyond the ‘right now.’ I will be lingering with, and savouring, what is. I will be slowly inhaling the aromas and sampling the textures of the smallest and simplest of each note and tone constituting the symphony of this moment.

I do invite You, Dear One, to consider abiding (for just a wee little bit) with me. Know the joys of dwelling in this singular Present, and Place. Grant your Self, sweet repose, in a giddy bit of lollygagging.

[a loving smile]





IMAGE: Through the generous courtesy of Jon Sullivan, PDPhoto.org

Our 4th Visit to an IDEALIST Neighborhood Card Shop

We Idealists are, if you will, the “Neighborhood Card Shop” of life’s market place. We do not offer the “necessities” of life … the lumber or nails … the motor oils … the bread or butter, nor the wine or cheese. We offer, instead, the reminders of the ideals that make all of the essentials worth their pursuit. Meat and potatoes we do not present … but we do offer the bouquet, the candles, the card that expresses the sentiment that You might wish to convey over the fine dinner prepared from the meat and potatoes. We do not provide essential nutrients for the sustenance of the Flesh ... we offer the reminders of the Spirit and Soul, the Emotion and Desire that inspire the Heart as well as the Mind. We provide the ’soundtrack’ that adds dimension to the ’movie’ of life.

There are far fewer "Card Shops" than there are other merchants. There is good reason for their infrequency. Life’s day-to-day requirements have material need for far more of the providers of ‘basics.’ It is also true that The Almighty created a fewer number of us Idealists in life’s mix. (Providing evidence of obvious 'Divine Intention' in this design ... fewer 'spices' are necessary in the 'recipe' of living.)

I know my place. I do not offer myself as your provider of your day-to-day material requisites. But, My Dear Friend, I ask that you grant proper acknowledgment and acceptance of … respect and care for my place in the “shopping district” of your world. I will serve you happily and faithfully.



(Those of you familiar with this blog will recall having seen this message before. I replay it here, once every year or so, to allow new Readers to know me better. I do hope that this little 'window' into my Person serves that purpose well.)




IMAGES [top]Silvia Doberti,
[center] Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com
[lower] Jon Sullivan, PDPhoto.org

Lovin' Louis

"Ain't nobody played nothing like it since, and can't nobody play nothing like it now," he told an interviewer around the time that he recorded his last album.



"My oldest record, can't nobody touch it. And if they say, 'Which record do you like the best?' I like them all, because I didn't hit no bad notes on any of them." Louis Armstrong

Our 'Youthful' Choice

I was QUITE resolute in my determination to NOT watch (yet AGAIN) the presentation of that well-worn (and recreated twice) film, The Bishop’s Wife.

Then (don’t you know) there it was … playing on the television when I concluded one of my many delightful telephone conversations with Mom. (Today is her birthday.) So, YES! … I am watching it even as I type this little note to You … My Lovely Friend.

‘Tis through eyes moistened by tears of awareness of all that my Spirit and Being are, that I write these words of loving encouragement and endearment to you. This precious bit of a movie awakens all of that in me. It always has. (Which is why I had determined to not open all of Me, by viewing it again.) [smile]

Please allow me to share a bit of my reflections motivated by one little line spoken by ‘Dudley’ (the angelic character in the film [played by Cary Grant].) He said, "The only people who grow old are the ones who are born that way." And I must take exception to that statement. (Those who know me best can easily understand how I can take exception to [and even involve others in my reflections on] a statement from a 1948 movie.) [grin]

I tell You, Precious Reader, that the only people, who grow old, are the ones who make the choice to be so. Happily (for us all) some are mindful of … and choose to stay in touch with … the glories and richness of their youthful Selves. The opportunity to remain forever fresh in our perceptions; to maintain the giddy joys of curiosity; and to glory in newly realized sensations and experiences, is at the disposal of each of our individual Spirit’s.

I lovingly bid each of us (yes … me too!) a constant renewal of those joys, glories, and freshness.

I love You (I REALLY do!)

Over the Hedge

by Michael Fry and T Lewis

Here ... There

So inviting
is the Next;
the Beyond;
Ahead.

"Patience." whispers Now.

"Know the Present;

this Moment;

what Is."

John-Michael
30 November 2009 (now)

Original Image: Ivor Bond, BBC

Our Annual 'Over the Hedge' Visit ... Finale'

by Michael Fry and T Lewis






I pray your "finale'," to life's momentary Circumstance, be equally celebratory and whimsically silly. (I do so enjoy a good "silly!") [smile]

Loving You ...

Our Annual 'Over the Hedge' Visit

by Michael Fry and T Lewis

Sunday Afternoon

I invite You to join me in a moment of Sunday afternoon tranquility. From the Cottage ... across the highway, to the Lake.

Ahhh ... this is good!

We'll share the dock with the Bird as he dries his wings. [smile]

'The Woman I Am'

Though the words of Glen Allen, in this poem, are obviously gender-specific … experience has taught me that the life-dynamics, so beautifully articulated, are all-gender inclusive.

THE WOMAN I AM

The WOMAN I am
Hides deep in me
Beneath the woman
I seem to be.

She hides away
From the stranger’s eye –
She is not known
To the passers-by.

She goes her way
The woman I seem,
But the woman I am
Withdraws to dream!

The woman I seem
Goes carelessly –
When love goes by
Does not seem to see.

But the woman I am
Knows sudden fear …
And hides more deeply
When love draws near!

For love might look closely,
Perhaps … and see
Her, beneath the woman
I seem to be!

GLEN ALLEN

"The Human Touch" revisited

In this day of applied Programs, Plans, Initiatives, and Systems, there is a void that is all too often left wanting. That want is addressed by this work of Spencer Michael Free. He (from his perspective as a practicing physician) spoke to an elementary requirement of the Human Spirit. I ask that we consider the power and potential that awaits each of us… if we will but offer our own personal provision of “The Human Touch.”

The Human Touch

'Tis the human touch in this world that counts,

The touch of your hand and mine,

Which means far more to the fainting heart

Than shelter and bread and wine;

For shelter is gone when the night is o’er,

And bread lasts only for a day,

But the touch of the hand and the sound of the voice

Sing on in the soul alway.


Spencer Michael Free (1856-1938)
Free graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons of the Johns Hopkins University in 1880, and practiced medicine and surgery for some fifty years thereafter. In addition to some one hundred medical papers, he wrote many poems.


IMAGE: Maria Brandstetter, BBC

Her Visitation

I meandered … purposeless; disjointed …
Completely aware; senses awake and functioning …
My pace knowing no dictates; heeding only fleeting impulse …
Free to stop, linger with any interest … or hurry past any suggestion.

Then, unbidden, came that tiny butterfly …
Light, delicate, unimposing, yet insistent …
Not resting on my smallest finger, but brushing it,
with powder-like softness …
She urged me along … in a direction, and at a pace, of her choosing.

Willingly, I fell in step with her chosen tempo …
Thoughtlessly, I joined in her unrevealed agenda …
Allowing her to free me of burdensome considerations …
I gladly joined her in a journey without definition.

Such is this visitation from my Darling from afar …
This is the joy of her effect on my Being …
And I celebrate, silently, and gratefully, her loving intervention …
Too wonderful, and precious, to be reduced to language.

John-Michael

01 November 2009
(Thank you, Silvia, for the book of poetic writings)

Sharing A Sun-Rise

One of the most pleasant elements, of my daily life, is looking from my cottage's front yard toward the lake ... visible beyond the highway and the power-lines, and teasingly-close.

So, when I awoke in the pre-dawn hour a few days ago, I brewed a pot of coffee, picked up my camera, then the lawn-chair, and in the illumination provided by a flash-light (torch), I crossed the road, and set myself up on the nice little platform at the end of the dock ... and awaited the Sunrise.



As light began ... this is what I enjoyed ...

I will allow you to take in (without commentary) the sequence that followed ... at 10 or 15 minute intervals ...

At this point, I could see ... to the South ...

The South-West

The West ...

And to the North-West ...

Then, it was back North, across the highway (busy with "off-to-work" traffic) ... and back to the Cottage, that is Home.

I hope that a bit of the Spirit that I basked in, on that morning, will lend a moment of calming peace and tranquil pleasure to your Heart.

I thank you, Darling Reader, for making it all the richer for me, by sharing in it with me.

I do love You ...

It's Ice-Cream

We were having one of our extended telephone chats … one in which all of her current interests, concerns, and imperatives were on the ‘table.’ We discussed family, parenting, love-life, and long-term, as well as short-term, plans. She was describing how she feels about ‘Him’ … and interrupted the flow of her reflections with, “Is it OK to feel about him that way?”

I paused (for it takes a moment for Life to whisper to my Muse … and then a moment longer for the Visual [for I process life’s input through visualization … it’s how my mind works] to be passed through to my waiting Spirit.) “Do you have a favorite flavor of Ice Cream?” I asked. With only the slightest of stuttering pauses, she answered, “Well … yes … yes I do!” “There you go then!” I replied. “Did you hear the confidence and certainty with which you just gave me you answer to my ice-cream question? There was neither pause, nor waiver in your absolute clarity on the finality … and ‘rightness’ … of your personal preference and opinion on your choice of ice-creams.

“You are ready and willing to state your election on that matter … without regard for the opinions or preferences of Others. You know, with an absolute certainty, what your taste-buds respond to with spontaneous enthusiasm. And, while you have just over forty years of experience with everyone in your personal world challenging, belittling, condemning, demeaning, discouraging, and undermining every decision and choice that you have ever expressed or selected … no one could ever dispute your personal ice-cream flavor choice.

“You have all of these years of habituated uncertainty … frightened insecurity … and absence of confidence … in the merit and worth of your intuitive and inspired opinions, yearnings, inclinations, and desires. This has been so in every arena of your life. But … you are absolute about ice-cream.

“Please hear me when I tell you that you are brilliant beyond your fondest imaginings. You are wise beyond all of those Voices that seek to hold you in their controlling grasp. You are insightful beyond the horizons of the immediate. So, Sweetheart, listen to … have confidence in … honor and trust what that amazing Heart, Mind, and Spirit tell you. Including how you feel about ‘Him!’

“Because, My Precious, it’s all ice-cream!”

'Tis Art

Residing quietly within, is an appetite … a still, unassuming, yet ever-present, desire.

Its Voice is but a whisper … and it always defers to the demanding dominance of present circumstance.

I hear it whilst in the quiet of a gallery, or concert hall … when all of Today’s impositions are distanced.

It is there, in the Sanctuary of Silence, that the gentlest of murmurings is heard.

There … in the dramatic (and sometimes tender) release of those brushstrokes …
the melding and blending of Images; that stirring scene …

In the sonorous connection made with that particular harmony, rhythm, or lyric …

that contact is made with my Core.

It is in the Freedom found, in these experiences of connection, that my Soul’s private hungers find satisfaction … and my long spiritual droughts are sated.

‘Tis no less true when I read a word or phrase that echoes the cry of my very Being.

The Author or Composer has said what I yearn to express.

This awakens and fulfills the Wholeness of who I am.

I am delighted, beyond words, to, again, be with You, My Dearest Friend and Faithfully patient Reader. By the generous grace, and loving thoughtfulness of my Brother, Steven (who purchased and sent to me the new netbook computer that I now write upon), I can now revisit you and celebrate our sweet bonds.

I, simultaneously, celebrate this ... my 600th posting on my blog. Whoopee!!

I do love You so!