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A weary mother returned from the store,
Lugging groceries through the kitchen door.
Awaiting her arrival was her 8 year old son,
Anxious to relate what his younger brother had done.

While I was out playing and Dad was on a call,
T.J. took his crayons and wrote on the wall
It's on the new paper you just hung in the den.
I told him you'd be mad at having to do it again.

She let out a moan and furrowed her brow,
Where is your little brother right now?
She emptied her arms and with a purposeful stride,
She marched to his closet where he had gone to hide.

She called his full name as she entered his room.
He trembled with fear--he knew that meant doom
For the next ten minutes, she ranted and raved
About the expensive wallpaper and how she had saved.

Lamenting all the work it would take to repair,
She condemned his actions and total lack of care.
The more she scolded, the madder she got,
Then stomped from his room, totally distraught



She headed for the den to confirm her fears.
When she saw the wall, her eyes flooded with tears.
The message she read pierced her soul with a dart.
It said, I love Mommy, surrounded by a heart.

Well, the wallpaper remained, just as she found it,
With an empty picture frame hung to surround it.
A reminder to her, and indeed to all,
Take time to read the handwriting on the wall.

Labels

The important thing is not to know who "I" is or what "I" is. You'll never succeed. There are no words for it. The important thing is to drop the labels. As the Japanese Zen masters say, "Don't seek the truth; just drop your opinions." Drop your theories; don't seek the truth. Truth isn't something you search for. If you stop being opinionated, you would know. Something similar happens here. If you drop your labels, you would know. What do I mean by labels? Every label you can conceive of except perhaps that of human being. I am a human being. Fair enough; doesn't say very much. But when you say, "I am successful," that's crazy. Success is not part of the "I". Success is something that comes and goes; it could be here today and gone tomorrow. That's not "I". When you said, "I was a success," you were in error; you were plunged into darkness. You identified yourself with success. The same thing when you said, "I am a failure, a lawyer, a businessman." You know what's going to happen to you if you identify yourself with these things. You're going to cling to them, you're going to be worried that they may fall apart, and that's where your suffering comes in. That is what I meant earlier when I said to you, "If you're suffering, you're asleep." Do you want a sign that you're asleep? Here it is: You're suffering. Suffering is a sign that you're out of touch with the truth. Suffering is given to you that you might open your eyes to the truth, that you might understand that there's falsehood somewhere, just as physical pain is given to you so you will understand that there is disease or illness somewhere. Suffering points out that there is falsehood somewhere. Suffering occurs when you clash with reality. When your illusions clash with reality when your falsehoods clash with the truth, then you have suffering. Otherwise there is no suffering.

Awareness


"Is salvation obtained

through action or through

meditation?"



"Through neither. Salvation

comes from seeing."



"Seeing what?"



"That the gold necklace

you wish to acquire is

hanging round your neck.

That the snake you are so

frightened of is only a

rope on the ground."



From One Minute Wisdom

Anthony de Mello

How Do You Believe in a Mystery?

Here's a question: How do you believe in a mystery, in something you don't understand and can't prove? When we're children we're encouraged to believe in some mysterious things that turn out to not necessarily be true at all -- things like the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny or the flag. Naturally, we're disappointed after our illusions have been shattered, but usually we get over it. Some of us, however, become skeptical, even cynical, after that.

I've been asked on many occasions how I write my songs. Often I'll glibly reply, "I sure don't wake up in the morning and sharpen pencils." Then I'll admit how lazy and lucky I am, and how successful and downright great some of the more notorious pencil sharpeners have been -- two of my heroes, Frank Loesser and Irving Berlin, being among them.

If I'm feeling expansive I'll bring up the mysterious aspect, the mere five to 10 percent that matters the most -- what's commonly called "the inspiration." That's the thing beyond the technique and the discipline, when the sharpening and the gnawing stop, and something, as they say, "comes to you." It's a bit like fishing, really. There's certainly luck involved, but maybe what you took for laziness was and I'm going out on a limb here) a sort of divine relaxation


When I write what I consider to be a good song, when I realize it's going to hang together, when I somehow manage to get it into the boat, so to speak, I invariably find myself looking upwards and thanking something or even, dare I say it, Someone. If I'm alone, my heartfelt thank you is often an audible one. Oh, yes, I've been known to mutter a few words at the head of the table at Thanksgiving dinner, or hoarsely whisper an "amen" at a wedding, funeral or Christmas pageant, but usually it is just embarrassed lip service. As a rule I don't give thanks at a dinner table or in a church pew. For me, it happens when I've been hunched over a guitar for a few hours.

I believe in the power of inspiration, in the mysterious gift of creation -- creation with a small "c," that is -- creation as in one's work, hauling in the day's catch. When I write a song, I'm happy for a few days and it's not just because I've been reassured that I still have a job, though that's certainly part of it. Mostly I'm happy, I think, because I've experienced a real mystery. I haven't the slightest idea how it happened or where or from whom or what it came. I'd prefer not to know. In fact, I'd prefer not to talk about it anymore. It might scare the fish away.


by Loudon Wainwright III
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5486060

My Inspiration


My story is about a very special person I met over the summer, someone who taught me a lot about myself. I'm sharing this in hopes that it helps at least one person realize that no matter what happens, you're not alone.

Let me start by saying that I'm a single mother of a two-year-old little girl named Brittany. It was March 29th, 1992. I had gone to my grandmother's funeral and Brittany had stayed at my best friend's house to play with Neil and Joe, her twins.

Tammy had talked with me about introducing me to a friend of hers, but I didn't think much about it at the time. When I came home from the funeral, she and her husband told me that they had invited Brett over. We hit it off instantly, but he was only home for a week. You see, he was in the Marine Corps and had just come home from boot camp. We spent the week together, then he left for North Carolina. We promised to keep in touch.

I was devastated when he left. I felt very alone. I was used to being alone, so it shouldn't have mattered, but I had fallen in love with him. He was very good to Brittany, and to me. We understood that he would be gone for four years, but I was willing to wait for him.


A week after he left, his mother came over for coffee. We got along great and started spending a lot of time together. I guess we helped each other through the loneliness.

Then Brett came home again in June for one week. We talked a lot in that week about our futures. He said I should go back to school. I had quit school three years before, and after Brittany came along I hadn't thought much about going back. He brought up a lot of good points, but I still didn't think that I could do it. He told me I could achieve anything if I tried hard enough.

He was then stationed in Okinawa, Japan for one year. We had decided to be just friends. It hurt a lot to say good-bye to someone who meant so much, but I knew that if it was meant to be, then it would be. We'd grown really close in the last seven months. He helped me to believe in myself when I thought I was alone.

Two months after he left, I enrolled in school. I'm 19 years old and in the 11th grade, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that I believe in myself. All it took was for someone else to believe in me. It's hard, I won't deny that. I hate being away from Brittany. I know that in the long run it'll be worth it, and I'll wear that cap and gown with a very big smile on my face.

Brett and I still keep in touch and I hope it will stay that way. He's very important to me. I've never met a more caring and loving person. He brought new meaning to my life and for that I'll never forget him.

I not only gained self-confidence, but I also gained a very loving family. Though they aren't my own, they are always there for me. His mother helps me through the hard times, and when Brittany goes in for surgery every six weeks, she always checks to make sure we are all right. If I ever need to talk, she's right there for me. When I get down on myself, she always has a kind word to lift my spirits. They treat Brittany and me as part of the family.

So, my advice to anyone who has either quit school, or is thinking about it, go back; don't quit. It's worth it in the end and you'll be proud of yourself when you put on that cap and gown and walk up to get your diploma. You're not alone; someone will always believe in you, just like Brett believed in me.

By Candi M., Boscawen, NH
http://www.teenink.com/Poetry/article.php?link=Past/1993/3189.xml