F.I.N.E., 4 the New Year

10 Favorited, Inspirations, for the, Neurotic and the Emotional!

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10.
What is life?
It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.
-Crowfoot
9.
Valor is a gift. Those having it never know for sure if they have it til the test comes. And, those having it in one test never know for sure if they will have it when the next test comes.
-Carl Sandburg
8.
Real knowledge is to know the extent of one’s ignorance.
-Confucius
7.
Those who love deeply never grow old; they may die of old age, but they die young.
-Benjamin Franklin
6.
When walking the dog…never look where you have fallen, but be weary as to, where you have stepped.
5.
Knock on the sky and listen to the sound.
-Zen saying
4.
Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson
3.
This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart, is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
2.
May you live all the days, of your life.
-Jonathan Swift

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In the big litter-box of life; what little I know?  Is that I do not know much!

-RandomwordbyRuth

Post Script: Bathroom Meditation

The most basic of instincts can provoke our greatest thoughts!
The most basic of instincts can provoke our greatest thoughts!

She is up there with me.  Being over fed.  Thinking herself into havoc…chaos, laced with bedhead.

What is she thinking?  Nothing, absolutely, nothing, in here fits right!

I love you?  I love you?  Pardoning the misdemeanor and miscues.

Somewhere between Elvis and Stonewall.  Stuck behind Mr. Milk and crying Indians.  An eighties voice of reason rambled roses and ranted…begin again!  Mercy, mercy, me.  She conveyed in disjointed speech.

‘I have been listening to thoughts with poetic endings…since your soapbox could preach.’

Remember ’81 when they told you to ‘…take your style and all the while.  Take the hand Me downs out of the closet…and place them out on the street.’

Call her a psychedelic mage.  Or, a flashback sage.  I always stop and pay heed to the raving tales.  Tainted and obscured the imagination…never runs stale.

Psychotic, obsessive plus neurotic.  Days plus years after birth.  My rendition of her a bit strange.  Currently, my house of freak…does not feel the same.

With the stifled side of my street clean since the Clap On, Clap Off rage.  I now know I needed my Forrest Gump stage.  So tonight when Google books of faces play.  The quietness of the throne will call my name.  All be it meditations on what it is to be sane.