Posted in Art, Musings

Painting with Scissors Matisse Style

Life is a dress rehearsal. Every day reminds me of yesterday’s failures, today’s possibilities, and tomorrow’s reminders. Today, my biggest question to myself centers around my faith that someone greater (for me God) exists beyond my imagination.

What exists in my view is awfully short of some angelic heaven.

Are we creating a heaven on earth? Who is out of bounds with creating such a horrific world? Why do we go from bad to worse with every new year? Who is winning this never-ending battle of wits?

Politics is no answer. The spirit of love must overcome the drought of not seeking others or understanding them. Forgiveness is more necessary than ever. Anger and bitterness, when allowed to take root, pave the way to destruction. Hate drains the blood and leaves us tired of life. The consequence of despair is a hopeless dance.

Are you doing your part to create a beautiful world? Are you spreading cheer? Loving your neighbor or finding fault? Blaming race or religion, using both as an excuse to further harm life on earth? Hiding your love under a bushel?

There can be peace and goodwill. And we do not have to cancel God to achieve those ends. We must cancel our fleshly desires and embrace our neighbors as ourselves.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Toby contemplating life

religion*
a tent
men reside
humanity
her stride
peer inside
the rubble
left behind.

(*my intention is never to bash mankind or any particular belief unless and only if it is detrimental to personhood.  And even if a belief harms another it does not mean the philosophy, psychology or religion is at fault.  Deep inside we all are flawed.  End up harming another in some way.  We can be versatile, possess world views similar in outcome and remain miles apart.  Many have felt a belief to be true but have witnessed the belief perverted for personal gain.  Even that thought, perverted and true, will rumble together and result in individual outcomes.  The world is simply love but exists in never-ending controversy.  We are complicated poets.  All of us.)