My Darling May Bud

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pexels-photo-1007228.jpegMy May Bud

How precious you are, dear daughter of mine,

And if my heart were a garden of roses —

The Lord planted you in its bosom where

The rays love

to sit first thing in the morning.

 

Ruth Solitario

Last night, I told my daughter a big truth. It is this: Her life is not her own. And this is good for her. Even in bad times knowing this would be good for her.

Before you were born I set you apart to serve me. Jeremiah 1:5

Someone Almighty, it’s God, the Lord of heaven and earth, is orchestrating the events of her life, and this is something to be thankful for, eventually, everything should end in gratitude or despair…

Before I was born the LORD chose me to serve him. He appointed me by name. Psalm 139:16

That she is not the master of her fate, she’s not the captain of her soul, and this is good for her, although this truth may not be appealing to men and women who are doing great, but I want her to remember this, and if it takes me my entire life to teach this to her I would do it — and learn with her for I am still in this school of learning this myself, that even when life is great or we are in pain, I want her to know that life is more than pleasure, life is more than pain, there’s more to life than what we feel, or think, eat or possess.

I am sure that the One who began a good work in you will carry it on until it is completed. Philippians 1:6

I guess not a lot of people who are on the road to self-actualization will like being not in control. I didn’t like it. But one day, things changed. I gave the control to the God I trust. I began to hate that road and I am thankful I left that road before I crashed.

My sheep listen to my voice. I know them, and they follow me. John 10:27

I know, I’ve been there, it sure feels good to gain a little bit of credit for what we have become, are becoming…

Lord, I know that people don’t control their own lives. They don’t direct their own steps. Jeremiah 10:23

Or, it might be wonderful to have the cosmos to blame if they are on a downward spiral from bad to worse, or, they to justify self-inflicted pain when they turn to themselves and attack themselves for their misfortunes, or for the sake of having to attribute the evils of their life, they can turn to their idea of God and raise their fist against Him if they believe or profess to believe a supernatural being who is almighty, omniscient and omnipresent. That is rebellion, but it would be pointless, actually.

Those who trust in themselves are foolish. But those who live wisely are kept safe. Proverbs 28:26

And another thing, I tell my daughter that she was not born a good person. A lot of people, well-meaning ones, of course, would probably try to cheer her up or boost her ego one day. I hope she will not fall into the trap of believing them. I hope she remembers the Word of God.

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord. Proverbs 6:23

 

 

 

 

Hope and Dream

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Hope’s got a friend —

her name is Dream.

When the roads don’t end,

when the light is dim —

 

Hope takes a look;

Dream holds her hand.

And together they cook

a wonderful plan.

 

Hope says, “I hope—”,

Dream says, “I wish —”;

Hope says, “It’s possible!”,

Dream says, “It is!”

 

When they travel together,

with Faith on the side;

the horizon is brighter,

and the shadows hide.

 

(c) Ruth M. Solitario

https://courtofreverie.wordpress.com/2008/11/08/hope-and-dream/

 

From Rote

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I am fascinated by how painters work. I do not paint. My canvas is the blank computer screen and my material are thoughts and their counterpart in words. I was imagining what it would be like to paint from rote, or when the subject is absent, missing or gone. Time is fleeting, and so is memory. Do you sometimes forget things? My uncle suffered from Alzheimer’s. How painful it must be for his children when their father couldn’t even remember the names of the faces that appeared from nowhere, so it seems. Here’s to remembering and forgetting and being human.

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From Rote

The painter sat on his stool, his colors with him.

The colors were handpicked by his own hand.

The canvas was spread out before him.

The blue was a true one, from the sky.

The red, from a heart that is punctured.

The pink, from a love that won’t die.

The black, from a galactic hole, an abyss.

And all the other colors, from the finest

of the stars commingled in his palette.

Matched by the orchestra that played in his heart,

now, his baton must conduct the turmoil.

But the lady is fading,

and no color can restore what is going — is gone.

The master sat on his stool with the most beautiful colors

to paint an altered memory.

 

19 September 2010, 17 April 2018

https://courtofreverie.wordpress.com/2010/09/19/from-rote/

Gladness in the Valley

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Though I walk through death’s valleys, I will fear no evil.” – King David

 

Will you drink the cup with gladness

Or would you rather complain of the trifles

of existence, the inconveniences,

the nonsenses and caprices or whimsicalities…

Will you raise your hands in adoration even

when they are heavy with age, tumors, boils, or chains…

Or when arrows pass by and you are taunted by the spears

of friends who are singing elegiac songs…

When a cross adorns your shoulder

And your eyes flush out tears in the presence of your captors

When your flesh is a bag for thorns

And your enemies step on your gardens

Will you drink the cup with gladness

Or would you rather complain of the trifles

of existence, the inconveniences,

the nonsenses and caprices of your life?

For my pen

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I like to dance

Like a firefly

Darkness will be a stage

And nothing to be afraid of.

 

I like to dive

Like a penguin

Without a prospect

But only to swim

 

I like to sing

Like the lyrebird

I will surprise with notes

Never heard before

 

I want to grow

Like a giraffe

And eat leaves atop trees

While smaller ones feast below

 

I love who I am

But there is no harm

When I dream dreams

For my pen.

Panyo

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Nagtahi siya ng kasuotan,

maganda ang kinalabasan.

Ngunit, nang ito ay kaniyang isukat,

hindi ito lumapat!

 

Kaya’t tangan ang bestida,

sa tindahan siya’y sumaglit;

matapos siyang mamaalam,

iniwan niya ang damit.

 

Nasumpungan ng isang binata

ang bestidang marikit;

lubos ang kaniyang tuwa

at puso niya’y nangalabit.

 

Binili nito ang bestida

sa napakamurang halaga’t

naisipan niyang ihandog ito

sa babaeng pinipintuho.

 

Nagtahi siya ng kasuotan.

Maganda ang kinalabasan.

Sa retasong natira’t pinagtagpi-tagpi —

Isang panyo ang nasilayan.

 

July 9, 2009

 

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