Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Khalil Gibran

The fighter in me screams… no! I can not accept this injustice. The realist in me tells me, ” calm down man, it is the way it is. “

The human in me tells me that if I don’t stand up, If I am not heard, then I am as big a part of the problem as the next person.

So I will FIGHT. I am compelled to. There is no profit in it. There is no glory. There is only doing what I think is right, what I think is just, what I think is human. If I don’t, If we don’t stand up for the least of us, who will?

But where are we going?

As I sit here this morning, I feel the need for quiet.  I feel the need to quiet all the thoughts racing through my mind. I feel the need to be quiet enough to listen to my heart, with my heart. I feel the need TO BE.

Thoughts fade and feelings start to flow. Images, senses, feelings turn toward nature and my place in the world. The feelings are reminiscent of a flower. A flower does not try to be anything. It just is and in doing so, it gives to the world while taking from it only what it needs. It gives beauty and sustenance to other creatures while fulfilling its role of perpetuating life. It is fully itself. In being so, it is perfect.

The Passion and Death of Christ.

Photo By : http://www.flickr.com/photos/mtsofan/

]]> http://ramartijr.wordpress.com/2011/04/22/good-friday/feed/ 0 ramartijr Good Friday http://ramartijr.wordpress.com/2011/01/18/new-england-snow-and-ice/ http://ramartijr.wordpress.com/2011/01/18/new-england-snow-and-ice/#comments Tue, 18 Jan 2011 18:14:46 +0000 ramartijr http://ramartijr.wordpress.com/?p=254 ]]> Walking this morning, in the freezing rain coating our Connecticut world with a glaze of ice, I was taken back to my youth. How the world looked so crystal clean with the clear covering of ice drooping branches under its weight. It was both breathtakingly beautiful, and treacherous.

The particular memory jarred by this icy mix was sledding with my best friend Mark Tirrell. We gathered our sleds and hiked on the Watertown Country Club Golf Course to some of the best open sledding places. Bundled up warm with our green rubbery boots crunching through the layer of ice into the soft snow underneath. I remember laughing at our own stories as we trekked up the hills dragging our wooden sleds with their freshly waxed runners behind.  The sleds were light enough to ride on top of the fresh thick ice crusted over the soft snow.  We were excited with anticipation of how fast we would fly over the the ice down the hill that paralleled West Road.

It was a piece of land that was once part of my great grandfathers dairy farm, now owned by Taft High School and leased to the Country Club. I remember feeling like we had every right to be there despite the no trespassing signs.

The terrain was perfect for sledding. Steep inclines followed by long slopes that were clear of trees would be a great long ride. We were so excited. We were kids, young in years but full of experiences of being alone on the land, unlike our children today. We were free on our own in this open space.  Our parents knew, generally where we were, but had no idea of exactly where. We were free and sucked in every moment.

The first ride was a TRIP! We sat on our sleds, rope in hand with our feet on the perpendicular wooden steering mechanism that would slightly bend the metal skids allowing us to turn. We flew down that hill that seemed miles long but in reality was probably 600 yards.  Our sleds gliding over the top of the crusted ice over the soft snow below.

We both were so excited, I remember running back up the hill top do it again. But this time only faster. We ran with all we had, feet crashing through the icy crust.  Across the tee down a steep almost vertical slope down then back up the fairway to the tip-pity top.  This time we schemed how to go faster. Instead of sitting on our sleds, we would run and dive onto them head first holding the steering mechanism in our hands. We flew so fast it felt like our sleds were barely touching the ice. We were projectiles like smooth stones skipping across glassy water laughing and screaming all the way. Until….

We approached the bottom of the hill and the sharp incline that jutted up to the Tee. Mark was a couple body lengths ahead of me. I watched in horror as he hit the incline, sled cutting through the ice instead of of turning up it. His sled stuck and his body was thrown face first into the crusty ice burring his head into the snow. I had split seconds to avoid the same fate. I ran over to him as he pulled his head out of the ice revealing a the stark contrast of deep red blood in the clean white snow. For a moment, time stood still while I wondered if he would cry. Then, looking at each other.. we started laughing, full of desire to do it again.

Silent (written 2/1993)
Silent desparation shown in subtle smiles,
Hiding, searching, sunken
Sticky, dripping,sensation
Almost unfelt.
Sunshine beaming out of the dungeon within.
The bowels of ourselves where
We dare not venture.
Like the cellars of our youth.
Who do we fear there? But Ourselves?
Or is it that we fear,
Others will discover us there?

http://static.animoto.com/swf/w.swf?w=swf/vp1&e=1293125567&f=Eq1MV0rw01oc4aDjlE81uA&d=106&m=a&r=w&i=m&options=

May your hearts be filled with love always,
Richard

http://player.vimeo.com/video/17854149

Imagine from PlayingForChangeFoundation on Vimeo.