A wise man will desire no more that what he may get justly,
use soberly, distribute cheerfully, and leave contently.
~ Benjamin Franklin ~
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Most of us miss out on life’s big prizes.
The Pulitzer. The Nobel. Oscars. Tonys. Emmys.
But we’re all eligible for life’s small pleasures.
A pat on the back.
A kiss behind the ear.
A four-pound bass.
A full moon.
An empty parking space.
A crackling fire.
A great meal.
A glorious sunset.
Hot soup.
Cold beer.
Don’t fret about copping life’s grand awards.
Enjoy its tiny delights.
There are plenty for all of us.
~ United Technologies Corporation ~
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O Midwife of Meaning,
tend me with Your loving presence,
Your gentle heart, Your capable hands.
I am pregnant with possibilities as I enter the autumn of my life
with the hope that I might experience the crisp leaves of scarlet and bronze,
of orange and gold, at least once more before the seasons change.
I am pregnant with the faith that I shall be given warmth and shelter in the coming winter,
along with a peaceful understanding of what this time of life brings.
I am pregnant with a seed, a thought, a whisper, a promise,
that I shall become more real as I become more worn;
that I shall become more true as I become more real.
The contractions of my womb produce an authentic me,
my soul shining bright amid the ravages of age.
O Midwife of Meaning, I am pregnant with Divinity.
Allow me to birth Love,
allow me to birth Hope,
allow me to birth Self.
Imago Dei.
O Midwife of Meaning,
tend me with Your loving presence,
Your gentle heart, Your capable hands.
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My soul sighs as it waits in the darkness.
No light, no sound. Simply being.
What is this waiting?
I inched along, plodding through my life,
minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day.
Joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain,
hope and despair, darkness and light.
Then, I chose the darkness
as I spun my cocoon, my chrysalis, my womb.
What is this waiting?
It’s the in-between time, between where I was
and where I will be, between my past and my future.
My soul sighs as I trust in the darkness, in the patient hope
that I will emerge from this cocoon stronger, smarter, better.
That I will no longer plod along minute by minute,
hour by hour, day by day, but that I will fly.
That I will soar toward the heavens each moment I take a breath,
toward my destiny that was written before I was born.
I will see more clearly, live more authentically, love more fruitfully.
I lived, I died, and I will become again.
I will not pass through this transformation unaware.
I will touch and love and hope and be present,
and alight upon the shoulders of giants.
I will look to those brief rainbow moments that shine
when the sun comes out after the rain.
I will live, and be mindful of all that is.
I choose to be born anew, and I relish this freedom.
What is this waiting?
It is a gestation, a creating, a longing,
a whispered promise.
My soul sighs as it waits in the darkness.
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