Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

~Naomi Shihab Nye

edited to remove a paragraph of that poem that kind of depressed me.

Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more'...

I thought the above quote was appropriate because I am having freaky insomnia on Shakespearean proportions!! Never before have I experienced sleep paralysis before, but gosh darn it, I know what it feels like now! I have to say it was the least freaky experience of the evening, frankly because I understand the physiology of why it happens AND I'm not one of the folks who experiences this and thinks they have been abducted by aliens. The part that's really bothering me is the 'constantly waking up, thinking there's someone in my room or not knowing where I am, or just tossing and turning with a general unease. Oh, and tylenol PM sucks. No effect whatsoever. I'm seeing my doctor on Thursday and I've narrowed it down to Rozerem or Lunesta. I need something to get me through these long nights (and the even longer days on little sleep). I'm going to start talking in prose soon because I've been reading Shakespeare at night when I can't sleep. I'm sticking to the comedies, though...wouldn't want to have bad dreams!
O God! I could be bounded in a nut-shell, and
count myself a king of infinite space, were it not
that I have bad dreams.
- Shakespeare

Seriously, though, the Bard rocks...even though I totally believe that there never lived a ,man called "Shakespeare". (I subscribe to the Marlowe theory)

After all this whining about my sleep, it really is the only thing I've got to complain about. My mindfulness class is going to wrap up in a few weeks and I can't believe the difference in the way I deal with stress. It's been a Godsend.

and this post would not be complete without 'diabolical kitty with grammar issues'.

Mad Mission

It's a cop out, but when I'm feeling good I don't much feel like blogging, I would like to share a song I've been listening to.
Mad Mission by Patty Griffin
We were drinking like the Irish
But we were drinking scotch
Bartender turned on a movie
Everybody turned to watch
And every single eye was gleaming
As he reached the final scene
Well, at least mine did
Here's lookin' at you, kid

It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up

I think I've seen the look before,yes,
it's kind of non-commital
It says come hither, baby, but then he's hard wood to whittle
it says it don't mean a thing, but still, somebody does
He'd like you to join the club that likes to say
there's no such thing as love and

It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up

Sometimes you find yourself
flying low at night
Flying blind and looking for
Any sign of light
You're cold and scared, and all alone
You'd do anything just to make it home

The Weaver

My life is but a weaving between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily.
Oftimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside.

Not till the loom is silent, and shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weaver's hand
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.
Anonymous