New Year Again

http://ishattered.deviantart.com/art/sunset-30592046

We've taken the roads. We've roamed the fields. Have we seen the sunrise and sunset of the world?

"I learned to write by listening to music"

I never quite knew what this meant to you. But they are words I'd like to remember.



I'm standing on this corner. Can't get their attention. Facing
rush hour faces turned around. I clutch my stack of paper,
press one to a chest, then watch it swoop and stutter to the
ground. I'm weary with right-angles, abbreviated daylight,
and waiting for a winter to be done. Why do I still see you in
every mirrored window, in all that I could never overcome?
How I don't know what I should do with my hands when I talk
to you. How you don't know where you should look, so you
look at my hands. How movements rise and then dissolve,
melted by our shallow breath. How causes dance away from
me. I am your pamphleteer. I walk this room in time to the
beat of the Gestetner, contemplate my next communique.
The rhetoric and treason of saying that I'll miss you. Of
saying "Hey, well maybe you should stay." Sing "Oh what
force on earth could be weaker than the feeble strength of
one*" like me remembering the way it could have been. Help
me with this barricade. No surrender. No defeat. A spectre's
haunting Albert Street. I am your pamphleteer.

Pamphleteer by The Weakerthans



Peace
Mandy

The Invitation

A piece an old friend posted, by Oriah Mountain Dreamer.....


THE INVITATION
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own: If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. i want to know if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see the beauty even when its not a pretty day, and if you can source your life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the moon "yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.


Peace
Mandy