Love. Beauty. Fellowship. Joy. Peace.

There is, unfortunately, quite a lot of anger, hurt, intolerance, and hate in the world related to all kinds of things, many of them stemming from opinions and beliefs not shared.

But there is also Love. Beauty. Fellowship. Joy. Peace.

Destruction is not solved by Destruction.  Anger is not resolved by Anger.  Hate is not overcome by Hate.  It’s easy to focus on the negative, and to respond in kind.  Have you ever noticed that the easy way is often not the best way?  My desire is that we can all learn to go in the other direction a little more often every day when we are looking for ways to solve our problems or deal with our differences.

As suggested by Maria, who was inspired by Karen (read here and here), I am sharing certain photos of mine today.  When I look at these photos*, they make me feel those things I listed in the title of this post.

Love. Beauty. Fellowship. Joy. Peace.

*this is a dynamic arrangement – each time you refresh, different photos will load

I am also sharing my photos on Twitter (my account = @SarcasticMomLC) with the hashtag #loveburnsbrighter – in the manner that Maria described in her post.  You can do the same, if you like.  You can also join the Love Burns Brighter flickr group and add your photos there. Please do read both Karen’s and Maria’s posts (linked above) to understand fully.

Love.

It is not always our immediate response.  Here’s to choosing it.

Waste away, young lads and lasses. Enjoy your time.

I miss my youth.

Now, before you go brow-beating me about how I’m still young, how I have so much longer to go before I lose my youth, or how much older than me you are and yadda yadda yadda (oh, yeah, I totally just ‘yadda yadda’d’ you), hear me out.

I mean not only youth in body, but youth in spirit, feeling, knowledge.

I miss the bliss of ignorance, the forever stretched out before me. The feeling that anything is possible.

With the passage of time comes experience; with experience comes knowledge, understanding (of sorts).

They say youth is wasted on the young. However, you realize, that is what makes it worth it. If the young knew the value of youth – the desire they would feel to have it back when it was gone… they would never really be able to enjoy it, would they?

With knowledge comes the shift.

The more you learn about the true nature of humans and the things of the world, the more you have to let go of the naive idealism that kept your young cheeks rosy and new.

No, there is no need to let go of hope, determination, and wonder. I am wide-eyed at the world still, believe me.

You could not freely wander the earth with your eyes, heart and mind open and not find a new and amazing thing every day if you tried. This is why I take photographs. Because over and over… again and again, even within my tiny sphere of movement, this happens to me.

So lecture me not on being able to capture the wonder of youth even with age.

But sit beside me for a spell and mourn with me this thing that must happen to us all. Some of us more than others, or maybe just a little bit sooner. But to all of us, it happens, to some degree or another.

The truth is that we must open our hands and let the fancy daydreams of childhood slide from our palms sometimes. Some things which happen steal them from us like wicked trolls, whisk them away to dark places; hiding them from the light. Only a child can pluck them out anew and let them grow for a time again.

My hands are too old to hold onto things which must escape them, already. The effort of trying has worn my fingers tired and weary.

We move through life, rolling along, and suddenly things assault us from this direction or that. The human tendency to ignore these possibilities on a conscious level from day to day allows us to function; it allows us to keep those wheels rolling, greasy and smooth. But no amount of greasing stops a rock from throwing you off your axel. You’ll have to reconsider concepts like need, desire, and love when your cart overturns.

It can take a long time to grease that wheel again. I’m workin’ on it.

I’m workin’ on it.

I speak in riddles because the words are too painful and tiresome to lay out in detail and push around into the proper order. It has been yet another day of remembering so many things that I would sometimes like to forget.

Sometimes.

So many things, some of which I’ve shared before, others which I may never tell you. Time will tell.

For now I close my eyes, take a deep breath in, push a long, tired breath out, and put one hand inside of the other. And hold on.

Tomorrow, I’ll open my eyes, and move those wheels along again.

On a somewhat related note: man, I farckin’ hate PMS.