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TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK…THE BREAD OF LIFE

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Here is another piece I wrote at the Anne Aylor Creative Writing seminar.
We were asked to select 2 pictures of Salvador Dali paintings at random
and then we were given 10 minutes to write a piece linking the 2 pictures.

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TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK …THE BREAD OF LIFE

  

Salvador  Dali:  
 “Melting Clock”            and            “Basket of Bread”

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Time was ticking on, fading away and then reborn.
Each second just ticking along, melting into the past, the now, the future.
Tick Tock life goes on.
Time, space, are they the bread of life?
Eaten, swallowed, moment to moment, the basket of life passing by.
Tick Tock life goes on.
Do we have enough time to feast on the bread of life?
Do we make each melting moment count?
Do we cherish each bite of this bread of life?
Tick Tock life goes on.
…and right now, I just don’t want to write anymore
Tick Tock….

 

 

 

 

REACHING FOR MY HIGHER SELF

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Here is another unedited piece I wrote at the Anne Aylor creative writing seminar.
We were given a picture & 10 minutes to write about the picture.
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REACHING FOR MY HIGHER SELF

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I stand reaching out to my higher self – that afterall is my purpose in life – to find the me inside of me – to find the better me inside of me – my higher self.  To grow into my soul. To align my human personality, ego, of this lifetime, to my soul’s desires, to touch spirit. To shed the skin and take good virtues and then move on.

That is what I wake up each morning to do. I thank the day in advance for what it will bring.  I feel gratitude for all that I have in the present knowing that the law of attraction will give me even more of what I am grateful for.  I have faith and trust in that which is the source, that which we all come from, which makes us one.  Yes, I thank the day for each day I will expand my present self into my higher self.

It is the higher self that endures from lifetime to lifetime, it is the dwelling self of the soul within.  Like the red fire that burns and engulfs life in its many moods.  It scorches and it cleanses; it loves and it hates. It embraces all there is.  This fiery passion that lies within – the higher self that I strive to be.

Each day I become greater than the day before, each day I feel more enriched than the day before.  Each day I know that the day ahead will be better than the day before.  Just because I know this I can live for this day, this present moment, this very moment which instantly becomes the past and instantly is the future.

I see my higher self within myself – in my minds eye, we are one.  Looking at the image of the two selves – the human and the higher self are separate – but inside of me they are one and we are all one at the level of the higher self, we all have the same source.  We each have to find our truth, our very own truth and only then can we live authentically, one with our higher self, one with each other and one with the universe.

A VIEW FROM A WINDOW

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“Even behind prison walls I can see the heavy clouds and the blue sky over the horizon.” ~ Nelson Mandela from an unpublished autobiographical manuscript, written on Robben Island, 1975

Earlier this year I attended a creative writing seminar run by Anne Aylor. It consisted of us been given a topic or shown a picture and then we had 15 minutes to write about it. It amazed me how creativity flowed. I was far too nervous to read my pieces as I am no writer, but eventually it was my turn to read and I was pleasantly surprised that they were well received.  I now decided to share a piece as I wrote it at the time.

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A VIEW FROM A WINDOW

What can you say about a life spend glaring out of slits in the wall, a barred window, an obstructed view, an unchanging view – a view from a prison window. But also a vast view, an uninhibited view, an unlimited view – a point of view.  He was incaserated for 27 years, this man, prisoner 46664, who viewed the world from the slit window of his cell.

A small cell that when he lay down on the floor the crown of his head would nearly touch the one wall and his toes the other, when he stretched out his hands, his fingertips touched the opposite walls.  This bare room devout of love, this room that was his captive, this room that quenched his freedom.  It was a small room, it was a cell.  It was a small view giving him a glimpse of the limestone courtyard and not even a peek of the ocean he could hear.  It was indeed a small cell for such a big man.

But it was a view nonetheless.  It was a view that required lots of imagination, it expanded his mind, stretched his senses, opened his heart and freed his spirit.  It gave  him gratitude and grace and taught him forgiveness and love.  It was a view that made him who he was. It was a view that enlightened his soul.  What his eyes could not behold from this view, he beheld with his soul.

Oh, but if we only would view the world with his pount of view  – this view this man had from this window…the view that touched my heart when I visited Robben Island and saw for myself the view from the window of his cell, Nelson Mandela’s view, the man I lovingly call Madiba.