An ancient mystic described perfect human fulfillment as being “alone with the Alone.” Why should I not like being alone? I came from the Alone, but all rivers flow back to the sea. It seemed, no matter where I went in life, what I did, or who I met, I felt the tug of that current flowing deep inside me, drawing me back toward the original solitude – my home.
via February 11, 2013 | Becoming a Trappist Monk or Nun.
10. A funeral director knows how to stretch a dollar so far beyond capacity that extreme couponers would be seething with envy.9. Funeral directors can get any stain out of any fabric.8. Funeral directors understand the importance of paperwork. In triplicate. And filling it out is just par for the course. Tax season doesn’t compare to corporate budgetary reviews.7. A funeral director is meticulously clean. From an unwelcome speck of dust on the end table to a mortifying bit of grit underneath near-perfectly manicured nails this applies to the women and the men.6. Have you ever not introduced a current flame to your family because you’re afraid your kin’s special brand of crazy will scare off any potential mate?A funeral director is like a “crazy person whisperer.” They have to be just to get anything done. Bring on the monster in-laws.5. A funeral director can’t be grossed out. Ever. There is literally nothing you could show one that would churn the contents of his stomach. This applies to noxious odours as well, so snag yourself a funeral director and feel at ease passing gas whenever the urge hits. They’ve smelled worse.A lot worse.4. Funeral directors are masters of illusion. Need to impress your boss at a dinner party? Stage your home for sale? Conceal something from your parents until you’re ready to deal, or the issue has been resolved? A funeral director thrives under one credo: Smoke and mirrors.3. A funeral director understands how important it is to live for today, but plan meticulously for the future.2. A funeral director is an expert at burying secrets. Yours are not as bad as you think they are, and the funeral director’s training ensures that your skeletons not only stay in their closet, but that the closet is sealed in a concrete vault under 8 feet of dirt and the paperwork has been properly “sanitized.”1. A funeral director knows how to give you a delicious, full-body, invigorating massage that gets your circulation working overtime and leaves you feeling, well, like you’ve risen from the dead. How did we acquire this particular skill?Don’t ask.
via CONFESSIONS OF A FUNERAL DIRECTOR » Working at the Crossroads of this World and the Next.
Good morning with Brett and sandy in sun. Now a doctor. Continue reading
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy is created in the universe and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, ever vibration, every BTU of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid the energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.
via Ask A Physicist To Speak At Your Funeral | IFLScience.
JOURNEY AT A TROT
I’m very busy now. I’m scaling heights,
I’m swimming after dark from winter shores;
the fishers know my name, and there are nights
when ragged people warm my heart, because
they share the little that they have. I’ve slept
upon the beach, sung jazz up on the stage,
and wandered wild for days where sorrow crept
to snuffle at my heels. I know the cage
that is my isolation. Here’s the door.
Just watch me run! I gasp, my body aches
but still I must go on, there must be more!
I’ll find the energy although it takes
its toll of me. My love has passed away.
I push to just get through another day.
Kathleen Earsman 2004
This poem is another from Australian Poet KATHY EARSMAN. A woman gifted with words and with soul.
FOR ALL OUR LOST TOMORROWS
Through all the long strong seasons of the moon
I’ve wandered wistful, yearning for his touch.
In all the empty spaces placed in front of me
where he can never be, I mourn.
For all the poems he will never share,
for secrets, songs and sounds he’ll never know,
and for the moon that shone in glory when he died
I’ve cried the many months since he was gone.
Through all the bright bold silvered nights
the moon has dressed in loveliness he’ll never see,
and all our lost tomorrows wrapped in sorrow
I will still love him tenderly.
KATHLEEN EARSMAN 2004