Nicole gives a poem with simplicity
in small town
on the hills,
and the purest air
our lives were set
to sunsets on old
worn from work
with peach pies
for shy neighbours
we were simple
but so it goes
© Nicole Lyons 2017
Beth comments on a revived publication.
If you were a Christian teen growing up in the ’90s and early 2000s, then you might have had a subscription to Focus on the Family’s Brio Magazine, best described as a godly version of Seventeen. Instead of quizzes like “How to Tell if he Likes You,” you’d find content like “How to Become a Proverbs 31 Woman,” along with all the information you ever wanted on the hottest contemporary Christian bands.
And how not to have sex. That was also very important.
After a few years of hiatus due to a budget crash, it looks like Brio is back.
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Mick keeps going.
The hills, they lie.
Whether you’re a runner, a biker, a walker, or human being trying to muddle through life, the hills can reach up and grab you with their dirt, gravel,or asphalt arms. They choke you with an alternative reality and can convince you that you’re:
- out of shape
- out of touch
- out of your mind
The hills can be the slopes you run, or a metaphor for obstacles.
I know this going into my morning runs, but all the positive affirmations in the world don’t seem to stop the feeling of:
I’m not going to make it
The summit is too far away
Age and bad knees have taught me to be humble and gentle with myself, so it wasn’t a surprise that I struggled with that hill again this morning. What starts as an unobtrusive climb, continues for a mile of…
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Devon and identity and disconnection
I’ve heard this a few times over the years. Most people who have the balls to say something so stupid think it’s a compliment. In reality it’s sad.
I was raised by white people. The only image I have of Black culture is an abusive drug addicted father. I had no connection as I was growing up to Black Culture.
As a Spiritualist I know that I above all others am supposed to be welcoming and kind to all people, regardless of their beliefs lifestyles or whatever other categories people use to label themselves. As a human being it angers me to no end that the likes of Shawn King and Rachel Dolezal are continuing this narrative of pretending to be something they aren’t. Especially because they have been welcomed by the Black Community in a way I never was. Perhaps it stems from jealousy and perhaps it stems from…
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The Storyteller offers practical ways to work against Depression.
Depression. It sucks. It blows. It hurts. But it is NOT something you can’t conquer. This post has some tips and tricks I’ve picked up along the way.
- You. It starts with you. In any bad time in life, whether it be your physical shape, your mental shape, or even your fashion choices, if you don’t like it, fixing it STARTS. WITH. YOU. YOU have to be the one to break free from the darkness. No amount of friends, family, doctor’s, or drugs can bring you out of depression unless you make the conscious decision that you want to beat this. Because you can do it, but ONLY if YOU WANT TO. you have GOT to take the first step. I listen to “The Ziglar Show” Podcast, and a quote from Zig Ziglar in the introduction is perfect for this. “You’re what you are and…
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Questions from the Mermaid
Good Morning Dear Readers,
As Louise and I are sitting outside this morning drinking Diet Pepsi, we are watching her dog, Little Buddy. Little Buddy’s life is sitting on the hot sidewalk in our backyard looking through the hole in the fence.
Louise and I started laughing and talking about “Looking Through The Hole of Life.”
It is Little Buddy’s life joy and mission to stare out into the alley all day. What does he see out there, what is he thinking?
Sometimes we all are looking Through The Hole of Life……………………
We are looking for love, for affirmation, for peace, for fun, for relaxation, for whatever. We, as HUMANS continue to be always looking for something or some such!!!!!! Why, why are we not happy with all our blessings and all our gifts? I don’t know, maybe it’s a HUMAN THING. The grass is always greener on…
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Samara on music and epiphanies
I was born into a family of musical impressarios. My oldest brother sat down at the piano when he was only three years old and delivered a perfect rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” At 3, my son was still pooping into a diaper and the only thing he would have done at the piano was give me a splitting headache.
I’m the least musically talented person in my family. I wouldn’t even go so far as to call myself a musician. The brother who is closest to me in age argues that I “am musical,” which sounds like the spoken equivalent of a participation trophy.
That particular brother and I have a multi-layered relationship regarding music. I have always been in awe of his talent; envious, proud and completely daunted by it.
When he was just 11 years old, he picked up a guitar and musical artistry poured forth…
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Veronike gives a poem of journeys and destinations
Was this the life you wanted? Or did you make too many mistakes
Leading to a twisting path and feelings of dreadful hate
Was this the life you wanted to live and would you be brave enough to change?
Could you find the courage to jump the ship when you’ve boarded the wrong one sailing to a destiny that wasn’t yours to take
I understand if you can’t or won’t, because I couldn’t do it either
Sometimes you’ve just sailed too far and it’s not something you get to cry over
So on this ship I charge ahead with the salt and winds blowing in my face
Because if I threw myself overboard I would drown without a trace
Is this then the end of my heart-filled dreams and desires I cannot control
Because all I wanted and all I needed wasn’t on this ship I boarded
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Sam writes of a very neglected subject and kind of story untold.
Approximately 92-95% of suicide attempts end in survival.
I didn’t know this, though, when I tried to end my life almost eight years ago. I’d only ever heard of stories that ended in death or in hospital beds. I’d only ever seen them as a plot twist on a television program or tragedy porn in the news. To me, people who attempted suicide overwhelmingly ended up in the ground, or on occasion in psych wards, but there was never any life to be lived afterward.
There was never a single story that said to me, “You can survive. And then you can truly live.”
Imagine my surprise, then, when I woke up alone, head pounding, room spinning. There was no point of reference. What do you do when you survive? Where do you go? Later that night, I googled “suicide survivor,” but back then everything I found was…
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