M.E.'s Thoughts

Musical melodies chaotically combined Sweet songs of nature's wonders Strains of harmonies extemporaneous flowing swirls; intoxicating me Bouquets of invigorating fragrance Perfumes of undefined notes Fresh of manufactured interference dancing sweetly; inflating me Emerald carpets haphazardly knit Canopies of crisscrossed branches Lush gardens untamed by man soothing lull; inviting me Shots of exhilarating colors Painting scenes of majestic brilliance Blended at random into perfection mesmerizing awe; igniting me All nature bows only to the unseen hand Coming together to beauty unrivaled Through orchestration unseen Created by the Master's hand.

I was sitting in a philosophy class the other day and we were debating whether the world is constant or constantly in flux. Later in the week I brought up this question with some of my friends: "Can you ever step into the same river twice? Is it actually the same river?" I will tell you, there is nothing more entertaining than breaking out an obscure question like this at a party or gathering. You definitely get some interesting looks, and some great conversation! But the question remains, does anything in our world stay the same? Even if the river is in the same place, with the same name, is it actually the same as it was yesterday? And even if we are who we are, with the same name and identity, are we really the same as last week? Or even 5 minutes ago? Change is constant. Even if we grasp onto our current reality in a desperate attempt to avoid change, it will inevitably come. So why do so many want to dodge change? Fear...fear of the unknown. We have the illus

When the lash of angers tongue Streaks red across my cheek When the scorn of judgments eyes Burn holes into my tender skin When the backs of bitterness Block my feet from the path I will not be defeated, I will endure I will turn to face forward And embrace the angry I will stand up straight And smile before the judge I will open my wings And soar over the bitter I will endure, I will not be defeated I have a grace that fills my heart I have a strength that grounds me firm I have a freedom that gives me flight I have a love that makes me whole And we will not be defeated, we will endure

Expectations are measuring sticks of the world They shadow our eyes from the miracles that happen every day. They are what we assume will happen based on the past They are what we want to happen based on our own desires But expectations limit, based on our earthly desires They have no vision of the infinite If we hold to our expectations We are limited to the scope of our own reality By the confines of our personal experiences and knowledge Rather than the expanse of possibility The limitless plans of Him who has no boundaries Let expectations free into the wind Give up striving for others' happiness And instead, hold your breath with expectancy Waiting to see what amazing things will occur today Delighting in the things that just happen A smile from a stranger A story that makes you spontaneously laugh from your gut Random meetings with friends old and new A message from a loved one just to say they are thinking of you The meal you've prepared being cle

He who layered every line Into the cliff's face He who painted the veregated color Of each iris petal He whose hand carved the dendrites Of each crystal snowflake How much more carefully does he entwine Each thread of our life's tapestry? He who knows each single eagle By the sound of their cry He who gave voices to the wind For storm and gentle breeze He who listens for the breath Of every crawling beast How much clearer does he hear The quietest whisper of our heart He who brushed the wisps Of every clouded sky He who placed the tiniest bud Onto the willow's branch He who shaped the granite stone Into rocky peaks aloft How much more intricately does he lay The stepping stones of whatever our chosen path He who knows the number of grains On the expanse of sandy shores He who has tallied the residents  Of the buzzing hive He who has numbered the blades of grass Of the rippling meadow How much more does he keep count Of every teardrop shed

He walks the overgrown path  With worn out shoes A perfectly polished walking stick Sheathing thistles and branches From before his feet The sun breathes Warm on his canvas skin Shadowed sporadically by canopies Of giant oaks that have seen  Eras of lifetimes past Surely  he steps with spent soles That have walked this trail before In a distant memory of a dream Recalled in a moment of clarity Made vivid by regret  With each step his back straightens His knot earned shoulders pull back He raises his chin, face on forward The burdens of past knowledge Falling from his body The loss of weighted duties and ideals Lighten his footsteps in the growth The pace of his walk quickens Pebbles skipping put from under his tread From his brow, beads born Of Determination and destination Drip down his time traveled face Leaving trails of salty streaks   On his wizened lips Not once does his head turn back Nothing pauses his det